Sixth Watch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  “It’s like a Mexican soap opera,” I said. “Maybe he and Pyotr are related? Maybe our transcarpathian friend is his daddy? We ought to introduce them.”

  “The usual thing,” Olga snorted. “The best anticommunists were former Communist Party leaders. The most rabid anti-Semites are Jews, especially those of mixed blood. No, let’s not get Hena and Pyotr together. Pyotr is a real piece of shit, but at least now we know all about him. But Hena might simply gobble him up, hair and all.”

  “Maybe that would be for the best?” Gesar suggested. He walked over to the window and looked out somberly into the courtyard. “What did Pyotr tell you? What do vampires know about the Two-in-One in general?”

  “Unfortunately, pretty much what we already knew anyway. All the legends that we thought of as comforting vampire folklore are the absolute truth for them, no more to be doubted than the fact that the sun will rise in the morning. Vampires believe . . .” I thought for a moment and corrected myself. “Vampires know that they were the first Others. They learned to obtain Power by drinking the blood of their enemies. They learned to change themselves, change their bodies, and acquire new abilities. And the Two-in-One came to them. The details of his appearance are debatable. Maybe two men walking beside each other, maybe Siamese twins. The vampires were told that henceforth they were the custodians of mankind.”

  “Oh really?” Gesar exclaimed, looking at me and raising his eyebrows. Then he stared out at the courtyard again.

  “Yes, really. They were told that they were a special part of the human race, the best part. That they were being granted the right to kill people in order to feed themselves, since that gave them Power, but they had to follow some rules . . .” I cleared my throat. “Basically the same things that we demand from them now. Not to kill children or pregnant women, not to kill unnecessarily. The vampires accepted these conditions. As I understood it, there were some who didn’t accept them, and the Two-in-One dealt with them very harshly and very persuasively. Yes, together with the right to feed on people, the vampires also inherited obligations. To protect the flock: against predators, against cataclysms, against epidemics. Against enemies who had not concluded a covenant with the Two-in-One.”

  “So basically, vampires aren’t predators,” said Olga. “They’re shepherds. A shepherd eats the sheep, but he loves them, protects them against the wolves, tends the flock, and helps it multiply.”

  Gesar didn’t say anything. And I knew why the Great One was so silent—all this sounded too much like the truth to question or argue with.

  “And for many years, decades and centuries, there was a golden age on earth,” I said sarcastically. “People lived in harmony with nature and themselves. The vampires held the top positions in the food chain and in the human hierarchy. Yes, everyone knew that the leader and, let’s assume, the shaman, drank human blood. But so what? They didn’t usually drink anyone to death. But they were always at the front in battle, and they could help out with their superhuman abilities. To be drunk completely dry, you had to make the leader really furious, or be captured by your enemies. I assume shape-shifters separated from the vampires at about this time, but that didn’t change the situation in any fundamental way. Big deal—they didn’t drink the blood, they devoured their victims completely: six of one, half dozen of the other. This idyll continued for quite a long time, until a couple of vampires violated the status quo.”

  “We could provisionally call them Adam and Eve,” Olga said.

  “Well, I don’t know what apples they gorged themselves on,” I continued, “but they stopped drinking blood. Maybe they were the first to learn how to work with power on a more subtle level? They were still vampires, of course. Only they didn’t suck blood; they drank Power. Constantly, in background mode, so to speak. And that certainly didn’t limit their abilities. Perhaps at first they were banished or, more likely, their entire tribe was banished by vampires who were affronted by the breach of tradition. But their new abilities gave them an advantage. They started reproducing and multiplying. And people probably preferred the new order of things. No one sucked blood, and if they sucked out Power—well an ordinary person couldn’t use it anyway . . .”

  “And we have the feeling,” said Olga, “that this was when the Two-in-One made his second visit.”

  “We’ve been working hard,” I boasted to Gesar.

  “All these oral traditions are such a tangle, it’s like a maze,” Olga complained. “All the Two-in-One’s appearances are jumbled up together. But we think there were at least two. With a period of hundreds or even thousands of years between them.”

  “And the second one was a serious meeting at the highest level,” I said. “It was obviously attended by representatives of all the varieties of Others who were organized then. Dark Magicians. Light Magicians. Witches—women’s magic, which depends on artifacts and the accumulation of energy, quickly separated off into a distinct variety. And the vampires, of course, but they were no longer the most important group by then. I don’t know about the shape-shifters—they were probably yoked together with the vampires.”

  “There’s not really any new information on that,” Olga admitted. “But the vampires know for certain about themselves, Light Ones, Dark Ones, and the witches.”

  “It sounds as though at this meeting there was serious friction between the negotiating parties,” I said, chuckling. “The Two-in-One didn’t like such a free interpretation of the initial agreement. But there was nothing he could do.”

  “We think there was an Absolute Other at that meeting,” said Olga. “And the Two-in-One simply didn’t want to risk a confrontation. We can say with reasonable confidence that the Two-in-One is another form of incarnation of the Twilight. Another type of stimulus response, let’s say. The Tiger handles Prophets, since they mold a new reality and are most dangerous of all. The Two-in-One probably deals with large-scale, general problems . . . Anyway, he agreed to a new status quo and the appearance of Higher Others who didn’t tear people to pieces or drink blood became a fait accompli.”

  “But it didn’t all go off quite that simply,” I added. “There was obviously some set of conditions under which the Two-in-One promised to return. For a bloody purge of the Others, let’s say. And it looks like those conditions have come about.”

  “That’s really bad,” Gesar said with loathing. “This whole business is bad! Information that should have been preserved like the rarest of precious jewels was lost. No one in the Inquisition, with its bloated staff and its store of thousands of tons of manuscripts and artifacts, knows a single thing about the Two-in-One. The bungling oafs!”

  “But you didn’t know either, boss,” I remarked. “Why blame anyone else, if you—”

  “Of course I didn’t know,” Gesar agreed with surprising readiness. “And you, my young friend, do you know about the Dusty Granny? Or the Man-Candle? Or the Little Kizyak House?”

  “The little what house?”

  “Kizyak. Dried dung. If it’s cow’s dung, they call it djepa too, and if it’s sheep’s dung, they call it kumalak.”

  “I’ve never heard of it. It’s something Eastern, right?” I muttered.

  “Ah, but you should have heard of it. If that Granny hadn’t been given a drink, the world would have come to an end. If that Man-Candle hadn’t been put out, the world would have come to an end. If the right person hadn’t entered that Little House . . .”

  “The world would have come to an end,” I sighed.

  “No, but it would be filled with an appalling stench!”

  “I get it,” I confessed. “You had enough to deal with anyway.”

  “Precisely. You can criticize the territorial structure of the Watches as much as you like, but it’s pretty flexible and it works. If we had some kind of central headquarters, it would be chaos; every emergency siren would go off there.”

  “Got it, got it, got it,” I said with a nod. “Where’s the Asian equivalent of the Inquisition? Beijing? Taipei? Toky
o?”

  “Thimphu, you ignoramus. But unfortunately they don’t have the information we need either. Or they were unable to dig it up out of their repositories.”

  “And in Africa and America?”

  “There are no Inquisition centers in Africa, either of the Americas, the Antarctic, or the Arctic,” said Gesar. “Although the North Americans will be establishing one in the next few years. There’ll be problems with finding staff, of course, but they really want to do it.”

  Olga gestured in annoyance.

  “Let them open three Inquisition centers for themselves. In North, Central, and South America! Those colonists, with their short history and inflated self-importance, all they ever dream of is outdoing old Mother Europe. How did things go with the witches, Gesar?”

  “The Grandmothers fully appreciate the importance of what’s going on,” said Gesar. “But they’re even worse off for information than the vampires are—they haven’t got any information at all. But they believed everything we already know. They don’t intend to try fishing in troubled waters and they’re ready to do anything: provide any magical support, join the Sixth Watch, and even die in combat with the Two-in-One.”

  “At least there’s some good news,” Olga said with a nod.

  “Not really. They said they’re willing to help, but they can’t.”

  “Why not?” Olga asked in a dry, businesslike voice.

  “They want to discuss that at a meeting this evening. But only with a certain member of the Night Watch.”

  “But why?” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “What for? To what do I owe this honor?”

  “You’re way too photogenic,” Gesar said mockingly. “Witches are always dreaming of feasting their eyes on a handsome youth . . . You mean you really don’t understand what you owe it to?”

  To my great regret, I did.

  The cafeteria was empty.

  I walked across to the serving counter and stared thoughtfully at the choice of salads. It was quiet, no one was rushing me, and the only sound was the clatter of cutlery in the kitchen: the staff was apparently taking advantage of the lack of customers to clean up.

  Nowadays we work day and night. In the good old times dark deeds used to be committed by the light of the stars, not the sun, and the Night Watch went to work at night.

  We still have the name, and a few customs and odd phrases that have endured (when a novice Night Watchman meets a Day Watchman during the night they still like to amuse themselves by asking: “What are you doing here? This isn’t your shift!”).

  But of course we work around the clock. In shifts. Eight hours a day, with additional pay for overtime. With two days off. Saturday or Sunday shifts are accounted separately. With two periods of leave a year—a month in summer and two weeks in winter plus bank holidays, as well as a paid flight to a holiday destination of your choice. And health care (so that our healers won’t have to treat every petty complaint like tooth decay and colds). Not to mention presents from the team on our birthdays and other significant dates.

  If we had a trade union, it would be a very good trade union.

  But we don’t have a trade union, of course. We only mimic what the normal people do. Not consciously, but that’s the way it turns out. In the olden days when people used to stay in their houses at night, with the doors and shutters locked, and only the town guards patrolled the streets warily, we would also live in wooden houses and gallop along the cobbled streets on our horses. When people built houses five stories high, dug out the first metro system, and invented a miraculous machine with a gas engine, we started wearing frock coats and neckties, strolling along the boulevards in the light of the newfangled gas lamps and searching for vampires in the cesspits of the big cities. When airplanes first took to the skies, and leather flying jackets and radios came into fashion, we also bought radios and started traveling between cities in planes, discussing the chances of class war among the shape-shifters. When paper books were transformed into electronic ones and “other” became an option for gender in questionnaires, we started using cell phones and tracking down vampires on the Internet, trading in shares, and researching the genome of witches.

  We behave like people.

  And not only because we disguise ourselves as them.

  We Others haven’t created anything different.

  Perhaps we don’t know how to create anything, except spells. And even our spells only work by the will of the Twilight. We’re no more than qualified programmers who know how to set incredibly complex tasks for a supercomputer. The one who has the best connection to the Twilight, who formulates his request more precisely and more quickly, is the one who wins.

  But otherwise we’re surrounded by things that are human.

  Offices. Clothes. Cell phones. Food. Movies. Roads. Music.

  And the less material components of life too—behavior in relationships, the structure of organizations, moral principles, and work incentives.

  When people set up neighborhood watches to patrol the street of their towns, our Watches appeared.

  People set up their Inquisition—and we adapted the idea to our needs.

  A benefits package for employees? We have all that too, including a staff cafeteria.

  “You’re looking a bit sad, Anton . . .”

  I shook myself, realizing that I’d been standing in front of the salad counter for several minutes and the server, young Anya, was watching me with a smile. Anya was just over twenty and she had been studying at a catering college when one of us spotted that she was latent Other.

  And after that something strange happened. Anya was told in the usual way how the world really worked and who she was, but she didn’t accept initiation. She didn’t refuse, as often happens with people of deep religious faith (“a wizard is cursed anyway, even if he does do good”) or sometimes with members of the creative professions (“but what if I lose my gift for acting?”).

  Anya declared that she would like to take a look at the way Others lived. To figure out what we did and whether she wanted a life like that. And whom she felt closer to in general—the Light Ones or the Dark Ones.

  It’s important to make clear that she was a very positive, kind individual. She was an exemplary daughter, she’d been dating the same young man since she left school, and she worked as a volunteer in programs for the support of orphans, the protection of the natural environment, and the fight against Ebola in Africa.

  Well, it all fit—she was clearly one of us. But surprisingly she took this stance: “I don’t know, Light or Dark . . .”

  Gesar handled Anya’s case himself. He talked to her and tried to convince her. And then he took her to Zabulon, but he didn’t manage to seduce the girl with the charms of the Dark side either. The result was that she had been working in our cafeteria for a year, but she intended to work with the Dark Ones for a while, and only then decide if she would become an Other, and if she did, which kind it would be.

  I think that Gesar and Zabulon were both rather disconcerted by this rational approach. This was something new, coming from a human being.

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate, Anya,” I said with a smile. “And how are you, not made up your mind yet?”

  “Not yet, Uncle Anton,” the girl sighed.

  “What’s all this ‘uncle’ business?” I asked indignantly. “Why not call me granddad? You could be my daughter, of course, but for Others a laughable age difference like twenty-five years doesn’t really count.”

  “It doesn’t count anywhere anymore, Uncle Anton,” she replied with a shy smile. “A daughter, a granddaughter, a lover . . . As long as it’s a good person, then the age, the skin color, the sex—they’re mere details.”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “Anyway, make your mind up quick, and I’ll initiate you myself. In person.”

  “Oh, Uncle Anton, it’s such a great responsibility,” Anya cried. “You! In person! I’m just a normal girl, really. I can’t believe my luck.”

  “Enough of th
at,” I said with a wave of my hand. “What salad would you recommend?”

  “The Caesar,” Anya said. “I made the right dressing and toasted the croutons myself. Not like in the restaurants—fling in some mayonnaise, tip the croutons out of the packet, slice up the chicken—and your Caesar salad’s ready!”

  “You’ve persuaded an old man,” I said. “Give me a double portion of the salad and a bowl of soup. Any kind, you choose.”

  “The borscht turned out well today,” Anya said as she served my salad. “And the pea soup is great, if there’s any left . . . Just a moment, Granddad Anton!”

  “Now that’s really going too far,” I growled as Anya walked away. I knew the girl made fun of everyone, including Gesar, and she needled each one of us on our own weak spot. Not maliciously of course; in fact it was even rather enjoyable to be treated like an individual and given this personal attention. And on the other hand, it also made it a bit clearer why Anya couldn’t make up her mind if she was with the Light Ones or the Dark Ones.

  I ought to advise Las to take a look at her. They might get along well . . .

  I was still watching Anya walk away when my phone rang in my pocket. I took it out and saw there was no caller ID.

  “Hello.”

  I heard my wife’s alarmed voice.

  “Anton, it’s me, Svetlana. Come quickly!”

  I didn’t even think for a second, I simply opened the portal—demolishing part of the serving counter in the process. And I didn’t even put the tray down, I just stepped forward, still holding it.

  And stopped when I heard Nadya laughing.

  My wife and daughter were sitting with their arms around each other, discussing something. The TV was switched off, the wall lamp was glowing gently, there were half-empty cups of tea and a plate of sandwiches on the low table in front of them. Everything was completely and absolutely peaceful and innocent. Well, not quite! There was also a tiny little glass standing in front of Svetlana. Cognac, judging from the color.