"Then what's the point of all our efforts?" I asked. "What are we doing here? One nuclear bomb-and the problem's solved."
Edgar nodded. "Yes. It has to be nuclear, to penetrate all the levels of the Twilight. But first we have to make sure the target won't slip away at the last moment."
"Have you accepted Zabulon's viewpoint then?" I asked.
Edgar sighed. "I've accepted the viewpoint of common sense. An exhaustive search of the train and the use of massive force is fraught with the danger of magical carnage. And by the way, people would be killed anyway. Destroy the train… of course I feel sorry for the people. But at least we'd avoid any global convulsions."
"But if there's still a chance…" I began.
"There is. That's why I propose to continue with the search," Edgar agreed. "Kostya and I take my young guys and we comb the whole train-from the back and the front at the same time. We'll use amulets, and in suspicious cases, we'll try to check the suspect through the Twilight. And you have another word with Las. He's still under suspicion, after all."
I shrugged. It all sounded too much like playing at searching. In his heart of hearts Edgar had already given up.
"So when's zero hour?" I asked.
"Tomorrow evening," Edgar replied. "When we're passing through the uninhabited area around Semipalatinsk. They exploded nuclear bombs in that area anyway… one more tactical weapon's no great disaster around there."
"Happy hunting," I said and walked out of the compartment.
It was all obscene. It was all no more than a few lines in the report that Edgar was already preparing to write: "Despite the efforts made to isolate the perpetrator and locate the Fuaran…"
There had been a time when I used to find myself thinking the Inquisition was a genuine alternative to the Watches. After all, what was it we did? We divided people from Others. We made sure that the actions of Others impacted people as little as possible. Yes, it was practically impossible-some of the Others were parasites by their very nature. Yes, the contradictions between Light Ones and Dark Ones were so great that conflicts were inevitable.
But there was still the Inquisition. It stood above the Watches, and it also maintained the balance. It was a third power and a dividing structure of a higher level. It corrected the mistakes made by the Watches…
But things had not turned out like that.
There wasn't any third power. There wasn't and there never had been.
The Inquisition was an instrument for keeping the Dark Ones and the Light Ones apart. It supervised the observance of the Treaty, but not in the interests of people, only in the Others' own interests. The Inquisition was made up of those Others who knew that we were all parasites and a Light Magician was no better than a vampire.
Going to work in the Inquisition was an act of resignation. It meant finally growing up, abandoning the naive extremism of youth for healthy adult cynicism. Accepting that there were people and there were Others, and they had nothing in common.
Was I ready to accept that?
Yes, probably I was.
Only somehow I didn't want to go over to the Inquisition.
It was better to keep toiling away in the Night Watch. To go on doing the work no one needed, protecting the people no one needed.
And by the way, why shouldn't I check out our only suspect? While there was still time.
Las was already awake, sitting in his compartment and gloomily contemplating the bleak view through the window. The table top was raised and the bottle of kumis was cooling in the washbasin under a thin trickle of water.
"There's no refrigerator," he said mournfully. "Even in the best compartment they don't provide a refrigerator. Want some kumis?"
"I already had breakfast."
"So?"
"Well, just a little bit…" I agreed.
Las poured us literally a drop of cognac each, just enough to moisten our lips. We drank it and Las said thoughtfully:
"Just what came over me yesterday, eh? No, tell me, why the hell would any rational man go to Kazakhstan on vacation? Spain maybe. Or Turkey. Or Beijing, for the festival of kisses, if you're looking for extreme tourism. But what is there to do in Kazakhstan?"
I shrugged.
"It was a strange mental aberration," Las said. "I was just thinking…"
"And you decided to get off the train," I prompted.
"Right. And then get on a train going the other way."
"A sound decision," I said, quite sincerely. In the first place, we'd have one suspect less. And in the second place, a good man would be saved.
"In a couple of hours we'll reach Saratov," Las said out loud. "That's where I'll get off. I'll phone one of my business partners and ask him to meet me there. Saratov's a good town."
"What makes it so good?" I inquired.
"Well…" Las poured another two glasses, a bit more generously this time. "There have been people living in the territory around Saratov since time immemorial. That gives it an advantage over the regions of the Far North and the like. During czarist times it was the capital of a province, but a backward one-no wonder Chatsky said in Griboedov's Woe from Wit "into the wilderness, to Saratov!" But nowadays it's the industrial and cultural center of the region, a major railroad junction."
"Okay," I said cautiously. I couldn't tell if he was being serious or just snowing me, and the word "Saratov" could easily be replaced by "Kostroma," "Rostov," or any other city.
"The most valuable thing is the major railway junction," Las explained. "I'll get a bite to eat in some McDonalds and then set off back home. And there's an old cathedral there too-I'll definitely take a look at that. So my journey's not completely wasted, is it?"
Yes, our unknown opponent had definitely been overly cautious. The suggestion had been too weak and it had dissipated in only twenty-four hours.
"Tell me, what was it that made you suddenly go dashing off to Kazakhstan?" I asked carefully.
"I told you, I just felt like it," Las sighed.
"You just felt like it, and that's all?"
"Well… I'm sitting there, not bothering anyone, changing the strings on my guitar. Somebody got a wrong number, they were looking for some Kazakh… I can't even remember the name. I hung up and started wondering how many Kazakhs there were living in Moscow. And right then I had just two strings on my guitar, like a dombra. I tightened them up and started strumming. It was strange. There was even a kind of melody… sort of haunting, alluring. And I just thought- why don't I go to Kazakhstan?"
"A melody?" I asked.
"Uh huh. Sort of alluring, calling to me. The steppes, kumis, all that stuff…"
Could it really have been Witezslav? Magic is usually imperceptible to an ordinary person. But vampires' magic is something halfway between genuine magic and very powerful hypnosis. It requires a glance, a sound, a touch-some kind of contact, even the very tiniest, between vampire and human being. And it leaves a trace-the sensation of a glance, a sound, a touch…
Had the old vampire duped us all?
"Anton," Las said thoughtfully. "You don't really trade in milk products."
I didn't answer.
"If I'd done anything that would interest the FSB, I'd be pissing myself," Las went on. "Only I get the feeling this is something that would frighten the FSB."
"Let's not get into that, okay?" I suggested. "It would be best that way."
"Uh huh," Las agreed promptly. "Right. So what should I do-get off at Saratov?"
"Get off and make straight for home," I said, nodding as I stood up. "Thanks for the cognac."
"Yes sir," said Las. "Always glad to be of help."
I couldn't tell if he was clowning about or not. Evidently that way of speaking just comes naturally to some people.
After a fairly solemn handshake with Las, I went out into the corridor and set off toward our car.
So it was Witezslav then? What a cute trickster… A tried and tested agent of the Inquisition.
I was bursting with exci
tement. Obviously, having become unimaginably powerful, Witezslav was capable of disguising himself as absolutely anyone. Even that two-year-old boy peeping cautiously out of his compartment. Even that fat girl with the huge, vulgar gold earrings. Even that conductor who fawned on Edgar-and why not?
Even Edgar or Kostya…
I stopped, gazing at the Inquisitor and the vampire standing in the corridor outside the door of our compartment. What if…
No, stop, this is insanity. Everything is possible, but not everything happens. I'm me, Edgar's Edgar, Witezslav's Witezslav. Otherwise it's just not possible to do anything.
"I have some information," I said, standing between Kostya and Edgar.
"Well?" Edgar asked with a nod.
"Las was influenced by a vampire. He remembers… something like music luring him into the journey."
"How poetic," Edgar snorted, but he wasn't smiling. He nodded approvingly. "Music? That certainly sounds like bloodsu-… Sorry, Kostya. Like vampires."
"You could use the correct term: Like hemoglobin-dependent Others," Kostya smiled with just his lips.
"Hemoglobin's got nothing to do with it, as you know," Edgar snapped. "Well then. It's a lead." He suddenly smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "You never give up. Well, now the train has a chance. Wait for me here."
Edgar moved off quickly down the corridor. I thought he was on the way to his troops, but Edgar went into the captain's compartment and closed the door.
"What scheme has he come up with now?" asked Kostya.
"How should I know?" I glanced sideways at him. "Maybe there are some special spells for detecting vampires?"
"No," Kostya snapped. "It's exactly the same as for all the Others. If Witezslav's hiding among the humans you can't winkle him out with any spells. It's all so stupid…"
He was feeling nervous now-and I could understand him. After all, it's tough being a member of the most despised minority in the world of Others-and to have to hunt down one of your own fellows. He once told me-when I was a young, stupid, bold vampire hunter, "There aren't many of us. When someone departs, we sense it immediately."
"Kostya, did you sense Witezslav's death?"
"How do you mean, Anton?"
"You once told me you can sense the death of… your own kind."
"We sense it if the vampire's registered. When it's the registration seal that kills him, the recoil is agony for everyone for miles around. Witezslav didn't have any seal."
"But Edgar's obviously come up with something," I muttered. "Some special kind of Inquisitor's trick, maybe?"
"Probably." Kostya frowned. "Why is it like that, Anton? Why are we the only ones who are always persecuted… even by our own side? The Dark Magicians kill us too!"
Suddenly he was speaking to me the way he used to. Like when he was still an innocent vampire-boy… but then, what kind of innocence could a vampire have? It was terrible, it used to tear me apart-those cursed questions and that cursed predestination. And now I was hearing it from someone who had already crossed the line. Who had started to hunt and kill…
"You kill… for food," I said.
"And killing for power, for money, for amusement-is that nobler?" Kostya asked bitterly. He turned toward me and looked into my eyes. "Why do you talk to me so… squeamishly? We used to be friends. What happened?"
"You became a Higher Vampire."
"And so what?"
"I know how your kind become Higher Vampires, Kostya."
He looked into my eyes for a few seconds. And then he started to smile. With that special vampire smile, as if there are no fangs in his mouth yet, but you can already feel them on your throat.
"Ah yes… Drink the blood of young virgins and children, kill them… The old, classical recipe. That's how dear old Witezslav became a Higher One… You mean you never once looked in my file?"
"No," I replied.
He actually went limp. And his smile became pitiful and confused.
"Not even just once?"
"No," I said, already beginning to realize I'd made a mistake somewhere along the line.
Kostya made a clumsy gesture with his hands and started talking in nothing but conjunctions, interjections, and pronouns: "Why that… it's… look… but you… and I… yes… and you…"
"I don't like looking in a friend's file," I said, and added awkwardly, "not even a former friend's."
"And I thought you'd looked at it," said Kostya. "Right. This is the twenty-first century, Anton. Look…" He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his flask. "A concentrate of donor's blood. Twelve people give blood-and there's no need to kill anyone. Of course, hemoglobin has nothing to do with it! The emotions a person feels when he gives blood are far more important. You can't imagine how many people are mortally afraid, but they still go to the doctor and give blood for members of their family. My own personal formula… 'Saushkins's prescription.' Only it's usually called 'Saushkin's cocktail.' That must be in the file."
He looked at me triumphantly… and he probably couldn't understand why I wasn't smiling. Why I didn't mumble guiltily, "Kostya, forgive me, I thought you were a low son of a bitch and a murderer… but you're an honorable vampire, a good vampire, a modern vampire…"
Yes, that's what he was. Honorable, good, and modern. He hadn't wasted his time in the Hematological Research Institute.
Only why had he told me about the formula? About the blood from twelve people?
I knew why. How could I have known what was in the Fuaran? How could I have known that the spell required precisely the blood of twelve people?
Witezslav didn't have the blood of twelve people with him. He couldn't have worked the spell in the Fuaran and increased his powers.
But Kostya had had his flask.
"Anton, what's wrong with you?" Kostya asked. "Why don't you say something?"
Edgar came out of the conductor's compartment, saying something, shook the captain of the train by the hand and came toward us-still with a satisfied smile on his face.
I looked at Kostya. And read everything in his eyes.
He knew that I knew.
"Where are you hiding the book?" I asked. "Quick. This is your last chance. Your only chance. Don't destroy yourself."
And at that moment he struck. Without any magic-unless you can call a vampire's inhuman strength magic. The world exploded in a white flash, the teeth in my mouth crunched and my jaw suddenly went numb. I was sent flying down the corridor and flew up against a passenger who'd come out at the wrong moment for a breath of air. I probably had him to thank for the fact that I didn't lose consciousness-in fact, it was the passenger who flaked out instead of me.
Kostya stood there, rubbing his fist, and his body flickered, moving rapidly into the Twilight and back out again, slipping between the worlds. That ability the vampires have that had once astounded me so much… Gennady, Kostya's father, walking toward me across the courtyard, Kostya's mother Polina, with her arm around the shoulders of a vampire who's still a little kid… we're law-abiding… we don't kill anyone… what a surprise-to have a Light Magician as a neighbor…
"Kostya!" Edgar exclaimed, coming to a halt.
Kostya slowly turned his head toward Edgar. I couldn't see, but I sensed him bare his fangs.
Edgar flung his hands out in front of him and the corridor was blocked off by a dull, translucent wall that looked like a layer of rock crystal. Maybe the Inquisitor still hadn't realized what was going on, but his instincts were in good order.
Kostya made a low, howling sound and pressed his hands against the wall. The wall held. The car lurched and swayed over the points and behind my back a woman launched into a slow, measured wail. Kostya lurched backward and forward, trying to break through Edgar's line of defense.
I raised my hand and directed a Gray Prayer at Kostya-an ancient spell against non-life. The Gray Prayer tears to shreds any organic matter raised from the grave that possesses no consciousness of its own and only lives through the will of
a sorcerer. It slows vampires down and weakens them.
Kostya swung around when the fine gray threads wrapped themselves around him in the Twilight. He took a step toward me, shook himself-and the spell was torn apart before my eyes. I'd never seen such crude but effective work before.
"Don't get in my way!" he bellowed. Kostya's features had lengthened and sharpened, his fangs were all the way out now. "I don't want… I don't want to kill you…"
I managed to get up and crawl over the felled passenger into a compartment. On the top bunks, two men of impressive dimensions started squealing-outdoing the woman who was yelling outside by the door of the washroom. There were glasses and bottles rolling around on the floor underneath me.
In a single bound Kostya appeared in the doorway. He cast a glance at the men and they fell silent.
"Surrender…" I whispered, sitting up on the floor beside the table. The way my jaw moved felt strange-it didn't seem to be dislocated, but every movement was agony.
Kostya laughed. "I'll finish you all off… if I want to. Come with me, Anton. Come! I don't want to hurt anyone. What's this Inquisition to you? Or these Watches? We'll change everything."
He was speaking absolutely sincerely. Actually pleading.
Why do you always have to become stronger than anyone else before you can permit yourself weakness?
"Come to your senses…" I whispered.
"You fool! You fool!" Kostya growled, taking a step toward me. He reached out his hand-the fingers already ended in claws. "You…"
A half-full bottle of Posolskaya vodka, with its contents lazily draining out, rolled right into my hand.
"It's time we drank to Bruderschaft," I said.
Kostya managed to dodge away, but a few splashes still got him in the face. He howled and threw his head back. Even if you're the Highest Vampire of them all, for you alcohol is still poison.
I stood up, grabbed a full glass off the little table and drew my hand back. I shouted, "Night Watch! You're under arrest! Put your hands above your head! Withdraw your fangs!"
At precisely that moment three Inquisitors appeared in the doorway. Either Edgar had summoned them, or they'd sensed something was wrong. They grabbed hold of Kostya, who was still wiping his bloody face. One of them tried to press a gray metal disk against his neck-something charged up to the hilt with magic…
Twilight Watch Page 33
