Nightwatch w-1

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  Right now the Watch was training four Others. And Svetlana was the only one we could be certain would join us and not prefer an ordinary human life.

  It was deserted here, deserted and quiet. I walked slowly along the corridor, glancing into the empty teaching rooms, which would have been the envy of even the best-equipped and most prosperous university. A laptop computer on every desk, a huge TV projector in each room, shelves crammed with books… If only a historian could have seen those books—a real historian, that is, not some historical pimp.

  But historians never would see them.

  Some of the books contained too much truth. Other contained too many lies. People couldn’t be allowed to read them, for the sake of their own peace of mind. Let them keep living with the history they were used to.

  The corridor terminated in a huge mirror that covered the entire end wall. When I glanced into it casually I saw a beautiful young woman swaying her hips as she strode along the corridor.

  I staggered and almost fell over: Olga had done everything possible to make things easy for me, but even she couldn’t change her own center of gravity. As long as I forgot the way I looked, everything was more or less normal; the motor reflexes took over. But the moment I took a look at myself from the outside, things slipped out of sync. Even my breathing changed, and the air felt different as it entered my lungs.

  I walked up to the last door, a glass one, and glanced through it cautiously.

  The class was just finishing.

  Today they’d been studying everyday magic, I knew that the moment I saw Polina Vasilievna standing by the demonstration stand. She’s one of the oldest members of the Watch—to look at, that is, not by her actual age. She’d been discovered and initiated when she was already sixty-three years old. Who could have guessed than an old woman who earned her living by telling fortunes with cards during those wild years after the war actually possessed genuine powers? Quite strong powers too, although only in a narrow field.

  «And now, if you need to spruce up your clothes in a hurry, you can do it in a moment. Only don’t forget to check first how much strength you have. Otherwise the result might be embarrassing.»

  «And when the clock strikes twelve, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin,» the young guy sitting beside Svetlana said in a loud voice. I didn’t know him; this was only his second or third day of training, but already I didn’t like him.

  «Precisely,» Polina exclaimed delightedly, even though she heard the same witticism from every group of trainees. «Fairy tales lie just as much as statistics do, but sometimes you can find a grain of truth in them.»

  She picked a neatly ironed tuxedo up off the desk. It was spruce and elegant, a little old-fashioned. James Bond must have worn one like it.

  «When will it turn back to rags again?» Svetlana asked in a practical tone of voice.

  «After two hours,» Polina told her briskly. She put the jacket on a hanger and hung it on the stand. «I didn’t make a great effort.»

  «And what’s the longest you can you keep it looking good?»

  «About twenty-four hours.»

  Svetlana nodded and suddenly looked in my direction—she’d sensed my presence. She smiled and waved. Now everyone had noticed me.

  «Please come in,» said Polina, bowing her head. «This is a great honor for us.»

  Yes, she knew something about Olga that I didn’t. All of us knew no more than one part of the truth about her; probably only the boss knew everything.

  I went in, trying desperately to make my walk a bit less provocative. It did no good. The young guy sitting next to Svetlana, and the fifteen-year-old kid who’d been stuck in the preliminary class for six months, and the tall, skinny Korean, who could have been thirty or forty—they all watched me.

  With very definite interest. The atmosphere of mystery that surrounded Olga, all the rumors and unspoken reservations, and above all the fact that she was the boss’s lover from way far back—it all provoked a very noticeable response from the male section of the Watch.

  «Hello,» I said. «I hope I’m not interrupting?»

  I was trying so hard to get my phrasing right, I forgot to control my tone of voice, and my banal question came out sounding languidly mysterious, addressed to every single person there. The spotty-faced kid couldn’t take his eyes off me, the young guy gulped, and only the Korean maintained some semblance of composure.

  «Olga, did you have some announcement to make to the students?» Polina inquired.

  «I need to have a word with Sveta.»

  «Then class dismissed,» the old woman declared. «Olga, please do come in sometime during class! My lectures can’t take the place of your experience.»

  «Certainly,» I promised generously. «In three or four days.»

  Olga could make good on my promises. I had to take the hits for her carefully cultivated sex appeal.

  Svetlana and I walked toward the door. I could feel three pairs of greedy eyes drilling into my back—well, not exactly my back.

  I knew that Olga and Svetlana were on close terms. I’d known since that night when Olga and I had explained to her the truth about the world and the Others, the Light Ones and the Dark Ones, about the Watches and the Twilight, since that dawn when she had held our hands and walked through the closed door into the field headquarters of the Night Watch. Sure, Svetlana and I were closely linked by a mystical thread. Destiny held us together in its firm grip, but only for the time being. Svetlana and Olga were just friends. It wasn’t destiny that had brought them together. They were free.

  «Olya, I have to wait for Anton,» said Svetlana, taking hold of my hand. It wasn’t the gesture of a younger sister clutching her elder sister’s hand, looking for support and reassurance. It was the gesture of an equal. And if Olga allowed Svetlana to behave like her equal, then she really did have a great future ahead of her.

  «Don’t bother, Sveta,» I said. «Don’t bother.»

  Again there was something not quite right in the phrase or the tone. Svetlana gave me a puzzled look, and it was exactly like Garik’s had been.

  «I’ll explain everything,» I said. «But not right here and now. At your place.»

  The new defenses at her apartment were the best that could possibly be set up—the Watch had invested too much energy in its new member to lose her now. The boss hadn’t even argued about whether I could confide in Svetlana; he’d insisted on only one thing—it had to happen at her place.

  «All right.» The surprise was still there in Svetlana’s eyes, but she nodded in agreement. «Are you sure it’s not worth waiting for Anton?»

  «Absolutely,» I said, quite sincerely. «Shall we take a car?»

  «Aren’t you driving today?»

  Fool!

  I’d completely forgotten that Olga’s favorite mode of transport was the sports car the boss had given her as a present.

  «That’s what I meant—shall we drive?» I asked, realizing I looked like a complete idiot.

  Olga nodded. That puzzled look in her eyes was getting stronger and stronger.

  At least I knew how to drive. I’d never been tempted by the dubious pleasure of owning a car in a megalopolis with lousy roads, but our training had included all sorts of things. Some things had been taught the ordinary way; some things had been beaten into our heads by magic. I’d been taught how to drive like a simple human being, but if I suddenly happened to find myself in the cabin of a helicopter or a plane, then reflex responses I couldn’t even remember in an ordinary state would kick in. At least, in theory they ought to kick in.

  I found the car keys in the purse. The orange sports car was standing in the parking lot in front of the building, under the watchful eye of the security guards. The car’s doors were locked, but since the top was down that was fairly ridiculous.

  «Will you drive?» asked Svetlana.

  I nodded without saying anything, then got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I remembered that Olga always took off like a bull
et, but I didn’t know how to do that.

  «Olga, there’s something wrong with you,» said Svetlana, finally deciding to say what was on her mind. I nodded as I drove out onto Leningrad Prospect.

  «Sveta, we’ll talk when we get to your place.»

  I’m no hotshot driver. We were driving a long time, a lot longer than we ought to have been. But Svetlana didn’t ask any more questions; she sat there, leaning back in her seat and looking straight ahead. Maybe she was meditating, or maybe she was trying to look through the Twilight. Several times in the traffic jams, guys tried to hit on us from their cars—always the most expensive models, though. Apparently the way we looked and the car we were in drew attention. Windows were wound down; heads with crew cuts were stuck out, sometimes with a hand clutching a cell phone, as a universal badge of status. At first I just found it annoying. Then it started to seem funny. By the end I wasn’t reacting to any of it any longer, just like Svetlana.

  I wondered if Olga found these attempts to get to know her amusing…

  She probably did. After spending decades in non-human form, after being imprisoned in a glass showcase…

  «Olya, why did you bring me away? Why didn’t you want me to wait for Anton?»

  I shrugged. I was sorely tempted to answer: «Because he’s sitting right here beside you.» The chances were pretty slim that we were being observed. The car was protected by spells too; I could sense some of them, some of them went beyond the level of my powers.

  But I restrained myself.

  Svetlana hadn’t taken the course on information security yet; it comes three months into the training. I think it would make good sense to put it in earlier, but a specific program has to be designed for each individual Other, and that takes time.

  Once Svetlana had been through the fiery crucible of that ordeal, she’d know when to keep quiet and when to speak. They just start feeding you information, strictly measured, in a specific sequence. Some of what you hear is true, and some of it’s false.

  They tell you some of it quite freely and openly, and some of it under a terrible oath of secrecy. And some of it you find out «accidentally,» by eavesdropping or spying.

  And then everything you’ve learned starts to ferment inside you, making you feel pain and fear, pushing and straining so hard to break out you think your heart’s going to burst, demanding some immediate, irrational reaction. In the lectures they tell you all sorts of nonsense you don’t really need to know to live as an Other, while the most important training and testing is taking place in your soul.

  It’s rare for anyone to have a serious breakdown. It’s only training, after all, not a test. And the height set for every individual is no higher than he can jump—provided he calls on every last ounce of his strength, leaving scraps of blood-stained skin behind on the razor wire along the top of the barrier.

  But when the people in the course matter to you, or even if you simply like them, it starts getting to you, tearing you apart. You catch a strange glance cast in your direction and start wondering what your friend has just learned in the course. What truths? What lies?

  And what the student is learning about himself or herself, about the world around him, his parents and friends…

  And you have a terrible, unbearable yearning to help. To explain, to hint, to prompt.

  But no one who’s been through the course will ever give way to that desire. Because that’s what they’re learning through their own pain and suffering—what to say and when.

  Generally speaking, we can and should say everything. We just have to choose the right time, otherwise the truth can be worse than a lie.

  «Olya?»

  «You’ll understand soon,» I said. «Just wait a while.»

  I glanced through the Twilight and hurled the car forward, flitting neatly between a clumsy jeep and a military truck. The mirror cracked as it folded back after clipping the edge of the truck—I didn’t care. Our car was first across the intersection, tearing out onto the Highway of Enthusiasts.

  «Does he love me?» Svetlana suddenly asked. «Does he, yes or no? You must know, don’t you?»

  I shuddered and the car swerved, but Svetlana took no notice. I sensed it wasn’t the first time she’d asked that question. She and Olga must have left a difficult conversation unfinished.

  «Or does he love you?»

  That was it. I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

  «Anton is very fond of Olga,» I said, speaking of myself and the owner of my body in the third person. It was a bit artificial, but it gave an impression of cool, distant politeness. «Comrades in combat. Nothing more than that.»

  If she asked Olga how she felt about me, it would be harder to avoid lying.

  Svetlana didn’t ask. And a moment later she touched my hand, as if she were asking me to forgive her.

  But now I couldn’t stop myself asking:

  «Why do you ask?»

  She answered simply, without hesitation:

  «I don’t understand. Anton is behaving very strangely. Sometimes he seems to be madly in love with me. And sometimes it’s as if I’m just one of hundreds of Others that he knows. A comrade in arms.»

  «A destiny node,» I said briefly.

  «What?»

  «You haven’t studied that yet, Sveta.»

  «Explain it to me, then!»

  «You know,» I said, driving the car faster and faster—that must have been the body’s motor reflexes kicking in—«you know, when he came to your place that first time…«

  «I know that I was influenced. He told me,» Svetlana interrupted.

  «That’s not the point. The suggestion was removed when you were told the truth. But when you learn to see destiny—and you’ll learn to see it a lot more clearly than I do—then you’ll understand.»

  «They told us that destiny is variable.»

  «Destiny is polyvariable. But when he came to see you, Anton knew that if he succeeded in his assignment, he would fall in love with you.»

  Svetlana didn’t answer that. I thought I saw her cheeks color slightly, but maybe that was just the wind in the open car.

  «And what difference does that make?»

  «Do you know what it’s like to be condemned to love?»

  «But isn’t it always like that?» Svetlana asked, trembling with indignation. «When people love each other, when they find each other out of thousands and millions of people. It’s always destiny!»

  Once again I sensed that infinitely naive girl in her, the girl who couldn’t hate anything except herself. The girl who was already beginning to disappear.

  «No, Sveta, haven’t you ever heard love compared to a flower?»

  «Yes.»

  »A flower can be grown, Sveta . But it can be bought too, or given as a gift.»

  «Did Anton buy it?»

  «No,» I said, a bit too sharply. «It was a gift. From destiny.»

  «What difference does that make? If it is love?»

  «Sveta, cut flowers are beautiful, but they don’t live for long. They’re already dying, even the ones that are carefully placed in a crystal vase and given fresh water.»

  «He’s afraid of loving me,» Svetlana said thoughtfully. «Isn’t he? I wasn’t afraid, because I didn’t know all this.»

  I drove up to the building, weaving between the parked cars, mostly Zhigulis and Moskviches. This wasn’t a prestigious district.

  «Why did I tell you all that?» asked Svetlana. «Why did I make you answer? Just because you’re four hundred forty-three years old?»

  I shuddered when I heard that number. Yes, a real wealth of experience. An immense wealth. Next year Olga would be celebrating a very magical kind of birthday.

  I’d like to believe my body would still be in such beautiful physical condition, even at a quarter of that age.

  I left the car without putting on the alarm. No human being would ever think of trying to steal it in any case: The protective spells provide greater security than any alarm system. Svetlana
and I walked briskly up the steps without speaking and went into her apartment.

  Things had changed a bit, of course. Svetlana had left her job, but her study grant and the initial allowance paid to every Other when they are initiated came to far more than her modest earnings as a doctor. She had a new TV; what I couldn’t understand was when she found the time to watch it. It was a flashy widescreen model, too big for her apartment. I found this sudden yen for the good life amusing. It’s something everyone goes through at the beginning—probably a defensive reaction. When your world crumbles around you, when the old fears and anxieties disappear and new ones, still vague and unfamiliar, take their place, everyone starts acting out some of the dreams from their former life that seemed so unreal only recently. Some go on a spree in restaurants, some buy an expensive car, some buy themselves haute-couture outfits. It doesn’t last for long, and not just because working in the Watch won’t make you a millionaire. The very needs that seemed so compelling only yesterday begin to fade away, disappearing into the past. Forever.

  «Olga?»

  Svetlana looked into my eyes.

  I sighed, gathering my strength.

  «I couldn’t tell you earlier. We can only talk here. Your apartment is protected against observation by the Dark Ones.»

  I could see that Svetlana already suspected the truth.

  «This is only Olga’s body,» I said.

  «Anton?»

  I nodded.

  The two of us must have looked really absurd!

  It was a good thing Svetlana was already used to absurdity.

  She believed me straight away.

  «You bastard!»

  Spoken in a tone that would have suited the aristocratic Olga. And the slap to my face came from the same opera libretto.

  It didn’t hurt, but it upset me.

  «What’s that for?» I asked.

  «For eavesdropping on other peoples’ conversations!» Svetlana snapped.

  It wasn’t a very precise way of putting it, but I got the idea. When Svetlana raised her other hand, I ignored the Christian teaching and dodged the second slap.