I followed Svetlana through into the only room. At least things were a bit more cozy in here. The couch had a warm orange glow—not all of it though, just the spot by the old-fashioned standard lamp. Two walls were covered with single-box bookshelves stacked on top of each other, seven shelves high… Clear enough.
I was beginning to understand her, not just as a professional target and a potential victim of a Dark Magician, not just as the unwitting cause of a catastrophe, but as a person. An introverted, bookish child, with a mass of complexes and her head full of crazy ideals and a childish faith in the beautiful prince who was searching for her and would surely find her. Work as a doctor, a few girlfriends, a few male friends, and a great deal of loneliness. Conscientious work almost in the spirit of a builder of communism, occasional visits to the cafe and occasional loves. And each evening like every other one, on the couch, with a book, with the phone lying beside her, with the television muttering something soapy and comforting.
How many of you there still are, girls and boys of various ages, raised by naive parents in the sixties. How many of you there are, so unhappy, not knowing how to be happy. How I long to take pity on you, how I long to help you. To touch you through the Twilight—gently, with no force at all. To give you just a little confidence in yourself, just a tiny bit of optimism, a gram of willpower, a crumb of irony. To help you, so that you could help others.
But I can’t.
Every action taken by Good grants permission for an active response by Evil. The Treaty! The Watches! The balance of peace in the world?
I have to live with it or go crazy, break the law, walk through the crowd handing out unsolicited gifts, changing destinies, wondering which corner I’ll turn and find my old friends and eternal enemies, waiting to dispatch me into the Twilight. Forever…
«Anton, how’s your mother?»
Ah, yes. As Anton Gorodetsky, the patient, I had an old mother. She had osteochondrosis and a full set of old folks’ ailments. She was Svetlana’s patient too.
«Not too bad, she’s okay. I’m the one who’s…«
«Lie down.»
I pulled off my shirt and sweater and lay down on the couch. Svetlana squatted down beside me. She ran her warm fingers over my stomach and even palpated my liver.
«Does that hurt?»
«No… not now.»
«How much did you drink?»
As I replied to the girl’s questions, I looked for the answers in her mind. No need to make it look like I was dying. Yes… I had dull pains, not too sharp… After food… I’d just had a little twinge…
«So far it’s just gastritis, Anton…« said Svetlana, taking her hands away. «But that’s bad enough, you know that. I’ll write you a prescription…«
She got up, walked to the door, and took her purse off the hanger.
All this time I was observing the vortex. There was nothing happening; my arrival hadn’t triggered any intensification in the Inferno, but it hadn’t done anything to weaken it either…
»Anton …« I recognized the voice coming through the Twilight as Olga’s. «Anton, the vortex has lost three centimeters of height. You must have made a right move somewhere. Think, Anton .»
A right move? When? I hadn’t done anything except invent a reason to visit!
«Anton, do you have any of your ulcer medicine left?» Svetlana asked, looking across at me from the table. I nodded as I tucked in my shirt.
«Yes, a few capsules.»
«When you get home, take one. And buy some more tomorrow. Then take them for two weeks, before sleep.»
Svetlana was obviously one of those doctors who believe in pills. That didn’t bother me, I believed in them too. All of us—the Others, that is—have an irrational awe of science; even in cases when elementary magical influence would do the job, we reach out for the painkillers and the antibiotics.
«Svetlana… I hope you don’t mind me asking,» I said, looking away guiltily. «Have you got problems of some kind?»
«Where did you get that idea, Anton?» she asked, continuing to write and not even glancing in my direction. But she tensed up.
«Just a feeling. Has someone offended you somehow?»
The girl put down her pen and looked at me with curiosity and gentle sympathy in her eyes.
«No, Anton. There’s nothing. I expect it’s just the winter. The winter’s too long.»
She gave a forced smile and the Inferno vortex swayed above her head, shifting its stalk greedily…
«The sky’s gray, the world’s gray. And I don’t feel like doing anything… everything seems meaningless. I’m tired, Anton. It’ll pass when spring comes.»
«You’re depressed, Svetlana,» I blurted out before I realized that I’d drawn the diagnosis out of her own memory. But she didn’t pay any attention.
«Probably. Never mind, when the sun peeps out… Thanks for feeling concerned, Anton.»
This time her smile was more genuine, but it was still pained.
I heard Olga’s voice whispering through the Twilight:
«Anton, it’s down ten centimeters! The vortex is losing height! The analysts are working on it, Anton. Keep talking to her!»
What was I doing right?
That question was more terrifying than «What am I doing wrong?» Make a mistake, and all you have to do is make a sharp change of approach. But if you’ve hit the target without knowing how you did it, then you’re in a real fix. It’s tough being a bad shot who’s hit the bull’s-eye by chance, struggling to remember how you moved your hands and screwed up your eyes, how much pressure your finger applied to the trigger… and not wanting to believe that the bullet was directed to the target by a random gust of wind.
I caught myself sitting and looking at Svetlana. And she was looking at me. Seriously, without speaking.
«I’m sorry,» I said. «I’m sorry, Svetlana, forgive me. I came barging in late in the evening, and now I’m interfering in your private life…«
«That’s all right, Anton. Actually, I like it. How would you like some tea?»
«Down twenty centimeters, Anton! Say yes!»
Even those few centimeters skimmed off the height of the vortex were a gift from the gods. They were human lives. Tens or even hundreds of lives snatched away from the inevitable catastrophe. I didn’t know how I was doing it, but I was increasing Svetlana’s resistance to the Inferno. And the vortex was beginning to melt away.
«Thanks, Svetlana. I’d love some.»
The girl got up and went into the kitchen. I followed her. What was going on here?
«Anton, we have a provisional analysis…«
I thought I glimpsed the white silhouette of a bird through the curtained window—it flitted on along the wall, following Svetlana.
»Ignat followed the usual plan. Compliments, interest, infatuation, love. She liked it, but it made the vortex grow. You’re using a different approach —sympathy. Passive sympathy .»
No recommendations followed, which meant the analysts hadn’t reached any conclusions yet. But at least now I knew what I had to do next: look at her sadly, smile sympathetically, drink tea, and say: «Your eyes look tired, Sveta…«
We’d be talking to each other like friends, right? Of course we would. I was certain of that.
«Anton?»
I’d been staring at her too long. Svetlana was standing by the stove, not moving, holding a kettle with its shiny surface dulled by condensation. She wasn’t exactly frightened, that feeling was already beyond her, completely drained out of her by the black vortex. It was more like she was embarrassed.
«Is something wrong?» she asked.
«Yes. It feels awkward, Svetlana. I just turned up in the middle of the night, dumped my problems on you, and now I’m hanging around, waiting for tea…«
«Anton, please stay. You know, I’ve had such a strange day, and being here alone… Let’s call it my fee for the consultation, shall we? That is… you staying for a while and talking to me,» she explained
hastily.
I nodded. Any word might be a mistake.
«The vortex has shrunk another fifteen centimeters. You’ve chosen the right tactic, Anton!»
But I hadn’t chosen anything, why couldn’t those lousy analysts understand that! I’d used the powers of an Other to enter someone else’s home; I’d interfered with someone else’s memory so I could stay there longer… and now I was just going with the flow.
And hoping the current would bring me out where I needed to be.
«Would you like some jam, Anton?»
«Yes…«
A mad tea party! Move over, Lewis Carroll! The maddest tea parties aren’t the ones in the rabbit’s burrow, with the Mad Hatter, the Sleepy Dormouse, and the March Hare around the table.
A small kitchen in a small apartment, tea left over from the morning, topped up with boiling water, raspberry jam from a three-liter jar—this is the stage on which unknown actors play out genuinely mad tea parties. This is the place, the only place where they say the words that they would never say otherwise. This is where they pull nasty little secrets out of the darkness with a conjuror’s flourish, where they take the family skeletons out of the closet, where they discover the cyanide sprinkled in the sugar bowl. And you can never find a reason to get up and leave, because every time they pour you more tea, offer you jam, and move the sugar bowl a bit closer…
«Anton, I’ve known you for a year already…«
A shadow, a brief, perplexed shadow in the girl’s eyes. Her memory obligingly fills in the blanks, her memory hands her explanations for why a man as likeable and good as me is still no more than her patient.
«Only from my work, of course, but now… I feel I’d like to talk to you somehow… as a neighbor. As a friend. Is that okay?»
«Of course, Sveta.»
A grateful smile. It’s not so easy to use the familiar form of my name. From Anton to Antoshka is too big a step.
«Thank you, Anton. You know… I just don’t know where I am. For the last three days now.»
Of course, it’s not so easy to know where you are when you have the sword of Nemesis hanging over you. Blind, furious Nemesis, escaped from the power of the dead gods…
«Today… never mind…«
She wanted to tell me about Ignat. She didn’t understand what was happening to her, why a chance encounter had almost gotten all the way to the bed. She felt like she was going insane. Everybody who comes within the Others’ sphere of activity has thoughts like that.
«Svetlana, perhaps… perhaps you’ve fallen out with someone?»
That was a crude move. But I was in a hurry. I didn’t even know why myself; so far the vortex was stable, it was even shrinking. But I was in a hurry.
«Why do you think that?»
Svetlana wasn’t surprised and she didn’t think the question was too personal. I shrugged and tried to explain:
«It often happens to me.»
«No, Anton. I haven’t fallen out with anyone. I’ve no one to fall out with, and no reason. It’s something inside me…«
That’s where you’re wrong, girl, I thought. You’ve no idea how wrong you are. Black vortices the size of the one hanging over you appear only once in every hundred years. And that means someone hates you with the kind of power rarely granted to anyone… even to an Other.
«You probably need a vacation,» I suggested. «To get away somewhere… far away to the back of beyond…«
When I said that, I realized there was a solution to the problem after all. Maybe not a complete solution; it would still be fatal for Svetlana. She could go away. Out into the taiga or the tundra, to the North Pole. And then it would happen there—the volcano would erupt, the asteroid would hit, or the cruise missile with the nuclear warheads would strike. The Inferno would erupt, but Svetlana would be the only one to suffer.
It’s a good thing that solutions like that are as impossible for us as the murder suggested by the Dark Magician.
«What are you thinking, Anton?»
«Sveta, what’s happened to you?»
«Too abrupt, Anton! Steer the conversation away from that, Anton!»
«Is it really that obvious?»
«Yes.»
Svetlana lowered her eyes. Any moment I was expecting Olga to shout that the black vortex had begun its final, catastrophic spurt of growth, that I’d ruined everything, and now I’d have thousands of human lives on my conscience forever… but Olga didn’t say a word.
«I betrayed…«
«What?»
«I betrayed my mother.»
She looked at me seriously, not a trace of the disgusting posturing of someone who’s pulled some really low-down trick and is boasting about it.
«I don’t understand, Sveta…«
«My mother’s ill, Anton. Her kidneys. She needs regular dialysis… but that’s only a half-measure. Well, anyway, they suggested a transplant to me.»
«Why suggest that to you?» I still didn’t understand.
«They suggested I should give my mother one kidney. It would almost certainly be accepted; I even had all the tests done… and then I refused. I’m… I’m afraid.»
I didn’t say anything. Everything was clear now. Something about me must have clicked; something about me had made Svetlana feel she could be totally open with me. So it was her mother.
Her mother!
» Well done, Anton. The guys are already on their way .» Olga’s voice sounded triumphant. And so it should—we’d found the Black Magician! «Would you believe it, at first contact nobody felt a thing, they thought there was nothing to her… Well done. Calm her down, Anton, talk to her, comfort her …«
You can’t stop your ears in the Twilight. You have to listen when you’re spoken to.
«Svetlana, you know no one has the right to demand…«
«Yes, of course. I told my mother, and she told me to forget about it. She said she’d kill herself if I decided to go ahead with it. She said, what difference did it make to her, when she was going to die anyway? And it wasn’t worth crippling myself for her. I shouldn’t have told her anything. I should have just donated the kidney. She could have found out later, after the operation. You can even give birth with one kidney… there have been cases.»
Kidneys. What nonsense. What a petty problem. One hour’s work for a genuine White Magician. But we weren’t allowed to heal people; every genuine cure gave a Dark Magician a permit to cast a curse or put the evil eye on someone. And it was her mother… her own mother, who had cursed her, in a split-second emotional outburst, without realizing what she was doing, while she was telling her daughter not even to think about having the operation.
And that had set the monstrous black vortex growing.
«I don’t know what I ought to do now, Anton. I keep doing stupid things. Today I almost jumped into bed with a stranger.» For Svetlana to tell me that must have been almost as difficult as telling me about her mother.
«Sveta, we can work this out,» I began. «The important thing is not just to give up, not punish yourself unnecessarily…«
«I told her on purpose, Anton! I knew what she’d say! I wanted to be told not to do it! She ought to have cursed me, the damned old fool!»
Svetlana had no idea how right she was… No one knows what mechanisms are involved here, what goes on in the Twilight, and how being cursed by a stranger is different from being cursed by someone you love, by your son or by your mother. Except that a mother’s curse is the most terrible of all.
«Anton, take it easy.»
The sound of Olga’s voice sobered me up instantly.
«That’s too simple, Anton. Have you ever dealt with a mother’s curse?»
«No,» I said. I said it out loud, answering Svetlana and Olga at the same time.
«I’m to blame,» said Svetlana, with a shake of her head. «Thanks, Anton, I’m to blame and no one else.»
»I have ,» the voice said through the Twilight. «Anton, my friend, this looks all wrong! A mother’
s curse is a blinding black explosion and a large vortex. But it always dissipates in an instant. Almost always .»
Maybe so. I didn’t argue with her. Olga was a specialist in curses, and she’d seen all sorts of things. Of course, nobody would wish their own child ill… at least, not for long. But there were exceptions.
»Exceptions are possible ,» Olga agreed. «They’ll check her mother out thoroughly now. But… I wouldn’t count on this being over soon .»
«Svetlana,» I asked. «Isn’t there any other solution? Some other way to help your mother? Apart from a transplant?»
«No. I’m a doctor, I know. Medicine’s not all-powerful.»
«What if it wasn’t medicine?»
She was puzzled:
«What do you mean, Anton?»
«Alternative medicine,» I said. «Folk medicine.»
«Anton…«
«I understand, Svetlana; it’s hard to believe,» I added hastily. «There are so many charlatans, con men, and psychos out there. But is all of it really lies?»
«Anton, can you show me one person who has cured a really serious illness?» said Svetlana, looking at me ironically. «Not just tell me about him, but show him to me. And his patients too, preferably before and after treatment. Then I’ll believe. I’ll believe in anything, in psychics, and healers, in White Magicians and Black Magicians…«
I couldn’t help squirming on my chair. She had the most absolute proof possible of the existence of «black» magic hanging right there over her head, a textbook case.
«I can show you one,» I said. I remembered how they’d brought Danila into the office one time. It was after an ordinary fight—not absolutely standard, but not too heavy either. He’d just been unlucky. They were detaining a family of werewolves for some petty violation of the Treaty. The werewolves could have given themselves up and nothing more would have come of it than a brief joint investigation by the two Watches.
But the werewolves decided to resist. They probably had an entire trail of bloody crimes behind them that the Night Watch knew nothing about—and now they never would. Danila went in first and got badly mauled. His left lung, his heart, a deep trauma to the liver, one kidney torn right out.
The boss fixed Danila up, with a helping hand from almost everyone in the Watch who had any strength right then. I was standing in the third circle; our job was not so much to provide the boss with energy as to cut out external influences. But sometimes I took a look at Danila. He kept sinking into the Twilight, either on his own or with the boss. Every time he surfaced into reality his wounds were smaller. It was impressive, but not really all that difficult; after all, the wounds were still fresh and they weren’t predestined. But I had no doubt that the boss could cure Svetlana’s mother. Even if the line of her destiny broke off in the near future, even if she was definitely going to die. She could be cured. Death would simply be due to other causes…
Nightwatch w-1 Page 13
