Twilight Watch

by Сергей Лукьяненко

  "I have something else to say to you," Edgar snapped. "Why did you have to fly right outside the window?"

  "I was observing."

  "Couldn't you just sit on the roof and lean down?"

  "At sixty miles an hour? I might be an Other, but the laws of physics still apply. I'd have been blown off!"

  "So the laws of physics don't prevent you from flying at sixty miles an hour, but you can't stay on the roof of the car?"

  Kostya frowned and stopped talking. He reached into his jacket and took out a small flask full of some thick, dark crimson liquid. He took a mouthful of it.

  Edgar frowned. "How soon will you require… food?"

  "If I don't have to transform any more-tomorrow evening." Kostya waved the flask through the air, making a heavy splashing sound. "I've got enough left for breakfast."

  "I could… in view of the special circumstances…" Edgar paused and cast a sideways glance at me. "I could issue you a license."

  "No," I said quickly. "That's a breach of established procedure."

  "Konstantin is on active service with the Inquisition at present," Edgar reminded me. "The Light Ones would receive compensation."

  "No," I repeated.

  "He has to nourish himself somehow. And the people in the train are probably doomed anyway. Every last one of them."

  Kostya said nothing, looking at me. Without smiling, a serious, intent kind of look…

  "Then I'll get off the train," I said. "And you can do whatever you like."

  "I recognize the Night Watch style," Kostya said in a quiet voice. "Washing your hands of the whole business. That's the way you always act. You give us the people yourselves, and then you turn your noses up in contempt."

  "Quiet!" Edgar barked, getting up and standing between us. "Quiet, both of you. This is no time for squabbling. Kostya, do you need a license? Or can you hold out?"

  Kostya shook his head. "I don't need a license. While we're stopped somewhere in Tambov I'll get out and catch a couple of cats."

  "Why cats?" Edgar asked curiously. "Why… er… not dogs, for instance?"

  "I feel sorry for dogs," Kostya explained. "Cats too… but where am I going to find a cow or a sheep in Tambov? And the train doesn't stop for long at the small stations."

  "We'll get you a ram in Tambov," Edgar promised. "There's no point in helping spread mystical rumors. That's how it all begins-they find the bodies of animals drained of blood, write their articles for the gutter press…"

  He took out his cell phone and selected a number from its address book. He had to wait a long time before someone who had been sleeping peacefully answered.

  "Dmitry? Stop whining, this is no time for sleeping, the motherland calls…" Edgar squinted at us and said in a clear voice: "Greetings from Solomon, with all the signatures and seals."

  Edgar stopped talking for a while, either allowing the man to gather his wits or listening to his reply.

  "Yes. Edgar. Remember now? Precisely so," said Edgar. "We haven't forgotten about you. And we need your help. In four hours the Moscow-Almaty train will stop in Tambov. We need a ram. What?"

  Taking the phone away from his face and covering the microphone with his hand, Edgar said angrily, "What stupid asses they are, these human personnel."

  "An ass would suit me fine too," Kostya chuckled.

  Edgar spoke into the phone again. "No, not you. It has to be a ram. You know, the animal. Or an ordinary sheep. Or a cow. That doesn't bother me. In four hours, be standing near the station with the animal. No, a dog's no good! Because it's no good! No, no one's going to eat it. You can keep the meat and the skin. Right, I'll call you when we get there."

  Edgar put his cell away. "We have a very limited… contingent… in Tambov. There aren't any Others there at the moment, only a human member of staff."

  "Oh." That was my only comment. There had never been any humans in the Watches.

  "Sometimes it's unavoidable," Edgar explained vaguely. "Never mind, he'll manage it. He's paid for it. You'll get your ram, Kostya."

  "Thanks," Kostya replied amicably. "A sheep would be better, of course. But a ram will do the job too."

  "Is the gastronomical discussion over now?" I asked sarcastically.

  Edgar turned to me and said in a didactic tone, "Our battle-readiness is a matter of great importance… So, you tell us that this… Las… has been influenced by magic?"

  "That's right. This morning. The desire to travel to Alma-Ata by train was implanted in his mind."

  "It makes sense," Edgar agreed. "If you hadn't discovered the trace, we'd have put serious effort into this guy. And wasted a bundle of time and energy. But that means…"

  "That the perpetrator is intimately familiar with the affairs of the Watches," I said with a nod. "He's in the know about the investigation at the Assol complex, he knows who was under suspicion. In other words…"

  "Someone from the very top," Edgar agreed. "Five or six Others in the Night Watch, the same number in the Day Watch. Let's say twenty altogether, at most… Even so, it's not many, not many at all."

  "Or someone from the Inquisition," said Kostya.

  "Okay. A name, brother, a name." Edgar laughed. "Who?"

  "Witezslav." Kostya paused for a second. "For instance."

  For a few seconds I thought the Dark Magician, usually so imperturbable, was about to let rip and swear obscenely. And definitely in a Baltic accent. But Edgar restrained himself. "Maybe you're feeling a bit tired after the transformation, Konstantin?" he asked. "Maybe it's time to go night night?"

  "Edgar, I'm younger than you, but we're both babes in arms compared to Witezslav," Kostya replied calmly. "What did we see? Clothes filled with dust. Did we personally analyze that dust?"

  Edgar didn't answer that.

  "I'm not sure you can tell anything from the remains of a vampire…" I put in.

  "Why would Witezslav…" Edgar began.

  "Power," Kostya answered laconically.

  "What's power got to do with it? If he'd decided to steal the book, why report that he'd found it? He could have just taken it and slipped away. He was alone when he found it! Do you understand that? Alone!"

  "He might not have realized immediately what he was dealing with," Kostya parried. "Or decided not to steal it right away. But to fake his own death and bolt with the book while we're trying to catch his killer is a brilliant move!"

  Edgar started breathing faster. He nodded. "All right. I'll ask them to check it. I'll get in touch with… with the Higher Ones in Moscow and ask them to check the remains."

  "Just to be sure, ask Gesar and Zabulon both to check the remains," Kostya advised him. "We can't be sure one of them isn't involved."

  "Don't teach your granddad how to make children…" Edgar growled. He settled down more comfortably on the bunk-and switched off.

  Gesar and Zabulon weren't going to get a good night's sleep either…

  I yawned and said, "Gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep."

  Edgar didn't answer-he was engaged in mental conversation with one of the Great Ones. Kostya nodded and climbed under his own blanket.

  I climbed up onto the top bunk, undressed, and shoved my jeans and shirt onto the shelf. I took off my watch and put it beside me-I don't like sleeping with my watch on. Below me, Kostya clicked the switch of the night lamp and it went dark.

  Edgar sat there without moving. The wheels hammered reassuringly. They say that in America, where they use incredibly long rails cast in one piece, they make special notches in them to imitate the joints and recreate that comforting rhythm of the wheels…

  I couldn't sleep.

  Someone had killed a Higher Vampire. Or the vampire himself had faked his own death. It didn't matter which. In any case, someone was in possession of unimaginable Power.

  Why would he run? Why hide on a train-with the risk that the entire train would be destroyed or, for instance, surrounded by hundreds of Others and subjected to an exhaustive search? It
was stupid, unnecessary, risky. He had become the most powerful Other of all-sooner or later Power would come to him. In a hundred years, or two hundred-when everybody would have forgotten about the witch Arina and the mythical book. If anybody would have understood all that, Witezslav would.

  It was… it was too human, somehow. Messy and illogical. Nothing like the way a wise and powerful Other would have acted.

  But only an Other like that could possibly have killed Witezslav.

  Again it didn't add up.

  Down below, Edgar began to stir. He sighed and his clothes rustled as he climbed up onto his bunk.

  I closed my eyes and tried to relax as much as I could.

  I imagined the rails stretching out behind the train… through the stations and the small halts, past the cities and the little towns, all the way back to Moscow, and the roads running away from the station until out beyond the Ring Road they were pocked by potholes and after the sixtieth mile they were transformed into strips of pulverized tarmac and went creeping toward the sleepy little village and up to the old log house…

  "Svetlana?"

  "I was waiting, Anton. How are you getting on?"

  "Still traveling. But there's something strange going on…"

  I tried to open myself up to her as much as possible… or almost as much as possible. To unroll my memory like a bolt of cloth on the cutter's table. The train, the Inquisitors, the conversation with Las, the conversation with Edgar and Kostya…

  "It's strange," Svetlana said after a short pause. "Very strange. I get the feeling someone's playing games with you all. I don't like it, Anton."

  "Me neither. How's Nadya?"

  "She's been asleep for ages."

  In this kind of conversation that only Others can have, there is no inflexion of the voice. But there is something that replaces it-I could sense Svetlana's slight indecision.

  "Are you at home?"

  "No. I'm… visiting a certain old lady."

  "Svetlana!"

  "I'm just visiting, don't worry. I decided to talk the situation over with her… and learn a bit about the book."

  Yes, I ought to have realized right away that it wasn't just concern for our daughter that had made Svetlana leave us.

  "And what have you found out?"

  "It was the Fuaran. The real one. And… we were right about Gesar's son. The old woman thought that was hilarious… and she reestablished some useful contacts at the same time."

  "And then she sacrificed the book?"

  "Yes. She left it behind, absolutely certain that the secret room would soon be found, and the search would be called off."

  "And what does she think about what's happened?" I carefully avoided using any names, as if a conversation like this could be tapped.

  "I think she's in a panic. Although she's putting a brave face on."

  "Svetlana, how quickly can the Fuaran turn a human being into an Other?"

  "Almost instantly. It takes ten minutes to pronounce the spells, and you need a few ingredients… or rather, one… blood from twelve people. Maybe only a drop, but from twelve different people."

  "What for?"

  "You'd have to ask Fuaran that. I'm sure any other liquid would have done instead of blood, but the witch bound the spell to blood… Anyway, ten minutes' preparation, twelve drops of blood-and you can turn a human being into an Other. Or a whole group of people, just as long as they're all within your field of vision."

  "And what level of Power will they be on?"

  "It varies, but you can raise the level of the weak ones with the next spell. In theory you can turn any human into a Higher Magician."

  There was something in what she'd just said. Something important. But I just couldn't grasp the thread yet…

  "Sveta, what is the… old woman afraid of?"

  "The transformation of people into Others on a massive scale."

  "Is she planning to come in and confess?"

  "No. She's planning to run for it. And I can understand her."

  I sighed. We ought to have brought Arina to justice after all… if only the Inquisition hadn't charged her with sabotage. And then there was Gesar…

  "Sveta, ask her… ask her if the Fuaran will acquire great power at the place where the book was written?"

  A pause. What a pity this wasn't a cell phone and I couldn't talk to the witch directly. But alas, direct conversation is only possible between soul mates and people who have other close connections.

  "No… She's very surprised. She says the Fuaran isn't tied to any particular place. The book will work in the Himalayas or Antarctica, or in the Ivory Coast if you like."

  "Then… then find out if Witezslav could have used it? After all, he was a vampire, a lower Other…"

  Another pause.

  "He could have. Any vampire or werewolf could. Dark Ones or Light Ones. There are no limitations. Except for one-the book couldn't have been used by a human being."

  "That's clear enough… Anything else?"

  "Nothing, Anton. I was hoping she might be able to give us a clue… but I was wrong."

  "Okay. Thanks. I love you."

  "And I love you. Get some rest. I'm sure everything will be clearer in the morning…"

  The subtle thread stretching between us snapped. I squirmed around on the bunk, settling down more comfortably. Then I couldn't help myself-I looked at the table.

  The pointer of the compass was still rotating. The Fuaran was still on the train.

  I woke up twice during the night. Once when one of the Inquisitors came to Edgar to relate that some reports or other were missing. The second time when the train stopped in Tambov and Kostya quietly left the compartment.

  It was after ten when I got up.

  Edgar was drinking tea. Kostya, looking pink and fresh, was chewing a salami sandwich. The pointer was rotating. No change at all.

  I got dressed up there on the bunk and jumped down. I'd found a tiny piece of soap in the bundle of bedclothes, and that was the only item of personal hygiene I had.

  "Here," Kostya muttered, moving a plastic bag over toward me. "I picked up a few things… in Tambov…"

  The bag contained a pack of disposable razors, an aerosol can of Gillette shaving cream, a toothbrush, and a tube of New Pearl toothpaste.

  "I forgot the aftershave," said Kostya. "I didn't think of it."

  It wasn't surprising he'd forgotten-vampires and werewolves aren't any too fond of strong smells. Maybe the supposed effect of garlic, which was really quite harmless to vampires, was linked with the fact that it made it harder for them to find their prey?

  "Thanks," I said. "How much do I owe you?"

  Kostya shrugged.

  "I've already given him the money," Edgar told me. "You're entitled to expenses too, by the way. Fifty dollars a day, plus food, on submission of the checks."

  "It's a good life in the Inquisition," I quipped. "Any news?"

  "Gesar and Zabulon are trying to make sense of Witezslav's remains." That was what he said-"remains"-in a solemn, official voice. "But it's hard to get much out of them. You know yourself-the older a vampire is, the less there is left of him after he dies…"

  Kostya chewed intently on his sandwich.

  "Sure," I agreed. "I'll go take a wash."

  Almost everyone in the car was awake already. Only a couple of compartments where the merrymaking had been a bit too intense were still closed. I waited in the short line and then squeezed into the barracks comfort of the railway car's privy. Warm water oozed sluggishly out of the iron nipple of the tap. The sheet of polished steel that took the place of a mirror was unusable, spattered all over with soap. As I brushed my teeth with the hard Chinese brush, I recalled my nighttime conversation with Sveta.

  There was something important in what Svetlana had said. There was-but it had gone unrecognized by both of us.

  And I had to understand it.

  When I got back to the compartment I was still no closer to the truth, but I did have an id
ea that I thought might lead somewhere. My traveling companions had already finished their breakfast and when I closed the door I got straight to the point.

  "Edgar, I've got an idea. On a long stretch your guys unhitch the cars. One by one. To make sure the train doesn't stop, one of them monitors the driver. We watch the compass. As soon as the car with the book is unhitched-the pointer will turn toward it."

  "And?…" Edgar asked sourly.

  "We get a fix on the book. We know which car it's in. And then we can surround that car and take the passengers aside with their luggage, one by one. As soon as we find the killer, the pointer will tell us. And that's it! No more need to destroy the train."

  "I thought about that," Edgar said reluctantly. "There's just one argument against it, but it's decisive. The perpetrator will realize what's happening. And then he'll be able to strike first."

  "Get Gesar, Zabulon, Svetlana, and Olga here… do the Dark Ones have other powerful magicians?" I looked at Kostya.

  "We can find a few," Kostya answered evasively. "But will we have enough Power?"

  "To deal with one Other?"

  "Not just an Other," Edgar reminded me. "According to the legend, several hundred magicians were assembled to destroy Fuaran."

  "Then we'll assemble them too. The Night Watch has almost two hundred members of staff, and the Day Watch has just as many. And there are hundreds of reservists. Each side can easily muster a thousand Others."

  "Mostly weak, sixth- or seventh-level. We can't get together more than a hundred real magicians, third-level and up." Edgar spoke so confidently that there was no possible doubt he really had thought through the option of direct confrontation. "That might be enough-if we back up the Dark and Light Magicians with Inquisitors, use amulets and combine the two Powers. But it might not be. Then the strongest fighters would be killed and the perpetrator will be left with a free hand. Don't you think he might be counting on us taking this very approach?"

  I shook my head.

  "And another thing I've been thinking about," Edgar said with gloomy satisfaction. "The perpetrator might regard the train as a trap that will draw together all the powerful magicians in Russia. He could have hung the train from end to end with spells that we can't sense."