"What do you suggest, Great One?" asked Edgar.
"If," said Zabulon, emphasizing the word, "the Fuaran really is on the train, we have to wait for a moment when the train reaches an unpopulated area. The Kazakh steppes would suit perfectly. And after that… follow the plans that the Inquisition has for such situations."
Edgar gave a nervous jerk of his head and, as always happened when he was agitated, he started speaking with a slight Baltic accent. "That is not a good solution, Great One. And I cannot approve it on my own-the sanction of the Tribunal is required."
Zabulon shrugged, his entire manner indicating that all he could do was make suggestions.
"In any case, we have to be certain that the book is on the train," said Gesar. "I suggest…" he looked at me and gave a barely perceptible nod. "I suggest that Anton from the Night Watch, Konstantin from the Day Watch, and someone from the Inquisition should get on the train. To check it out. We don't need a big group for that. We'll arrive in the morning and decide what to do next."
"Off you go, Kostya," Zabulon said affectionately, slapping the young vampire on the shoulder. "Gesar's talking good sense. Good company, a long journey, an interesting job- you'll enjoy it."
The mocking glance in my direction was almost too fast to catch.
"That… buys us time," Edgar agreed. "I'll go myself. And I'll take my colleagues with me. All of them."
"Only one minute left," Olga said quietly. "If you've made up your minds-better get moving."
Edgar waved to his team and we ran to the train. Edgar said something to the conductor of the front car-a young Kazakh with a moustache-and the conductor's face suddenly went slack, assuming an expression that was sleepy and happy at the same time. He moved aside to let us in. We crowded into the little lobby at the end of the car. I looked out-Zabulon, Gesar, and Olga were standing on the platform, watching us leave. Olga was saying something in a quiet voice.
"In the situation that has arisen, I'll assume overall control," Edgar declared. "Any objections?"
I glanced at the six Inquisitors standing behind his back and said nothing. But Kostya couldn't restrain himself.
"That depends on what kind of orders you give. I only acknowledge the authority of the Day Watch."
"I repeat-I am in charge of the operation," Edgar said coolly. "If you don't agree, then you can get out."
Kostya hesitated for a second-and then lowered his head. "My apologies, Inquisitor. It was a poor joke. Of course you are in charge. But if necessary I will contact my superior."
"First you'll jump to attention and then ask permission." Edgar was determined to cross all the t's and dot all the i's.
"Very well," Kostya said and nodded. "My apologies, Inquisitor."
And that put an end to the incipient rebellion. Edgar nodded, stuck his head out of the lobby and called the conductor over.
"When are we starting?"
"Right away!" the conductor replied, gazing at the Inquisitor with all the adoration of a devoted dog. "Right away. I have to get in."
"Well get in, then," said Edgar, moving out of the way.
The conductor climbed into the little lobby, still wearing that expression of joyful submission. The train began slowly pulling away. The conductor stood beside the open door, swaying slightly.
"What's your name?" asked Edgar.
"Askhat. Askhat Kurmangaliev."
"Close the door. Do your job according to your instructions." Edgar frowned. "We are your best friends. We are your guests. You have to find places on the train for us. Do you understand?"
The door clattered shut. The conductor locked it with his key and stood at attention in front of Edgar again.
"I understand. We need to go to the captain of the train. I don't have enough free places. Only four."
"Let's go see the captain," Edgar agreed. "Anton, what's the compass doing?"
I lifted up the note and looked at the Twilight compass.
The pointer was spinning idly.
"Looks like the book's on the train."
"We'll wait a bit to make sure," Edgar decided.
We traveled half a mile or so from the station, but the pointer carried on spinning. Whoever the thief was, he was traveling with us.
"He's on the train, the son of a bitch," said Edgar. "Wait for me here. I'll go see the captain-we need to get ourselves places somewhere."
He went out into the corridor with the conductor, who was still smiling contentedly. A second conductor spotted his partner and said something very quickly in Kazakh, waving his arms about indignantly-but then he caught Edgar's glance and fell silent.
"Might as well hang signs around our necks-'We're Others!'" said Kostya. "What's he doing? If there really is a Higher Other on the train-he'll sense the magic…"
Kostya was right. It would have been far better to make do with money-it has a magic that works just as well with people. But Edgar was probably feeling too nervous…
"Can you sense any magic?" one of the junior Inquisitors asked unexpectedly.
Kostya turned toward him, perplexed. He shook his head.
"And neither will anybody else. Edgar has an amulet of subjection. It only works at close range."
"Inquisitor's tricks…" Kostya muttered, clearly nettled. "Even so, it would be better to keep our heads down. Right, Anton?"
I nodded reluctantly.
Edgar came back after about twenty minutes. I didn't bother to ask how he'd dealt with the captain of the train, by giving him money or-more likely-using his mysterious amulet of subjection again. He had a calm, contented expression on his face.
"We'll divide into two groups," he said, moving straight into command mode. "You,"-he nodded in the direction of the Inquisitors-"are staying in this car. Take the conductors' compartment and compartment one-that's six places. Askhat will settle you in… ask him for anything you need, don't be shy. And don't take any positive action on your own, don't play the amateur detective. Behave like… like people. Report on the situation to me every three hours… or as necessary. We'll be in car number seven."
The Inquisitors filed silently out of the lobby after the smiling conductor. Edgar turned to Kostya and me. "We'll take compartment four in car number seven. We can regard it as our temporary base. Let's go."
"Have you come up with a plan yet, chief?" Kostya inquired. I couldn't tell if he was being ironic or sincere.
Edgar looked at him for a second, clearly also wondering whether it was a genuine question or just a jibe. But he answered anyway. "If I have a plan, you'll hear about it. In good time. Meanwhile I want to get a cup of coffee and two or three hours' sleep. In that order."
Kostya and I set off after Edgar. The vampire grinned and I couldn't help winking back at him. After all, we were united now by our position as subordinates… despite everything I thought about Kostya.
The car that the captain rides in is the top spot in the whole train. The air conditioners always work there. The boiler is always full of hot water, and the conductor always has a fresh brew of tea ready. Finally, it's clean, even in the Central Asian trains, and they give out the sheets in sealed packs-they really have been laundered after the previous run. The toilets work in both washrooms, and you can boldly go in there without rubber boots.
And to complete the passengers' simple happiness, the restaurant car is hitched on at one side of the captain's car. And the sleeper car-if there is one in the train-is on the other side.
The Moscow-Almaty train did have a sleeper car. We walked through it, glancing curiously at the passengers. They were mostly solemn, well-fed Kazakhs, almost all with briefcases that they kept with them even in the corridor. Some of them were already drinking tea from bright-colored bowls, others were setting out sliced meat and bottles on the little table and breaking boiled chickens into pieces. But most of them were still standing in the corridor, watching the Moscow suburbs slide past.
I wondered what they were feeling, these citizens of a newly independent countr
y, as they gazed at their former capital. Were they really content with their independence? Or could they possibly be feeling nostalgic?
I didn't know. You couldn't ask them, and if you did, you couldn't be sure they'd answer honestly. And breaking into their minds to make them answer honestly wasn't our style.
It would be better anyway if they were happy and proud-of their own independence, their own statehood, their own corruption. Especially since not so long before at the three hundredth anniversary of St. Petersburg, happy people had been saying, "Let them steal everything. At least it's our own thieves doing it, not the ones from Moscow"-so why shouldn't the Kazakhs and Uzbekis, Ukrainians and Tadjiks feel the same way? If our single country was demarcated along republican and municipal lines, then how could we complain about the neighbors from the old communal apartment? The little rooms with the view of the Baltic had seceded, as had the proud Georgians, and the Kirghizians, with the world's only high-mountain navy- everyone had been happy to secede. The only room left was the big kitchen-Russia, where the different nations all used to stew in the imperial pot. So okay. No problem. Our kitchen's got gas. How about yours?
Let them be happy. Let everyone feel good. The Petersburgians, delighted with their anniversary celebrations-everyone knows you can dine off one good anniversary for a century. And the Kazakhs and Kirghizians, who had founded their very first states… although they, of course, could put forward heaps of evidence to prove their ancient statehood. And our brother Slavs who had felt so oppressed by coexistence with their big brother. And we Russians, who despised Moscow so passionately from the provinces, and despised the provinces from Moscow.
Just for a moment, quite unexpectedly, I felt disgusted. Not with the Kazakh passengers, and not with my fellow Russians. Just with people. With all the people in the world. What did we in the Night Watch think we were doing? Divide and protect? Nonsense! Not a single Dark One, not a single Day Watch, caused people as much harm as they caused themselves. What was one hungry vampire compared to the average maniac who raped and murdered little girls in elevators? What was one hardhearted witch who put a hex on someone for money, compared with a humane president who launched his high-accuracy rockets for the sake of oil?
A plague on both your houses…
I stopped in the lobby and let Kostya go ahead. Then I froze, staring at the filthy floor, already littered with the first dozen stinking cigarette butts.
What was wrong with me?
Were these my thoughts?
I couldn't pretend they weren't. They were mine, not anyone else's. No one had snuck into my mind, not even a Higher Other could have done that without my noticing.
It was me, the way I really was.
A former human being.
A Light Other who was burned out, disillusioned with everything in the world.
This was how you wound up in the Inquisition. When you stopped being able to see any difference between Light Ones and Dark Ones. When for you, people weren't even a flock of sheep, but just a handful of spiders in a glass jar. When you stopped believing in the future, and all you wanted to do was preserve the status quo. For yourself. For those few individuals who were still dear to you.
"No, I refuse," I said, as if I were pronouncing an oath, as if I were holding up a shield against the invisible enemy-against myself. "I refuse! You have… no power… over me… Anton Gorodetsky!"
On the other side of two doors and four thick panes of glass, Kostya turned and gave me a puzzled look. Had he heard? Or was he simply wondering why I'd stopped?
I forced a smile, opened the door, and stepped into the rumbling concertina of the short bridge connecting the two cars.
The captain's car really was a classy place. Clean rugs on the floor; a carpet runner in the corridor; white curtains on the windows; soft mattresses that didn't remind you of the mattress stuffed with corncobs in a cabin.
"Who's sleeping up top, and who's down below?" Edgar asked briskly.
"It's all the same to me," Kostya replied.
"I'd rather be up top," I said.
"Me too," said Edgar with a nod. "That's agreed, then."
There was a polite knock at the door.
"Yes!" The Inquisitor didn't even turn his head.
It was the captain of the train, carrying a tray with a nickel-plated kettle full of hot water, a teapot with strong brew, cups, some wafer biscuits, and even a carton of cream. A big, strapping, serious-looking man, with a bushy moustache and a uniform that was a perfect fit.
But the expression on his face was as dull and stupid as a newborn puppy's.
"Enjoy your tea, dear guests."
Clear enough. He was under the influence of the amulet as well. The fact that Edgar was a Dark One did have some effect on his methods, after all.
"Thank you. Inform us of everyone who got on in Moscow and gets off along the way, my dear man," said Edgar, taking the tray. "Especially those who get off before they reach their stop."
"It will be done, your honor," the captain of the train nodded.
Kostya giggled.
I waited until the poor man had gone out, and asked, "Why 'your honor'?"
"How should I know?" Edgar said with a shrug. "The amulet induces people to accept instructions. But who they see me as- an auditor, the girl they love, a well-known actor, or Generalissimus Stalin-that's their problem. This guy must have been reading too much Akunin. Or watching old movies."
Kostya chortled again.
"There's nothing funny about it," Edgar said angrily. "And nothing terrible either. It's the least harmful way of manipulating the human psyche. Half the stories about how someone gave Yakubovich a lift in his car or let Gorbachev through to the front of the line are the result of suggestions just like this."
"That's not what I was laughing at," Kostya explained. "I imagined you in a white army officer's uniform… chief. You look impressive."
"Go on, laugh…" said Edgar, pouring himself some coffee. "How's the compass doing?"
I put the note on the table without speaking. A Twilight image appeared in the air above it-the round casing of a compass, a lazily spinning pointer.
I poured myself some tea and took a sip. It tasted good. Brewed to perfection, just as it should be for "his honor."
"He's on the train, the scum…" Edgar sighed. "Gentlemen, I'm not going to conceal the alternatives from you. Either we catch the perpetrator, or the train will be destroyed. Together with all the passengers."
"How?" Kostya asked laconically.
"There are various possibilities. A gas main explodes beside the train, a fighter plane accidentally launches an air-to-ground missile… if absolutely necessary, the rocket will have a nuclear warhead."
"Edgar!" I really wanted to believe he was over-dramatizing the situation. "There are at least five hundred passengers on this train!"
"Rather more than that," the Inquisitor corrected me.
"We can't do that."
"We can't let the book go. We can't allow an unprincipled Other to create his own private guard and start restyling the world to suit himself."
"But we don't know what he wants."
"We know he killed an Inquisitor without hesitation. We know he is very powerful and is pursuing some goal unknown to us. What's he after in Central Asia, Gorodetsky?"
I shrugged.
"There are several ancient centers of power there," Edgar muttered. "A certain number of artifacts that disappeared without trace, a certain number of regions with weak political control… And what else?"
"A billion Chinese," Kostya suddenly put in.
The Dark Ones stared at each other.
"You're out of your mind…" Edgar said hesitantly.
"More than a billion," Kostya said derisively. "What if he's planning to make a dash through Kazakhstan to China? Now that would be an army! A billion Others! And then there's India…"
"Don't be crazy," Edgar said dismissively. "Not even an idiot would try that. Where are we going to ge
t Power from, when a third of the population is turned into Others?"
"But maybe he is an idiot?" Kostya persisted.
"That's why we're prepared to take extreme measures," Edgar snapped.
He was being serious. Without the slightest doubt about whether we really could kill these spellbound conductors, chubby-cheeked businessmen, and poor people traveling in the cars with open seating. If we had to, we had to. Farmers who destroyed animals with foot-and-mouth disease suffered too.
I didn't feel like drinking tea any more. I got up and walked out of the compartment. Edgar watched me go with an understanding, but by no means sympathetic, glance.
The car was settling down as it prepared for sleep. The doors of some compartments were still open. There were people still loitering in the corridor, waiting for the washroom to be free. I heard glasses clinking somewhere, but most of the passengers were too exhausted after Moscow.
I thought languidly that what the laws of melodrama required now was for little children with the innocent faces of angels to come dashing along the corridor-just to drive home the true monstrosity of Edgar's plan…
There weren't any little children. Instead a fat man in faded tracksuit bottoms and a baggy T-shirt stuck his face out of one of the compartments. A red, steaming face that was already comfortably bloated by strong drink. The man looked listlessly straight through me, hiccupped, and disappeared again.
My hands automatically reached for my disk player. I stuck the little headphones in my ears, put in a disk at random and pressed my face against the window. I see nothing, I hear nothing. And obviously I'm not going to say anything.
I heard a gentle, lyrical melody, and a voice started singing delicately:
You'll have no time to dash for the bushes
When the sawn-off mows you down
There is no beauty more beautiful
Than the visions of morphine withdrawal…
Yes, it was Las, my acquaintance from the Assol complex. The disc he'd given me as a present. I laughed and turned the volume up. It was just what I needed right then.
The devil-kids will return to the stars,
Twilight Watch Page 30
