‘That’s because you’re closer to Europe,’ Nodir explained. He obviously didn’t think that Uzbekistan had nothing at all to do with Europe. ‘But it’s all right here: when there’s peace we can live beside each other.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said and paused before I went on: ‘Thank you for the explanation.’
‘Have a seat at the desk,’ Valentina Ilinichna said amicably. ‘Why are you sitting over in the corner like a stranger?’
I actually wasn’t sitting in the corner at all. Timur was finishing setting the table in the corner. The bright-coloured tablecloth that had instantly transformed two office desks into one large dining table was already covered with plates of fruit: bright red and luscious green apples; black, green, yellow and red grapes; huge pomegranates the size of a small melon. And there was very appetising-looking home-made salami, meat cut into slices and hot bread cakes that must have been heated using magic. I remembered how in one rare moment of nostalgia Gesar had started singing the praises of the bread cakes in Samarkand – how delicious they were, how they didn’t turn stale even after a week, all you had to do was warm them up, and you just kept on and on eating them, you couldn’t stop … At the time I had taken what he said as the standard old man’s reminiscences of the sort ‘the trees were bigger then, and the salami tasted better’. But now I began drooling at the mouth and I suddenly suspected that Gesar hadn’t been exaggerating all that much.
And there were also two bottles of cognac on the table. The local kind – which frightened me a bit.
‘Forgive us for laying such a simple table,’ Nodir said imperturbably. ‘Our junior member will be back from the market soon, and we’ll dine properly. Meanwhile we can make a light start.’
I realised there was no way I was going to escape a gala dinner with abundant alcohol. And I suspected it was not only Alisher’s entirely understandable interest in his old girlfriend from school that had made him dodge an immediate visit to the Watch. It was many years since a visit by someone from Moscow had also been a visit from a superior, but even so, Moscow was still a very important centre for the members of the Samarkand Watch.
‘I’ve actually come here at Gesar’s request …’ I said.
I saw from their faces that my status had soared from simply important guest to quite unimaginable heights. Somewhere way out in space, where Others could not go.
‘Gesar asked me to find a friend of his,’ I went on. ‘He lives somewhere in Uzbekistan …’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Anton, are you talking about the devona?’ Valentin Ilinichna asked. ‘He went to Moscow – in 1998. And he was killed there. We thought that Gesar knew about it.’
‘No, no, I’m not talking about the devona!’ I protested. ‘Gesar asked me to find Rustam.’
The young Uzbeks exchanged glances Valentina Ilinichna knitted her brows.
‘Rustam … I’ve heard something about him. But that’s a very, very old story. Thousands of years old, Anton.’
‘He doesn’t work in the Watch,’ I admitted. ‘And, of course, he has a different name. I think he has changed his name many times. All I know is that he is a Higher Light Magician.’
Nodir ran a hand through his coarse black hair and said firmly:
‘That’s very difficult, Anton-aka. We do have one Higher Magician in Uzbekistan. He works in Tashkent. But he’s young. If an old and powerful magician wishes to hide, he can always manage it. Finding him doesn’t just require someone who is powerful, it requires someone who is wise. Gesar himself should search for him. Kechrasyz, apologies, Anton-aka. We will not be able to help you.’
‘We could ask Afandi,’ Valentina Ilinichna said thoughtfully. ‘He is a weak magician and not very … not very bright. But he has a good memory, and he has lived in this world for three hundred years …’
‘Afandi?’ I asked cautiously.
‘He’s the fifth member of our Watch.’ Valentina Ilinichna seemed a little embarrassed. ‘Well, you understand, seventh level. He mostly takes care of the office and grounds. But he just might be able to help.’
‘I’m almost certain he will,’ I said, with a nod, remembering what Nadya had said. ‘But where is he?’
‘He should be here soon.’
There was nothing else I could do. I nodded again and walked towards the ‘empty’ table.
Murat got back half an hour later carrying several full bags, and some of their contents immediately migrated to the table. He carried the rest into the small kitchen attached to the main premises of the Watch. My culinary knowledge was sufficient for me to realise that pilaf was about to be made.
And meanwhile we drank the cognac, which unexpectedly turned out to be quite good, and tried the fruits. Valentina Ilinichna let Nodir lead the conversation. And I listened politely to the history of the Uzbek Watches from ancient mythological times to Tamerlaine, and from Tamerlaine to our own time. I won’t lie – the Light Ones here had not always lived in perfect harmony with the Dark Ones. There were plenty of grim, bloody and terrible events. But I got the feeling that the flare-ups of hostility between the Watches in Uzbekistan were governed by laws that I knew absolutely nothing about. People could fight wars and kill each other, while the Watches maintained a polite neutrality. But during Khrushchev’s time and the early years of Brezhnev’s rule, Light Ones and Dark Ones had fought each other with quite incredible ferocity. Three Higher Magicians had been killed at that time – two from the Day Watch and one from the Night Watch. And that war had also decimated the ranks of first- and second-level Others.
Then everything had gone quiet, as if the ‘stagnation’ of the 1980s also extended to the Others. And since then relations between Dark Ones and Light Ones had consisted of a rather half-hearted stand-off: more jibes and taunts than genuine enmity.
‘Alisher didn’t like that,’ Timur observed. ‘Is he still in Moscow?’
I nodded, delighted by this opportune change of subject.
‘Yes. He’s in our Watch.’
‘How is he getting on?’ Nodar asked politely. ‘We heard he’s already fourth level.’
‘Practically third,’ I said. ‘But he can tell you himself. He flew down with me, but he decided to visit some friends first.’
The members of the watch were clearly not pleased by this news. Timur and Nodir both looked not exactly annoyed but uncomfortable. Valentina Ilinichna shook her head.
‘Have I said something to upset you?’ I asked. The bottle we had drunk together obliged me to speak frankly. ‘Do explain to me what the problem is. Why do you feel that way about Alisher? Is it because his father was a devona?’
The members of the Watch exchanged glances.
‘It’s not a question of who his father was,’ Valentina Ilinichna said. ‘Alisher is a good boy. But he’s very … categorical.’
‘Really?’
‘Perhaps he has changed in Moscow,’ Timur suggested. ‘But Alisher always wanted to fight. He was born in the wrong time.’
I thought about that. Of course, in our Watch, Alisher had always preferred to work on the streets. Patrols, confrontations, arrests – there wasn’t much that happened without him being involved …
‘Well … that’s a bit more natural in Moscow,’ I said. ‘It’s a big city, life is more stressful. But Alisher misses his homeland a lot.’
‘But we’re glad that Alisher’s here, of course we are!’ Valentina Ilinichna said, changing her tune ‘It’s been such a long time since we saw him. Hasn’t it, boys?’
The ‘boys’ agreed with feigned enthusiasm. Even Murat declared from the kitchen that he really missed Alisher.
‘Will Afandi be here soon?’ I asked, turning the conversation away from an awkward subject.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Valentina Ilinichna, concerned. ‘It’s after two already …’
‘He’s been here for a long time,’ Murat commented from the kitchen again. ‘He’s wandering round the yard with a broom – I can see him through t
he window. He probably decided we’d ask him to cook the pilaf …’
Nodir walked across quickly to the door and called out:
‘Afandi, what are you doing?’
‘Sweeping the yard,’ the fifth member of the Samarkand Watch replied, with a dignified air. To judge from his voice, not only had he been born three hundred years earlier, his body was far from young too.
Nodir turned back to us and shrugged apologetically. He called again:
‘Afandi, come in – we have a guest!’
‘I know we have a guest. That’s why I’m sweeping!’
‘Afandi, the guest is already in the house. Why are you cleaning outside?’
‘Eh, Nodir! Don’t you teach me how to receive guests! When the guest is still outside – everybody cleans and tidies the house. But if the guest is in the house, you have to clean outside!’
‘Have it your own way, Afandi.’ Nodir laughed. ‘You know best, of course. But meanwhile we’re going to eat grapes and drink cognac.’
‘Wait, Nodir!’ Afandi replied agitatedly. ‘It would be disrespectful to the guest not to dine at the same table with him!’
A moment later Afandi was standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely ridiculous. A pair of trainers with the laces unfastened on his feet, a pair of blue jeans held up with a Soviet Army belt and a white nylon shirt with big broad buttons. Nylon is a durable material. The shirt was probably twenty or thirty years old. Afandi himself was a clean-shaven old man (the scraps of newspaper stuck to the cuts on his chin suggested that this cost him a serious effort) with a balding head. He was about sixty years old. He cast an approving glance at the table, leaned his broom against the doorpost and skipped briskly across to me.
‘Hello, respected guest. May your Power increase like the fervour of a man undressing a woman! May it rise to the second level and even the first!’
‘Afandi, our guest is a Higher Magician,’ Valentina Ilinichna put in. ‘Why do you wish him the second level?’
‘Quiet, woman!’ said Afandi, letting go of my hand and taking a seat at the table. ‘Do you not see how quickly my wish has come true and even been exceeded?’
The members of the Watch laughed, but without the slightest malice. Afandi – I scanned his aura and discovered that the old man was on the very lowest level of Power – was regarded as the jester of the Samarkand Watch. But he was a well-loved jester: they would forgive him any foolish nonsense and never let him come to any harm.
‘Thank you for the kind word, Father,’ I said. ‘Your wishes really do come true with remarkable speed.’
The old man nodded as he threw half a peach into his mouth with evident relish. His teeth were excellent – he might not take much care of his appearance, but he obviously attached great importance to that particular part of his body
‘They’re all young whippersnappers here,’ he muttered. ‘I’m sure they haven’t even welcomed you properly. What’s your name, dear man?’
‘Anton.’
‘My name’s Afandi. That means a sage,’ said the old man, looking round sternly at the other members of the Watch. ‘If it weren’t for my wisdom, the powers of Darkness, may they wither in agony and burn in hell, would long ago have drunk their sweet little brains and chewed up their big stringy livers!’ Nodir and Timur chortled.
‘I understand why our livers are stringy,’ said Nodir, pouring the cognac. ‘But why are our brains sweet?’
‘Because wisdom is bitter, but foolishness and ignorance are sweet!’ Afandi declared, washing down his peach with a glass of cognac. ‘Hey! Hey, you fool, what do you think you’re doing?’
‘What?’ said Timur, who was about follow his cognac with a few grapes. He looked at Afandi quizzically.
‘You can’t follow cognac with grapes!’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the same thing as boiling a kid in its mother’s milk!’
‘Afandi, only Jews don’t boil young goat meat in milk!’
‘Do you?’
‘No,’ said Timur, abashed. ‘Why use milk—’
‘Then don’t follow cognac with grapes!’
‘Afandi, I have only known you for three minutes, but I have already tasted so much wisdom that I shall be digesting it for an entire month,’ I put in to attract the old man’s attention. ‘The wise Gesar sent me to Samarkand. He asked me to find his old friend, who once went by the name of Rustam. Do you happen to know Rustam?’
‘Of course I do,’ Afandi said, with a nod. ‘But who’s Gesar?’
‘Afandi!’ Valentina Ilinichna exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. ‘You must have heard of the Great Gesar!’
‘Gesar,’ the old man mused. ‘Gesar, Gesar … Wasn’t he the Light Magician who worked as a night-soil man in Binkent?’
‘Afandi! How can you confuse the Great Gesar with some night-soil man?’ Valentina Ilinichna was shocked.
‘Ah, Gesar!’ said Afandi, nodding. ‘Yes, yes, yes! At Oldjibai, the vanquisher of Soton, Lubson and Gubkar. Who doesn’t know old man Gesar?’
‘But who knows old man Rustam?’ I butted in again, before Afandi could start reciting Gesar’s great and glorious deeds.
‘I do,’ Afandi declared proudly.
‘Please don’t exaggerate, Afandi,’ Timur said. ‘Our guest really needs to meet Rustam.’
‘That’s not easy,’ said Afandi, suddenly shedding all his buffoonery. ‘Rustam has cut himself off from people. He was seen in Samarkand ten years ago, but since then no one has spoken to Rustam, no one …’
‘How do you know about Rustam, Afandi?’ I couldn’t resist asking. If it wasn’t for what my daughter had said, I would have believed the old man was simply stringing me along.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Afandi said, with a sigh. ‘In Samarkand there was an old man, a complete fool, just like these young whippersnappers. One day he was walking through the town, complaining that he didn’t have anything to eat. And suddenly a mighty hero, a batyr, with eyes that glowed and a high, wise forehead, came out to meet him. He looked at the old man and said: “Grandad, why are you so sad? Do you really not know the power that is concealed within you? You are a Boshkacha! An Other!” The batyr touched the old man with his hand, and the old man acquired power and wisdom. And the batyr said: “Know that the Great Rustam himself has been your teacher.” That was what happened to me two hundred and fifty years ago!’
As far as I could tell, the members of the Watch were as astonished by this story as I was. Murat froze absolutely still in the doorway of the kitchen and Timur spilled the cognac he was just about to pour into the glasses.
‘Afandi, you were initiated by Rustam?’ Valentina Ilinichna asked.
‘I’ll tell everything to a person wise enough,’ Afandi answered, taking his glass from Timur. ‘But you can tell a stupid person a hundred times, and he won’t understand a thing.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us this story before?’ Timur asked.
‘There was no reason to.’
‘Afandi, a pupil can always call his teacher,’ I said.
‘That is true,’ Afandi confirmed pompously.
‘I need to meet Rustam.’
Afandi sighed and gave me a cunning look.
‘But does Rustam need to meet you?’
How sick I was of that florid Eastern style! Did they really talk to each that way in their daily lives? ‘My wife, have you warmed a bread cake for me?’ – ‘Oh, my husband, will not my warm embraces take the place of your bread cake?’
I realised I was on the point of giving way and saying something unworthy of a guest who had been met with such great hospitality. But fortunately there was a quiet knock at the door and Alisher walked in.
I didn’t like the look on his face at all. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Alisher looking sad. After all, he could have discovered that his school sweetheart had married, had five children, got fat and completely forgotten about him – more than enough reason for feeling sad.
; But Alisher was alarmed about something.
‘Hi,’ he said to his former colleagues, as if he had only left them yesterday. ‘We’ve got problems.’
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘Right outside the fence.’
CHAPTER 3
AFTER EDINBURGH I ought to have been expecting something like this.
But instead I had relaxed. The streets smothered in greenery, the splashing of the water in the irrigation ditches, the noisy eastern market and the severe outlines of the domes of the mosque, the Dark Ones on the other side of the wall and the overwhelming hospitality of the Light Ones – it was all so completely different from Scotland. I thought the only problem I’d have to deal with would be finding the old magician – I wasn’t expecting any more cunning tricks involving human beings. The building was surrounded by about a hundred men. I could see militiamen among them, and well-equipped soldiers from the Special Forces, and young soldiers – skinny, pimply kids, awkwardly clutching automatic weapons. All sorts of forces had been brought together to capture us. Everything that had been close at hand.
That wasn’t a problem. Even without my help, Alisher could brainwash a hundred or two hundred attackers. Unfortunately, every man in the cordon was protected by magic spells.
Every Other is capable of shielding himself against the influence of magic and of shielding others. He doesn’t even have to be at a very high level in order to apply protective spells to a hundred people. To put it simply: magic that is controlled by reason is more like a knife than a grenade launcher. And what you need to protect yourself against is not the heavy armour plate of a tank, but a light bulletproof vest made of Kevlar. By striking with raw Power in the form of a Fireball, a White Lance or a Wall of Flame, I could burn out an entire city block. And equally powerful amulets and spells would have been required to protect anyone against the strike. But in order to subordinate the attackers to my will and scatter them, first I would have to strip each one of them of his protection. And that was far from simple. There are dozens of different kinds of mental Shields, and I didn’t know which kind had been used. Most likely (at least, this was what I would have done) each individual Shield was made up of two or three spells chosen at random. One soldier, for instance, has the Shield of Magic and the Sphere of Calm. Another has the Sphere of Denial, the Crust of Ice and the Barrier of Will.