‘I can agree with that,’ I said. ‘But even so! You’re an Other. Sure, you’re a Light One, but the abilities of an Other allow you to live a pretty decent life, within the limits of the law and morality. You’ve probably got a thousand or two in your pocket. Did you help the old woman?’
‘Drop the cheap rhetoric, Gorodetsky!’ Valentin suddenly shouted out loud. ‘I ran away! I was ashamed! You can’t plug a hole in a dam with your finger!’
‘Yes, you can,’ I replied confidently. ‘If it’s a small hole, and a strong finger. You’re an Other. But, first and foremost, you’re a man. You didn’t help the one and only old woman you came across – so what do you want to use the Power for?’
‘I’m going to the Kremlin,’ Valentin said in an icy voice.
‘And what?’ I asked. ‘I hope you won’t start killing everyone on your way, like a certain Don Rumata?’
Valentin gave me a puzzled look.
‘That’s from a different book, not the one about Schuchart,’ I explained. ‘Don’t bother your head about it. So what is it that you want?’
‘I’ll remoralise them,’ said Valentin. ‘All of them. From the president to the . . . to the Kremlin office manager.’
‘Let’s say you do,’ I stated. ‘You’ll break through the defences set up by both the Watches, especially to deal with those who want to intervene like this, and you’ll alter the nature of all the people who have anything to do with power. The president, the ministers, the Duma deputies . . . So?’
Valentin actually started puffing and panting with indignation.
‘What do you mean, “so”? Corruption would come to an end, the laws would be observed. It would straighten out people’s lives!’
‘But you won’t remoralise all the people in the country,’ I said gently. ‘The Dark Ones will be granted the right to payback. And so?’
‘So if the authorities have high moral standards . . .’
‘Then in a few days they’ll be gobbled up by those who aren’t affected by your spell. Who won’t have any pangs of conscience, doubts, hesitations. An honest politician is an oxymoron. The new arrivals will immediately remind your highly moral elite of all their sins – and they’ll start beating their breasts and repenting without that in any case.’
‘Then they can step down!’
‘But the new ones won’t be any better.’
‘So am I supposed just to do nothing?’ Valentin asked, outraged. ‘Are people simply doomed to suffering? What do you suggest: “Don’t touch it until it starts to stink”?’
‘Better: “Don’t touch if it still works”,’ I told him. ‘Valentin, the whole problem is that the regime is a reflection of society. Crooked and grotesque, but still a reflection. And as long as most of the citizens of a country – if they happened to gain power – would steal and regard themselves as better than other people, no remoralisation of the ruling circles will change anything. Those politicians who acquire a conscience will leave. And new ones without consciences will take their places. It’s people who have to change, society—’
‘You already said that,’ Valentin growled.
‘Uh-huh. And I can say it again.’
‘No, Anton,’ Valentin said firmly. ‘I don’t believe it. That’s your fatigue talking – your pessimism. As well – pardon me for mentioning it – as your own self-interest.’
‘How’s that?’ I asked in amazement.
‘The status quo suits the Night Watch,’ Valentin said dismally. ‘You feed your own sense of self-importance, have a fine life, and you’re afraid of serious changes in society. Maybe you’re simply afraid of being left with nothing to do. If there’s less evil in life, not only will the Day Watch shrink, you won’t be needed either!’
I just shook my head. It had suddenly become quite clear to me that I was wasting my time arguing. Valentin wanted to do good. Swiftly and effectively, with all the bells and whistles. And here was I muttering something to him about human nature, about how it was impossible to wave a magic wand and bring happiness to everyone.
‘And you won’t stop me,’ said Valentin, working himself up even more. ‘I’ll go to the Kremlin – the president’s addressing the Duma there today. And I’ll bring them all to their senses! I’ve worked out the whole thing. I’ll have enough Power to repel any of your spells, with plenty left over for a mass remoralisation.’
‘The Sphere of Negation?’ I asked.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Valentin, nodding proudly.
‘A good spell,’ I admitted. ‘You really will be able to block any of my magic, and you can draw Power from it, too.’
Valentin smiled. He looked like a schoolboy who has earned words of praise from a strict teacher.
There was no point in dragging things out any longer. I stuck my hand in the pocket of my anorak and took out a short telescopic truncheon. I shook it and it snapped out to its full length.
‘Ah . . .’ said Valentin, starting to get to his feet. He had realised belatedly what was happening.
I shoved him gently in the chest with my free left hand – as I was expecting, Valentin flung his hands up to protect himself against the harmless blow. And that was when I whacked him with the truncheon, swinging hard so that the dense rubber with the heavy metal core thudded dully against the top of the hapless Other’s head.
Valentin’s eyes rolled up and he went limp. I held him up by his anorak as I sat him back down on his chair. Pastukhov was there beside me immediately, holding his own far heavier truncheon at the ready.
‘Easy now, everything’s fine,’ I told him. ‘Right . . . just a moment . . .’
Oh, the young guy had really pumped himself full! I absorbed as much Power as I could and then started simply releasing it into space. With no one controlling it any more, the Sphere of Negation no longer impeded me. The people in the stands livened up, started applauding and yelling. The music started playing louder.
What is the point of teaching them? All that effort, but instead of the Magician’s Shield, which protects against everything, they still use the Sphere of Negation. He could at least have set a weak Crystal Shield under the Sphere . . .
Ah, these young people.
When I’d finished, I cast the Clamps spell on him, blocking his magical abilities completely. The Clamps can only be used on an Other who is unconscious, and they only hold for a few hours. But that would be enough.
‘He’s alive,’ Pastukhov declared in relief after examining Valentin. ‘Listen – he’s one of yours, a Light One, isn’t he?’
‘If he’s a Light One, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s one of ours,’ I sighed. Semyon was already walking towards us.
‘And what’s going to happen to him now?’ Pastukhov asked. He seemed almost to sympathise with the young guy.
‘A trial,’ I said, shrugging. ‘He didn’t have time to actually do anything – he’ll get five to ten years’ deprivation of rights. That means living without magic.’
‘Well, that’s not so terrible,’ said Pastukhov, relaxing.
‘You think so?’ I sighed. ‘Ah, but it is – if you’re already used to it – And he is.’
CHAPTER 6
GESAR LOOKED AT me with an expression of affronted amazement. No, he wasn’t just affronted, he was seriously disappointed. That was probably the kind of look a great artist would give his pupil if he found out the pupil had been stealing his brushes and paint and had drawn moustaches on several pictures of lovely ladies just for the fun of it.
‘Why?’ Gesar asked bitterly, flinging my old minidisc player down on the desk in anger. ‘Why the hell didn’t you give me the prophecy straight away?’
‘Because it’s too dangerous,’ I explained. ‘I didn’t want to get the entire leadership of the Watch involved in this business. The Tiger would have come—’
‘And eaten us all up,’ Gesar snorted. ‘I can’t see anything terrible in the prophecy.’
‘Really?’ I asked, astonished.
‘I
t doesn’t actually forecast anything at all,’ Gesar said calmly. ‘All it does is articulate the possibility that an Absolute Enchantress is capable of destroying the Twilight. You don’t think that’s news to me, do you?’
Now it was my turn to gape at the boss in absolute disbelief.
‘It’s simply axiomatic,’ Gesar continued. ‘An absolute force is capable of destroying everything. Doesn’t it frighten you that your daughter is capable of blowing up the planet?’
‘What?’ I bleated lamely.
‘Blow it up. Incinerate it. Flood it. And all exclusively by magical means – she draws Power from an effectively infinite source, she has enough to do all that. And she can destroy the Twilight the same way.’
‘How?’ I asked.
‘Maybe collapse all the levels together,’ Gesar explained casually. ‘Then the whole world would be overgrown with blue moss and a second moon would appear in the sky – although most of the time it would be hidden from sight by the fluorescent clouds. Basically, there would be an incredible transposition of spatial dimensions. One hell of a cataclysm. Maybe magic would be preserved if that happened, or maybe not . . . But there is a second possibility, also quite likely. The world won’t change, but we won’t be able to enter the Twilight. The level of magic will start to decline . . . and then, even in this case, there are various alternatives.’
He got so carried away that I realised he’d been wanting to talk all this over with someone for a long time.
‘I, for instance, believe that magic would be completely lost to people,’ he explained. ‘But Zabulon believes the opposite – that those people with the highest magical temperatures, who nowadays don’t possess even the weakest of clairvoyant abilities, would become Great Magicians!’
‘Zabulon?’ I asked stupidly. ‘You’ve discussed this with him?’
‘Yes, Zabulon,’ Gesar replied firmly. ‘You should understand, Anton, that there are some things so important for all Others that all enmity is forgotten in the effort to understand them.’
‘But if there’s no Twilight, how will these human-Others use magic?’
‘They won’t need to enter the Twilight. They’ll operate with just their own internal energy – although perhaps in time they’ll discover a way to pump energy directly out of other people . . . and we’ll become practically immune to magic,’ Gesar laughed. ‘You can’t give an electric shock to someone who doesn’t conduct electricity.’
He paused and then sighed.
‘But we’d have a really tough time, of course. We could forget all about having such a long life.’
‘So Kesha’s prophecy isn’t dangerous, and it doesn’t contain anything new,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘And perhaps it’s not the first of that kind?’
Gesar didn’t say anything, but he smiled.
‘Then why was the Tiger so afraid that the prophecy would be heard?’
‘Because there really is a chance that someone will try to destroy the Twilight,’ Gesar said calmly. ‘For instance, as we see, your girlfriend Ar—’
I frowned.
‘A certain Witch of your acquaintance,’ said Gesar, correcting his mistake. ‘As you’ve already seen, she has a definite bee in her bonnet – she’s afraid that her careless interference with a prophecy has brought disaster down on the country. And she’s not the only one, either. There are radical Dark Ones, for instance.’
‘But what do they want? Are they prepared to lose their Power?’
‘They believe that magic will simply change. And they hope that their own personal Power will be increased in the process. There are radical Light Ones, too. Today, for instance, you were working with a lad who wanted to make people happy by making the human authorities super-moral. That’s a standard situation, isn’t it? But there are other Light Ones who are tormented by the awareness of their own Power. And they’d like it if there was no magic, if people lived without any wizardry at all!’
‘But do many of them know that the Twilight can be destroyed – and who is capable of doing it?’
‘Fortunately for you and Nadya, not many,’ Gesar said drily. ‘Or they would try to influence her.’
‘So what should I do?’ I asked. Suddenly I felt like what I really was – despite the rank of Higher One that had come my way by chance: a novice Magician, a rank-and-file Other, the pupil of a wise Magician.
‘Why, nothing, Anton,’ said Gesar, with a careless gesture. ‘Only try not to hide anything else from me, all right? And don’t let anyone know anything. I don’t think the Tiger’s going to come for us. He realises that we won’t reveal the prophecy to anyone. And even if Arina does reveal it, it’s still only possible, not inevitable.’
‘Are you going to hunt for her?’
‘Not with any serious commitment,’ Gesar said, shrugging. ‘If you get a chance, give her my advice. Either to go back to sleep again, for ten or twelve years or thereabouts. Or turn herself in. She could turn herself in to me, by the way. I’d try to protect her against the Inquisition and obtain the mildest possible sentence.’
I nodded.
‘Thank you, Boris Ignatievich.’
‘I can’t put a thank-you in my pocket,’ he growled and glanced at the screen of his computer. ‘All right, off you go . . . conspirator. I’ve got work to do.’
‘By the way, about pockets . . .’ I said, suddenly remembering. ‘Tell me, how much money can I withdraw with my bank card?’
‘That depends on your rank,’ said Gesar, without looking at me. ‘Anton, this is all nonsense, you should understand that.’
‘It can’t be total nonsense,’ I said stubbornly. ‘Yesterday I went up to an ATM . . .’
‘Anton, tell me: what value do you think human money has in an organisation with even one Fourth-or Fifth-Level Clairvoyant?’ Gesar asked.
‘None,’ I answered after a moment’s thought.
‘That’s the whole point. Simply from fluctuations in exchange rates and share values, even in the most stable of years, the Watches can earn any amount of money they like. And since a normal Other isn’t interested in the human attributes of wealth and prosperity, I can’t see any point in limiting my staff members’ access. Not even Dark Others suffer from that kind of vanity.’
‘But it seems kind of—’ I began.
‘Do you want a Bentley?’ Gesar asked, looking up at me with a stony stare.
‘What the hell for?’ I asked in amazement. ‘To attract the curses of the envious people all around me? I wouldn’t mind buying some kind of Japanese four-by-four, though. We drove to the dacha in the summer: the road was thick with mud and we got stuck.’
‘Then buy one,’ Gesar said blithely. ‘The natural circulation of money stimulates economic activity, and is ultimately beneficial to people. And especially since Japan has been hit by an earthquake – you’ll be helping them.’
‘Boss, tell me honestly, will you – can you justify absolutely anything you like from the perspective of goodness and justice?’ I asked.
Gesar thought for a moment. He scratched the tip of his nose.
‘Basically, probably yes. But don’t you fret about that. It comes to everybody with age.’
At one o’clock I went to the canteen. I didn’t really feel like eating – the events of the morning must have killed my appetite. I just picked at my chicken Kiev and left most of it. Our chef Aunty Klava gave me a reproachful glance as she surveyed the dining hall from the serving hatch, so I had to go through a whole pantomime to demonstrate that my trouser belt would barely close, I was really getting out of shape and that was the only reason I hadn’t eaten up my full portion. Aunty Klava was appeased. I poured myself a glass of her remarkable cranberry mors, downed it in one, took another and sat back down at my table. The canteen was almost empty: after all, it was the middle of the day and the operations staff were either catching up on their sleep or spending time with their families – those who had them, that is. In another hour or two people would start congregating for
lunch.
‘Is the mors good, Anton?’ Klava called to me across the canteen.
‘Great!’ I declared quite sincerely, and the chef smiled in delight.
You know, there’s something to all those quack theories about the influence a name has on a person’s character, after all. All those Andreis, Alexanders and Sergeis or Lenas, Mashas and Natashas can be absolutely anybody at all. But once a name deviates just a little bit from the perennially popular list, it starts to have an influence.
With the name Klava, for instance, it’s good to be a chef. Not necessarily fat, but sturdy. And from the age of twenty-five you’ll be known as ‘Aunty Klava’. Because ‘Aunty’ and ‘Klava’ are inseparable somehow.
But how does the name ‘Anton’ influence someone, for instance?
I pondered for a moment, recalling the Antons I had known. One Anton, for example, was a robust, amiable individual, a good family man and conscientious professional. And at the same time an inveterate practical joker and composer of scabrous verse. But then another Anton had been a bookworm, entirely unsuited for real life.
So probably the name Anton wasn’t rare enough to influence people at all.
I picked up my plate and empty glasses, so as to take them over to the sink for washing, but Aunty Klava came across without making a sound and took them out of my hands.
‘Go on, off you go and work. The idea of it, Great Ones carrying dirty dishes around . . .’
‘I’m not a Great One,’ I muttered.
‘A Higher One, are you?’ Klava asked, and then continued: ‘You are, and that means you’ll be a Great One. Off you go.’
I set off to my office, feeling awkward. And about ten metres before I reached the door I heard the mobile phone that I had forgotten on the desk ringing.
And I suddenly had an ominous kind of feeling.
I lengthened my stride, bounded up to the door and hastily unlocked it. Damn, what kind of stupid habit was that? Why would I want to lock my door in the Night Watch, when there weren’t any outsiders here? But all the same I did it . . .
The phone was lying on the desk, still ringing. Stubbornly and insistently. Somehow it was clear that it wouldn’t carry on ringing for long – and this call was very important for whoever was making it.