Twilight Watch

by Сергей Лукьяненко

  "Hello. I'm Anton, Svetlana Nazarova's husband. Do you know her?" I asked.

  "What's your daughter's name?" Oksana asked suspiciously.

  "Nadya."

  "Yes, I know," Oksana said with a nod and got up off the sand. "You want to talk about the wolves, right?"

  I smiled. "That's right."

  Oksana glanced at the boys. The boys, not the girls.

  "Uh huh, that's Nadya's dad," said a freckle-faced kid who was somehow obviously from the village. "My dad's fixing your car right now."

  He looked around proudly at his friends.

  "We can talk here," I said to reassure the children. It was terrible, of course, that at that age normal kids living in families were already in the habit of being so cautious.

  But it was better that they were.

  "We went for a walk in the forest," Oksana began, standing at attention in front of me. I thought for a moment and sat down on the sand-then the girl sat down too. Anna Viktorovna certainly knew how to bring up her children. "It was my fault we got lost…"

  One of the village kids giggled. But quietly. After the business with the wolves Oksana was probably the most popular girl with the boys in the junior grades.

  In principle Oksana didn't tell me anything new. And there were no traces of magic on her either. Only the mention of a bookcase "with old books" made me prick up my ears.

  "Do you remember what they were called?" I asked.

  Oksana shook her head.

  "Try to remember," I asked her. I looked down at my feet- at my long, irregular shadow.

  The shadow obediently rose up to meet me.

  And the cool, gray Twilight accepted me.

  It's always a pleasure to look at kids from the Twilight.

  Even the most intimidated and unhappy of them still have auras without any of the malice and bitterness that grown-ups are shrouded in.

  I mentally apologized to the kids-after all, they hadn't asked me to do what I was going to do. I ran the lightest possible, imperceptible touch across them. Just to remove the drops of evil that had already been poured onto them.

  And then I stroked Oksana's hair and whispered, "Remember, little girl…"

  No, I wouldn't be able to remove the block put in place by the witch if she was more powerful than me, or at least equal in power. But fortunately for me, the witch had been very gentle with their minds.

  I emerged from the Twilight and the air hit me like a blast from a stove. The summer had really turned out hot.

  "I remember!" Oksana said triumphantly. "One book was called Aliada Ansata."

  I frowned.

  That book wasn't a herbarium… or at least it wasn't an ordinary witch's herbarium-it was particularly heinous. It even had a few vile uses for dandelions.

  "And Kassagar Garsarra," said Oksana.

  Some of the children giggled, but uncertainly.

  "How was it written?" I asked. "In Latin letters? You know, like English?"

  "No, in Russian," Oksana said. "In really funny, old letters."

  I'd never heard of a Russian translation of that manuscript, which was extremely rare, even among the Dark Ones. It couldn't be printed-the magic of the spells would be erased. It could only be copied out by hand. And only in blood. Not the blood of a virgin or innocent victims-those were erroneous beliefs introduced later, and modern copies like that were no use at all. The Kassagar Garsarra was still believed only to exist in Arabic, Spanish, Latin, and Old German. A magician who rewrote the book had to use his own blood-a separate jab for every spell. And it was a thick book…

  And Power was lost with the blood.

  It was enough to make me feel proud of Russian witches for producing even one fanatic like that.

  "Is that all?" I asked.

  "Fuaran."

  "There's no such book, it's an invention…" I replied automatically. "What? Fuaran?"

  "Yes, Fuaran," Oksana repeated.

  No, there was really nothing so horrible in that book. But in all the textbooks it was mentioned as an imaginary invention. Because according to legend, that book contained instructions on how to turn a human child into a witch or a warlock. Detailed instructions that supposedly worked.

  But that was impossible!

  Wasn't it, Gesar?

  "Wonderful books," I said.

  "They're books on botany, are they?" Oksnana asked.

  "Uh huh," I confirmed. "Like catalogues, kind of. Aliada Ansata tells you where to look for various kinds of herbs… and so on. Well, thank you, Ksyusha."

  There were interesting things going on in our forest. Right there, just outside Moscow, a powerful witch sitting in the dark depths of the forest… no, what dark depths? It was only a small stretch of forest… with a library of extremely rare books on Dark magic. And sometimes she saved children from dim-witted werewolves, for which I was very grateful to her. But books like that were supposed to be registered on a special list- in both Watches and the Inquisition. Because the Power that stood behind them was immense, and dangerous.

  "I owe you a chocolate bar," I told Oksana. "You told me your story really well."

  Oksana didn't make any fuss. She just said "thank you," and then she seemed to lose all interest in the conversation.

  Since the little girl was older, the witch had obviously brainwashed her more thoroughly. Only she'd forgotten about the books the witch had seen.

  And that made me feel a bit less worried.

  Chapter 2

  Gesar listened to me very carefully. He asked a couple of questions to clarify a few things and then said nothing, just sighed and groaned. I lounged in the hammock with the phone in my hands, telling him all the details… the only thing I didn't tell him was that the witch had the book Fuaran.

  "Good work, Anton," Gesar told me eventually. "Well done. I see you remain vigilant."

  "What shall 1 do?" I asked.

  "The witch must be found," said Gesar. "She hasn't done any harm, but she has to be registered. You know, just… the usual procedure."

  "And the werewolves?" I asked.

  "Most likely a group from Moscow," Gesar commented dryly. "I'll give the order to check all werewolves with three or more werewolf children."

  "There were only three cubs," I reminded him.

  "The werewolf might only have taken the older ones hunting," Gesar explained. "They usually have large families… Are there any suspicious vacationers in the village at the moment? An adult with three or more children?"

  "No," I replied regretfully. "Sveta and I thought of that right away… Anna Viktorovna is the only one who came with two, and all the rest either have no children or just one. The birth rate's critically low in Russia…"

  "I am aware of the demographic situation, thank you," Gesar interrupted me sardonically. "What about the locals?"

  "There are some large families, but then Svetlana knows all the local people well. Nothing suspicious, just ordinary people."

  "So they're outsiders," Gesar concluded. "As I understand it, no one has disappeared in the village. Are there any holiday hotels or rest homes nearby?"

  "Yes," I confirmed. "On the far side of the river, about five kilometers away, there's a Young Pioneers' camp, or whatever it is they call them now… I've already checked-everything's in order, the children are all in place. And they wouldn't let them come across the river-it's a military-style camp, very strict. Lights out, reveille, five minutes to dress. Don't worry about that."

  Gesar grunted in dissatisfaction and asked me, "Do you need any help, Anton?"

  I thought about it. It was the most important question that I hadn't been able to answer so far.

  "I don't know. It looks as though the witch is more powerful than me. But I'm not going there to kill her… and she must sense that."

  Somewhere far, far away in Moscow, Gesar pondered something. Then he declared: "Have Svetlana check the probability lines. If the danger to you is only slight, well, then try on your own. If it's more than ten or tw
elve percent… then…" He hesitated for a moment, but went on to finish quite briskly. "Then Ilya and Semyon will come. Or Danila and Farid. Three of you will be able to manage."

  I smiled. You're thinking about something else, Gesar. About something completely different. You're hoping that if anything goes wrong, Svetlana will back me up. And then maybe come back to the Night Watch…

  "And then, you've got Svetlana," Gesar concluded. "You understand the whole business. So get on with it and report back as necessary."

  "Yes sir, mon general," I rapped. Gesar had told me to report back in a very commanding tone of voice.

  "In terms of military rank, lieutenant colonel, my title would be at least generalissimus. Now get on with the job."

  I put my phone away and took a minute to classify levels of Power in terms of military ranks. Seventh level-private… sixth-sergeant… fifth-lieutenant… fourth-captain… third-major… second-lieutenant-colonel… first-colonel.

  That was right. If you didn't introduce unnecessary differentiations or divide ranks into junior and senior, then I would be a lieutenant colonel. And a general would be an ordinary magician beyond classification.

  But Gesar was no ordinary magician.

  The gate slammed shut and Ludmila Ivanovna came into the garden. My mother-in-law, with Nadiushka skeetering restlessly around her. The moment she was in the garden, she came dashing across to the hammock.

  No, my daughter wasn't initiated, but she could sense her parents. And there were plenty of other things she could do that ordinary two-year-old little girls couldn't. For instance, she wasn't afraid of any animals, and animals loved her. Dogs and cats simply fawned on her…

  And mosquitoes didn't bite her.

  "Daddy," Nadya said, scrambling up on top of me. "We went for a walk."

  "Hello, Ludmila Ivanovna," I said to my mother-in-law, just to be on the safe side. We'd already exchanged greetings that morning.

  "Taking a rest?" my mother-in-law asked dubiously. No, we got along fine. Not like in the old jokes. But somehow I had the feeling that she always suspected me of something or other. Of being an Other, for instance… if there was any way she could know about the Others.

  "Just a little bit," I said cheerfully. "Did you go far, Nadya?"

  "Yes, very far."

  "Are you tired?"

  "Yes," Nadka said. "But granny's more tired than me!"

  Ludmila Ivanovna stood there for a second, apparently wondering whether a blockhead like me could be trusted with his own daughter. She evidently decided to risk it, and went into the house.

  "And where are you going?" Nadiushka asked, clutching my hand tightly.

  "Did I say I was going anywhere?" I asked in surprise.

  "No, you didn't say…" Nadka admitted and ruffled up her hair with her little hand. "But you are going?"

  "Yes, I am," I confessed.

  That's the way things are, if a child is a potential Other, and so powerful that she demonstrates the ability to foresee the future from birth. A year earlier Nadka had started crying a week before she actually started cutting her teeth.

  "La-la-la…" Nadya sang, looking at the fence. "But the fence needs painting."

  "Did grandma say that?" I asked.

  "Yes. If we had a real man, he'd paint the fence," Nadiushka repeated laboriously. "But we haven't got a real man, so grandma's going to paint it."

  I sighed. Oh those terrible dacha fanatics. When people got old, why did they always develop a passion for scrabbling in the earth? Were they trying to get used to it?

  "Grandma's joking," I said, and thumped myself on the chest. "We do have a real man here, and he'll paint the fence. If necessary, he'll paint all the fences in the village."

  "A real man," Nadka repeated and laughed.

  I buried my face in her fine hair and blew. Nadiushka started giggling and kicking out at the same time. I winked at Svetlana as she came out of the house and lowered my daughter to the ground.

  "Run to mommy."

  "No, better go to grandma," said Svetlana, sweeping Nadya up in her arms. "For a drink of milk."

  "I don't want milk."

  "You have to," Svetlana retorted.

  And Nadiushka didn't argue anymore. She set off meekly to the kitchen. Even ordinary human mothers and children have a strange, unspoken understanding with each other. So what could you expect from our family? Nadya could sense perfectly well when she could play up, and when it wasn't even worth trying.

  "What did Gesar say?" Svetlana asked, sitting down beside me. The hammock started to sway.

  "He gave me a choice. I can look for the witch on my own, or I can call in help. Will you help me decide?"

  "Take a look at the future for you?" Svetlana asked.

  "Uh huh."

  Svetlana closed her eyes and lay back in the hammock. I pulled up her legs and put them across my knees. From the outside it looked perfectly idyllic. An attractive woman lying in a hammock, resting. Her husband sitting beside her, playfully stoking her thigh…

  I can look into the future too, but not nearly as well as Svetlana. It's not my specialty. It would have taken me a lot longer to do it, and my forecast would have been unreliable…

  Svetlana opened her eyes and looked at me.

  "Well?" I asked impatiently.

  "Don't stop, keep stroking," she said with a smile. "You're in the clear. I don't see any danger at all."

  "The witch is evidently weary of her evildoing," I chuckled. "All right, then. I'll issue her a verbal warning for not being registered."

  "It's her library that bothers me," Svetlana confessed. "Why would she hide away in the middle of nowhere, with books like that?"

  "Maybe she just doesn't like the city," I suggested. "She needs the forest, fresh air…"

  "Then why just outside Moscow? She should go away to Siberia, where the environment's less polluted and the rarest herbs grow. Or to the Far East."

  "She's local," I laughed. "A patriot of her own little homeland."

  "Something's not right," Svetlana said peevishly. "I still can't get over that business with Gesar… and then suddenly this witch."

  "What's so strange about the Gesar business?" I asked with a shrug. "He wanted to make his son into a Light One. And I for one don't blame him. Imagine how guilty he must feel about his son… he thought the child had died…"

  Svetlana smiled ironically. "At this moment Nadiushka's sitting on a stool, dangling her legs and saying she wants the skin taken off her milk."

  "Well, and…?" I asked, puzzled.

  "I can sense where she is and what's happening to her," Svetlana explained. "Because she's my daughter. And I'm not as powerful as Gesar or Olga…"

  "They thought the boy had died…" I muttered.

  "That could never happen." Svetlana said firmly. "Gesar's not a block of stone-he's got feelings. He would have sensed that the boy was alive. Do you understand? And Olga certainly would. He's her flesh and blood… she couldn't have believed that her child had died. And if they knew he was alive, the rest was straightforward enough. Gesar has the power, and he had it fifty years ago, to turn the entire country upside down in order to find his son."

  "You mean they deliberately didn't look for him?" I asked, but Svetlana didn't answer. "Or…"

  "Or," Svetlana agreed. "Or the boy really was an ordinary human being. In that case everything fits. In that case they could have believed he was dead and found him entirely by chance."

  "Fuaran," I said. "Maybe this witch is somehow connected with what happened at the Assol complex?"

  Svetlana shrugged and sighed. "Anton, I want desperately to go into the forest with you, find this kind botanist lady, and subject her to intensive interrogation…"

  "But you're not going to," I said.

  "No, I'm not. I swore I wouldn't get involved in Night Watch operations."

  I understood everything. I shared the resentment Svetlana felt for Gesar. And in any case I preferred not to take Svetlana with me�
�� it wasn't her job to go trailing through the forest looking for witches.

  But how much simpler and easier it would have been to work together.

  I sighed and stood up.

  "Right then, I won't put it off any longer. The heat's eased, so I'll take a stroll in the forest."

  "It's almost evening," Svetlana remarked.

  "I won't be far away. The kids said the hut was really close."

  Svetlana nodded. "All right. Just hang on a minute and I'll make you some sandwiches. And fill a thermos with compote."

  While I was waiting for Svetlana, I took a cautious peep into the barn. I almost flipped. Not only had Uncle Kolya taken half the diesel engine apart and laid the pieces out on the floor, he had another local alcoholic, Andryukha or Seryoga, rummaging furiously in the engine beside him. And they were so absorbed in their confrontation with German technology that the "little bottle" softhearted Svetlana had brought for them was still standing there unopened. Kolya was crooning an old folk ditty to himself:

  My very best friend and I Worked on a diesel engine…

  I tiptoed away from the shed. To hell with the car anyway…

  Svetlana outfitted me as if I weren't just going for a walk along the edge of the forest, but about to be parachuted into the middle of the taiga.

  Sandwiches in a plastic bag, a thermos of compote, a sturdy penknife, matches, a box of salt, two apples, and a little flashlight.

  And she also checked that my cell phone was charged. Bearing in mind the forest's minuscule dimensions, that wasn't a bad idea. In an emergency I could always climb a tree-then the signal would be bound to reach the network.

  But it was my idea to take the disk player. And as I strolled toward the forest, I listened to Hibernation of the Beasts:

  The medieval city sleeps, the worn-out granite trembles,

  The night maintains its silence out of fear of death.

  The medieval city sleeps, the dull and washed-out colors

  Speak to you like some distant echo-but don't trust it.

  In libraries books sleep, storehouses are bloated with barrels,

  And geniuses lose their minds on the night watch,

  And darkness averages, levels everything: bridges, canals and houses,