Sixth Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  “Human. A shinbone.”

  “What’s that doing in the archive?”

  “There’s a spell engraved on it.”

  “What spell?”

  “No one knows, it’s in an unknown language.”

  “But why is your archive in such a mess?” I asked, feeling the conversation starting to irritate me. “Bones jutting out across the aisles . . .”

  “It only just jutted out,” Helen explained. “As we were walking up to it.”

  I refrained from asking the stupid question of whether she was joking. She might not have been.

  The wood under our feet came to an end. Now we were walking over stone slabs. They became uneven, as if they were swollen or bloated. Then they leveled out again.

  And then Helen stopped and paused for a moment before speaking.

  “We’ll go around through hall eight, I think . . .”

  “Have you seen the film Stalker?” I asked.

  “Tarkovsky? Of course not. I read about it in an encyclopedia.”

  We walked across wood, then across stone again, and then over crudely laid cobblestones.

  “Or the film Buratino?” I asked. “It’s a Russian version of Pinocchio.”

  Helen laughed.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Ah, Field, Field of Wonders . . .” I sang out of tune. “And the Fox Alice and the Cat Basilio take Buratino to the Field of Wonders. On a donkey. Riding around in circles. We’ve covered two hundred yards already. Our basements aren’t that big.”

  Helen sighed. She switched on the little flashlight and brightened up our surroundings a bit. Dim though it was, the small ray of light illuminated the aisle between the shelves for about ten yards, after which everything was lost in darkness. Then she shone it in the opposite direction—the same thing. I tried to make out what was lying on the shelves, but she switched off the light.

  “Not around in circles,” said Helen. “Walking in a straight line isn’t always the shortest route, but not around in circles.”

  We walked on for another three or four minutes. We walked through a puddle, with water dripping somewhere nearby.

  “Helen, this is a total mess,” I said in an attempt to reproach her.

  “Yes, it has dried out a lot,” she agreed. “I’ll adjust the tap after this . . .”

  I resigned myself to the situation, but in a final attempt to assert my own position I reached out my hand, trying to feel what was lying on the shelves. My hand ran into something warm and sticky that also seemed to be moving slowly . . . I jerked it back and hastily wiped it on my trousers.

  Helen laughed in a way I found offensive

  “Well, here we are . . . Just a moment, Anton.”

  And she suddenly let go of my hand.

  “Helen?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer. I took one soundless step to the side, wanting very badly to switch on the light. I decided I would count to three and then do it.

  “There it is,” Helen said cheerfully. “Now we can have light!”

  The little flashlight in her hand lit up with a bright, pure light, as if it had been switched into a different mode. Helen aimed it at a shelf, illuminating it from below, and looked at me with a smile.

  “Just what did you expect to see, Great One? Me transforming into a vampire?”

  “Why would you suddenly ask that?” I asked.

  “Well, for starters, you have the Gray Prayer already half activated; even I can see that. Please don’t use it, or you’ll destroy loads of valuable documents.”

  “You came from a different country, ten years ago,” I said. “You stay in here all the time, in the basement. You never stick your nose out into the light. And then you take me on this pleasant stroll . . .”

  Helen laughed quietly.

  “I’m sorry, Anton. But do you seriously think a vampire could disguise herself as a Light One so successfully and for so long? From Gesar? From Olga? From you? And then lure you into the darkness somewhere for bloody slaughter?”

  “I didn’t think anything!” I snapped. “And your hands are cold.”

  “Of course, with the temperature in here.” Helen sighed. “I apologize again. I did pile it on a bit, I admit. Consider it a professional joke. But in here it really is best to follow indirect routes and not use any light.”

  “I’m sorry too, I was wrong,” I admitted, furling up the half-extended spell on the tips of my fingers. The threads of Power poised to break loose receded into my skin.

  “Okay, peace,” Helen agreed. “Let’s drop the stupid jokes. Look, that’s your document.”

  For as far as the light allowed me to see, the shelves were crammed with plywood boxes. Some were flat and some were long, like packages of expensive bottles of wine. They were all protected by old-fashioned but functional spells of preservation. Some also had spells on them that were unfamiliar to me, but I didn’t try to figure them out. At that point the shelves bore the code number LT-32 in big brass letters and numbers, screwed onto a shelf at eye level.

  “It’s a fairly old copy too,” said Helen, taking down a flat box and opening it. “But it is paper already, not parchment. There doesn’t seem to be anything magical about the item itself. Do you see anything?”

  I looked at the thick sheet of heavy paper that she was holding and shook my head. It was hard to say without looking through the Twilight, but I didn’t spot any magic.

  “Do you know Old High German?” Helen asked.

  “I don’t even know plain, ordinary German.”

  “Then I’ll give you an approximate translation. You’ll have the official, checked translation by this evening.”

  Helen cleared her throat and peered at the calligraphic manuscript.

  “Right . . . ‘In the year one thousand two hundred and fifteen . . .’ What’s that year famous for?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “The Inquisition?”

  “Right. The Holy See or, more precisely, Innocent III, founded the Inquisition.”

  “But all that . . .” I said with a shrug. “It’s not serious. The Inquisition dealt with all sorts of nonsense. They drowned old women who healed with herbs, they persecuted Jews.”

  “Burned Giordano Bruno, persecuted Galileo . . .” Helen continued in the same tone of voice. “But you see, the Inquisition had potential. At that time everyone had faith, including Others. Most of the Light Ones believed that they had been endowed with a special gift by the Creator, and the Dark Ones were servants of”—she hesitated—“you know who. And if genuine Others had joined the Inquisition and added their abilities to the efforts of the Church . . .”

  “We would probably have wiped out the Dark Ones,” I said. “Completely.”

  “Not completely,” said Helen. “New ones would have been born. And they would have been executed.”

  “Maybe the world would have been a better place,” I suggested pensively.

  “And all the ordinary people would know about Others, vampires, and werewolves. They would envy their Power, their longevity, their knowledge. And if they got a chance, the people would try to wipe out the Light Ones too, even though we devote our entire lives to protecting them.”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Something like that . . .”

  Helen sighed.

  “Right, then . . . ‘In the light of the establishment of the Inquisition and the corresponding Prophecies, following consultations and the corresponding guarantees . . .’ It’s not exactly ‘guarantees’ here, more like ‘promises,’ but ‘guarantees’ would probably be more accurate. ‘The Six Great Parties gathered in the city of Rome.’”

  “Bull’s-eye,” I said. “Helen, you’re a star. You and your catalogue.”

  “‘A report was presented by Elpis Hieraticus of Athens and Kurt Hesse of Cologne . . .’ Strange, it doesn’t even say if they were Light or Dark. And ‘Hieraticus’ sounds pretty much like a pseudonym. Okay, they suggested establishing contact with the Inquis
ition, essentially disclosing themselves to it and collaborating. ‘They discussed . . . Argued . . . Objected . . . Declined . . . Accepted . . .’”

  Helen sighed.

  “I’m sorry, I can only understand the general sense. Anyway, the basic gist is this. They say they discussed the question of whether the Inquisition was dangerous for Others and whether they should have any dealings with it. In the end, ‘It was considered dangerous, seductive, unpredictable, and harmful—unanimously. There must not be any relations between Others and the Inquisition, even if the Light Ones or the Dark Ones consider this useful for themselves or harmful for the other party. There must not be any open interference in the affairs of the Inquisition, even if the life of an Other is concerned.’”

  “That sounds rather dubious.” I chuckled. “I could trot out the names of several Dark Ones who were burned by the Inquisition, and not without a little help from the Watches.”

  “Giles de Rey,” Helen said with a nod. “And his mistress too. And there were probably a few dozen genuine witches among the herbalist women. Simply from the law of large numbers. Of course, all laws get broken, but this one was basically observed. More or less.”

  “So who are these Great Parties?” I asked. “Never mind the damned Inquisition . . .”

  “It doesn’t say anything about that here,” said Helen, puzzled. “Either it was common knowledge, which isn’t likely—in that case any of our old men, like Gesar, would have answered your question about the Great Parties. Or it was so secret that whenever they were mentioned, there were no specifics.”

  “Dammit!” I said. “Dammit!”

  “Wait,” said Helen, peering hard at the piece of paper. “There are signatures here too, Anton.”

  “Well?”

  “Without names,” she said, moving the paper closer to me. “Apparently they didn’t risk copying out the signatures. I wouldn’t have risked it with some of them, to be quite honest. There are only the positions here.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know Old High German all that well,” said Helen. “Why on earth were they using it in the thirteenth century, when it had already gone out of use? If only it was Middle High German or Early New High German. Ha! I used to be fluent in Early New High German.”

  “I’m astounded and I admit my own ignorance,” I said. “But even so, could you give it a try? Or shall we look for a translator?”

  “I can,” Helen said. “Through the Twilight . . . Hang on.”

  She looked at the sheet of paper for a few moments, then sighed and set it aside.

  “I’ve read it. Only I don’t know if it will help. I can understand some things, but others . . . There are six signatures here. Obviously, they’re the six Great Parties.”

  I didn’t try to hurry her.

  “Light,” said Helen. “And Darkness. That’s clear enough, right?”

  “The Light Ones and the Dark Ones,” I said. “I don’t see any other options.”

  “I’d prefer to say the Night and Day Watches,” said Helen, raising one finger like a strict teacher correcting a pupil. “These aren’t Powers, they’re Parties.”

  “Noted.” I said. “After that will come the Inquisition.”

  “The Inquisition won’t be there,” said Helen. “The human, religious Inquisition was founded in 1215. Ours was founded—”

  “In 1217,” I said. “Right. Essentially, we borrowed the idea and the name. I’m forgetting the basic facts. All right, what comes next?”

  “The Conclave.”

  “That’s clear enough,” I said with a feeling of relief. “I used to know . . . It’s the Conclave of Witches. And it has always held itself apart. But . . . a Great Party?”

  “Witches are only a part of the Day Watch now,” said Helen. “Or the Night Watch, except that they prefer to be called enchantresses or healers.”

  “Helen!”

  “Sorry, Anton, but there’s no point in being sanctimonious about it. Healers and enchantresses are essentially witches. All women mostly use the devices of witches’ magic.”

  “My wife is not a witch!”

  “All right,” said Helen. “I didn’t mean at all that she fit the formal category. I was thinking of a certain essential nature.”

  “In their essential nature, all women are witches to some extent, even if they’re not Others,” I said. “But Svetlana can’t be one of the Parties—I mean the Party that is the Conclave . . . She’s never been a member of any witches’ circles, she hasn’t sworn loyalty to the Conclave, she’s not a witch . . . de jure.”

  “Agreed,” Helen said after a brief pause. “If you’re worried by the idea that Svetlana might be needed in this Sixth Watch, then I agree—she doesn’t fit the case. And I agree that you’ll have to look for a genuine witch.”

  “What comes next?” I asked.

  “The Master of Masters.”

  “I think that’s simple enough,” I said.

  “Yes, it’s logical. The Master of Vampires,” Helen said, frowning. “But I’ve never heard of them having some kind of supreme leader. Vampires are bound by ties of blood; the line of authority is determined by who turned whom. But is there really a very top vampire?”

  I didn’t answer. I was thinking about Lilith.

  Could she have been the first vampire in the world? The very, very first? Could the woman whom all the traditions and legends said was older than Eve have been transformed into a demonic, failed creation of God? That creature who had called herself Eve, either in a fit of pride or simply amusing herself with the simple riddle?

  Anything was possible.

  But then the Tiger had put an end to her. And vacuumed her up. Did that mean there was no more Master of Masters any longer? Or would someone else fill that position?

  I made a mental note that I had a question for Zabulon—a very serious and important question.

  “Apparently there is,” I said to Helen. “And then again, I’ve never heard of anyone being the single most important member of the Night Watch. If we’re talking on a global scale, that is. In Moscow, Gesar’s the most important, and in Russia too; it’s not affirmed in any documents, but everyone knows it. But for the entire world . . . The very Lightest Light One. A great lord and sovereign . . . I haven’t heard of that.”

  “Probably it’s the same for us as for the vampires,” Helen said sourly. “All based on geography.”

  We smiled knowingly at each other.

  “The next Party is fairly clear too,” Helen said, and pondered for a moment. “The Assumer of Appearance.”

  “Shape-shifters,” I said with a nod.

  “Have you ever heard anything at all about shape-shifters having some kind of leadership structure? A leader of the pack, or whatever?”

  I shook my head.

  “The Watches have local leadership,” Helen said. “In Europe, for instance, the French and German Watches de facto run everything. The French Night Watch and the German Day Watch. Although the Dutch . . . Okay, I don’t know, but Gesar can probably tell you who’s in command there. The witches have the Conclave, that’s clear-cut. The vampires have a Master, although no one has ever heard of a supreme Master for all vampires. But werewolves and shape-shifters?”

  “A family structure,” I said. “Those who have been bitten form a pride. But a pride is never very big, and there’s just one leader—a male or a female.”

  “How harshly you talk about them,” said Helen. “Like animals.”

  I ignored the reproach.

  “And one pride never rules another,” I said. “If a conflict arises, they fight. If the conflict becomes really nasty, the leaders fight. The defeated leader’s pride is absorbed by the pride of the victor. But there isn’t any kind of superpride.”

  “Ask Hena,” said Helen. “He’s the oldest shape-shifter there is, as far as I know. He transforms into a smilodon.”

  “I know,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “The Assumer of Appearances. Not even a
hint at the name of a structure. Well, okay. I’ll ask Hena. Read out who else is there.”

  “Now this has me puzzled,” Helen confessed. “I could only translate it through the Twilight. The Basis.”

  “The Basis?”

  “Cornerstone. Foundation. Mainstay. Basis. I don’t know the word, I can only read its meaning. And it was the final signature. In documents like this, that’s important.”

  “I know that, I’m not stupid,” I said with a nod. “The authorizing signature, the binding decision. The Basis . . .”

  “The Twilight?” Helen suggested.

  “In person. It came and signed a document,” I said with a shrug.

  And I pictured the Tiger, vacuum-cleaning the floor in my apartment, with a cup of coffee in his free hand.

  “Anything’s possible,” said Helen.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed. “It’s time to start asking the Great Ones questions.”

  Helen put the document back in its case, switched off the flashlight, and took me by the hand.

  “Let’s go back, Anton.”

  After the eternal, chilly damp of the basement, the corridors of the Watch seemed almost hot. Although judging from the sweaters that the Watch members I came across were wearing, something was wrong with our heating again. An old building is an old building.

  I didn’t go to the boss. I went to look for Olga. Her office was empty, and there was no one in the Internal Review Department, which she had been in charge of for the last few years. In any case, that department, jokingly known as “the Internal Inquisition,” consisted of only two people—Olga herself and Alisher.

  I found Olga in the Science Department, which was also almost empty—just recently some of its members had taken to “working from home,” and right now the others were probably out beavering away “in the field,” talking to Old Others and members of the regional Watches, trying to dig up something that would clarify what the Tiger had said.

  It was surprising that no one had taken the trouble to go down into the archive while they were at it . . .

  Olga was sitting beside the only member of the Science Department who was there, Lyudochka. This Fifth-Level Other looked exactly like a woman who is known by the diminutive form of her name ought to look—like a twenty-year-old young woman. She had looked that way for ten years or so, even though in fact she was about fifty. But then, Olga never looked anything like her hundreds of years either.