The Nightwatch

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  "Yes."

  "Is the boss in the picture?" I asked. "Olya?"

  "Yes."

  She was finding it hard to get her words out. I couldn't believe it! Light Magicians who had lived for hundreds of years didn't feel shame. They'd saved the world so often; they had all the ethical dodges down pat. Great Sorceresses didn't feel ashamed, not even former Great Sorceresses. They'd been betrayed too often themselves.

  I laughed.

  "Olya, did you realize right away? As soon as the Dark Ones lodged their protest? That they were hunting me, but only in order to push Svetlana out of control?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, yes, yes. And you still didn't warn me, or her?"

  "Svetlana needs to mature quickly, to skip a few steps on the way." A bright flame flared up in Olga's eyes. "Anton, you're my friend. I'll tell you the truth, so you can understand. We don't have enough time right now to nurture a Great Sorceress properly. But we need her, we need her more than you can even imagine. She already has enough power. She'll get tougher and learn how to muster that power and direct it and, what's even more important, she'll learn how to hold it in check."

  "And if I die, that will only strengthen her will and her hatred of Darkness."

  "Yes. But I'm sure you're not going to die. The Watch is hunting for the Maverick; everybody's been enlisted. We'll turn him over to the Dark Ones and the charges against you will be dropped."

  "But a certain Light Magician who wasn't initiated at the right time will die. Miserable and alone, like an animal brought to bay, convinced he's the only one fighting against the Darkness."

  "Yes."

  "You agree with everything I say today," I said in a perfectly calm voice. "Olga, don't you think what you're doing might just be despicable?"

  "No." There wasn't a trace of doubt in her voice. That meant the stakes must be really high.

  "How long do I have to hold out, Light One?"

  She shuddered.

  There was a time, a long time ago, when Watch members were fond of—"Light One." Why had the words lost their old meaning? Why did they sound as absurd now as the word "gentlemen" used to address the dirty street bums around the beer kiosks?

  "Until morning at least."

  "The night's not our time any longer. Today all the Dark Ones will be out on the streets of Moscow. And they'll be acting within their rights."

  "Only until we locate the Maverick. Hang in there."

  "Olga." I took a step toward her and touched her cheek with my hand, for a moment completely forgetting the difference in our ages—what were a few hundred years or so, compared with eternal night?—and about the differences in our powers and our knowledge. "Olga, do you really believe that I'll still be alive in the morning?"

  The sorceress didn't answer.

  I nodded. There was nothing more to talk about.

  I wonder how it would be

  To lose myself in the dawn.

  To knock at the transparent doors

  And know no one will answer.

  I clicked the button and set the Walkman playing in random mode. Not because the song didn't match my mood, exactly the opposite in fact.

  I love the metro at night, but I don't know why. There's nothing to look at except the same old dreary advertisements and the same old tired human auras. The rumble of the engine, the gusts of air coming in through the half-open windows, the jolting over the rails. The numb wait for your own station.

  But I love it anyway.

  It's so easy to take advantage of our love!

  I shuddered, got up, and walked to the door, even though I'd been planning to ride to the end of the line.

  This station was Rizhskaya. The next was Alekseevskaya.

  Again that intense silence,

  Always about the same thing,

  Today the season opens

  At the lepers' club.

  That was okay.

  I was already on the escalator when I caught the faint scent of power ahead of me. I ran my eyes along the downward escalator and saw the Dark One almost immediately.

  No, he wasn't a member of the Day Watch staff; he was carrying himself all wrong for that. He was a low-ranking magician, grade four or five, probably five, and he was concentrating hard, scanning the people around him. Still really young, not much over twenty, in a crumpled jacket that was hanging open, with long, light hair and a handsome face even when it was all tensed up like that.

  So what could have pushed you over the edge into the Darkness? What happened before that first time you stepped into the Twilight? An argument with your girlfriend? A quarrel with your parents? Did you flunk your exams in college or get failing grades in school? Did someone stomp on your foot in the trolley?

  And the most terrible thing of all is that your appearance hasn't even changed. Maybe you're even better-looking now. Your friends were amazed to discover what a fun guy you turned out to be, how exciting it was to hang out with you. Your girlfriend discovered all sorts of good qualities in you that she hadn't seen before. Your parents were absolutely overjoyed to see how serious and diligent their son had suddenly become. Your professors were delighted with their talented student.

  And nobody knows how you make the people around you pay. And just how high the price will be for your kindness, your jokes, and your sympathy.

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the moving handrail. I was tired; I was slightly drunk; I wasn't paying any attention to anything, just listening to the music.

  The Dark One's gaze slid over me, moving lower, then quivered, and came to a halt.

  I hadn't had any time to prepare, to change my appearance or distort my aura. I really hadn't expected the search in the metro would have started already.

  A cold, piercing touch, like a gust of icy wind. The young guy was comparing me with the image that must have been distributed to all the Dark Ones in Moscow. He was working clumsily; he'd forgotten about his defenses; he didn't notice my mind slipping along the pathway cleared through the Twilight and touching his thoughts.

  Joy. Delight. Rejoicing. Found. The prey. They'll give me part of the prey's power. They'll appreciate this. They'll promote me. Fame. Get my own back. They didn't appreciate me before! Now they'll understand. They'll pay.

  I'd been expecting that at least somewhere in some corner of his mind there would be some other thoughts. About me being an enemy. About me killing others like him.

  But no. There was nothing. He wasn't thinking of anything but himself.

  I withdrew my feelers before the young magician withdrew his own clumsy ones. All right. He didn't possess any great powers; he wouldn't be able to communicate with the Day Watch from inside the metro. And he wouldn't even want to. He thought of me as a cornered animal, and not even a dangerous one—a rabbit, not a wolf.

  Bring it on, my young friend.

  I walked out of the metro, slipped around to the side of the door, and summoned my shadow. The hazy silhouette shimmered above the ground and I stepped into it.

  The Twilight.

  People walking by became enveloped in a transparent haze, cars starting crawling along like tortoises, the streetlamps dimmed, their light turned gloomy and oppressive. It was quiet, all sounds reduced to a dull, barely audible rumble.

  I'd made my move a bit too early; it would be a while before the magician could get back up after me… But I could feel my own power; I was pumped with it. That must have been Olga's work. While she was in my body she'd regained her former powers and filled it with energy, without using up a single drop of it. She would never even have thought of taking any, no matter how great the temptation might be.

  "You'll understand for yourself where the boundary lies"—that's what I'd told Svetlana. Olga had known far better than me where the boundary lies for a long, long time.

  I walked along the wall, taking a glance through the concrete at the inclined shaft and the conveyor belts of the escalators. There was a dark spot climbing upward quite rapidly: The magician wa
s in a hurry, running up the steps, but he was still in the human world. Saving his powers. Bring it on, bring it on.

  I stopped dead.

  There was a small, swirling cloud skimming toward me just above the ground, a clump of mist that had assumed the form of a human figure.

  An Other. A former Other.

  Maybe it had been one of us. And maybe not. The Dark Ones had to go somewhere when they died. But now it was just a hazy little cloud, an eternal wanderer in the Twilight.

  "Peace unto you, fallen one," I said. "Whoever you may have been."

  The quivering silhouette halted in front of me. A tongue of mist freed itself from its body and extended toward me.

  What did it want? The number of times inhabitants of the Twilight had tried to communicate with the living could be counted on the fingers of one hand!

  The hand—if it could be called a hand—was trembling. White threads of mist came away from it, dissolving in the Twilight, scattering onto the ground.

  "I'm very short of time," I said. "Fallen one, no matter who you were in life, Dark or Light, peace unto you. What do you want from me?"

  A gust of wind seemed to ripple through the coils of white mist. The phantom turned, and the outstretched hand—I no longer had any doubt that it was a hand—pointed through the Twilight toward the northeast. I followed the direction. He was pointing to a needle-slim silhouette glimmering in the sky.

  "Yes, the tower, I understand! What does it mean?"

  The mist started to blur and dissolve, and a moment later the Twilight around me was as empty as it usually is.

  I started to shiver. The dead Other had tried to communicate with me. Was he a friend or an enemy? Had he been advising me or warning me?

  There was no way to tell.

  I took another look through the walls of the station building—the Dark Magician had almost reached the top of the escalator, but he was still on it. So I had a moment to try to figure out what the phantom had been trying to say. I hadn't been intending to go to the Ostankino television tower; I had a different route in mind, rather risky but innovative. So it didn't make any sense to warn me not to go to the tower.

  Maybe I'd been given directions? But by whom? Friend or foe, that was the important question. I couldn't really expect all differences to be wiped out beyond the borders of life. Our dead would not abandon us in battle.

  I would have to decide for myself. Only not right now.

  I ran toward the entrance of the metro, taking my pistol out of my shoulder holster as I went.

  Just in time: The Dark Magician came out of the doors and immediately dived into the Twilight. He made it look easy, but I saw how he managed. The auras of people near him flared up, scattering dark sparks in all directions.

  If I'd been in the human world, I'd have seen people's faces distorted by a sudden pain in their hearts or emotional distress—which is far more painful.

  The Dark Magician peered around, looking for my trail. He knew how to extract power from people around him, but his general technique wasn't exactly great.

  "Take it easy," I said, pressing the barrel of the pistol against the magician's spine. "Take it easy. You've already found me. And I bet you're thrilled."

  I held his wrist tight with my other hand so that he couldn't make any passes. All these young magicians use a standard set of spells, the simplest and most powerful. And they require the precise coordination of both hands.

  The magician's palm was suddenly damp.

  "You, you…" he still couldn't believe what had happened. "You're Anton! You're outside the law!"

  "Maybe so. But what good will that do you now?"

  He turned his head. In the twilight his face was distorted; it had lost that attractive, genial look. He hadn't reached the stage of the complete Twilight makeover, like Zabulon, but even so, his face was no longer human. The jaw hung down too low, the mouth was wide, like a frog's, the eyes were close-set and dull.

  "You're a real ugly specimen, my friend," I said, forcing the gun barrel into his back again. "This is a pistol. It's loaded with silver bullets, although that's not strictly necessary. It'll work just as well in the Twilight world as in the human one—slower, but that won't save you. You'll be able to feel the bullet ripping through the skin and parting the fibers of your muscles, smashing the bone, tearing the nerves apart."

  "You won't do that!"

  "Why?"

  "Because then there'd be no way you could beat the rap!"

  "Is that right? But right now there's still some kind of chance, is there? You know, the urge to squeeze this trigger is getting stronger all the time. Let's go, scumbag."

  I helped the magician along with a few kicks as I led him into the narrow passage between two trading kiosks. The thick growth of blue moss covering their walls started twitching. The Twilight flora was keen to taste our emotions—my fury and his fear—but the mindless plants had a strong instinct of self-preservation.

  The Dark Magician had plenty of that too.

  "Listen, what do you want from me?" he shouted. "They gave us a briefing and told us to look for you! I was only following orders! I honor the Treaty, watchman!"

  "I'm not a watchman any longer!" I said, shoving him against the wall, into the tender embrace of the moss. Let it suck out a little bit of his fear, or we wouldn't be able to have a proper talk. "Who's leading the hunt?"

  "The Day Watch?"

  "More specifically?"

  "The boss, I don't know his name."

  That was almost certainly true. But I knew the name anyway.

  "Were you sent to this particular station?"

  He hesitated.

  "Answer," I said, aiming the barrel at the magician's stomach.

  "Yes."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes."

  "That's a lie. But it's not important. What were you ordered to do you once you found me?"

  "Observe."

  "Another lie. But an important one this time. Think again and try a different answer."

  The magician didn't say anything. The blue moss must have done too good a job.

  I squeezed the trigger and the bullet sang sweetly as it traveled across the meter of space between us. The magician had enough time to see it—his eyes opened wide in terror, which made them look a bit more human—and he jerked away, but too late.

  "That's just a flesh wound to begin with," I said. "Not even fatal."

  He writhed on the ground, pressing his hand against the ragged hole in his stomach. In the Twilight his blood was almost transparent, but maybe that was an optical illusion. Or perhaps it was a just a peculiarity of this magician.

  "Answer the question!"

  I swept my hand through the air and set the blue moss around us on fire. Enough already, now I was going to capitalize on fear, pain, despair. Enough mercy and compassion, enough polite conversation.

  This was the Darkness, after all.

  "We were ordered to report in and if possible to kill you."

  "Not detain me? Just kill me?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll accept that answer. Your means of communication?"

  "By phone, that's all."

  "Let me have it."

  "It's in my pocket."

  "Throw it."

  He reached clumsily into his pocket—the wound wasn't fatal, and the magician's resistance was still high, but the pain he was going through was hellish.

  Just the kind he deserved to suffer.

  "What's the number?" I asked, catching the cell phone.

  "It's on the emergency call key."

  I glanced at the screen.

  From the first numbers, the phone could have been absolutely anywhere. It was another cell.

  "Is that the field headquarters? Where is it?"

  "I don't…" He paused, glancing at the pistol.

  "Remember," I encouraged him.

  "They told me they'd be here in five minutes."

  All right!

  I took a look back
over my shoulder, at the needle blazing brightly in the sky. It fit perfectly.

  The magician moved.

  No, I hadn't deliberately provoked him by looking away. But when he took a wand out of his pocket—a short, crude device he obviously hadn't made himself, some cheap trash he'd bought—I felt relieved.

  "Well?" I asked when he froze, not daring to raise his weapon. "Go for it!"

  The young magician didn't move; he didn't say a word.

  He knew if he tried to attack, I'd empty the entire clip into him. And that would be fatal. But they were probably taught how to behave in a conflict with Light Ones. So he also knew it would be hard for me to kill someone who was unarmed and defenseless.

  "Stand up to me," I said. "Fight! You son of a bitch, it never bothered you to destroy people's lives or attack defenseless people before, did it? Well? Bring it on!"

  The magician licked his lips—his tongue was long and slightly forked. I suddenly realized what Twilight form he would eventually assume, and I felt sick.

  "I throw myself on your mercy, watchman. I demand compassion and justice."

  "If I leave now, you'll be able to contact your base," I said. "We both know it. Or you'll extract enough strength from people walking by to fix yourself up and get to a phone. Isn't that right?"

  The Dark One smiled and repeated.

  "I demand compassion and justice, watchman!"

  I tossed the pistol from one hand to the other, looking into that smirking face. They were always ready to demand. But never to give.

  "I've always had problems understanding our side's dual standard of morality," I said. "It's a difficult thing to come to terms with. It only comes with time, and I haven't got much of that. Coming up with all those excuses for when you can't protect everybody. When you know that every day someone in a special department signs licenses for people to be handed over to the Dark Side. It's tough, you know."