I DROVE UP TO THE NlGHT WATCH BUILDING SHORTLY AFTER SEVEN IN THE
morning. The deadest time of all¡ªthe break between shifts. The field operatives who have been on duty all night have handed in their reports and gone home and, following established Moscow tradition, the headquarters staff won't show up before nine.
They were changing shifts in the watch room, too. The guards on their way out were signing some papers, and those who had just arrived were studying the duty roster. I shook hands with all of them and walked through without any of the required checks. Strictly speaking, it was a breach of regulations... although this guardpost was primarily intended for checking people.
On the third floor the guards had already changed shifts. Garik was on duty here and he made no exceptions for me¡ª he inspected me through the Twilight and nodded for me to touch his amulet: an intricate image of a cockerel made out of gold wire. In reference to Pushkin's tale, we called it "greetings to Dodon"¡ªin theory, if a Dark One touched it the cockerel ought to crow. But there were some wits who claimed that if it sensed a Dark One, the cockerel would speak in a human voice: "How disgusting!"
Garik waited until he was through before he gave me a really friendly smile and shook my hand.
"Is Gesar in his office?" I asked.
"Who knows where he is?" Garik replied.
Yes, that really was a dumb question! Higher magicians move in mysterious ways.
"I thought you were supposed to be on leave..." Garik said, as if my strange question had put him on his guard.
"I got fed up with relaxing. Like they say, Monday begins on Saturday..."
"And you're absolutely whacked..." the other magician went on, growing even more cautious. "Okay, come on... stroke the cockerel again."
I sent another greeting to Dodon, then stood still for a while as Garik checked my aura with some ingenious amulet made out of colored glass.
"Sorry about that," he said as he put the amulet away. And added in a slightly embarrassed voice, "You're not yourself today."
"I was on vacation in the country with Sveta, and a very old witch turned up," I explained. "And there was a pack of werewolves getting a bit out of hand. I had to go after the werewolves, and go after the witch..." I gestured despairingly. "After a vacation like that I ought to take sick leave."
"So that's it," said Garik, calming down. "Put in an application¡ªI think we still have some of our quota left for restoring powers."
I shuddered and shook my head. "No thanks. I'll manage on my own."
After I said goodbye to Garik, I went up to the fourth floor. I stood outside Gesar's reception for a while, then knocked.
No one answered, and I went in.
The secretary wasn't at her desk, of course. The door into Gesar's office was firmly closed. But the little "ready" light was blinking cheerfully on the coffee maker, the computer was switched on, and even the television was muttering away quietly on the news channel. The anchorman was saying that another sandstorm had impeded the American forces in yet another peacemaking mission, overturning several tanks and even bringing down two planes.
"And it beat up all the soldiers and took several of them prisoner too," I couldn't resist adding.
What was this strange habit some Others had of watching TV? Either idiotic soap operas or the lies on the news. There was really only one word for it¡ªpeople...
Maybe the other word was "cattle?"
But no, it wasn't their fault. They were weak and divided. They were people, not cattle!
We were the cattle.
And people were the grass.
I stood there, leaning against the secretary's desk and looking out of the window at the clouds drifting by over the city. Why was the sky so low in Moscow? I'd never seen such a low sky anywhere else... except maybe for Moscow in winter...
"You can cut grass," a voice said behind my back. "Or you can tear it up by the roots. Which do you prefer?"
"Good morning, boss," I said, turning around. "I didn't think you were in."
Gesar yawned. He was wearing a dressing gown and slippers. I caught a glimpse of his pajamas under the dressing gown.
I would never have expected the Great Gesar to wear pajamas covered with pictures of Disney cartoon characters. From Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck to Lilo & Stitch. How could a Great Magician, who had lived thousands of years and could easily read thoughts, wear pajamas like that?
"I was sleeping," Gesar said glumly. "Sleeping quietly. I went to bed at five."
"Sorry, boss," I said. Somehow, no other word but "boss" came to mind. "Was there a lot of work last night?"
"I was reading a book, an interesting one," said Gesar, pressing switches on the coffeemaker. "Black with sugar for me, milk and no sugar for you..."
"Something magical?" I enquired.
"No, dammit, science fiction. Golovachev." Gesar growled.
"When I retire I'm going to ask to be his coauthor and write books! Take your coffee."
I took the cup and followed Gesar into his office.
As usual, several new knickknacks had appeared in there. In one cupboard there were lots of little figures of mice made of glass, tin, and wood and ceramic goblets and steel knives. Propped up against the back wall of the cupboard was an old armed forces reserves brochure with a photograph on its cover of a committee judging a parachute training session, and beside it there was a simple lithograph showing a green forest thicket.
For some reason¡ªI couldn't understand exactly why¡ªit all put me in mind of the primary grades in school.
And hanging up under the ceiling was a gold-colored hockey helmet that looked incredibly like a bald head. There were several darts stuck into it.
I glanced suspiciously at all these items, which might mean something very important, or might mean absolutely nothing at all, and sat down in one of the chairs for visitors. I noticed a book with a brightly colored cover lying in the wire-mesh trash basket. Could Gesar really have been reading Golovachev? But I took a closer look and realized I was mistaken¡ªthe title on the book was Masterpieces of World Science Fiction.
"Drink your coffee, it cleans out the brain in the morning," Gesar muttered in the same tone of annoyance. As he drank his own coffee, he slurped¡ªI almost thought that if I gave him a saucer and some sugar lumps he'd start drinking it that way¡ª straight from the saucer...
"I need answers to some questions, boss," I said. "A lot of questions."
"You'll get them," Gesar said with a nod.
"Others are much weaker in magic than ordinary people."
Gesar frowned. "Nonsense. An oxymoron."
"But isn't the magical Power of human beings..."
Gesar raised one finger and wagged it at me. "Stop right there. Don't confuse potential energy and kinetic energy."
Now it was my turn to keep quiet, while Gesar strode around the office with his coffee mug, pontificating in a leisurely fashion.
"First... Yes, all living things are capable of producing magical Power. All living things¡ªnot only human beings. Even animals, even grass. Is there any physical basis to this Power, can it be measured with a scientific instrument? I don't know. Possibly nobody ever will know. Second... No one can control his own Power. It dissipates into space and is absorbed by the Twilight¡ªpart is caught by the blue moss and part is intercepted by Others. Is that clear? There are two processes¡ªthe emission of your own Power and the absorption of Power that is not yours. The first process is involuntary and intensifies as you go deeper into the Twilight. The second is also, to a greater or lesser degree, typical of everybody¡ªboth human beings and Others. A sick child asks his mother, sit with me, rub my tummy! His mother strokes his tummy, and the pain goes away. The mother wants to help her child, and she is able to direct part of her Power to produce the directed effect. A so-called psychic, that is, a human being with truncated, castrated Other abilities, is not only able to influence people who are near and dear to him in a spontaneous outpouring of heightened emotion, he can heal other people or even put a curse on them. The Power that flows from him is more structured. No longer steam, but not yet ice¡ªit's water. Third... We are Others. In us the balance of emission and absorption is displaced toward absorption."
"What?" I exclaimed.
"Did you think it was all simple, like with vampires?" Gesar asked with a jolly smile. "Do you think Others only take, without giving anything in exchange? No, we all give back the Power that we produce. But while an ordinary person's process of absorption and emission is in dynamic equilibrium, and the balance is occasionally disrupted as a result of emotional agitation, with us it's different. We are unbalanced from the very beginning. We absorb more from the surrounding world than we give back."
"And we can juggle the remainder," I said. "Right?"
"We operate with the difference in potentials," said Gesar, wagging his ringer at me again. "It doesn't matter what your 'magical temperature' is¡ªthat was the term the witches used to use. You can actually generate a great deal of Power, and the rate at which it is emitted will increase in geometrical progression. There are Others like that... they give more back to the common pot than people do, but they also absorb very actively. They work on that difference in potentials."
After a moment's pause, Gesar added a self-critical comment: "But those are only rare cases, I admit. Far more often Others are less capable of producing magical Power than ordinary people, but equally or even more capable of absorbing it. Anton, there is no such thing as the average temperature for a hospital. We're not just crude vampires. We're donors, too."
"But why don't they teach us that?" I asked. "Why?"
"Because in the very crudest understanding of the process, we do, after all, consume Power that came from someone else!" Gesar barked. "Look at you, why did you come barging in here at such an early hour? To wax irate and lecture me. How can this be true¡ªwe consume the Power produced by people. And you have actually taken it directly, pumped it out, like a genuine vampire. When it was necessary, you didn't think twice. Off you went, in shining white armor, with sadness written large on your noble visage! And behind you little children were crying."
He was right, of course. Partly.
But I had already worked in the Watch for long enough to know that a partial truth is also a lie.
"Teacher..." I said in a low voice, and Gesar started.
I had refused to be his pupil any more on that day when 1 gathered Power from people.
"I'm listening, pupil," he said, looking into my eyes.
"Surely it's not a question of how much Power we consume, but how much we give back," I said. "Teacher, isn't the goal of the Night Watch to divide and protect?"
Gesar nodded.
"To divide and protect until such time as people's morals improve and new Others will only turn to the Light?"
Gesar nodded again.
"And all people will become Others?"
"Rubbish." Gesar shook his head. "Whoever told you such nonsense? Can you find that phrase anywhere in even one of the Watches' documents? In the Great Treaty?"
I closed my eyes and looked at the words that sprang into view; "We are Others..."
"No, it doesn't say that anywhere," I admitted. "But all our training, everything we do... it's all set up to create precisely that impression."
"That impression is false."
"Yes, but the self-deception is encouraged."
Gesar heaved a deep sigh. He looked into my eyes and said, "Anton, everyone needs their life to have a meaning. A higher meaning. Both people and Others. Even if that meaning is false."
"But it's a blind alley..." I whispered. "Teacher, it's a blind alley. If we defeat the Dark Ones..."
"Then we'll defeat Evil. Egotism, selfishness, indifference."
"But our own existence is egotism and selfishness too!"
"What do you suggest?" Gesar inquired politely.
I didn't answer.
"Do you have any objections to raise against the operational work of the Watches? Against monitoring the Dark Ones? Against helping people, attempts to improve the social system?"
I suddenly realized how I could strike back.
"Teacher, what exactly did you give Arina in 1931? When you met her near the racetrack?"
"A piece of Chinese silk," Gesar replied calmly. "She's a woman, after all, she wanted beautiful clothes... and those were hard times. A friend of mine sent me the silk from Manchuria, and I couldn't really think what to do with it... Do you blame me?"
I nodded.
"Anton, I was opposed to wide-scale experimentation on human beings from the very beginning," Gesar said, with obvious disgust. "It was a foolish idea that had been kicking around since the nineteenth century. No wonder the Dark Ones agreed. It didn't bring any positive changes at all. Just more blood, war, famine, repression..."
He stopped speaking and jerked the drawer of his desk open with a crash. He took out a cigar.
"But Russia would have been a prosperous country now..." I began.
"Blah, blah, blah..." Gesar muttered. "Not Russia, the Eurasian Union. A prosperous social-democratic state. Vying with the Asian Union, led by China, and the Conference of English-Speaking Countries, led by the United States. Five or six local nuclear conflicts every year... on the territory of Third World countries. A struggle for resources, an arms race far worse than what we have now..."
I was shattered and crushed. Totally blown away. But I still tried to object. "Arina said something... about a city on the moon..."
"Yes, that's right," Gesar said with a nod. "There would have been cities on the moon. Around the nuclear missile bases. Do you read science fiction?"
I shrugged and cast a sideways glance at the book in the trash basket.
"What the American writers were writing in the 1950s¡ª that would all have happened," Gesar explained. "Yes, spaceships with nuclear drives... all military. You see, Anton, there were three ways communism in Russia could have gone. The first led to a fine, wonderful society. But that's contrary to human nature. The second led to degeneration and self-destruction. That's what happened. The third way was a conversion to Scandinavian-type social-democracy, followed by the subjugation of most of Europe and North Africa. Alas, one of the consequences of following this path was the division of the world into three opposed blocks and¡ªsooner or later¡ªglobal war. But before that, people would have found out that the Others exist and wiped them out or brought them under control. I'm sorry, Anton, but I decided that was too high a price to pay for cities on the moon and a hundred different types of salami by 1980."
"But now America..."
"You and your America," Gesar said with a frown. "Wait until 2008, and then we'll talk."
I said nothing. I didn't even ask what it was Gesar had seen in the future, in the year 2008 that was already so near...
"I can appreciate your emotional torment..." said Gesar, reaching for his lighter. "You won't think me too cynical if I light up now?"
"Have a glass of vodka, if you like, teacher," I snarled back.
"I don't drink vodka in the morning." Gesar started puffing to get his cigar lit. "I understand your torment... your... doubts very well. I also do not regard the present situation as correct. But what's going to happen if we all fall into a melancholy depression and leave our jobs? I'll tell you what! The Dark Ones will be only too delighted to take on the role of shepherds of the human flock! They won't be embarrassed. They won't be able to believe their luck... So make your mind up."
"About what?"
"You came here intending to hand in your resignation," said Gesar, raising his voice. "So make up your mind if you're in the Watch or you think our goals aren't Light enough for you."
"Where there's black, even gray looks white," I replied.
Gesar snorted. He asked in a calmer voice, "What's happening with Arina, did she get away?"
"Yes. She took Nadiushka hostage and demanded help from me and Svetlana."
Not a single muscle even twitched in Cesar's face.
"The old hag has her principles, Anton. She can bluff with the best, but she would never touch a child. Trust me, I know her."
"And what if her nerve cracked?" I asked, recalling the horrors I'd been through. "She couldn't give a damn for the Watches, not even with the Inquisition thrown in. She's not even afraid of Zabulon."
"Maybe not Zabulon..." Gesar chuckled. "I informed the Inquisition about Arina, but I contacted the witch as well. All official and above board, by the way. Everything's minuted. And she was warned about your family. Specially warned."
This was unexpected news.
I looked into Gesar's calm face and didn't know what to say to him.
"Arina and I have known and respected each other for a long time," Gesar explained.
"How did you manage that?"
"What exactly?" Gesar asked in surprise. "Mutual respect? Well, you see..."
"Every time I'm convinced that you're a villainous schemer, in just ten minutes you prove that I'm wrong. We're parasites on people? It turns out that it's all for their own good. The country's in ruins? Things could have been a lot worse. My daughter's in danger? She's in about as much danger as little Sasha Pushkin with his old nanny..."
Gesar's expression softened.
"Anton, a long, long time ago, I was a puny, snot-nosed kid." He looked thoughtfully straight through me. "Yes. Puny and snot-nosed. And when I quarrelled with my mentors, whose names wouldn't mean anything to you, I was convinced that they were villainous schemers too. But then they always convinced me I was wrong. The centuries have gone by, and now I have my own pupils..."
He blew out a cloud of smoke and stopped. What point was there in going on, anyway?
Centuries? Ha! Thousands of years¡ªlong enough to learn how to counter any outbursts from his subordinates. And do it so they would arrive fuming in indignation and leave filled with love and respect for their boss. Experience is a powerful thing. Far more powerful than magic.
"I'd really like to see you when you're not wearing any mask, boss," I said.
Gesar smiled benignly.
"Tell me one thing at least¡ªwas your son an Other?" I asked.
"Or did you make him into an Other? I understand all that stuff about how the secret can't be revealed, it's better for everyone to think..."
Gesar's fist came crashing down onto the table. And Gesar himself half-stood, leaning forward over his desk. "How long are you going to carry on harping on that subject?" he barked. "Yes, Olga and I duped the Inquisition and won the right to remoral-ize Timur. He would have become a Dark One, and I couldn't have that. Is that clear? Go and report me to the Inquisition if you like. But drop this crazy nonsense."
For a brief moment I felt afraid. But Gesar started striding around his office again and gesticulating energetically, with his feet constantly coming out of his slippers.
"It's impossible to turn a human being into an Other. Impossible. There's no way. Would you like me to tell you the truth about your wife and daughter? Olga intervened in Svetlana's destiny. She used the second half of the Chalk of Destiny for her. But not even the Chalk of Destiny could have transformed your unborn daughter into an Other if she wasn't going to have been born an Other anyway. We only made her even more powerful, gave her absolute Power."
"I know," I said with a nod.
"How?" Gesar asked, astonished.
"Arina gave me a hint."
"She's a smart one." Gesar nodded. And then he immediately lowered his voice again. "That's it. Now you know everything there is to know on the subject. A human being cannot become an Other. By employing the most powerful artifacts it is possible, in the early stages, or even well in advance, to make an Other more or less powerful, or incline him to the Light or the Darkness... Within very narrow limits, Anton. If the boy Igor had not been neutral initially, we wouldn't have been able to erase his initiation to the Darkness. If your daughter had not been meant to be born a Great Enchantress, we could never have made her into the Greatest of the Great. Before the vessel can be filled with Light or Darkness, the vessel has to exist. It depends on us what will be poured into it, but we're not capable of creating the vessel itself. We can only operate with the little things, the very tiniest things. And you imagine it's possible to turn a human being into an Other!"
"Boris Ignatievich," I began, not knowing myself why I used his Russian name, "Forgive me if I'm talking nonsense. But I can't understand how you could have failed to find Timur earlier. He was your son and Olga's. Shouldn't you have been able to sense him? Even from a distance?"
At this point Gesar suddenly wilted. A strange expression of simultaneous guilt and confusion appeared on his face.
"Anton, I may be an old plotter..." He paused. "But do you really think I would allow my own son to grow up in a state orphanage, in poverty and suffering? Do you think I don't long for a little warmth and affection? To feel human? To play with my baby, to go to a soccer match with my little boy, to teach my teenager how to shave, to accept my young man into the Watch? Just name one reason why I would have allowed my son to live and grow old so far away from me? Am I a bad father, a heartless old fogey? Maybe so. But then why did I decide to make him into an Other? Why would I want all that hassle?"
"But why didn't you find him sooner?" I exclaimed.
"Because when he was born he was a perfectly ordinary child. Not a trace of any Other potential."
"It happens," I said doubtfully.
Gesar nodded. "You have doubts? Even I have doubts... I ought to have been able to sense even rudimentary traces of Power in Timur. But there weren't any..."
He spread his arms hopelessly. Then he sat down and muttered, "So don't go putting down any imaginary miracles to me. I can't make Others out of ordinary people." He paused, then suddenly added in a passionate voice. "But you're right. I ought to have sensed him sooner. Okay, sometimes we only realize a stranger is an Other when he's already old. But my own son? The little boy I dandled in my arms, the boy I dreamed of seeing as an Other? I don't know. The initial signs must have been too weak... or else I must have gone crazy..."
"There is another possibility," I said uncertainly.
Gesar looked at me suspiciously and shrugged. "There's always more than one. What do you mean?"
"Someone knows how to transform ordinary people into Others. That someone found Timur and turned him into a potential Other. And after that you sensed him..."
"Olga sensed him," Gesar growled,
"All right, Olga sensed him. And then you swung into action. You thought you were duping the Inquisition and the Dark Ones. But it was you who was being duped."
Gesar snorted.
"Just try to accept, for one moment, that a human being can be turned into an Other!" I pleaded with him.
"But why was it done?" Gesar asked. "I'm willing to believe the whole thing, but just show me the reasons for it. To set Olga and me up for a fall? It doesn't look like it. Everything went without a hitch."
"I don't know," I admitted. And as I stood up, I added vindictively, "But if I were you I wouldn't let my guard down, boss. You're used to your own plot being the subtlest. But there's always more than one possibility."
"Smart ass..." Gesar said, frowning. "You get on back to Sveta... hang on."
He put his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown and took out his cell phone. It wasn't ringing, just vibrating nervously.
"Just a moment..." Gesar said, with a nod to me. And then he spoke into the phone, in a different voice: "Yes!"
I considerately moved away toward the cupboards and started studying the magical trinkets. Okay, so little figures of monsters might serve to summon up the real thing. But what did he need a Tatar whip for? Something like Shahab's Lash?
"We'll be right there," Gesar said curtly. His cell phone clicked as it folded together. "Anton!"
When I turned back to face Gesar, he was just finishing getting changed. As he ran his hands over his body, the dressing gown and pajamas changed their color and texture and were transformed into a formal gray suit. With a final flourish of his hand, Gesar hung a gray tie around his neck. Already tied in a neat Windsor knot. And none of this was an illusion¡ªGesar really had created a suit out of his pajamas.
"Anton, we have to take a little journey... to the wicked witch's house."
"Have they caught her?" I asked, trying to make sense of my own feelings. I walked across to Gesar.
"No, worse than that. Yesterday evening while they were searching Arina's home they came across a secret hiding place." Gesar waved his hand and a portal appeared, floating in the air. He added vaguely, "There's already... quite a crowd there. Shall we go?"
"What's in the hiding place?" I exclaimed.
But Gesar's hand was already pushing me into the glowing white oval.
"Brace yourself," was the final word of advice I heard from behind me.
The journey through a portal takes a certain amount of time¡ª seconds, minutes, sometimes even hours. It's not the distance that matters, but the precision of focus. I didn't know who had put up the portal in Arina's house, and I didn't know how long I would be left hanging there in the milky-white void.
A secret hiding place in Arina's house. So what? All the Others created hiding places for magical objects in their apartments.
What could have startled Gesar like that... the boss had definitely looked startled and confused to me¡ªhis face had turned far too stony, too calm and composed.
I started imagining all sorts of horrors. For instance, children's bodies in the basement. That would be a good reason for Gesar to panic, when he'd been so certain that Arina would never touch Nadiushka.
No, that was impossible...
And with that thought I tumbled out of the portal¡ªstraight into the middle of the small room.
And it really was crowded in there.
"Move aside," Kostya shouted and grabbed me by the arm. I barely had time to take a step before Gesar emerged from the portal.
"Greetings, Great One!" Zabulon said in a surprisingly polite voice, with no trace of his usual sarcasm.
I gazed around. Six Inquisitors I didn't know¡ªwearing cloaks, with the hoods pulled forward over their faces, everything right and proper. Edgar, Zabulon, and Kostya¡ªnothing unexpected there. Svetlana! I looked at her fearfully¡ªbut she immediately shook her head reassuringly. That meant Nadia was okay.
"Who is conducting the investigation?" Gesar asked.
"A triumvirate," Edgar replied briskly. "Myself from the Inquisition, Zabulon from the Dark Ones and..." He looked at Svetlana.
"I'll take it," Gesar said with a nod. "Thank you, Svetlana. I'm most grateful."
I didn't need any explanations. Whatever it was that had happened here, Svetlana had been the first Light One to appear¡ª and she had begun to act on behalf of the Night Watch.
You could say she'd gone back to work.
"Shall I paint a picture for you?" Edgar asked.
Gesar nodded.
"And Gorodetsky?" Edgar inquired.
"He's with me."
"That's your right." Edgar nodded to me. "Well then, we have a quite exceptional occurrence here..."
Why was he telling us in words?
I tried to ask Svetlana. I reached out to her with my mind...
And ran into a blank wall.
The Inquisition had blocked off the whole area. That was why they'd called Gesar on his cell, and not contacted him telepathically. Whatever it was that had happened here, it had to be kept secret.
What Edgar said next confirmed what I was thinking.
"Since this event must be kept an absolute secret," he said, "I request everyone present to lower their defenses and prepare to receive the seal of the Avenging Fire."
I glanced sideways at Gesar¡ªhe was already unbuttoning his shirt. Zabulon, Svetlana, Kostya, even Edgar himself¡ªthey were all disrobing.
I pulled up my polo-neck sweater and resigned myself to what would follow. The Avenging Fire it was, then.
"We here present swear never to divulge to anyone, at any time or in any place, what is revealed to us in the course of the investigation into this event," said Edgar. "I do so swear!"
"I do so swear!" Svetlana said and took hold of my hand.
"I do so swear," I whispered.
"I do so swear... so swear... so swear..." said voices on every side.
"And if I should violate this oath of secrecy¡ªmay the hand of the Avenging Fire destroy me," Edgar concluded.
There was blindingly brilliant red flash from his fingers. A flaming imprint of his hand seemed to hover in the air, then it divided into twelve and the blazing palms started drifting toward us, very slowly. And that slow, deliberate movement was the most frightening thing of all.
The first one touched by the hand of the Avenging Fire was Edgar himself. The Inquisitor's face contorted, and several similar crimson handprints showed up for a moment on his skin.
Apparently it was painful...
Gesar and Zabulon bore the touch stoically and, unless my eyes deceived me, the signs on their bodies were already woven into a dense tracery.
One of the Inquisitors squealed.
Apparently it was very painful...
The spell touched me, and I realized I was wrong. It wasn't very painful, it was absolutely unbearable. It felt like I was being branded with a red-hot steel beam, not just branded, but burned right through my body.
When the bloody mist cleared from in front of my eyes, I was surprised to see that I was still standing¡ªunlike two of the Inquisitors.
"And they say giving birth is painful," Svetlana said in a quiet voice as she buttoned up her blouse. "Ha..."
"Allow me to remind you that if the seal is activated, it will be a lot more painful..." Edgar murmured. The Inquisitor had tears in his eyes. "It's for the common good."
"Cut the idle chatter," Zabulon interrupted him. "Since you're in charge now, try to behave appropriately."
That was right¡ªwhere was Witezslav?
Had he flown back to Prague after all?
"Please follow me," said Edgar, still wincing. He walked toward the wall.
Hiding places can be set up in various ways. From the crudest¡ªthe magical camouflage of a safe in a wall¡ªup to a secure vault surrounded by powerful spells in the Twilight.
This hiding place was rather ingenious. When Edgar walked into the wall, a narrow slit that looked too small for a man appeared in front of him for an instant. I immediately recalled this cunning and complicated method, a combination of magical illusion and the magic of displacement. Little sections of space¡ªnarrow strips along the wall¡ªare gathered from within a contained space and magically combined into a single "box-room." It's a tricky business and rather dangerous, but Edgar walked into the secret space quite calmly.
"We won't all fit in," Gesar muttered and squinted at the Inquisitors. "You've already been in there, I believe? Wait here."
Concerned that I might be stopped too, I stepped forward¡ª and the wall obligingly parted in front of me. The defensive spells had already been broken.
The box-room turned out to be not so little after all. It even had a window, made in the same way¡ªfrom strips "cut" out of the other windows. The view through the window had a truly phantasmagorical appearance: a strip of forest, half a tree, a patch of sky, all jumbled up together in total disorder.
But there was something else in the box-room far more worthy of attention.
A good suit of close-textured gray cloth, a dandyish shirt¡ª white silk with lace at the collar and the cuffs¡ªan elegant necktie in silver-gray with red flecks, and a pair of magnificent black leather shoes with white socks peeping out of them. All these things were lying on the floor in the middle of the box-room. I was sure that inside the suit there had to be silk underwear with hand-embroidered monograms.
But I didn't really feel any desire to root about in the clothes of Higher Vampire Witezslav. The homogenous gray dust that filled the suit and had spilled out around it was all that remained of the inspector from the European Office of the Inquisition.
When Svetlana walked through into the box-room behind me, she gave a quiet gasp and grabbed hold of my hand. Gesar gave a quiet groan. Zabulon sighed¡ªand it even sounded sincere.
When Kostya came in last, he didn't make a sound. He just stood there as if he were in a trance, gazing at the pitiful remains of his fellow vampire.
"As you, of course, understand," Edgar began quietly, "what has happened is appalling enough in itself. A Higher Vampire has been killed. Killed quickly and with no signs of a struggle. I would assume that this is beyond even the powers of the respected Higher Magicians here present."
"The Higher Magicians here present are not stupid enough to attack an agent of the Inquisition," Gesar commented in a grave voice. "However, if the Inquisition insists on verification..."
Edgar shook his head. "No. I called you here precisely because I do not suspect you. I think it makes sense to ask your advice before I inform the European Office. After all, this is the territory of the Moscow Watches."
Zabulon squatted down by the remains, scooped up a little of the dust in his hand, sniffed it and¡ªI think¡ªeven touched his tongue to it. He stood up with a sigh and muttered:
"Witezslav... I can't imagine who could have destroyed him. I would... I would have thought not twice, but three times before entering into combat with him. And you, colleague?"
He looked at Gesar. Gesar took his time answering, surveying the dust with the enthusiasm of a young naturalist.
"Gesar?" Zabulon asked again.
"Yes, yes..." Gesar nodded. "I could have done it. We had actually had... certain disagreements. But to do it so swiftly... and so neatly..." Gesar shrugged and spread his hands. "No, I couldn't have managed that. Alas. It even makes me feel rather envious."
"The seal," I reminded him cautiously. "At temporary registration they apply a seal to vampires..."
Edgar looked at me as if I'd said something really stupid: "But not to agents of the Inquisition."
"And not to Higher Vampires!" Kostya added defiantly. "The seal is only applied to petty riffraff who can't control themselves, novice vampires and werewolves."
"In fact, I've been meaning for a long time to raise the matter of removing these discriminatory restrictions," Zabulon put in. "The seal should not be applied to vampires and werewolves from the second level upward, or better still¡ªfrom the third..."
"Why don't we do away with mutual registration at the place of residence as well?" Gesar asked sarcastically.
"Stop this argument!" Edgar said with an unexpected note of authority in his voice. "Gorodetsky's ignorance is no excuse for holding a debate. And apart from that... The termination of the vampire Witezslav's existence is not the most terrible thing about all this."
"What could be more terrible than an Other who kills Higher Others so effortlessly?" asked Zabulon.
"A book," Edgar replied laconically. "The Fuaran. The reason he was killed."
