The Nightwatch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  "The Watches," I said vengefully.

  "The Watches," the boss echoed wearily. "You haven't forgotten… let's think where a maneuver like this could be leading. A blanket accusation of incompetence against the whole of Night Watch? Nonsense. We're supposed to keep tabs on the behavior of the Dark Ones and the observance of the Treaty by known Light Ones, not go hunting for mysterious maniacs. In this case it's Day Watch that is at fault…"

  "That means it must be a provocation aimed at a specific person?"

  "Well done, Anton. Remember what Yulia said? There's only a handful of us who could do this. That can be proved conclusively. Let's suppose Day Watch has decided to accuse someone of violating the Treaty, to claim that a member of our staff who knows the terms of the Treaty is meting out summary justice on his own account."

  "But that's easy to disprove. Just find the Maverick…"

  "And if the Dark Ones find him first? But don't bother to announce the fact?"

  "What about alibis?"

  "And what if the killings took place at times when this person has no alibi?"

  "A tribunal, with a full-scale interrogation," I said gloomily—having your mind turned inside out isn't a pleasant experience…

  "A powerful magician—and these killings were committed by a powerful magician—can close off his mind even against a tribunal. Not deceive the tribunal, just close himself off from it. And in any case, Anton, with a tribunal including Dark Ones, he would have to do it. Otherwise our enemies would learn far too much about us. And if a magician conceals himself against investigation, it's automatically regarded as a confession of guilt, with all the consequences that stem from that so-called confession—both for him and the Watch."

  "You paint a dark picture, Boris Ignatievich," I said. "Very dark. Almost as dark as the one you painted for me last winter, in my sleep. A young boy with incredible Other powers, an Inferno eruption that would flatten the whole of Moscow…"

  "I am telling you the truth here, Anton."

  "What do you expect from me?" I asked bluntly. "This isn't really my area. Am I going to give the analysts a hand? We'll be handling everything they bring in anyway."

  "Anton, I want you to figure out which of us is the target. Who has an alibi for all the known incidents and who doesn't."

  The boss slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a DVD.

  "Take this… it's a complete dossier for the whole three-year period. For four people, including me."

  I gulped as I took it.

  "The security codes have been removed. But you understand that no one else must see this. You have no right to copy the information. Encrypt all your calculations and procedures… and make the key as complex as you can."

  "I'd really need someone to help," I suggested hesitantly, with a glance at Olga. But then, what kind of help could she give me? Everything she knew about computers she'd learned from playing games like Heretic and Hexen.

  "You check my database yourself," the boss said, after a pause. "You can use Anatoly for the others. All right?"

  "Then what's my assignment?" asked Olga.

  "You'll cover the same ground, only by asking direct questions. Interrogating people, in other words. And you'll start with me. Then the other three."

  "All right, Boris."

  "Get on it, Anton," the boss said with a nod. "Start immediately. You can pass everything else on to your girls; they'll manage."

  "Perhaps I could riddle about a bit with the data?" I asked. "If someone doesn't happen to have an alibi, I could arrange one."

  The boss shook his head.

  "No. You don't understand. I don't want to set up any false alibis. I want to make sure that none of us are involved in these killings."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yes. Because nothing's impossible in this world. Anton, the really nice thing about our work is that I can give you an assignment like this. And you'll carry it out. Regardless of who's involved."

  There was still something bothering me, but I nodded and walked toward the door, clutching the precious disc. It came to me in a flash. I turned back and asked:

  "Boris Ignatievich…"

  The boss and Olga instantly moved apart.

  "Boris Ignatievich, you say there are four sets of data here?"

  "Yes."

  "For you, Ilya, Semyon…"

  "And you, Anton."

  "Why?" I asked dumbly.

  "During the standoff on the roof you stayed down in the second level of the Twilight for three minutes, Anton… that's a third-grade power."

  "Impossible," I said.

  "It happened."

  "Boris Ignatievich, you always told me I was just an average magician!"

  "Well, let's just say I need an excellent programmer more than one more field operative."

  Any other time I would have felt proud. Offended at the same time, of course, but still proud. I'd always thought that fourth-grade magic was my ceiling, and it would be a long time before I reached it. But just at that moment everything was clouded by a clammy, disgusting feeling—fear. Even though in five years of working in a quiet staff position in the Watch I thought I'd learned not to be afraid of anything: the authorities, hoodlums, diseases…

  "This was a second-level intervention…"

  "The boundary here's ever-shifting, Anton. You might be capable of more."

  "But we have more than ten third-grade magicians. Why am I one of the suspects?"

  "Because you offended Zabulon personally. Tweaked the tail of the head of Moscow's Day Watch. And he's quite capable of setting up a special trap just for Anton Gorodetsky. Or rather, adapting an old trap that was being kept in reserve."

  I swallowed and left without asking any more questions.

  Our lab's on the fourth floor too, but in the other wing. I set off hurriedly along the corridor, nodding to people I met, but staying focused, clutching that disc tighter than a passionate young man clutches the hand of the girl he loves.

  Was the boss telling the truth?

  Could the blow really be aimed at me?

  In all likelihood, he was. I'd asked a straight question and been given a straight answer. Of course, as the years go by, even the most Light of magicians acquire a certain degree of canniness and learn to play tricks with words. But the consequences of a direct lie would be too grave even for Boris Ignatievich.

  I approached an entry lobby fitted with electronic security systems. I knew that all magicians regarded technology with disdain, and Semyon had shown me once how easy it was to fool the voice analyzer and the iris scanner. But I'd gone ahead with buying these expensive toys anyway. Maybe they were no protection against an Other, but it seemed perfectly possible to me that one day the guys from the Federal Security Service or the mafia would decide to check us out.

  "One, two, three, four, five…" I muttered into the microphone, gazing into the camera lens at the same time. The electronic circuits pondered for a few seconds, then a green light came on above the door.

  There was no one in the first room, where the server's cooling fans were humming gently. The air-conditioners built into the wall were huffing and puffing, but it was still hot in there. And spring had only just begun…

  I didn't go into the system analysts' lab, just walked straight through into my own office. It wasn't all my own. Anatoly, my deputy, worked here too. Sometimes he lived here, spending the nights on the old leather sofa.

  When I came in he was sitting at his desk, thoughtfully inspecting an old motherboard.

  "Hi," I said, sitting down on the sofa. The disc was burning my hands.

  "It's a goner," Tolik said gloomily.

  "Trash it then."

  "Let me just take its brain out first." Tolik was thrifty, a habit acquired from years of working in state-financed institutions. We had no problems with finances, but he carefully stockpiled all the old hardware anyway, even if it were of no use to anyone. "Would you believe it, I've been fiddling around with this for
half an hour, and it's still dead…"

  "It's an outdated antique; why waste time fiddling around with it? Even the machines in accounting are more modern."

  "I could give it to someone… Maybe I should take the cache out too…"

  "Tolik, we've got an urgent job to do," I said.

  "Huh?"

  "Uh-huh! Look…" I held up the disc. "This is a dossier… a complete dossier on four members of the Watch, including the boss."

  Tolik opened the drawer of his desk, stuck the motherboard in it, and fixed his eyes on the disc.

  "Precisely. I'm going to check three of them. And you're going to check the fourth… me."

  "So what are we checking for?"

  "This," I said, holding up my printout from the briefing. "It's possible that one of the suspects may be carrying out sporadic killings of Dark Ones. Unauthorized killings. All the known incidents are listed here. We have to either eliminate this possibility, or…"

  "Ah, so it really is you who's killing them, then?" Tolik asked. "Pardon my sense of humor."

  "No. But don't take my word for it. Let's get on with the job."

  I didn't even look at the information about me, just downloaded all eight hundred megabytes into Tolik's computer and took the disc.

  "Shall I tell you if I come across anything really interesting?" Tolik asked. I glanced across at him as he looked through the text files, tugging on his left ear and clicking regularly with his mouse.

  "That's up to you."

  "Okay."

  I started my reading of the dossier with the materials on the boss. First came the introductory blurb—then background information. Every line I read made me break out in a sweat.

  Of course, even this dossier didn't give the boss's real name and origins. Facts like that weren't kept on file anywhere for Others of his rank. But even I was still making new discoveries every second. Starting with the fact that the boss was older than I'd thought. At least a hundred and fifty years older. And that meant he'd been personally involved in drawing up the Treaty between Light and Darkness. It struck me as interesting that all the other magicians still surviving from that time held positions in the central office and weren't stuck in the exhausting and tedious post of a regional director.

  Aside from that, I recognized a few of the aliases the boss had used in the history of the Watch, and where he was born. We'd wondered about that sometimes, and even placed bets on it, always pointing to "indisputable" proof. But somehow no one had ever suspected that Boris Ignatievich was born in Tibet.

  And even in my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined whose mentor he had been!

  The boss had been working in Europe since the fifteenth century. From indirect references, I speculated that this change of residence was because of a woman. I could even guess who it was.

  I closed the file and looked at Tolik. He was watching some kind of video. Of course, my biographical details had proved less fascinating than the boss's. I glanced at the small moving picture and blushed.

  "For the first incident you have a cast-iron alibi," Tolik said without turning round.

  "Listen…" I was lost for words.

  "Okay, okay. I'll fast-forward it, to check the entire night…"

  I imagined what the recording would look like at high speed and turned away. I'd always suspected the boss kept tabs on his colleagues, especially the young ones. But not that literally!

  "The alibi won't be that solid," I said. "I'll get dressed and go out any moment now."

  "I see that," Tolik confirmed.

  "And I'll be gone for almost an hour and a half. I was looking for champagne… and while I was looking, I sobered up a bit in the fresh air. Started wondering if it was worth going back."

  "Don't worry about it," said Tolik. "You watch the boss's private life."

  Half an hour later, I realized Tolik was right. Maybe I had good reason to feel offended by the observers' brazen intrusion. But Boris Ignatievich was as monitored as I was.

  "The boss has an alibi," I said. "Indisputable. For two incidents he has four witnesses. And for one—almost the entire Watch."

  "Was that the hunt for that Dark One who went crazy?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, in theory, you could have killed the Dark Ones. Quite easily. And I'm sorry about this, Anton, but every one of the killings happened when you were in an excited state; not completely in control of yourself."

  "I didn't do it."

  "I believe you. What shall I do with the file?"

  "Delete it."

  Tolik thought for a while.

  "I don't have anything valuable on here. I think I'll run a low-level format. The disc's long overdue for a clean-out."

  "Thanks." I closed the dossier on the boss. "That's it, I'll deal with the others myself."

  "Gotcha," said Tolik as he overcame the computer's righteous indignation and it began digesting itself.

  "Go check on our staff," I suggested. "And look stern for a change. I'm sure they're playing patience in there."

  "All in a day's work, I suppose." Tolik agreed willingly enough. "When will you be through here?"

  "In about two hours."

  "I'll come back."

  He went off to our "girls," two young programmers who basically dealt with the Watch's official activity. I continued working. Semyon was next up.

  Two and a half hours later I tore my eyes away from the computer, massaged the back of my neck with my palms—it always cramps up when I sit there hunched over the monitor like that—and turned on the coffee machine.

  Neither the boss, nor Ilya, nor Semyon fitted the role of an unhinged killer of Dark Ones. They all had alibis—and some of them were absolutely rock solid. For instance: Semyon had managed to spend the entire night of one of the murders in negotiation with the top management of the Day Watch. Ilya had been on assignment in Sakhalin—they'd screwed things up so badly over there that they'd needed help from the central office…

  I was the only one left under suspicion.

  It wasn't that I didn't trust Tolik, but I went through the data again anyway. It was all very neat. Not a single alibi.

  The coffee was disgusting, sour; the filter couldn't have been changed for ages. I gulped down the hot swill, gazing at the screen, then took out my cell phone and dialed the boss's number.

  "Yes, Anton."

  He always knew who was calling him.

  "Boris Ignatievich, only one of the four can be suspected."

  "Which one exactly?"

  The boss's voice was dry and official. But somehow I suddenly got this image of him sitting semi-naked on a leather couch, with a glass of champagne in one hand and Olga's hand in the other, holding the phone in place with his shoulder, or levitating it beside his ear…

  "Tut-tut," the boss rebuked me. "You lousy clairvoyant. Who's under suspicion?"

  "I am."

  "I see."

  "You knew it," I said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "There was no need to get me to process that dossier. You could have done it yourself. That means you wanted me to be convinced of the danger."

  "That could be," the boss said with a sigh. "What are you going to do, Anton?"

  "Start packing my bag for jail."

  "Come around to my office. In… er… in ten minutes."

  "Okay." I turned off my phone.

  First I went to see how the girls were doing. Tolik was still there with them, and they were hard at work.

  The Watch didn't really have any need for these two worthless programmers. Their security clearance was low, so we still had to do almost everything ourselves. But where else could we find work for two sorceresses as weak as these two? If only they'd have agreed to live ordinary lives… no, they wanted the romance of working for the Watch… So we'd invented jobs for them.

  They mostly just whiled away the time, surfing the Net and playing games; their greatest favorites were the various kinds of patience.

  Tolik wa
s at one of the spare PCs—we had plenty of hardware around the place. Yulia was perched on his knees, twitching the mouse around on its mat.

  "Is that what you call computer skills training?" I asked, gazing at the monsters hurtling around the screen.

  "There's nothing better than computer games for improving skill with the mouse," Tolik replied innocently.

  "Well…" I couldn't think of any answer.

  It was a long time since I'd played any video games like that. The same went for most other members of the Watch. Killing some evil vermin in a cartoon stopped being interesting once you'd met it face to face. Unless, that is, you'd already lived a couple of hundred years and built up huge reserves of cynicism, like Olga…

  "Tolik, I probably won't be back in today," I said.

  "Aha." He nodded, without any sign of surprise. None of us have really strong powers of prevision, but we sense little things like that immediately.

  "Galya, Lena, see you later," I said to the girls. Galya twittered something polite, trying to look entirely absorbed in her work. Lena asked:

  "Can I leave early today?"

  "Of course."

  We don't lie to each other. If Lena asks, it means she really needs to leave early. We don't lie. But sometimes we might just leave something unsaid…

  The boss's desk was in a state of total confusion. Pens, pencils, sheets of paper, printouts of reports, dull, exhausted magic crystals.

  But the crowning glory of this incredible jumble was a lighted spirit lamp, with some white powder roasting over it in a crucible. The boss was stirring it thoughtfully with the tip of his expensive Parker pen, obviously expecting it to produce some kind of effect. But the powder seemed to be doggedly ignoring the heat and his stirring.

  "Here." I put the disc down in front of the boss.

  "What are we going to do?" Boris Ignatievich asked without even looking up. He wasn't wearing a jacket; his shirt was crumpled and his tie had slid to one side.

  I stole a glance at the couch. Olga wasn't in the office, but there was an empty champagne bottle standing on the floor, next to two glasses.

  "I don't know. I haven't killed any Dark Ones… not these Dark Ones. You know that."