"Is this a joke, Gorodetsky?" he inquired. He got up and moved to one side.
The pointer didn't waver.
"Good," Gesar said, pleased. "Edgar, get all your agents back in here."
Edgar walked to the door and called, then came back to the table.
One by one the Inquisitors entered the room.
The pointer didn't move. It still pointed into empty space.
"Quod erat demonstrandum-that's what we needed to prove," Edgar said, relieved. "Nobody here is involved in the theft of the book."
"It's trembling," said Zabulon, looking closely at the compass. "The pointer's trembling. And since we didn't observe any legs on the book…"
He laughed a wicked, devilish laugh, clapped Edgar on the shoulder and asked, "Well then, senior comrade? Do you require any assistance with the arrest?"
Edgar was also watching the compass carefully. Then he asked, "Anton, how accurate is the device?"
"Not very, I'm afraid," I admitted. "The trace left by the book was very weak."
"How accurate?" Edgar repeated.
"Within about a hundred yards," I suggested. "Maybe fifty. If I'm right, when the target's close, the pointer will start to swing about chaotically. I'm sorry."
"Don't let it bother you, Anton, you did everything right," Gesar praised me. "No one could have done better with such a weak trace to work on. A hundred meters it is… can you determine the distance to the target?"
"Roughly, from how brightly the pointer glows… About seventy, seventy-five miles."
Gesar frowned. "The book's already in Moscow. We're wasting time, gentlemen. Edgar!"
The Inquisitor put one hand in his pocket and took out a small yellowish-white sphere. It looked like an ordinary pool ball, only a little smaller, and it had incomprehensible pictograms engraved haphazardly on its surface. Edgar squeezed the sphere tightly in his hand and concentrated.
A moment later I felt something changing. As if there had been a shroud hanging in the air-invisible to the eye, but palpable nonetheless-and now it was disappearing, being sucked into the small sphere of ivory…
"I didn't know the Inquisition still had Minoan spheres," said Gesar.
"No comment," said Edgar. He smiled, pleased at the effect he had produced. "That's it, the barrier has been removed. Put up a portal, Great Ones!"
Of course. A direct portal, without any reference points in place at "the other end," was a riddle for Great Ones to solve. Edgar either couldn't do it, or he was saving his strength…
Gesar squinted at Zabulon. "Will you trust me to do it again?" he asked.
Zabulon made a pass with his hand without speaking-and a gap opened up in midair, oozing darkness. Zabulon stepped into it first, then Gesar, gesturing for us to follow him. I picked up Arina's precious note, together with the invisible magical compass, and stepped in after Svetlana.
Despite the difference in external appearances, inside the portal was exactly the same. Milky-white mist, a sensation of rapid movement, total loss of any sense of time. I tried to concentrate-soon we would find ourselves near the criminal who had killed a Higher Vampire. Of course, we had Gesar and Zabulon leading us; Svetlana was just as powerful, if less experienced; Kostya was young, but he was still a Higher Vampire; and there was Edgar and his team with their pockets full of Inquisitors' artifacts. Even so, the fight could turn out to be deadly dangerous.
But a moment later I realized there wasn't going to be any fight.
At least, not right away.
We were standing on a platform at Moscow's Kazan railroad station. There was no one really close to us-people sense when a portal is opening nearby and they spontaneously move out of the way. But all around us there was the kind of crush that even in Moscow you can only find at a railroad station in summer.
People walking to their suburban trains, people getting off trains and carting baggage along, people smoking in front of the mechanical notice boards, waiting for their train to be announced, people drinking beer and lemonade, eating those monstrous railroad station pies and bread wraps with suspicious fillings. There were probably at least two or three thousand people within a radius of a hundred yards of us.
I looked at the spectral compass-the pointer was spinning lazily.
"We need Cinderella here at once," said Zabulon, gazing around. "We have to find a poppy seed in a sack of millet."
One by one the Inquisitors appeared beside us. The expression of readiness for fierce battle on Edgar's face was suddenly replaced by confusion.
"He's trying to hide," said Zabulon. "Excellent, excellent…"
But his expression didn't look too happy either.
An agitated woman pushed a trolley full of striped canvas bags up to our group. Her red, sweating face was set in an expression of firm determination that could only be mustered by a Russian woman who works as a "shuttle trader" to feed her idle, useless husband and three or four children.
"Haven't announced the Ulyanovsk train yet, have they?" she inquired.
Svetlana closed her eyes for a moment and replied, "It will arrive at platform one in six minutes and leave with a delay of three minutes."
"Thank you," the woman said, not surprised in the least by such a precise answer. She set off for platform one.
"That's all very nice, Svetlana," Gesar muttered. "But what suggestions do you have concerning the search for the book?"
Svetlana just shrugged.
The cafe was as cozy and clean as a railroad station cafe can be. Maybe because it was in such a strange place-the basement level, beside the baggage rooms. The countless station bums obviously didn't stick their faces in here-the owners had cured them of that habit. There was a middle-aged Russian woman standing behind the counter, and the food was carried out from the kitchen by taciturn, polite men from the Caucasus.
A strange place.
I took two glasses of dry wine from a three-liter box for Svetlana and myself. It was surprisingly cheap and also-to my great amazement-pretty good. I went back to the table where we were sitting.
"It's still here," said Svetlana, nodding at Arina's note. The pointer in the compass was spinning idly.
"Maybe the book's hidden in the baggage rooms?" I suggested.
Svetlana took a sip of her wine and nodded, either agreeing with my suggestion or expressing approval of the Krasnodar merlot.
"Is something bothering you?" I asked cautiously.
"Why the station?" Svetlana asked in return.
"To make a getaway. To hide. The thief must have realized he'd be followed."
"The airport. A plane. Any plane," Svetlana replied laconically, taking small sips of her wine.
I shrugged.
It really was strange. Once he had the Fuaran, the renegade Other, whoever he might be, could have tried either to hide or make a run for it. He'd chosen the second option. But why a train? A train as a means of escape-in the twenty-first century?
"Maybe he's afraid of flying?" Svetlana suggested.
I just snorted. Of course, even an Other didn't have much chance of surviving a plane crash. But even the very weakest Other was capable of examining the lines of probability for the next three or four hours and figuring out if there was any danger of a plane crashing.
And Witezslav's killer was anything but weak.
"He needs to get somewhere the planes don't go," I suggested.
"But at least he could have flown out of Moscow to shake off the pursuit."
"No," I said, enjoying the feeling of putting Svetlana right. "That wouldn't be any good. We would have identified the thief's approximate location, worked out which plane he'd taken, questioned the passengers, taken information from the surveillance cameras at the airport and discovered his identity. Then Gesar or Zabulon would have opened a portal… they could open one to any place he happened to go. And we'd all be right back where we are now. Except that we'd know what our enemy looks like."
Svetlana nodded. She looked at her watch and shook her
head. She closed her eyes for an instant, then smiled calmly.
That meant Nadiushka was okay.
"Why does he have to try to get away at all," Svetlana said thoughtfully. "I doubt if the ritual described in the Fuaran requires much time. The witch turned a lot of her servants into Others when she was attacked. It would be much easier for the killer to use the book and become a Great One… the Greatest of all. And then either take us on or destroy the Fuaran and hide. If he becomes more powerful than we are, we simply won't be able to unmask him."
"Perhaps he has already become more powerful," I remarked. "Since Gesar raised the subject of initiating Nadya…"
Svetlana nodded in agreement. "Not a very pleasant prospect. What if Edgar himself used the Fuaran? And now he's acting out a comedy, just pretending to search. He didn't get along too well with Witezslav, he's crafty… he wanted to become the most powerful Other in the world…"
"But then what does he need the book for?" I exclaimed. "He could just have left it where it was. We wouldn't even have known that Witezslav had been killed. We'd have put it all down to protective spells that the vampire failed to notice."
"That makes sense," Svetlana agreed. "That's right, the killer isn't after Power. Or not only Power. He wants the book as well."
I suddenly remembered Semyon.
"There's someone the killer wants to make into an Other!" I exclaimed. "He realized that he wouldn't be allowed to use the book. That's why he killed Witezslav… it doesn't matter now exactly how. He performed the ritual and became a very powerful Other. He hid the book… somewhere here, at the station. And now he's hoping to get it out."
Svetlana reached out to me under the table and we shook hands triumphantly.
"Only how can he get it out?" Svetlana queried. "The two most powerful magicians in Moscow are here right now…"
"Three," I corrected her.
Svetlana frowned and said, "Then it's four. After all, Kostya's a Higher…"
"He's a snot-nosed kid, even if he is higher…" I muttered. Somehow I just couldn't get my head around the fact that this kid had killed ten people in just a few years.
And the most disgusting thing was that we gave out the licenses…
Svetlana realized what I was thinking about. She stroked my hand and said in a quiet voice, "Don't get upset. He couldn't go against his own nature. What could you have done? Except kill him…"
I nodded.
Of course he couldn't have acted differently.
But I didn't want to admit that, even to myself.
The door of the cafe opened gently-and in came Gesar, Zabulon, Edgar, Kostya… and Olga. From the lively way they were all discussing something, Olga was already up to speed.
"Edgar agreed to call in reinforcements…" Svetlana said in a low voice. "That's bad news."
The magicians walked across to our table and I saw their glances slip toward the compass. Kostya went over to the counter and ordered a glass of red wine. The woman behind the counter smiled-either he had used a little bit of vampire charm, or she just liked the look of him. Hey, lady… don't smile at that young guy who rouses your maternal, or maybe even womanly, feelings. That young guy can give you a kiss that will leave you smiling forever…
"Kostya and the Inquisitor have searched every inch of the baggage rooms," said Gesar. "Not a trace."
"And we've combed the entire station," said Zabulon with a good-natured laugh. "Six Others, all clearly not involved."
"And an uninitiated little girl," Olga added, smiling in reply. "Yes, yes, I was the one who spotted her. She'll be taken care of."
Zabulon smiled even more broadly-we had a whole smiling competition going on here. "I'm sorry, Great One. She is already being taken care of."
In an ordinary situation that would only have been the beginning of the conversation.
"That's enough, Great Ones!" Edgar barked. "We're not concerned with just one potential Other here. This is a question of our very survival."
"That's right," Zabulon agreed. "Will you give me a hand, Boris Ignatievich?"
He and Gesar moved another table over to ours. Kostya brought over some chairs without saying anything-and there was our group, all sitting together. Nothing out of the ordinary-people going off on vacation or a business trip, passing the time in the station cafe…"
"Either he's not here or he can conceal himself from us," said Svetlana. "In any case, I'd like to ask permission to leave. Call me if I'm needed."
"Your daughter's perfectly all right," Zabulon growled. "I give you my word."
"We might need you here," said Gesar, backing him up.
Svetlana sighed.
"Gesar, please, why not let Svetlana go?" I asked. "You can see it's not Power we need right now."
"Then what do we need?" Gesar asked curiously.
"Cunning and patience. You and Zabulon have plenty of cunning. And you can't expect patience from a worried mother."
Gesar shook his head. He glanced at Olga and she gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Go to your daughter, Sveta," said Gesar. "You're right. If you're needed, I'll call you and put up a portal."
"Okay, I'm gone," said Svetlana. She leaned over to me for a moment and touched my cheek with her lips-then vanished into thin air. The portal was so tiny I didn't see it.
And the people in the cafe didn't even notice Svetlana disappear. We were invisible to them; they didn't even want to see us.
"She's powerful," said Zabulon. He reached out toward Kostya, picked up his half-empty glass and took a sip. "Well, you know best, Gesar… What next, Mr. Inquisitor?"
"We wait," Edgar said curtly. "He'll come for the book."
"He or she," Zabulon added. "He or she…"
We didn't set up an operational headquarters. Just sat there in the cafe, ate a bit, drank a bit. Kostya ordered steak tartare- the counter lady was astonished, but she went running into the kitchen and a moment later a young guy came out and dashed off to get the meat.
Gesar ordered a chicken Kiev. The rest of us made do with wine, beer, and various small snacks like dried squid and pistachio nuts.
I sat there watching Kostya wolf down the almost raw meat and wondering about the behavior of our unidentified criminal. "Look for the motive!" had been Sherlock Holmes's advice. If we found the motive, we'd find the criminal. He had already become the most powerful Other in the world-or he could do so at any moment. But if that wasn't his goal, what was it? Blackmail? That would be stupid. He couldn't impose his will on all the Watches and the Inquisition-he'd end up like Fuaran… Maybe the criminal wanted to set up his own, alternative organization of Others? An organization of "wild Others" had been crushed that spring in St. Petersburg, hadn't it? But crushed with great difficulty. A bad example was infectious, someone might have been tempted. And the worst thing was that even a Light One could have been tempted. Tempted to create a new Night Watch. A Super-Watch. To wipe out the Dark Ones completely, break the Inquisition, and lure some of the Light Ones over to his side…
If that was the way things were, it was bad-very bad. The Dark Ones wouldn't surrender without a fight. The modern world was bristling with weapons of mass destruction and nuclear power stations, and a strike at them could wipe out the entire planet. The time was long gone when a violent solution could lead to victory. And perhaps that time had never even existed…
"The pointer," said Edgar. "Look!"
My compass had stopped pretending to be a ventilator. The pointer spun more slowly, then froze, quivered-and began turning slowly to indicate a direction.
"Yes!" Kostya exclaimed, leaping out of his chair. "It worked!"
And for just a split second I saw again the boy-vampire who had still not tasted human blood and was certain he would never have to pay a price for his Power…
"Let's move, gentlemen." Edgar jumped to his feet. He looked at the pointer, then followed its direction and stared hard at the wall. "To the trains!" he said in a determined voice.
C
hapter 3
It's a common sight at a railroad station-a small group of people dashing along the platform, trying to figure out where their train's leaving from-if it hasn't already left. For some reason the role of these late passengers is almost always played by women shuttle-traders loaded down with Chinese striped-canvas bags or, by contrast, cultured individuals whose only burden is a Samsonite briefcase and leather purses.
We belonged to an exotic subspecies of the second category- we had absolutely no baggage at all, and our overall appearance was pretty strange, but it inspired respect.
On the platform the pointer started spinning again-we were already close to the book.
"He's trying to get away," Zabulon declared grandly. "All right… now let's see which trains are leaving…"
The Dark One's gaze clouded over-he was forecasting the future, looking to see which train would leave the platform first.
I looked up at the information board hanging in the air behind us. "The Moscow-Almaty train is about to leave. In five minutes, from platform two."
Zabulon returned from his prophetic travels and announced, "The train to Kazakhstan from platform two. In five minutes."
He looked very pleased with himself.
Kostya snickered very quietly.
Gesar looked up ostentatiously at the information board and nodded.
"Yes, you're right, Zabulon… And the next one's not for half an hour."
"We'll stop the train and comb all the cars," Edgar suggested quickly. "Right?"
"Will your underlings be able to find the Other?" Gesar asked. "If he's disguised? If he's a magician beyond classification?"
Edgar wilted before our eyes. He shook his head.
"That's the point," Gesar said with a nod. "The Fuaran was in the station. It was in the station, and we couldn't find the book or the criminal. What makes you think it will be any easier on the train?"
"If he's on the train," said Zabulon, "the easiest thing to do is destroy the train. No more problem."
There was silence.
Gesar shook his head.
"I know, I know, it's a disagreeable solution," Zabulon acknowledged. "Even I don't like the idea of a thousand lives simply wasted… But what other choice do we have?"
Twilight Watch Page 29