Last Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  “I’m afraid to imagine.”

  Lermont laughed. And then he recited off by heart from Morte d’Arthur, “‘Meanwhile did King Arthur order to be brought to him all the infants born to noble ladies and noble lords on the first day of May, for Merlin had revealed to King Arthur that the one who would destroy him and all his lands had been born into the world on the first day of May. And therefore did he order them all to be sent to him on pain of death, and many sons of lords and knights were sent to the king. Mordred was also sent to him by the wife of King Lot. Arthur did put them all in a ship and launch it to sea, and some were four weeks from birth, and some younger still. And by the will of fate the ship was driven ashore where a castle stood, and shattered, and they were almost all killed—but Mordred was cast up by a wave and picked up by a good man and raised until he did reach the age of fourteen years from birth, and then he brought Mordred to the court, as is told hereafter.’

  “‘And many lords and barons of Arthur’s kingdom were outraged that their children had been taken away and killed, but they laid the blame for this more on Merlin than on Arthur. And either out of fear or out of love, they did keep the peace.’”

  “A worthy successor to the good King Herod,” Semyon murmured.

  I didn’t say anything. I was remembering an animated film that my little Nadya was very fond of. About the young King Arthur. About the funny, forgetful magician Merlin. I imagined the sequel, about how Arthur, egged on by Merlin, orders wailing, screaming infants who can’t understand what’s going on to be loaded into an old, dilapidated ship...

  So this was the symbol of purity and nobility? The much-vaunted King Arthur of glorious legend?

  “Not much like that fine young boy in the warmhearted Disney cartoon, is it?” Lermont asked, having apparently read my thoughts. “Or like that eccentric magician who took him under his wing? But you mustn’t blame Arthur. It was his destiny. That was the kind of teacher he had.”

  “How did Mordred survive?” I asked.

  Lermont’s eyes glinted ironically. “That’s hard to say. How did the boy Arthur become heir to the throne? Perhaps Mordred didn’t survive, but instead there were people who told some boy that he was Arthur’s son and his father had tried to kill him when he was a baby. What does it matter who he really was by birth? The important thing was who he thought he was.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Mordred? Of course not. He was only a human being. And so was Arthur. They departed this world a long time ago.”

  “And Merlin?”

  “He withdrew into the Twilight forever,” Lermont said with a nod. “But Merlin was a genuinely great magician. I think he was the greatest magician of all time. I think,” he said with a sideways glance at Semyon, “that Merlin was a zero-point magician.”

  I nodded. I understood that. A magical “temperature” of zero. Merlin didn’t contribute a single drop to the streams of Power that permeate the world; he had absolutely none of it. And that was precisely why he was a great magician. He absorbed the Power of others, the Power that was diffused in space, and used it to work miracles.

  No other magician so powerful had been born in the world since then.

  But one such enchantress had been born. My daughter, Nadya.

  “Merlin didn’t leave many artifacts,” Lermont continued. “He created them playfully, as if it took him no effort at all. Excalibur, of course. Merlin’s Cloak. Merlin’s Chalice. Merlin’s Crystal. Merlin’s Staff.”

  “He didn’t bother himself too much about finding names for them, then?” Semyon said with a laugh, and then suddenly fell silent.

  “Merlin’s Rune?” I asked.

  Lermont shook his head.

  “Merlin’s Rune is only a key, kept in Merlin’s grave, twenty-two miles from... from what is believed to be the grave of Thomas the Rhymer. Naturally, Merlin himself is not in the grave, but some traces of the great magician are preserved there. You may think me sentimental, but I often visit my own grave. Although I have never liked going to Merlin’s. I simply relied on the protective spells. But that was a mistake. The grave has been robbed.”

  “I thought Merlin’s grave was in Brittany,” said Semyon.

  “No, it lies to the south of Edinburgh. Near the little town of Peebles, at the confluence of the Tweed and the Powsel. It’s not very far from here.”

  “And what does this rune consist of?” I asked.

  “A stone. Charged to the hilt with magic and scratched all over with almost illegible signs. Merlin’s Rune”—Lermont hesitated and looked all around us, but continued nonetheless—“is the key, or rather, the main part of the key that allows access to a hiding place that Merlin once set up on the bottom of a lake. The lake has vanished long ago, but the hiding place, of course, is still there.”

  “A hiding place in the Twilight?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Fifth level?”

  Lermont sighed.

  “I could get down to the fifth level myself, my young friend. Or I could call in Gesar. Or Andrew. Higher Ones can be found who are capable of reaching the fifth level. But this hiding place was made by Merlin. It’s right down at the very bottom. Which means it’s on the seventh level.”

  “Oh, my sainted aunt!” Semyon exclaimed in delight. “The seventh! So the seventh level does exist! It’s not a fairy tale, then?”

  “It exists, all right. Only, I don’t know anybody alive on this planet who is capable of getting there... .” Lermont shrugged and spread his hands wide.

  “What about the rest of the key? And the Rune?”

  “As for the Rune... I’ve read the inscription—it gives instructions on how to get past a sentinel on the fifth level. But after that you have to go farther. I can’t do that.”

  “Have you at least tried?” I asked.

  “What for?” Lermont asked, throwing his hands up. “Why go down into the Twilight for Merlin’s heritage? Anton, you must have some idea now of what he was like... do you think there’s anything good down there?”

  I shrugged.

  “The hiding place is believed to contain the Crown of All Things,” said Lermont. “Sounds tempting, doesn’t it? But somehow I think that the Crown of All Things is really the End of All Things.”

  Semyon opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind.

  “And what are the other parts of the key?” I asked. “Merlin’s Crystal Mace? Or perhaps Merlin’s Old Shoe?”

  Lermont shook his head. Refusing to acknowledge my sarcasm, he said, “That’s the most unpleasant part of the story. You’ve already realized that Power goes pouring down out of our world to the lowest level of the Twilight from the spot above the hiding place, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, if you try to enter the Twilight when you’re inside the Dungeons, you can only get as far as the third level. After that there’s a barrier, a whirlpool of Power. It’s simultaneously a load that holds the hiding place down at the bottom of creation and a defense against the curious.”

  “Not too many of the curious would even be able to get down to the third level... ,” Semyon mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, I’ll keep quiet!”

  “Well then, Merlin’s Rune won’t help you get past the third level,” Foma went on. “I was certain that no one, apart from me, knew the secret, and I only discovered it by chance, when there was an accident beside the bridge... . A young woman fell and ruptured an artery on a sharp metal rod... .”

  “Blood,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Foma. “The second part of the key. If someone dies from loss of blood, then the Twilight is temporarily saturated with energy. The whirlpool on the third level calms down and you can get past it and go on deeper.”

  “Does the person have to die?” I
asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t checked, as you can understand. Preserved blood is no use, we know that for certain. That’s why the killing in the Dungeons put me on my guard. But the protective spells on Merlin’s grave hadn’t been touched. No one had approached the grave, no one had tried to open it. And I relaxed, I put it all down to coincidence. But last night I decided to go to the grave.”

  “And you found that it had been opened using a remote-controlled device?” I said. “Right? Something like those robots they use at nuclear power stations.”

  “How did you know?” Lermont asked, incredulous.

  “Last night someone shot at me with that,” I said, nodding toward the tripod with the rifle, which Semyon had leaned against the outside of the arbor. “An automatic radio-controlled shooting device.”

  Lermont glanced at the weapon without the slightest interest. He smiled bitterly.

  “We’ve gotten old, Anton. We pride ourselves on having gotten old... Gesar, Al-Ashaf, Rustam, Giovanni, me... all the other ancient ones who remember the world without electricity, steam trains, and gunpowder. The oldest magicians who know the most and are almost the most powerful. We have underestimated the new generation. Rockets, robots, telephones...” He chewed on his lips and looked at his neat little house with the same melancholy expression that I had sometimes seen in Gesar’s eyes.

  It’s probably that melancholy look that allows me to forgive Gesar for everything he does in his job as head of the Night Watch.

  “One of the young generation,” Foma went on. “One of the young generation, who knows how to use technology and is not afraid of it.”

  “I think I know who it is,” I whispered. “Kostya Saushkin.”

  “The Higher Vampire who took the Fuaran?” Lermont asked with a frown. “I know that story. But he was destroyed!”

  “Nobody saw the body,” I said. “In any case, he wouldn’t be afraid to go down after Merlin’s legacy. And he’d use technology without the slightest hesitation. And beyond that, he must hate me. Enough to try to shoot me. It was my fault! I sent him off to die. He survived—and decided to take his revenge.”

  “Anton, don’t be in such a hurry,” Semyon said reasonably. He explained apologetically to Foma. “Please don’t be angry, Mr. Lermont! Anton is still young and hotheaded. Yesterday he thought that Kostya was dead. Now all of a sudden he’s changed his mind. But what we have to worry about is something else. What do you think, Mr. Lermont, has the villain of the piece already found Merlin’s hiding place?”

  “Merlin was a magician of the old school,” Lermont answered after a moment’s thought. “A key has to have three elements. Three is a magic number, a number of Power. Three, seven, and eleven.”

  “Yes, prime numbers,” Semyon agreed, “that’s clear enough. But what about the third part of the key?”

  “I discovered the second part by accident,” Lermont said. “I don’t know anything about the third. I can only assume that it must exist. I don’t even know what it is—an object, an incantation, a sacrifice, a time of day? Perhaps you have to enter the Twilight naked on the night of the full moon, holding a thistle flower between your teeth. Merlin was a great joker.”

  We said nothing for a while. Then Lermont gave a forced smile. “All right, my friends. I have revealed all the secrets that I had. I can’t see any point in panicking ahead of time. Merlin’s hiding place will surrender its secret to a Higher Other of immense power who spills someone else’s blood in the Dungeons and gets his hands on the third part of the key. But what that third part is, no one knows. Let’s all calm down, go inside, and have a cup of tea.”

  “The English tradition of tea-drinking!” Semyon said respectfully.

  Foma gave him a mocking glance and corrected him. “Not English. Don’t forget that you’re in Scotland now. You are welcome guests in my home—”

  “I have just one more question,” I said, interrupting Lermont. “Why did you invite Egor to Edinburgh?”

  “You mean the young illusionist?” Lermont asked with a sigh. “I decided to take out an insurance policy. If there’s a serious conflict, then the first to suffer will be our Night Watch. I don’t have that many Battle Magicians. A Mirror is the best thing that can be used to oppose...”

  “Oppose whom?” I prompted, realizing Lermont was not going to finish the thought.

  The distant forefather of the Russian poet Lermontov gave me a look of annoyance so intense that I felt the full force of the same hot temper that brought a premature end to the Russian poet’s life.

  “Merlin! Now are you satisfied?”

  “You believe that he...”

  “The one thing that Merlin always valued above all else was himself. And he could have given the name of the Crown of All Things to the means for bringing him back from oblivion. It would be his kind of joke.”

  “Nothing of the sort has ever happened,” said Semyon, shaking his head.

  “No, it hasn’t. But there have never been any other magicians like Merlin. His essence... his soul, if you like, could be slumbering somewhere down there, on the seventh level... until a sufficiently powerful magician can reach it. To put it crudely, until a stupid body arrives to provide Merlin’s black soul with a new receptacle! Would you be glad to see the Great Merlin back in the world? I certainly wouldn’t! And that’s the reason I need a potential Mirror Magician close at hand. Perhaps that might do the trick. A Mirror might possibly destroy Merlin. What don’t you like about that, Gorodetsky?”

  “But you can’t do that!” I exclaimed with a feeling of anguish that surprised even me. Everything was muddled together in my head—Kostya, whom I had killed and who might still be alive; the Dark Magician Merlin, thirsting for resurrection; the totally unsuspecting Egor... “Ever since he was a child we’ve exploited him for our operations! And now are we going to throw him into hell, use the lad to protect ourselves against Merlin? He’s nothing but a boy!”

  “All right!” said Lermont, also raising his voice. “You’ve advanced a convincing argument! Now let me lay out in front of you the personal files of all the potential Mirror Magicians. Will you point the finger? Choose a different candidate? There’s a girl of nine, a boy of fifteen, a young husband and father, a pregnant woman... they never live to old age in an indeterminate state, sooner or later they choose the Light or the Dark! They’re all young, all of them almost children! Will you take the choice on yourself and relieve me of this appalling responsibility?”

  “Yes!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “Yes, I will! I’ll relieve you. Bring out your files, Mr. Foma Lermont!”

  “I’ll bring them this very moment!” he said, also getting to his feet. “You choose, you choose!”

  We stood there, glaring angrily at each other, and it was a while before we realized that both of us had tears running down our faces.

  .

  .

  COMMON CAUSE

  Chapter 6

  I don’t know if Lermont really would have brought the files or not. And I have even less idea of what I would have done if he had. I probably would have chosen a different candidate for the role of the Mirror Magician.

  But we weren’t given a chance to do any of that.

  First I noticed Lermont’s face change. He was looking away from me, in the direction of the road.

  Then I heard the roar of an engine and I turned around.

  A little white van hurtling along the road suddenly turned and easily broke through the symbolic gesture of a wooden fence that surrounded Lermont’s cottage. It braked to a halt with a wild squeal, throwing up earth and gravel from under its wheels.

  The rear doors of the van had been removed. Two men jumped out of it and a third, left inside, opened fire from a machine gun mounted on a swivel.

  The first to react was Foma. He had put up a
Shield as soon as the van came flying into his garden. Or maybe he hadn’t put it up. Perhaps it was just a guard spell that had been installed a long time ago in order to deal with this kind of invasion.

  The machine gun roared and rattled, the sound resonating in the back of the van and reaching us as if it had been amplified by a huge tin megaphone. The sound was accompanied by a stream of lead. But the bullets didn’t reach their target. They halted gently, hung in the air for a second, like some special effect in an action movie, and then fell to the ground.

  The two who had jumped out, both masked in black hoods, dropped to the ground and opened fire with submachine guns. As yet, no one had gotten out of the front of the van.

  Were they idiots, or what?

  Semyon waved his hands a few times. I noticed he cast the benign Morpheus, which would give the attackers about ten seconds to carry on playing at soldiers, and the instantly acting Opium. But the spells didn’t work and the firing continued, with the bullets getting stuck in midair halfway between us. I looked closely... No, they weren’t Others. Just ordinary people. But each of them had the gentle glow of a protective amulet on his chest.

  “Just don’t kill them!” Lermont cried out when I raised my hand.

  I only had two Triple Blades ready and waiting for instant action—I hadn’t been expecting to wind up in a shootout like this. I flung both, aiming at the large machine gun. The first charge missed, but the second struck home, reducing the weapon to a heap of shredded metal. The racket quieted down a bit; now only the men with the submachine guns were firing, but rather uncertainly, as if they had just discovered the invisible barrier. That was good. Every defense has its limit of saturation; the machine-gun fire would have put it out of action fairly quickly.