Everybody gets the feeling sometimes that what is happening just at the moment has already happened before. There's even a special term for it, deja vu, a kind of false memory.
The Others have it too.
Night Watch agent Anton Gorodetsky was standing in front of the door of his apartment and struggling with his memories. He had hovered in front of this open door in exactly the same way before, wondering who could have got inside. And when he went inside that time, he'd discovered that his uninvited guest was his sworn enemy, the chief of the Day Watch, known to the Light Ones by the name of Zabulon.
"Deja vu," Anton whispered and stepped inside the door. The defense system remained silent again, but there was definitely a visitor in the room. Who was it this time?
Anton squeezed his talismanic medallion tightly in his hand as he entered the room.
Zabulon was sitting in an armchair and reading the newspaper Arguments and Facts, wearing a severe black suit, a light-gray shirt, and black shoes with blunt, square toes, polished so that they shone like mirrors. He took off his spectacles. "Hello, Anton."
"Deja vu..." Anton muttered. "Well, hello."
Strangely enough, this time he wasn't scared of Zabulon at all. Maybe that was because the last time Zabulon had conducted his surprise visit in an entirely correct manner?
"You can take my amulet. It's in the desk¡ªI can sense it."
Anton let go of the talisman hanging round his neck, took off his jacket, and went across to the desk. Zabulon's amulet was hidden in among some papers and all the other office clutter that inevitably seems to appear out of nowhere.
"Zabulon, you have no Power over me," Anton declared in a voice that didn't sound like his own.
The Dark magician nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Allow me to compliment you. That other time you were trembling like a withered leaf. But today you're calm. You're growing, Anton."
"I suppose I ought to thank you for the compliment?" Anton asked coolly.
Zabulon threw his head back and laughed soundlessly.
"All right," he said a few seconds later, "I see you're in no mood to waste time. Well, neither am I. I came to offer you the chance to commit an act of betrayal. A small, calculated act of betrayal from which everyone will benefit, including you. Sounds paradoxical, doesn't it?"
"It does."
Anton looked into Zabulon's gray eyes, trying to understand what trap he'd fallen into this time. Trust a human being half way and a Light One a quarter of the way, but don't trust a Dark One at all.
Zabulon was the most powerful¡ªand therefore the most dangerous¡ªDark One in Moscow. And probably in the whole of Russia.
"Let me explain," said Zabulon, without hurrying, but not hesitating either. "You already know about tomorrow's session of the Tribunal, do you not?"
"I do."
"Don't go to it."
Anton finally decided to sit down, on the divan by the wall. Now Zabulon was on his right.
"And for what particular reason?" Anton inquired.
"If you don't go, you and Svetlana will stay together. If you go, you'll lose her."
Anton felt a sudden burning sensation in his chest. It wasn't a question of whether he believed Zabulon or not. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to very much.
But he couldn't forget that Dark Ones can't be trusted.
"The leadership of the Night Watch is planning yet another global social experiment. You must know that. And Svetlana has been given a rather important role in this project. I shan't try to change your convictions or win you over you to the Darkness¡ªthat's an entirely hopeless proposition. I shall simply tell you what the danger of realizing such an experiment is: the disruption of the balance of forces. Obviously a rather desirable thing for the side that grows stronger. In recent times the Light has been growing stronger and, naturally, I don't like it. It is in the Day Watch's interest to restore the equilibrium. And you are the one who can help us."
"Strange," Anton said thoughtfully. "The head of the Day Watch asking for help from a Night Watch agent. Very strange."
"Well, your help isn't absolutely necessary to us. We could manage on our own. But if you help yourself in the first instance, then you will also help us. And Svetlana, and everyone else who will inevitably suffer from the next global experiment."
"I don't understand¡ªhow can I help myself and Svetlana?"
"What don't you understand? Svetlana is potentially a very powerful enchantress. As she grows stronger, so the gulf that separates you grows wider. Her Power is the factor that is shifting the balance in the favor of the Light. If Svetlana is deprived of her Power for some time, equilibrium will be restored. And there will be nothing to keep you apart, Anton. She loves you¡ª anyone can see that. And you love her. Surely you wouldn't sacrifice your happiness and that of the woman you love to the Light? Especially since the sacrifice is meaningless in any case. That's why I'm proposing you commit this little, perfectly painless act of betrayal."
"Betrayal is never little."
"Sometimes it is, Anton. It most certainly is. Loyalty itself is built up from a series of little, calculated betrayals. You can trust me on that¡ªI've lived in this world long enough to be quite sure of it."
Anton paused for a while before he spoke. "I'm a Light One. I can't betray the Light. By my very essence I can't do it¡ªand you should understand that."
"No one's trying to make you go against the Light. And what's more, if you do this, you'll be helping many people. Very many people, Anton. Isn't that the goal of a Light magician¡ªto help people?"
"And how will I be able to look my colleagues in the eye?" Anton asked with a bitter laugh. "After that?"
"They'll understand," Zabulon said with an assurance that seemed strange to Anton. "They'll understand and they'll forgive. And if they don't¡ªwhat kind of Light Ones are they?"
"You're good with the sophistry, Zabulon. Far better than I am, no doubt. But just because you call things by different names, it doesn't change their essential nature. Betrayal is always betrayal."
"All right," Zabulon agreed with surprising readiness, "then betray love. Basically, you have a choice between two betrayals¡ªsurely you can understand that? To betray yourself or to prevent yet another cycle of bloodshed from happening. To forestall the inevitable battles between the Watches or to allow them to happen. Or haven't there been enough deaths for you yet? You went out on patrol with Andrei Tiunnikov more than once. You were friends with the girl shape-shifter, Tiger Cub. Where are they now? Who else are you willing to sacrifice in the name of the Light? Don't go to the Tribunal session tomorrow, and your friends will stay alive. We don't need any more deaths, Anton. We're willing to avoid conflict. To settle things peacefully. That's why I'm suggesting you should help everybody. Everybody. Dark Ones and Light Ones. And even simple, ordinary people. Do you understand?"
"I don't understand how my absence from the Tribunal session will help restore equilibrium."
"You've already run into the Dark One from Ukraine, haven't you? Vitaly Rogoza?"
"Yes, I have," Anton replied reluctantly.
"He's not an Other."
Anton was startled.
"How do you mean, not an Other?"
"He's not entirely an Other. He's only a Mirror. And he doesn't have long left to live."
"What, or who, is a Mirror?"
"Definitely 'what,"" Zabulon said with a sigh. "Alas, only a 'what'... That's not important, Anton. It's more useful for you to know something else. If you stay away from the session of the Inquisition, no more blood will be spilled. If you go, a bloodbath is inevitable."
"Failure to appear at a Tribunal is punished by the Inquisition."
"The Inquisition will regard your reluctance to engage in combat with Rogoza as legitimate. There have been precedents; if you wish, I can even obtain the relevant documents. But you can take my word for it. I've never deceived you yet."
"I don't like the sound of that 'yet.""
Zabulon smiled with just the corner of his mouth. "It can't be helped. I am a Dark One, after all. I just don't think it's useful to lie without any reason."
Zabulon stood up, and Anton also got to his feet.
"Think, Anton. Think, Light One. And remember: Your love and the lives of your friends depend on your decision. That's the way things turn out sometimes: In order to help your friends, first you have to help your enemy. Better get used to it."
Zabulon walked rapidly out of the room, and then out of the apartment. That very instant the sentry sign started howling in the Twilight, and the mask of Chkhoen on the wall pulled a terrifying face. As Anton listlessly put everything in order, he tried to gather his thoughts.
Should he believe Zabulon or not?
Should he be with Svetlana or not?
Should he call Gesar and tell him everything or keep quiet?
Every conflict, from a simple, crude brawl to intrigues between different states and the Watches, is a battle of information. Whoever has the most precise idea of the strength and aims of his enemy will win.
Zabulon's aims and Anton's could not be the same. That was absolutely impossible. But what if the head of the Day Watch had told Anton what he had, precisely in order to make him reject the very idea of missing the Tribunal?
Where was the truth, and where was the lie? Zabulon's words were a cage, but inside the cage there was a mantrap, and inside the mantrap there was a mousetrap, and inside the mousetrap there was poisoned bait... How many layers of falsehood had to be peeled away in order to expose the truth?
Anton took a coin out of his pocket. He tossed it in the air and caught it, then laughed and put it back in his pocket, without even looking to see if it had come up heads or tails.
That wasn't the right way.
If one of the two choices was a trap, then he had to look for a third.
In order to get to the Tribunal at dawn, I either had to get up very early, or not go to bed at all. I chose the second option. I could catch up on my sleep later.
My Dark colleagues had grilled me stubbornly for a while, trying to extract the motives for my actions, but since I myself didn't understand very much about why I behaved the way I did and not some other way, they didn't get much out of me.
Nothing really interesting happened until the evening; I went to the shop where they burned mini-disks for my stylish little player and asked if they kept the lists of the collections ordered by their clients. It turned out they did. And for some reason I chose to order a copy of the disk that Anton Gorodetsky, the Light magician, had put together. Maybe I was trying to get an idea of his view of the world from his musical preferences? I don't know... Just recently I'd got out of the habit of asking questions, because most of the time I didn't get any answers. And correct answers were even rarer.
There was one other thing that stuck in my memory that evening: someone I met in the metro. I was on my way back from the music shop. On the metro. Sitting there with my hands in the pockets of my jacket (my Dark colleagues had kindly brought my things back from the field HQ at the airport) and listening to the disk I'd just bought. I was in a good mood, feeling calm.
The essence of things and the sequence of years, The faces of friends and the masks of enemies Are clearly visible, they cannot be concealed From the sight of the poet¡ªhe owns the centuries. The light of distant stars and the beginning of dawn, The secrets of life and the mysteries of love At the moment of inspiration, warmed by the sun, All is reflected in the poet's soul, In the mirror of the world...
Suddenly there was a subtle change of some kind in my surroundings. The announcer was just warning the unfortunate passengers to be careful because the doors were closing. I pressed "pause" and raised my head, glancing around.
Then I saw him. A teenage kid, fourteen or fifteen years old. There was no doubt that he was an Other. He must have been initiated, because he was staring at me in fascination through the Twilight and shielding himself against the Twilight pretty skillfully at the same time. But his aura was absolutely pristine. As pure as the newly fallen snow, an identical distance from the Light and the Darkness. He was an Other, but at the same time he wasn't either Light or Dark.
We looked at each other for a long time, all the way to the next stop. Probably we would have carried on looking at each other for even longer, but a rather attractively built woman, obviously his mother, roused the kid from his trance.
"Egor! Are you asleep? We're getting off."
The teenager started, looked at me one last time with obvious anguish in his eyes, and stepped out onto the platform. I was left behind in the carriage.
It took me about a minute to gather my thoughts. I was still wondering what had struck me so much about this Other. He had reminded me of something. Something very important, but elusive. I just couldn't think what it was.
Then I went back to Nikolsky and his "Mirror of the World," and that made me feel a bit calmer.
The mirror shows me how a man has lived, Who has composed his song out of lies, Who wants it to be night everywhere, Shows me that I must help people. I have the mirror of the world, If you want to look¡ªdon't fear the fire, The fire that I will glorify in song, Let people know there is a good power In the mirror of the world...
Strange. This song would suit the Light Ones better. So why did I, a Dark One, feel that strange aching in my heart?
I carried this vague, uncertain feeling back to the Day Watch office with me. The elderly, worldly-wise vampire at the entrance started away from me like a sanctimonious hypocrite from sudden temptation. Shocked, I suddenly realized that there were a few bluish-white streaks glowing in my own aura.
"I'm sorry," I said, putting my aura in order. "It's a disguise."
The vampire gave me a suspicious look. A female vampire stuck her head out of the duty office¡ªit was a sure bet she was his wife.
They checked my seals very thoroughly and it looked as if they were going to stall me as long as they could, but at this point Edgar came into the office with a pretty young witch. He understood what was happening from the first glance, and a single movement of his eyebrow was enough for the over-vigilant couple on watch. Edgar nodded to me and walked toward the elevators. The witch was devouring me with her eyes.
In the elevator she plucked up her courage and asked, "Are you new here?"
Her voice expressed an entire spectrum of emotions and aspirations that I felt no desire to analyze. Somehow I didn't feel like demonstrating my own Power in front of Edgar and the other powerful Dark Ones.
But Edgar's attention had been caught, and I could see he was genuinely interested in how I would answer.
"Well, in a certain sense, I'm new."
The young witch smiled. "Is it true that you defeated four Light warriors single-handed and killed the tiger-woman?"
Edgar curved his lips very slightly in a sarcastic smile, but he still said nothing, listening with interest.
"Yes."
The witch had no time to ask any more questions. We'd arrived.
"Alita," Edgar said in a deep, hollow voice, "you can pester our guest later. First go and report to Anna Tikhonovna..."
Alita nodded enthusiastically and then turned to me: "Can I come around and see you for coffee? In about an hour?"
"Yes, okay," I agreed. "Only I haven't got any coffee."
"I'll bring some," the pretty witch promised, and she set off for the office.
She didn't ask where I was staying, which meant she already knew.
For a few seconds I watched the witch from behind. Her stylish silver jacket, the kind that mountain skiers and tourists wear (I was immediately reminded of my acquaintances from the for-est), was decorated with a brightly colored image: a cartoon of a girl with big eyes and her foot thrust out in a kick, with the caption "Battle Angel Alita." The drawing and the caption were partly covered by the witch's long hair, which was hanging down across the jacket.
Edgar also looked as Alita walked away. There was plenty to look at, despite the winter outfit.
"She'll come," Edgar said thoughtfully. "She's already asked about you."
I shrugged. "The Tribunal's tomorrow," I said, changing the subject. "What should I do? Skip it? Go with everyone else?"
"Go with everyone else, of course. You're a witness." Edgar looked around. "Would you come into the office for a moment?"
"All right."
Somehow I was quite sure this office had never been used by the genuine head of the Day Watch, who wasn't in Moscow right then. It was more likely Edgar's office or the office of one of the senior Dark Ones. I slumped gratefully into an armchair, noting to myself that it was far more comfortable than the sagging seats in the metro carriages. Edgar took an already opened bottle of cognac out from somewhere under the desk.
"Shall we take a shot?" he suggested.
"Sure."
Who would want to refuse old Koktebel?
"I'm glad you've come back," said Edgar, pouring the cognac. "Otherwise we would have had to go looking for you."
"In order to clarify our tactics and strategy at tomorrow's session of the Tribunal?" I asked, guessing.
"Exactly."
It was good cognac. Smooth and aromatic. Maybe it wasn't the most famous and prestigious brand (which one is, anyway?), but I really enjoyed it.
"I won't even ask any more why you behave so strangely. To be quite honest, I've been instructed not to. From up there." Edgar raised his eyes expressively to the ceiling. "And I'm not going to try to figure out who you really are, either. For the same reason. All I want to ask is: Are you on our side? Are you with the Day Watch? With the Dark Ones? Can we count on you as one of ours tomorrow?"
"Definitely," I said, without even pausing for thought. Then I made it even clearer: "That's the answer to all your questions."
"That's good," Edgar said with a rather weary sigh and drained his spherical glass in a single gulp.
I didn't think he believed me.
We finished the cognac in total silence. Edgar didn't find it necessary to hold a consultation on how to behave at the next day's session of the Tribunal. He had clearly decided that I'd behave however I wanted to anyway. And he was absolutely right.
I spent the night with Alita, over coffee and conversation. The young witch had even managed to get hold of that long-forgotten brand Casa Grande. We settled down in the armchairs and chatted¡ªabout everything and nothing. It was a long time since I'd had such a good time, just sitting and chatting. About music, which I turned out to know quite a lot about. And literature, which I knew rather less about. And movies, which I knew absolutely nothing about. Every now and then, Alita tried to get me to talk about myself and my abilities, but she did this so artlessly that I never even suspected she could have been sent by the vigilant Anna Tikhonovna.
An hour before dawn there was a knock at the door.
"It's open," I shouted.
Edgar and Anna Tikhonovna came in.
"Are you ready?" Edgar asked.
"Always prepared, like a Young Pioneer," I assured him. "Are we moving out in close formation? In armored vehicles or in marching order?"
"Don't play the clown," said Anna Tikhonovna, pursing her lips and giving Alita a severe look. Alita gazed back innocently.
"All right, I won't," I promised. "Where are we going? I don't even know."
In fact, I had no doubt that the reliable internal guide, buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, would tell me where we were going and which direction to follow. But I asked anyway.
"The main building of Moscow University," Edgar told me. "Up in the tower. Shagron's waiting downstairs with his car¡ª you can go with him."
"Okay. I'll go with him."
"Good luck," said Alita, heading for the door. "I'll call around tomorrow, okay, Vitaly?"
"No," I said gloomily. "You won't."
I knew for certain that I was right. But as yet I didn't understand why.
Alita shrugged and walked away. Anna Tikhonovna slipped out after her. Hmm... maybe the old hag had sent the girl after all? But then she'd decided to do her own thing and not tried to get anything out of me. If I was right, I had to feel sorry for Alita. Anna Tikhonovna would extract her very soul, squeeze it out and hang it up to dry. She'd regret she'd ever been born.
I reached for my cell phone and dialed Shagron's number, too fast even to be surprised that I knew it.
"Shagron? This is your guest from the South. Can you give me a lift? Uh-huh, I'm on my way."
"Okay, I'll get going too," said Edgar. "Don't drag it out. The Inquisition gets very touchy when someone's late."
I put my coat on, locked my door, and went down in the elevator. The vampires on watch looked at me a lot more calmly this time¡ªeither their immediate superiors had had a heart-to-heart talk with them, or they'd realized the truth for themselves. But then, what was the truth? It refused to reveal itself even to me. There were only sudden, brief glimpses of one piece of the mosaic when the curtain was raised for an instant and then descended again, and that impenetrable, misty shroud obscured my sight.
Shagron's BMW was snorting out exhaust fumes about twenty meters away, right under the No Stopping sign. I got in on Shagron's right.
"Good morning."
"I hope it's a good one," Shagron barked. "Shall we go?"
"Yes, if we're not waiting for anyone else, let's go."
Shagron slid into the dense stream of traffic without saying another word.
Driving around snow-covered Moscow in rush hour is a really special experience. Occasionally Shagron pacified the over-keen nearby drivers through the Twilight. Otherwise they would have been cutting in front of us, forcing us over into the next lane, and then squeezing us out of the gaps that suddenly opened up. I put my safety belt on just in case. Shagron muttered something with his teeth clenched. He was probably swearing.
After my sleepless night I had an almost irresistible yearning for a blissful doze, especially since the seats in this quality German automobile encouraged just that. If I'd tried listening to music, I'd have been sure to be lulled into sleep. But I didn't feel like listening to music just then, so I stayed in this world filled with the roar of dozens of engines, the quiet hum of the air-conditioner, the shrill honking of car horns, and the swish of dirty gray slush under our mudguards.
If we'd gone by metro, we would have got there a lot sooner. But as it was, half an hour later we were still crawling along jam-packed Ostozhenka Street toward Vernadsky Prospect. The traffic jam was getting bigger, sprouting a tail that reached back toward the center of Moscow.
"Hell's bells," Shagron hissed angrily. "We could get stuck in this."
"Let's open a portal," I said with a shrug.
Shagron gave me a strange look. "Vitaly! We're on our way to a session of the Tribunal under the patronage of the Inquisition! Your portal would collapse two kilometers away from where we're going!"
"Ah, yes," I said light-heartedly. "That's right. I forgot." Actually, I could easily have guessed that for myself. Magical interventions and any use of magic were forbidden while the
Tribunal was at work. The Other-I inside me helpfully informed me that there had been violations in the past, but only during times of violent upheaval that was the direct cause of the violations themselves.
But then, this was a time of change too. The end of the millennium. A turning point. I remembered how terrified people had been in the summer, when they were waiting for the eclipse, how badly the earthquake in Turkey had frightened them... But it was all right, we'd survived.
Only, of course, in surviving we'd become slightly different. All of us, Others and people, especially people.
"Shi-it!" Shagron yelled, jolting me out of my reverie.
I didn't even have time to glance out through the windshield. There was a deafening crash, and in the same instant I was thrown forward and my ribs were squeezed together painfully as the safety belt bit into my chest; with a repulsive, shrill squeak, a fat, round cushion sprouted from the driving wheel, and Shagron's face and chest slid up around it until he crashed into the spot where the windscreen met the roof. There was an unpleasant sort of jangling sound outside the car and a fine shower of crumbs of glass shot up in the air, falling silently on the snow, but drumming an irregular tattoo against the bodywork of the cars around us. Then, to add insult to injury, we were rammed from behind. Someone had run straight into our trunk.
There were two or three seconds that felt like the launch of a space shuttle, and then I stopped being twisted and tossed about. The blissful moment of dynamic equilibrium had arrived.
Shagron slid back down off the steering wheel into his seat, leaving a trail of blood on the balloon. I thought his arm was broken too. The fool hadn't fastened his belt... How long would he be regenerating now?
All around us there were car horns blaring.
With mixed feelings, I unclasped my belt, pushed the door open, and got out onto the road covered in compressed snow and sprinkled with broken glass.
The hood of our car had been rammed at a slight angle by a red Niva. The trunk had been crumpled so it looked as if someone had taken a bite out of it; there was the front end of a well cared for Japanese jeep sticking into it. Well, it had been well cared for. In fact, the jeep hadn't suffered all that badly: One headlight on the impact bar had been broken, and the bar itself was bent a bit. He'd obviously had enough time to brake.
"You stupid or something, jerk?" someone from the jeep yelled as he dashed at me. He seemed to consist of dark glasses, a shaved head, a barrel-like torso squeezed into something crimson and black, and stylish shoes that were size forty-something plus. This individual's eyes were as pale as the aura of a young infant... or the aura of that kid Egor in the metro.
Couldn't he see that the Niva had rammed us?
And then the crimson outfit of this barrel-shaped individual suddenly flared up in a dull bluish flame, and the individual squealed like a hog under the knife.
I recognized a transatlantic spell popularly known as Spider Flame. And then, before I could recover my wits from the attack by the scarlet-clad individual, someone took me by the collar and swung me around.
If there was one person I hadn't expected to see, it was him. The Light magician and music lover Anton Gorodetsky.
"Who are you?" he whispered furiously. "Who are you, may the Darkness take you? Only don't lie!"
His eyes were even paler than the eyes of the individual from the jeep, who was now furiously dancing something like a jig.
Something seemed to click inside my head. And my lips whispered the words of their own accord: "The mirror of the world..."
"The mirror..." the Light One echoed. "Damn you! Damn everything!"
I felt like replying that curses were the province of the Dark Ones, but I restrained myself. And I was right. Anton's aura was a blaze of crimson and purple. I was certainly more powerful than Gorodetsky... but just then he seemed to be supported by some incomprehensible force that was neither Light nor Darkness, but no less powerful. And if there had been a duel, I couldn't have told you which way it would go.
Anton let go of the collar of my jacket, swung around, and wandered off blindly, squeezing his way between the cars, ignoring the horns and the curses hurled at him through the wound-down windows. Traffic police sirens began howling somewhere quite close. The traffic jam had completely blocked Ostozhenka Street, except for a narrow channel in the oncoming stream of traffic, through which a few lucky drivers were squeezing their cars one by one, swearing and beeping their horns.
I looked at my watch. I had fifteen¡ªno, now it was fourteen minutes left to get to the university. And I knew for sure that I couldn't use any transport magic.
But first things first¡ªhow was Shagron?
I walked round the Niva with its door hanging open and approached the BMW from the driver's side. Shagron was unconscious, but in the first instant of danger his immediate reflex response had been to set up a protective membrane and slip into the Twilight. And now he was regenerating, like a pupa, and the greedy Twilight could do nothing to him.
He would survive. He'd recover, and fairly quickly too. Most likely in the ambulance, if it could get here through the traffic jam. Shagron was too powerful a magician to be seriously hurt by something as minor as a traffic accident.
All right then, till we meet again, Shagron. I don't think the Inquisition will charge you with anything. It was force majeure, after all.
And just then I saw my salvation. A young guy deftly maneuvering his way along the very edge of the road on a feeble little orange motorbike. There was someone who didn't have to worry about traffic jams...
Of course, it was the wrong season for that kind of transport. But even so...
I slid into the Twilight.
In the Twilight the mini-motorbike looked a bit like the little hump-backed horse in the fairy tale. A small animal with handlebars for horns and one big headlight-eye.
"Get off," I told the young guy.
He obediently got off the saddle and stood there.
Leaping over the hood of a beige-colored Opel, I took hold of the handlebars. The mini-motorbike's engine was idling and snorting devotedly.
Okay then, forward. The young guy was standing there frozen like a dummy on the sidewalk, clutching the dollars I'd stuffed in his hand. I twisted the grip that controlled the gas toward me and just avoided scraping the polished side of the nearest car as I set off, squeezing my way through the traffic toward the edge of the jam and the Garden Ring Road. It was fairly simple to get the hang of the tiny Honda, even though it was meant for the warm asphalt of Japan, and not the icy roads of Moscow. And I managed to maneuver between all the cars pretty smartly too. But the bike couldn't give me any real speed¡ª thirty kilometers an hour at most. I realized I still wouldn't get there in time, even if I abandoned the laboring Honda and dived into the nearest metro station¡ªit was still a long way from the University metro station to the spire-topped central building of the university itself. Of course, I could take over any driver's mind on the way, but what guarantee was there that we'd escape the morning traffic jams? I remembered vaguely that in the area of the university the main roads were immensely wide, but I still wasn't certain. If I rode the Honda farther, I would retain my mobility almost all the way to my destination. But on the other hand, I only had a very general idea of the route. I was no Muscovite, unfortunately. Maybe I should just rely on the inner helper who had never let me down so far? I could, of course. But what if this was the very moment he chose to let me down? The most critical moment of all? That was the way things usually happened.
I listened for an inner voice. The cold wind lashing my face was full of exhaust fumes. Moscow was breathing carbon monoxide...
My faithful assistant was obviously asleep.
I skipped past the Garden Ring Road and the Park of Culture metro station. But when I saw the Frunzenskaya station up ahead, I decided to go underground. Time was pressing.
Before I even reached the steps at the entrance to the metro, the bike had already been stolen. The motor gave a brief grunt as it was started up, and some quick-thinking individual drove the reliable little Japanese machine away, disappearing into the side streets as quickly as possible. Ah, people, people... The Light Ones take care of you, protect you, cherish you, but you're still the same old trash you always were. Animals with no conscience or compassion. Elbow everyone aside, steal, sell, stuff your belly, and the world can go to hell. It's so repulsive...
I simply jumped over the turnstiles¡ªin the Twilight, an invisible shadow. I had no time to buy a ticket and stick it in the slot of the magnetic reader. That was okay: The country wouldn't go bankrupt because of me.
I slid down the escalator too, without leaving the Twilight. Jumped up onto the slow-moving handrail and went hurtling downward, barely managing to set one foot after the other in the sticky gray jelly. A train was just about to leave the platform; while I was still figuring out if it was going in the right direction, the doors closed. Never mind, that was no hindrance to me. But traveling back into the center certainly wasn't what I wanted.
I jumped into the carriage straight through the closed door¡ª in the Twilight. Then gently moved aside the astonished passengers as I seemed to appear out of nowhere.
"Oh!" someone exclaimed.
"Tell me, is this Moscow?" I blurted out for some reason. Probably out of a boisterous sense of sheer stupid mischief.
No one answered. Well, all right. At least now there was no-ticeably more free space around me. I took hold of the handrail and closed my eyes.
Sportivnaya station, Sparrow Hills station, still closed¡ªthe train was barely crawling along; every now and then, in the cracks between the metal doors that didn't quite meet, I caught glimpses of electric lights and the gray half-light of early morning. Dawn already...
Finally, here was the University station. The escalator, very long and very crowded. I had to wait again. That was it. I was definitely late.
Up at the top it was almost light. Finally realizing that I wouldn't get there for the beginning of the session, I suddenly felt completely calm and stopped hurrying. Completely. I took the button headphones out of my pocket, switched on the player with Anton Gorodetsky's disk in it, and walked off to stop a car.
"It's time," the Inquisitor announced quietly. "All those who have not arrived on time will answer for it later in strict accordance with the terms of the Treaty."
Everyone present got to their feet. Dark Ones and Light Ones alike. The members of the Watches and the judges. Gesar and Zabulon, whom everyone had thought was away from Moscow. The Inquisitor Maxim and the Inquisitors who were there as observers, shrouded in their long, loose gray robes. Everyone who had gathered in the turret of the main building of Moscow University. The small, five-sided chamber of the invisible Twilight story stood on top of the agricultural museum and was used exclusively for holding the infrequent sessions of the Inquisition's Tribunal. In the postwar years it had been quite common to include Twilight structures in buildings¡ªit had been cheaper than putting up with the constant opposition from the state security forces and militia, who were always sticking their noses into other people's business. There was an excellent view from there of the scarlet glow of dawn creeping out from behind the horizon and the incredible shimmering streaks of light that had been dancing above the university building, slowly fading, ever since Jean Michel Jarre's concert for Moscow's anniversary celebrations. The Others would be able to see the traces of that laser show for a long time yet, even without entering the Twilight, where colors fade and disappear. Huge numbers of people had gazed rapturously at the colorful show, pouring their emotions out into the Twilight.
Maxim, wearing an ordinary business suit¡ªnot loose robes like the other Inquisitors¡ªwaved his hand, unfurling in the Twilight a gray canvas covered with letters of red flame. Thirty voices began chanting together: "We are the Others. We serve different powers. But in the Twilight there is no difference between the absence of Darkness and the absence of Light..."
The immense city and the entire vast country were unaware that almost everyone who decided the fate of Russia was gathered here now, and not in the Kremlin. In a neglected, crowded chamber under the spire of the Moscow University building, with wooden chairs, light armchairs, and even sun loungers set in the old, thick dust¡ªeveryone had brought what they could manage. No one had bothered to bring a table, so there wasn't one.
The Others are not very fond of cheap rituals: A court is action, not spectacle. And so there were no gowns, wigs, and tablecloths. Only the gray robes of the observers, but no one really remembered why the Inquisitors sometimes wore those.
"We limit our rights and our laws. We are the Others..."
The scarlet letters of the Treaty blazed in the semi-darkness, the embodiment of Truth and Justice. And the voices rang out:
"We are the Others."
Thirty voices:
"Time will decide for us."
After the Treaty had been read, the Tribunal proper began, by tradition, with the least important cases.
Without getting up off his rotating piano stool, a judge, one of the Inquisitors clad in the loose robes, announced in a per-fectly ordinary voice, with no special solemnity: "Case number one. Poaching by the Dark Side. Bring in the guilty party."
Not even the accused, but the guilty party. Guilt had already been proven. The witnesses would only help to determine the circumstances and the degree of guilt. And the court would give its verdict. Pitiless and just.
"Unfortunately, not all the witnesses are present. We are missing Vitaly Rogoza, an Other registered in Nikolaev in Ukraine and temporarily registered here in Moscow, who is absent for reasons unknown; and also Andrei Tiunnikov and Ekaterina Sorokina, who were killed in cases that will be "considered a little later..."
The trial was brief and strict: "Victoria Manguzova, Dark Other, registered in Moscow, is guilty of the offense of unlicensed hunting. The verdict is dematerialization. Are there any objections or proposed amendments to the verdict from the Watches?"
There were no objections from the Dark Ones and, of course, not from the Light Ones either.
"The sentence will be carried out immediately," said the Inquisitor. He looked at the Light Ones¡ªverdicts were traditionally carried out by members of the Watches.
Ilya stood up and adjusted his spectacles. He looked intently at the female vampire, who howled, because she knew there was no escape. There was neither hate nor joy in the magician's glance. Nothing but concentration. He reached out his hand and touched the registration seal on the vampire's chest through the Twilight. A moment later Victoria slumped onto the floor. She didn't crumble to dust as an older vampire would have done; her body still hadn't lived out its time yet. But the force that replaces life in vampires, drawn over the years from human beings, had dissolved irretrievably into the Twilight. The room had turned a little bit colder. Ilya frowned and dispatched the body into the Twilight with another restrained gesture.
Forever.
Thus is the verdict of the Others applied.
"Case number two. The killing of an uninitiated Other by a Dark Other, a shape-shifter. Bring in the guilty party..."
Questions. Answers. A brief consultation by the Inquisitors.
"Oksana Dashchiuk, Dark Other, registered in Moscow, is adjudged not guilty of premeditated murder; her actions are categorized as self-defense. But she is found guilty of using excessive force to defend herself and therefore deprived of her license to hunt for a period of ten years. In the event of a repeat offense or any violation of the fifth level or above, she shall be subject to immediate dematerialization. Are there any objections or proposed amendments to the verdict from the Watches?"
Ilya looked at Gesar and rose to his feet again. "We have objections. There was no actual threat to the life of this Other. There was no need to kill the man. We demand that she be deprived of her license for a period of fifty years."
"Thirty," replied Maxim, as if he'd been expecting this demand. And in fact he had been...
"Forty," Gesar said in a cold voice, without getting up. "Shall I present all the necessary grounds?"
"Forty," Maxim agreed. He looked at the Dark Ones, but they didn't intervene, believing quite correctly that the shape-shifter's fate wasn't worth arguing about.
"Release the prisoner from custody..."
The door opened in front of the pale, frightened girl and she dashed out happily, still not realizing that she might as well have been sentenced to execution. Forty years is a very long time for a shape-shifter who can only draw Power from human lives. Long enough for her to grow decrepit and maybe even die, without any way of opposing the implacable advance of age.
"Case number three. An attack on a Dark Other by members of the Night Watch. Since the victim is not present, the court judges it appropriate to cross-examine the surviving guilty parties and the head of the Night Watch, who permitted the un-sanctioned use of force against a Dark Other. All protests from the side of the Light Ones are rejected in advance."
Gesar frowned. Zabulon permitted himself a restrained smile.
Svetlana Nazarova, the Light enchantress, glanced at her watch in concern. She was feeling nervous because the Light magician Anton Gorodetsky was late.
"Might it not be more expedient to establish the reason for the absence of three individuals who were invited to attend?" Gesar asked cautiously, involuntarily adopting the judges' official style of speech. "I assure you that I am not trying to play for time at all. I am alarmed by the absence of a member of the Night Watch and one of the greatest troublemakers in these recent weeks."
The Inquisitors exchanged glances as if they were silently taking an official decision.
"The Inquisition has no objection," Maxim said in a dispassionate voice. "Permission is granted for the necessary magical intervention."
The Inquisition observers' robes swayed as they moved their protective amulets. Maybe that was why they wore the robes, so that no one could see how they used the amulets and exactly what kind of amulets they had? The Inquisition has its own methods; its own laws, and its own weapons...
An observation sphere sprang into sight in midair. Gray haze, streaked with wavy lines. Most of them disappeared, leaving only three.
Three threads of fate that had recently crossed at a single point. One thread was faded and barely glowing at all. An Other was hurt...
"That's Shagron," said Edgar, who had now relinquished the responsibilities of deputy chief of the Dark Ones. "That's Shagron!"
The two other threads parted, but they were about to cross again at any moment¡ªright outside the University building.
A clash. Another clash between Dark Ones and Light Ones. But so far with no fatalities.
"The Night Watch requests the Inquisition to intervene!" Gesar barked. "Maxim, Oscar, Raoul¡ªthey'll kill each other!"
A woman stood up beside the head of the Night Watch¡ªit was the Light Other Olga, who had only recently reacquired her abilities as an enchantress, and a very powerful one, which meant that she had lost her right to a surname, but not yet acquired the right to a Twilight name. She touched Gesar's elbow and looked at the judges inquiringly.
Svetlana had turned pale and her face looked as if it were made out of wax.
The Dark Ones didn't say anything. Zabulon scratched the tip of his nose thoughtfully.
"The Tribunal forbids any intervention," one of the judges announced dryly.
"Why?" Svetlana asked helplessly. She tried to get up out of her light wicker armchair, but she didn't have the strength. The physical strength. But Svetlana's real strength, the magical Power of an Other, began circling around her in a dense spiral.
Just like people, when Others are angry, or in extreme situations, they are often stronger than when they're calm.
"Why?" Svetlana's voice rang out insistently. "Everywhere this Dark One has appeared, Others or people have died. He's a killer! Are you going to allow him to carry on killing?"
The judge remained imperturbable. "While he has been in Moscow the Dark One Vitaly Rogoza has not once violated a single stipulation of the Treaty, and he has not once exceeded the limits of permissible force to defend himself. He has nothing to answer to the Inquisition for. We have no grounds to intervene."
"When the grounds appear, it will be too late!" Gesar said harshly.
The Inquisitor merely shrugged.
"He's going to take revenge for Shagron," one of the Light Ones said quietly and coughed.
Two magicians¡ªa Light One and a Dark One¡ªwere approaching the entrance to the Moscow University building, and as the distance between them melted away, everyone at the Tribunal felt more and more certain that only one of them would make it up into the turret. But who would it be?
I don't know why but I got out of the car about three hundred meters away from the entrance to the university building. I could see spots of color, rays of light, and three-dimensional figures flickering above the building; I could sense that a power I didn't understand was restraining ordinary higher magic, not allowing it to be used. And I sensed that up there at the very top, just where the sharp steeple of the Moscow skyscraper began, there was a light gray cloud gradually swelling, and it reminded me of a time bomb.
I looked around as I set off along the sidewalk. In theory I ought to have been hurrying, but I walked at a medium pace. That must have been the way I was supposed to do it.
Just don't ask who had decided that.
My mini-disk player was oozing out another melody. I didn't like it, so I found the skip button by touch and pressed it. What would it be this time?
My name is an effaced hieroglyph, My clothes are patched by the wind... What I carry in my tight-clenched hands, No one asks, and I will not answer...
The band Picnic and their song "Hieroglyph." That would do¡ªa leisurely melody for someone who is already late anyway and whose only option now is to focus his mind and acquire the all-embracing, imperturbable calm of the sages of the East.
I wondered if there were any Others among those sages? Or maybe the question should be put the other way around¡ªwere there any human beings among them?
It would be interesting to find out...
I managed to adjust the security guards' minds¡ªclearly the simplest, everyday spells were permitted even during a session of the Tribunal.
I walked across to the elevators¡ªthe vestibule was strangely deserted. Maybe subconsciously the people had sensed the presence nearby of all the most powerful Others in Moscow and were avoiding coming to this place? I pressed the button and the doors of one of the elevators opened immediately. I got out, automatically looking around to see if anyone else was hurrying for the elevator...
And I saw Anton. He'd just walked past the security guards, who were still out of action.
I wondered how he'd managed to catch up with me. Had he requisitioned a motorbike as well?
I stood there, waiting. Anton looked at me, as if he were pondering some thought, and waited too.
After a little pause, I pressed the button. The doors of the elevator closed and I went up. But not all the way to the very top right away, only about two-thirds of the way up the building. It turned out that the only way I could go higher was on a different elevator that served the upper floors. And then the only way to get where I needed to go was to follow a wide marble stairway with old blotches of whitewash on it. The stairway led to a door that was open in the Twilight but, naturally, firmly closed and locked in the ordinary world.
Just before the stairway, Picnic's ritual performance came to an end and the player selected another song at random:
I dream of dogs and of wild beasts, I dream that animals with eyes like lamps Bit into my wings high in the heavens, And I fell clumsily, like a fallen angel...
I'd only heard snatches of this song by Nautilus Pompilius before, but now it suddenly struck an echo in my very soul. As I walked up toward the locked door and dived into the Twilight, I sang along together with Butusov.
I don't remember the fall, I only remember The impact as I struck the cold stones. How could I have flown so high and then Tumbled down so cruelly, like a fallen angel? Straight back down into the place that we Had left behind, hoping for a new life. Straight back down into the place from where We stared avidly up into the blue heavens. Straight down...
Any Other could have heard me and Butusov, even though the only real sound was coming from the little button earphones and faded away completely only one step away from me.
We entered the chamber where the Tribunal was taking place together. Me and the fallen angel.
I tried to be just and kind,
And I wasn't frightened or surprised
By the people gathering down on the Earth
To watch an angel fall...
Gesar. Zabulon. The Inquisitor Maxim. The Dark Ones I'd been drinking coffee with and talking to for the last few days: Edgar, Yura, Kolya, Anna Tikhonovna... The Light Ones I'd been sparring and fighting with recently, bending the rules almost to the point of breaking them: Ilya, Garik, Tolik, the shape-shifter, Bear. Others I didn't know, both Dark and Light, including some who were obviously not connected with the Watches. Two in loose robes¡ªInquisitors, I supposed.
And a light enchantress with a face contorted in grief. People and Others have expressions like that when they've just lost loved ones.
And the wind swirls into their open mouths, Filling them with white snow, or sweet manna,
Or simply feathers flying down after
The one who has fallen, like a fallen angel...
And then I was dragged irresistibly up the transparent stairway, to the top of the mysterious pyramid I had been climbing all this time; at almost the very same moment, the two Inquisitors in robes rescinded the prohibition on higher magic. Svetlana hit me with that cloud I had seen, which had been ready to burst and explode at any moment. A field of Power that made a multi-megaton explosion seem tiny and insignificant.
Time stopped
And I understood everything. Everything that had happened. Everything that was happening now and everything that was destined to happen in the immediate future. I understood, and swallowed hard to keep down the lump that had suddenly risen in my cramped throat.
I had become the most powerful magician on Earth. A magician beyond classification. A Caliph for an hour... no, only for an instant... The only one in this dilapidated round hall who had no future.
There are some Others who have no future...
A Mirror! I was nothing but a Mirror. The Mirror of the World. A weight cast into the dangling pan of the scales when the balance between the powers of Light and the powers of Darkness is disrupted.
The Light had acquired a new Great Enchantress, but the Darkness had not been given an equally strong adept. The Light had been granted a chance to settle accounts with the Darkness once and for all.
But there is no Light without Darkness. And so the Twilight had produced me. It had found a strange Other who had not yet inclined to one side or the other, an Other with a pristine, pure aura, and then colored that aura Dark. It had taken away my former memories and given me the ability to reflect and absorb others' Power. The more powerfully I was struck, the more powerful I had become, jumping up onto the next step. And when there was nowhere left to jump, that was the summit, and beyond that there was only eternity and the Twilight¡ªthe Mirror was no longer needed. Because the Mirror had itself become capable of disrupting the equilibrium.
The Twilight was waiting for me. Eternal Twilight. I didn't know what would happen to the body of Vitaly Rogoza, who until only recently had been an Other with no destiny. I didn't know what would happen to his memory and his personality¡ª it all happens differently every time a Mirror comes. I only knew that the one who had become aware of himself in that frozen park in Nikolaev on his way to catch a train to Moscow would disappear forever, be transformed into an incorporeal, powerless shadow, a ghostly inhabitant of the Twilight.
Or simply into a part of the Twilight... the Twilight that is not as inert as we are all used to thinking...
I understood all this in the brief instant before I drew in all of Svetlana's Power. She imagined that she had lost Anton Gorodetsky. And she imagined it because of a freak coincidence, because I walked into the Tribunal hall with a mini-disk player exactly like Anton's, with a copy of his disk in the player and with Anton's favorite song in my ears and my soul. I also understood that the Inquisition knew the truth. But none of the Inquisitors would say a word to reassure the Others of Moscow, who believed I'd had a skirmish with Anton and Anton had been killed.
The Light Ones knew his favorite songs.
"Die!"
No, I won't die, Svetlana. Or rather, I will, but not right now. I am a Mirror. In trying to destroy me, you grow weaker, and I only grow stronger. I can already see what lies ahead of you¡ªthirty or fifty years spent on slowly restoring all the Power you've squandered so insanely. You'll have to collect together what you've lost, crumb by crumb. For three, or maybe more, decades¡ªlong enough for the Darkness to prepare for another attempt to disrupt the equilibrium by whichever side it happens to be. You have long years ahead of you to find happiness with Anton, or not to find it.
But in any case, throughout those years you will be equals.
Maybe you have lost your powers, but I'm giving you a chance... a chance that I don't have.
The music stopped. The magical blow had been too much for the player¡ªtechnology reacts badly in general to powerful magic¡ªand it shattered into shards of plastic. My cap went flying toward the door, and my jacket split in several places at once.
I was barely able to keep my feet, but I managed it.
"A Mirror!" Gesar exclaimed, his voice filled with an entire gamut of indescribable feelings and intonations. "The third time, and the third time for the Dark Ones!"
"Well, we don't set up global social experiments, my dear colleague!" said Zabulon, the head of the Day Watch, making no effort to conceal his triumph. Today he was one of the victors. And the Light Ones had suffered a defeat.
But just how many times had this already happened¡ªor the exact opposite?
Svetlana, drained and shattered, had been crushed by grief only a moment earlier, but now she cried out, unable to conceal her joy: "Anton!"
He was standing by the door. Anton Gorodetsky. Light magician. Alive and unharmed. He had followed me up.
"Thank you, Anton!" Zabulon said to him in a tone of immense satisfaction. "You carried out my assignment perfectly. I hope you're pleased with your reward?"
"Assignment?" Gesar exclaimed. "Anton?"
Zabulon laughed quietly as he stood up. The head of the Night Watch only gave his triumphant enemy a swift glance and then looked back at Anton.
But Anton walked up to Svetlana, who was so happy she couldn't understand a thing, put his arms around her, whispered, "Just a moment," and moved toward me.
For a few seconds we looked each other in the eye. Enemy to enemy. Other and non-Other. I don't even know how to put it so that it sounds right. There are always at least two truths, after all.
"Take this," said Anton.
And he handed me his disk player to replace the broken one.
"Thank you," I whispered. I took the remains of mine off my belt, took out my disk without speaking, and stuck it into the player he had given me, as if that were the most important thing of all now. And I thought: Now the Inquisitor will get up and say that I can go.
I was right, of course. Magicians of that level don't make mistakes, even if they are non-Others.
"In the name of the Treaty," Maxim declared as dryly and dispassionately as ever, "since it has been demonstrated beyond any doubt that Vitaly Rogoza is not an Other in the ordinary meaning of that word, the actions of the Night Watch relative to Vitaly Rogoza are not a matter for investigation by the Inquisition. Likewise, Vitaly Rogoza does not come under the terms of the Treaty. He is free to pursue his own destiny."
As if I'd ever really had one. Me and the other Mirrors who had come before me, and the young boy Egor, whose time had not yet come...
"The Inquisition has concluded its consideration of all the cases," said Maxim, glancing around at the magicians present. "Do the Watches have any comments or suggestions?"
I pressed Play and walked away. In my tattered jacket I looked like a cross between a street bum and a weird scarecrow. But who cared?
The disk player I'd been given was working in random mode. And yet again it picked out just what was needed from the dozens of tracks. Kipelov and Mavrin. "Troubled Times." All I had to do now was sing along.
So I did.
Troubled times!
The specter of freedom on a horse.
Blood up to your knees,
Like in some crazy dream.
The people amuse themselves
Killing the Old Gods,
The people pray,
Waiting for Righteous Words!
A comet in the sky,
A sure sign of imminent disaster.
Fallen Warriors of the Light
Are burned on bonfires.
Warriors of the Darkness
Have encircled the world.
Thousands of birds
Tumble down like rain.
Troubled times for the one who no longer has the right to call himself Vitaly Rogoza. For the one who rose, only to fall. For the fallen angel... the dark angel. Troubled times for you and for the Others. The end of the millennium. The time when it's impossible to tell the Light from the Darkness, or the Darkness from the Light. A time of deaths and battles. Troubled times.
We don't know who we are¡ª
Children of the red star,
Children of the black star,
Or of the fresh graves...
The dance of Death is simple and terrible,
But until the hour strikes,
The sins of all our lives
Are punished by these troubled times!
I don't know whose child I am either. I only know one thing: The troubled times usually punish those who have not committed any sins for the sins of others. Or if they have committed any sins, they're not the ones they're punished for. But I wasn't allowed any choice. I wasn't given any destiny.
We're still alive.
Some will be saved, some will not
On a wild impulse
They put the lights out in our fortress,
The flag torn down
Is the sign
Of surrender to our enemies,
But you will not take it,
It's a lie¡ª
For now we're still alive!
I am alive for now. And I'm singing. I'm singing, even though I know that Kipelov and Mavrin's next song contains the following lines:
Don't ask¡ªI won't take you with me.
Don't look¡ªI don't know the meaning of life.
Don't wish to learn another's secret
That's all¡ªI am only a spirit, I am vanishing!
I'm only a spirit. I'm only a Mirror. A Mirror that has reflected everything it was made to reflect. But I can't help asking and believing. I am leaving now, only to vanish, but I ask, I hope, I want to believe¡ªtake me with you! Take me!
I believe.
I hope.
I believe.
I...
