Capitols and prisons, all in a single pattern…
I wasn't really expecting to meet the witch that evening. I really ought to have gone in the morning, and with a team. But I wanted really badly to locate the suspect myself.
And to take a look at that book, Fuaran.
I stood at the edge of the forest for a while, looking at the world through the Twilight. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not the slightest trace of magic. Except that in the distance, above our house, there was a bright white glow. A first-level enchantress can be seen from a long way off…
Okay, let's go in deeper.
I raised my shadow from the ground and stepped into the Twilight.
The forest was transformed into an eddying haze, a phantom. Only the very largest of the trees had twins in the Twilight world.
Now, where had the kids come out of the forest?
I found their tracks fairly quickly. A couple of days later the faint line of footprints would already have faded away, but now it was still visible. Children leave clear tracks-they have a lot of power in them. Only pregnant women leave tracks that are clearer.
There were no tracks from the "female botanist." Well, they could have faded already, but it was more likely this witch had been careful not to leave any tracks for a long time.
But she hadn't erased the children's tracks. Why not? An oversight? That traditional Russian sloppiness? Or was it deliberate?
Well, I wasn't going to guess.
I recorded the children's footprints in my memory and left the Twilight. I couldn't see the tracks anymore, but I could sense which way they were leading. Now I could set off.
But first I disguised myself thoroughly. Of course, the disguise was no match for the shell that Gesar had encased me in. But a magician less powerful than me would take me for a human being. Maybe we were overestimating the witch's abilities?
I spent the first half hour vigilantly surveying the area, inspecting every suspicious bush through the Twilight, sometimes pronouncing simple search spells. In general working by the book, like a disciplined Other conducting a search.
Then I got bored with that. I was in a forest-only a little one, and maybe not in great shape, but at least it was unspoiled by tourists. And maybe the forest was unspoiled because it was only thirty miles long by thirty miles wide? But there were all sorts of small forest wildlife here, like squirrels, hares, and foxes. Only, of course, there weren't any wolves at all-no real ones, that is, who weren't werewolves. Fine-we could get along without wolves. But there was plenty of free food around-once I stopped by some wild raspberry bushes and spent ten minutes picking the slightly withered, sweet berries. Then I came across an entire colony of white porcini mushrooms. More than a settlement-it was a genuine mushroom megalopolis! Huge white mushrooms, not worm-eaten, no rubbishy little ones or different kinds. I'd had no idea there was treasure like that to be found only a couple of miles from the village.
I hesitated for a while. If I picked all those white mushrooms, I could bring them home and dump them on the table, to my mother-in-law's amazement and Svetlana's delight! And how Nadka would squeal in ecstasy and boast to the neighbors' kids about her clever dad.
Then I thought that I couldn't sneak a haul like that back to the house without being seen and the whole village would go dashing off, hunting for mushrooms. Including the local drunks, who would be happy to sell the mushrooms on the side of the highway and buy vodka. And the grannies, who mostly supported themselves by gathering wild food. And all the local kids.
But somewhere in this forest there were werewolves on the prowl…
"They'll never believe me…" I said miserably, looking at the mushroom patch.
I felt a craving for fried white mushrooms. I swallowed hard and carried on following the track.
And literally five minutes later I came out at a small log-built house.
Everything was just as the children had described it. A little house, tiny windows, no fence, no outbuildings, no vegetable patches. Nobody ever builds houses like that in the forest. Even the dingiest little watchman's hut has to have a lean-to shed for firewood.
"Hey, anybody home?" I shouted. "Hello!"
Nobody answered.
"Little hut, little hut," I muttered, citing the fairytale. "Turn your back to the forest and your front to me…"
The hut didn't move. But then, it was already facing me anyway. I suddenly felt about as clever as the Soviet spy Stirlitz in the old jokes.
Okay, it was time to stop playing stupid games. I'd go in and wait for the mistress of the house if she wasn't home…
I walked up to the door and touched the rusty iron handle- and at that very moment, as if someone had been waiting for that movement, the door opened.
"Good day," said a woman about thirty years old.
A very beautiful woman…
Somehow, from what Roma and Ksyusha had told me, I'd expected her to be older. They hadn't really said anything about her appearance, and in my mind I'd pictured some average image of "just a woman." That was stupid of me… of course, for children as young as them, "beautiful" meant "in a bright-colored dress." In another year or two, Ksyusha would probably have said with delight and admiration in her voice "The lady was so beautiful!" and compared her with the latest young girl's idol.
But she was wearing jeans and one of those checkered shirts that men and women can both wear.
Tall-but not so tall as to make a man of average height feel insecure. Slim-but not skinny at all. Legs so long and straight I felt like shouting, "Why the hell did you put jeans on, you fool, get into a miniskirt!" Breasts-well, no doubt some men prefer to see two huge silicone melons, and some take delight in chests as flat as a boy's. But in this particular matter any normal man should go for the golden medium. Hands… well, I don't know exactly how hands can be erotic. But hers certainly were. Somehow they made you think that just one touch from those slim fingers and…
With a figure like that, having a beautiful face is an optional luxury. But she was lovely. Hair as black as pitch, large eyes that smiled and enticed. All her features were regular, with just some tiny deviation from the perfection that was invisible to the eye, but allowed you to see her as a living woman and not a work of art.
"Er… h-hello," I whispered.
What was wrong with me? Anyone would think I'd been raised on an uninhabited island and never seen a women before.
The woman beamed at me. "You're Roman's dad, are you?"
"What?" I asked, confused.
The woman was slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. The other day a little boy got lost in the forest. I showed him the way out to the village. He stammered too… a little bit. So I thought…"
That was it-put out the lights.
"I don't usually stammer," I mumbled. "I'm usually always spouting all sorts of nonsense. But I wasn't expecting to meet such a beautiful woman in the forest, so I choked up."
The "beautiful woman" laughed. "Oh, and are those words nonsense too? Or the truth?"
"The truth," I confessed.
"Won't you come in?" She stepped back into the house. "Thank you very much. Around here compliments are hard to come by…"
"Well, you won't meet people here very often," I observed, walking into the house and looking around.
Not a trace of magic. A rather strange interior for a house in a forest, but you come across all sorts of things. True, there was a bookcase with old volumes in it… But there were no indications that my hostess was an Other.
"There are two villages near here," the woman explained. "The one I took the children back to and another, a bit larger. I go there to buy groceries. The shop's always open. But it's still not a good place for compliments."
She smiled again. "My name's Arina. Not Irina, but Arina."
"Anton," I replied. And then I showed off my first-grade literary erudition. "Arina, like Pushkin's nanny?"
"Precisely. I was named after her," the woman said, still smiling. "My father
was Alexander Sergeevich, like Pushkin, and naturally my mother was crazy about the poet. You could say she was a fanatic. So that's where I got the name…"
"But why not Anna, after Anna Kern? Or Natalya, after Natalya Goncharova?"
Arina shook her head. "Oh, that wouldn't do… My mother believed all those women played a disastrous role in Pushkin's life. Yes, of course, they served as a source of inspiration, but he suffered greatly as a man… But the nanny, she made no claims on her Sasha. She loved him devotedly…"
"Are you a literary specialist?" I asked, putting out a feeler.
"What would a literary specialist be doing here?" Arina laughed. "Have a seat, I'll make some tea, it's really good, with herbs. Everyone's gone crazy just recently about mate and rooibos and those other foreign teas. But let me tell you, we Russians don't need all those exotic brews. We have enough herbs of our own. Or just ordinary tea, black. We're not Chinese-why should we drink green water? Or forest herbs. Here, try this…"
"You're a botanist," I said dejectedly.
"Correct!" Arina laughed. "Listen, are you sure you're not Roman's dad?"
"No I'm…" I hesitated for a moment, and then said the most convenient thing that came to mind: "I'm a friend of his mother's. Thank you very much for saving the children."
"Oh, sure, I really saved them!" Arina said and smiled again. She was standing with her back to me, sprinkling dry herbs into a teapot-a pinch of one, a tiny bit of another, a spoonful of a third… somehow my gaze automatically came to rest on the section of those worn jeans that outlined her firm butt. It was immediately clear that the butt was firm, without any sign of that favorite city lady's ailment-cellulite. "Ksyusha's a bright girl… they'd have found their own way out."
"What about the wolves?" I asked.
"What wolves, Anton?" Arina looked at me in amazement. "I explained that to them-it was a stray dog. Where would wolves come from in a little forest like this?"
"A stray dog, and with pups, is dangerous too," I observed.
"Well, maybe you're right." Arina sighed. "But even so, I don't think they would have attacked the children. An animal has to go completely crazy to do something like that. People are far more dangerous than animals…"
Well, I couldn't argue with that…
"Don't you find it boring out here in the wilderness?" I asked, changing the subject.
"I'm not stuck here all the time," Arina laughed. "I come for the summer. I'm writing a dissertation: 'The Ethnogenesis of Certain Species of Crucifers in the Central Region of Russia.'"
"For a doctorate?" I asked rather enviously. For some reason I still felt sad that I'd never finished writing mine… and I hadn't finished it because I'd become an Other, and all those scholarly games had suddenly seemed boring. The games were boring-but even so I felt sad about it.
"Postdoctoral," Arina replied with understandable pride. "I'm thinking of presenting it this winter…"
"Is that your research library you have with you?" I asked, nodding at the bookshelf.
"Yes," said Arina, noddng in reply. "It was a dumb thing to do, of course, drag all the books here. But I got a lift from… a friend. In a Jeep. So I took the opportunity and piled in my whole library."
I tried to imagine whether a Jeep could get through this forest. It looked as though there was a fairly wide track starting just at the back of the house… maybe it could get through…
I went over to the bookcase and inspected the books closely.
It really was a rich library for a botanical scholar. There were some old volumes from early last century, with forewords singing the praises of the Party, and Comrade Stalin in particular. And some even older ones, prerevolutionary. And lots of simple well-thumbed volumes published twenty or thirty years earlier.
"A lot of them are just lumber," Arina said without turning around. "The only place for them is in some bibliophile's collection. But somehow… I can't bring myself to sell them."
I nodded dejectedly, glancing at the bookcase through the Twilight. Nothing suspicious. No magic. Old books on botany.
Or an illusion created so artfully that I couldn't see through it.
"Sit down, the tea's ready," said Arina.
I sat down on a squeaky Viennese chair, picked up my cup of tea and sniffed at it.
The smell was glorious. It was a bit like ordinary good-quality tea, and a bit like citrus, and a little bit minty. But I could have bet my life the brew didn't contain any tea leaves, or citron, or plain ordinary mint.
"Well," Arina said with a smile. "Why don't you try it?"
She sat down facing me and leaned forward slightly. My gaze involuntarily slipped down to the open collar revealing her suntanned breasts. I wondered if "the friend with a Jeep" was her lover? Or simply a colleague, another botanist? Oh sure! A botanist with a Jeep…
What was wrong with me? Acting like I was just back from an uninhabited island and hadn't seen a woman for the last ten years.
"It's hot," I said, holding the cup in my hands. "Let it cool off a bit…"
Arina nodded.
"It's handy to have an electric kettle," I added. "It boils quickly. But where do you get your power from, Arina? I didn't notice any wires around the house."
Arina flinched.
"Maybe an underground cable?" she said plaintively.
"Oh no," I said, holding the hand with the cup away from me and carefully pouring the brew out onto the floor. "That answer won't do. Think again."
Arina tossed her head in annoyance. "What a disaster! And over such a little thing…"
"It's always the little things that give you away," I said sympathetically. I stood up. "Night Watch of the City of Moscow, Anton Gorodetsky. I demand that you immediately remove the illusion."
Arina didn't answer.
"Your refusal to cooperate will be interpreted as a violation of the Treaty," I reminded her.
Arina blinked. And disappeared.
So that was the way it was going to be…
I raised my shadow with a glance, reached toward it, and the cool Twilight embraced me.
The little house hadn't changed at all.
But Arina wasn't there.
I concentrated hard. It was too dim and gray in there to see my shadow, but I managed to find it. I stepped down to the second level of the Twilight.
The gray mist thickened and space was filled with a heady, distant drone. A cold shudder ran across my skin. This time the little house had changed-and radically. It had turned into an old peasant hut. The walls were bare logs, overgrown with moss. Instead of glass, there were sheets of semi-transparent mica in the windows. The furniture was cruder and older, the Viennese chair I was sitting on had turned into a sawn-off log. Only the distinguished scholarly bookcase hadn't changed. However, the books in it were rapidly changing their appearance, the false letters were dropping to the floor, the leatherette spines were changing to genuine leather…
Arina wasn't there. There was only a vague, dim silhouette, hovering somewhere close to the bookcase. A fleeting, transparent shadow… the witch had retreated to the third level of the Twilight.
In theory I could go there too.
Only in practice, I'd never tried. For a second-level magician, that meant straining his powers to the absolute extreme.
But right now I was too angry with the cunning witch to care. She had tried to enchant me, to put a love spell on me… the old hag.
I stood by the darkened window, catching the faint droplets of light that penetrated to the second level of the Twilight. And I found, or at least I thought I found, the faintest of shadows on the floor…
The hardest thing was spotting it. After that, the shadow did as I wanted, swirling up toward me and opening the way through.
I stepped down to the third level of the Twilight.
Into a strange sort of house, woven together out of the branches and thick trunks of trees.
There were no more books, and no furniture. Just a nest of branches.
<
br /> And Arina, standing there facing me.
How old she was.
She wasn't hunched and crooked, like Baba Yaga in the fairytale. She was still tall and upright. But her skin was wrinkled like the bark of a tree and her eyes had sunk deep into her head. The only garment she was wearing was a dirty, shapeless sackcloth smock and her dried-out breasts dangled like empty little pouches behind its deep neckline. She was also bald, with just a single tress of hair jutting out from the crown of her head like an American Indian forelock.
"Night Watch," I repeated, the words emerging slowly and reluctantly from my mouth. "Leave the Twilight. This is your final warning!"
What could I have done to her, if she could dive to the third level of the Twilight so easily? I don't know. Maybe nothing…
But she didn't offer any more resistance. She took a step forward-and disappeared.
It cost me a significant effort to move back up to the second level. It was usually easier to leave the Twilight, but the third level had drawn power out of me as if I were some ignorant novice.
Arina was waiting for me on the second level. She had already assumed her former appearance. She nodded and moved on-to the normal, calm, and cozy human world…
But I had to try twice, streaming with cold sweat, before I managed to raise my shadow.
Chapter 3
Arina was sitting on a chair, with her hands resting modestly on her knees. She wasn't smiling any more-and in general she was as meek as a lamb.
"Can we manage without any more hocus-pocus from now on?" I enquired as I emerged into the real world. My back was wet and my legs were trembling slightly.
"Can I stay in this form, watchman?" Arina asked in a low voice.
"What for?" I asked, unable to resist taking petty revenge. "I've already seen the real you."
"Who's to say what's real in this world?" Arina said pensively. "It all depends on your point of view… Regard my request as simple female caprice, Light One."
"And the attempt to enchant me-was that a caprice too?"
Arina shot a bright, defiant glance at me and said, "Yes. I realize that my Twilight appearance… but here and now, this is what I am. And I have all the human feelings. Including the desire to please."
Twilight Watch Page 16
