And the next moment Kostya showed what he was capable of.
A kick sent the glass flying out of my hand and flattened my back against the window. The frame gave a loud crack. And then where Kostya had been standing there was nothing but a gray blur-the punches and kicks followed each other faster than any movie hero could have thrown them. There were splashes of blood and scraps of flesh flying in all directions, as if someone was grinding up a piece of fresh meat in a blender. Then Kostya jumped into the corridor, glanced around, and dove out through the window, as if he hadn't even noticed the twin panes of thick glass.
The glass didn't notice him either.
I caught one last glimpse of Kostya outside the window, tumbling down the embankment-and then the train hurtled on.
I'd heard about that vampire trick, but I'd always thought it was pure fantasy. Even in the textbooks the phrase "walking though walls and panes of glass in the real world" was marked with a prudish "n.p."-for "not proven."
Two of the Inquisitors were lying in a shapeless heap in the compartment-so badly mutilated there was no point in trying to find any kind of pulse.
The third one had been lucky-he was sitting on a bunk, squeezing shut a wound in his stomach.
There was blood slopping down over his feet.
The passengers on the upper bunks weren't yelling any more-one had covered his head with a pillow, the other was staring down with glassy eyes and giggling quietly.
I climbed down off the table and staggered out into the corridor.
Chapter 5
AS THE HERO OF A CERTAIN HOARY OLD JOKE PUT IT, "BUT NOW LIFE IS returning to normal!"
The passengers in the captain's car were sitting in their compartments and staring vacantly out the windows. For some reason people walking through the car lengthened their stride and only looked straight ahead. In one closed compartment there were two bodies packed in black plastic sacks and the wounded Inquisitor, who was lying down after a colleague had treated him with healing spells for about fifteen minutes. Another two Inquisitors were standing on guard at the door of our compartment.
"How did you guess?" Edgar asked.
He'd fixed my jaw in about three minutes, after he'd helped his wounded comrade. I hadn't asked what the problem was- simple bruising, a crack or a break. He'd fixed it, and that was all I cared about. But my two front teeth were still missing, and it felt weird to feel the place with my tongue.
"I remembered something about the Fuaran…" I said. In the commotion of the first few minutes after Kostya bolted, I'd had time to think of what to tell him. "The witch… you know, Arina… said that according to the legends, for the spells in the Fuaran to work, you had to have the blood of twelve people. Just a drop from each one would do."
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Edgar asked sharply.
"I didn't figure it was important. At the time I thought the whole story of the Fuaran was pure fantasy… And then Kostya mentioned that his cocktail was made from the blood of twelve people, and it clicked."
"I see. Witezslav didn't have twelve people handy," Edgar said with a nod. "If only you'd told me right away… if only you'd told me…"
"You knew about the formula of the cocktail?"
"Yes, of course. The Inquisition has discussed Saushkin's cocktail. The stuff doesn't work any miracles, it won't increase a vampire's strength beyond the natural limits. But it does allow a vampire to rise to his maximum potential without killing anyone…"
"Rise or sink?" I asked.
"If there's no killing involved, then rise," Edgar replied coolly. "And you didn't know… would you believe it…"
I said nothing.
Yes, I hadn't known. I hadn't wanted to know. What a hero. And now two Inquisitors were wearing black polyethylene and no one could do anything to help them…
"Let's drop it." Edgar decided. "What point is there now… He's flying after us, do you see?"
I glanced at the compass. Yes, it looked that way. The distance between us and Kostya, or rather, the book, hadn't changed, although the train was hurtling along at forty or fifty miles an hour. He had to be flying after us. He wasn't making a run for it after all.
"There has to be something he wants in Central Asia…" said Edgar, perplexed. "The only thing is…"
"We should summon the Great Ones," I said.
"They'll come," Edgar said casually. "I've informed them of everything, put up a portal… they're deciding what to do."
"I know what they're deciding," I muttered. "Zabulon's demanding that Kostya be handed over to him. And, of course, together with the Fuaran."
"No one's going to get their hands on the book, don't you worry."
"Apart from the Inquisition?"
Edgar didn't answer that.
I made myself more comfortable. Felt my jaw.
It didn't hurt.
But I was upset about the teeth. I'd have to go to a dentist or a healer. The trouble was that even the very best Light healers couldn't fix your teeth without any pain. They simply couldn't do it…
The pointer of the compass quivered, but maintained its direction. The distance hadn't changed-six or seven miles. So Kostya must have undressed and transformed into a bat… or maybe some other creature? A gigantic rat, a wolf… That wasn't important. He'd transformed, probably into a bat, and he was flying after the train, clutching a bundle containing his clothes and the book in his paws. Where had he been hiding it, the son of a bitch? On his body? In a secret pocket in his clothes?
He was a son of a bitch all right… but he had some nerve! The sheer insolence of it-to join in the hunt for himself, to come up with theories, give advice…
He'd duped everyone.
But in the name of what? The desire for absolute power? The chances of victory weren't all that good, and Kostya had never been particularly ambitious. Well, he was ambitious, of course, but without any manic ideas about ruling the world.
And why wasn't he making a run for it now? He had the blood of three Inquisitors on his hands. That was something that would never be forgiven, even if he gave himself up and confessed, even if he gave back the book. He ought to run, after first destroying the book that the tracking spell was linked to. But no, he was still carrying the book and following the train. That was just plain crazy… Or was he hoping for negotiations?
"How were you expecting to identify Witezslav among the passengers?" I asked Edgar.
"What?" The Inquisitor, lost in thought, answered after a pause. "A simple trick, the same thing you used: alcohol intolerance. We were going to get dressed up in white coats and carry out a medical inspection of the entire train. Supposedly looking for people with atypical pneumonia. We would have given everyone a thermometer well soaked in medical spirit. Anyone who couldn't take it in his hands or was burned would have been a suspect."
I nodded. It might have worked. Of course, we'd have been taking a risk, but taking risks was our job. And the Great Ones would have been somewhere close at hand, on call, ready to strike with all their might if necessary.
"The portal's opening…" Edgar grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me down onto the bunk. We sat beside each other, with our legs pulled in. A trembling white radiance filled in the compartment. There was a low exclamation-Gesar had banged his head against a bunk as he emerged from the portal.
Then Zabulon appeared-in contrast with my boss, he had a mellow smile on his face.
Gesar rubbed the top of his head, looked at me dourly and barked, "You might as well have put up a portal in a Zaporozhets automobile… What's the situation?"
"The passengers have been pacified, we've washed away the blood, the wounded agent is receiving treatment," Edgar reported. "The suspect, Konstantin Saushkin, is moving parallel with the train at a speed of forty miles an hour."
"No point in calling him a suspect any more…" Zabulon said caustically. "Ah, what a talented boy he was… what promise he had."
"You don't seem to have much luck with promising young colleague
s, Zabulon," Edgar said in a quiet voice. "Somehow they don't stay around for very long."
The two Dark Magicians glared hostilely at each other. Edgar had old scores to settle with Zabulon-ever since that business with Fafnir and the Finnish sect. No one likes to be used as a pawn.
"Please refrain from sarcasm, gentlemen," said Gesar. "I could say a few things on my own account… to you, Zabulon, and to you, Edgar… How powerful is he?"
"Very powerful," said Edgar, still looking at Zabulon. "The guy was already a Higher…"
"Vampire," Zabulon said with a contemptuous laugh.
"Higher Vampire. Without much experience, of course… far less than you. But then he used the book, and became stronger than Witezslav. And that's already serious. I'm inclined to believe that Witezslav was on the same level as you are, Great Ones."
"How did he finish Witezslav off?" Zabulon asked. "Do you have any theories?"
"I do now," Edgar said with a nod. "Vampires have a hierarchy of their own. The boy challenged him to a duel for preeminence. It's not very… spectacular. A battle of minds, a duel of wills. Rather like a crude stare-down. After a few seconds one backs down and submits totally to the other's will. Whenever the Inquisition came up against vampires, Witezslav always subdued them easily. But this time he lost."
"And was killed," said Zabulon, nodding.
"That's not necessarily the outcome," Edgar observed. "Kostya could have made him his slave. But either he was afraid of losing control or he decided to see it through to the end. Basically, he ordered Witezslav to dematerialize. And Witezslav had no choice but to obey."
"A talented boy," Gesar said ironically. "I won't lie, Witezslav's final destruction doesn't exactly upset me… Okay, Konstantin has become more powerful than Witezslav. Just how powerful, what's your evaluation?"
Edgar shrugged.
"How can I evaluate that? He's more powerful than I am. I assume he's more powerful than either of you. Maybe more powerful than all of us taken together."
"Don't start a panic," Zabulon muttered. "He's inexperienced. Magic isn't arm-wrestling, magic's an art. When you have a sword in your hand, the important thing is to strike a precise blow, not just swing wildly with all your might…"
"I'm not panicking," Edgar said in a gentle voice. "It's just hard to assess his level of power. It's very high. I used the Crystal Shield-Kostya very nearly broke through it."
The Great Ones exchanged glances.
"The Crystal Shield can't be broken," Gesar observed. "And anyway, how could you… all right, I understand. More artifacts from the special vault."
"He very nearly broke through the shield," Edgar repeated.
"And how did you manage to survive?" Gesar asked me. Maybe I imagined it, but I thought I heard a note of sympathy in his voice.
"Kostya didn't want to kill me," I said simply. "He went for Edgar… at first I hit him with the Gray Prayer,"-Gesar nodded in approval-"… and then I found some vodka and I splashed it in his face. Kostya went wild. But he still didn't want to kill me. Then the Inquisitors distracted him, he tore them to shreds and left."
"A purely Russian approach-solving a problem with a glass of vodka," Gesar said morosely. "What for? Why did you provoke him? He's not a novice. It must have been obvious you couldn't handle him. Was I supposed to present Svetlana with your remains afterward?"
"I got carried away myself," I admitted. "It was all just too unexpected. And then when Kostya started saying 'Come with me, I don't want to hurt anyone'…"
"He doesn't want to hurt anyone," Gesar said bitterly. "A vampire reformer. A progressive lord of the world…"
"Gesar, we have to decide what to do," Zabulon said quietly. "I can have the fighters from the military airport scrambled."
Neither magician spoke for a while.
I imagined jet fighters screeching through the sky in pursuit of a bat, blazing away at it with their cannons and firing their rockets…
A phantasmagorical vision.
"Helicopters then…" Gesar said thoughtfully. "No. That's nonsense, Zabulon. He'll just brush any humans aside."
"A bomb after all, then?" Zabulon asked curiously.
"No!" Gesar shook his head. "No. Not here. And it's too late for that… he's on the alert. We have to strike at him with magic."
Zabulon nodded. Then he suddenly started giggling quietly.
"What's this?" Gesar asked.
"All my life…" said Zabulon. "Would you believe it, my old enemy? All my life I've dreamed of working in harness with you! Well now I really am… from hatred to love…"
"You really are an absolute goon," Gesar said in a quiet voice.
"We're all a bit touched in the head," Zabulon giggled. "Well then? You and me? Or shall we bring in our colleagues? They can pump in Power, and we can be the spearhead, striking the blow."
Gesar shook his head. "No, Zabulon. We shouldn't go near Konstantin. I have a different suggestion…"
He looked at me.
I felt at the broken stump of a tooth with my tongue. That was a real drag…
"I'm ready, Gesar."
"Yes, there's a chance," Zabulon said, with a nod of approval. "Since Kostya still allows sentimental considerations to influence him… the only thing is, will you be able to strike at him, Anton?"
I didn't answer immediately. I had to think about it seriously.
There was no question of an arrest. I'd have to strike swiftly and surely and kill him. Become the spearhead, the focus of the Power that would be pumped into me by Gesar, Zabulon, Edgar… and maybe other magicians as well. Sure, I was less experienced than the Great Ones. But there was a chance I could get close to Kostya without a fight
On account of those "sentimental considerations."
The alternative was simple-the Great Ones would gather all their Power into a single fist. Even Nadya's Power would be required-and Gesar would demand that Svetlana initiate our daughter…
There was no alternative.
"I'll kill Kostya," I said.
"Wrong," Gesar said in a low voice. "Say it right, watchman!"
"I'll subdue the vampire," I whispered.
Gesar nodded.
"And don't get all introspective about it, Gorodetsky," Zabulon added. "None of your intellectual sniveling. That nice boy Kostya doesn't exist any more. And he never did. Maybe he hasn't killed anybody for blood, but he's still a vampire. Non-life."
Gesar nodded in support.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Non-life.
He was lacking that thing that we simply call a soul.
A certain vital component that even we Others can't define. From early in his childhood-thanks to his parents. As the boy grew up, the doctor in the local clinic had listened to his heart and admired his robust health. He had turned from a boy into a man, and no girl had ever said his lips were cold when she kissed them. He could have had children-perfectly ordinary children with a perfectly ordinary human woman.
But it was all non-life. It was all borrowed and stolen-and when Kostya died, his body would instantly crumble to dust… because it had already been dead for a long, long time.
We're all condemned to death from the moment we're born.
But at least we can live until we die.
"Leave me alone with Anton," Gesar said. "I'll try to prepare him."
I heard Zabulon and Edgar stand up. They went out into the corridor. There was a rustling sound-Gesar had evidently shielded us against observation. And then he asked, "Are you suffering?"
"No." I shook my head without opening my eyes. "I'm thinking. Kostya tried not to behave like a vampire, after all…"
"And what conclusions have you reached?"
"He won't be able to hold on." I opened my eyes and looked at Gesar. "He won't be able to hold on, he'll lose control. He's managed to subdue the physiological need for living blood, but as for all the rest… he's non-life among the living and that's a torment to him. Sooner or later Kostya will lose contro
l."
Gesar waited.
"He's already lost control," I said. "When he killed Witezslav and the Inquisitors… one of the Inquisitors was a Light One, right?"
Gesar nodded.
"I'll do the right thing," I promised. "I feel sorry for Kostya, but there's nothing to be done."
"I have faith in you, Anton," Gesar said. "And now tell me what you really wanted to ask."
"What keeps you in the Night Watch, boss?" I asked.
Gesar smiled.
"When you get right down to it, we're all tarred with the same brush," I said. "We don't fight the Dark Ones, we fight the ones that even the Dark Ones reject-the psychopaths, the maniacs, the lawless ones. For obvious reasons there are more of them among the vampires and the werewolves. The Dark Ones do the same… the Day Watch hunts the Light Ones who want to do good to everyone all at once… basically the ones who might reveal our existence to human beings. The Inquisition supposedly stands above the fray, but what it actually does is make sure the Watches don't take their functions seriously. Make sure the Dark Ones don't attempt to gain formal control over the human world and the Light Ones don't try to wipe out the Dark Ones completely… Gesar, the Night Watch and the Day Watch are just two halves of a single whole."
Gesar just looked at me for a while without saying anything.
"Were things… deliberately arranged that way?" I asked. Then I answered my own question. "Yes, probably. The young ones, the newly initiated Others, might not have accepted a single Watch for Light Ones and Dark Ones: I can't do that-go out on patrol with a vampire! I would have been outraged myself… And so two Watches were set up, the lower ranks hunt each other fervently, the leaders plot and scheme-out of sheer boredom-just to keep up appearances. But it's a joint leadership."
Gesar sighed and took out a cigar. He cut its tip off and lit it.
"And like a fool," I muttered, keeping my eyes on Gesar, "I always used to wonder how we managed to survive at all. The watches of Samara, of Novogorod Veliky, of little Kireevsky village in the Tomsk region. All supposedly independent. But basically, when there's any kind of problem, they come running to us, to Moscow… Okay, so the arrangement's not de jure, it's all de facto-but the Moscow Watch runs all the Watches in Russia."
Twilight Watch Page 34
