‘With one of the Masters?’ Gesar asked.
‘Well, not the assistant night-watchman!’
‘Wait a moment,’ Gesar said calmly. ‘And don’t cut the call off afterwards.’
I had to wait for about three minutes. All that time we stood there, watching the vortex of Power calming down. The sight was like something out of a fairy tale. That earthquake had probably used up the energy of some ancient and powerful amulet. Like the ones they held in the special vaults at the Inquisition.
‘My name is Eric,’ I heard a strong, confident voice say. ‘What can I do for you, Light One?’
‘Mr Eric,’ I said, without bothering to enquire what position he held in the Inquisition: they really don’t like revealing their hierarchy. ‘At the moment I am close to the city of Samarkand in Uzbekistan. We have an emergency on our hands. Could you tell me if the Inquisition sent its staff member Edgar here?’
‘Edgar?’ Eric asked thoughtfully. ‘Which one?’
‘To be quite honest, I never knew his surname,’ I admitted. ‘A former member of the Moscow Day Watch, he moved to the Inquisition after the trial of Igor Teplov in Prague …’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Eric said more brightly. ‘Edgar. Of course. No, we haven’t sent him to Samarkand.’
‘Then who have you sent?’
‘I don’t know if you are aware of the fact, Anton,’ Eric said with undisguised irony, ‘but the European Bureau deals with Europe. And also with Russia, owing to its ambivalent geographic location. We have neither the resources nor the desire to take on events in Asia, where the country of Uzbekistan is located. You need to contact the Asian Bureau, which at the moment is located in Beijing. Shall I give you the number?’
‘No, thank you,’ I replied. ‘And where is Edgar now?’
‘On leave. For …’ There was a brief pause. ‘For a month already. Is there anything else?’
‘A word of advice,’ I said, unable to restrain myself. ‘Check where Inquisitor Edgar was during the events in Edinburgh that you already know about.’
‘Just a moment, Anton,’ said Eric, finally losing his cool. ‘Are you trying to tell me …’
‘That’s all I have to say,’ I blurted into the phone.
Gesar – who, of course, had listened to every single word of the conversation – immediately cut Eric off and said: ‘Congratulations, Anton. We’ve figured out who one of the three is. You’ve figured it out.’
‘Thanks for the SIM card,’ I replied. ‘If it hadn’t distorted my location signal, I’d already be dead.’
‘It’s actually intended to make your voice sound convincing when you talk to people on the phone,’ said Gesar. ‘The location malfunction is a side effect. I just can’t seem to get rid of it. All right, carry on the good work! We’ll get straight on to Edgar.’
I looked at the phone pensively, then cut the connection and put it in my pocket. Had Gesar been joking about making my voice sound convincing, or was it the truth?
‘Edgar,’ Alisher said in a satisfied voice. ‘So it was Edgar! I knew Dark Ones couldn’t be trusted. Not even Inquisitors.’
CHAPTER 6
WE DROVE ON to the Plateau of Demons at half past three in the morning. On the way we passed an aul, a tiny settlement in the mountains – less than ten small clay-walled houses set back a little way from the road. There was a bonfire on the only small street, with people crowding round it – ten or twenty of them, no more than that. The recent earthquake had evidently frightened the inhabitants of the aul and they were afraid to spend the night in their houses.
Alisher was still driving. I was dozing on the back seat and thinking about Edgar.
What had made him go against the Watches and the Inquisition? Why had he broken every possible taboo and involved human beings in his machinations?
I couldn’t understand it. Edgar was a careerist, like all Dark Ones, of course he was. He could kill if necessary. He could do absolutely anything at all: Dark Ones had no moral prohibitions. But to do something that set him in opposition to all Others – that could only be explained by insanity or a thirst for power. And then, Edgar had so much Baltic restraint and reserve. Spending decades crawling up the career ladder was easy. But staking everything on a single throw of the dice?
What had he found out about the Crown of All Things? What information had he dug up in the archives of the Inquisition? Who else had he managed to involve? The Dark vampire and the Light Healer – who were they? Where were they from? Why had they conspired with an Inquisitor? What goals could a Dark One, a Light One and an Inquisitor have in common?
But then, the goal wasn’t too hard to figure out. The goal was always one and the same. Power. Power in all its forms. You could say that we Light Ones were different. That we didn’t need Power for Power’s sake, but only in order to help people. And that was probably true. But we still needed Power. Every Other is familiar with that sweet temptation, that delicious sensation of his own strength: the vampire, sucking on a young girl’s throat; the healer, saving a dying child with a wave of his hand. What difference did it make what it was for? Every Other would find a way to apply the might that he acquired.
I was far more concerned about another point. Edgar had been involved in the business with the Fuaran. He had been in contact with Kostya Saushkin.
And that brought me back to that unfortunate youth, Victor Prokhorov. The boy Vitya, who had been friends with the boy Kostya …
Again and again everything pointed to Kostya Saushkin. What if he had managed to survive somehow? If he’d used his final scraps of Power to erect some kind of vampire Shield round himself and lived long enough to set up a portal and disappear from his burning spacesuit? And then he’d got in touch with Edgar?
No, it was impossible, of course. The Inquisition had checked the matter very carefully. But then, what if Edgar had already been playing a double game, even then? And he had falsified the results of the investigation?
But even so, it still didn’t add up. Why would he save a vampire he had just been hunting? Save him and then conspire with him? What could Kostya do for him? Without the Fuaran – nothing! And the book had been destroyed, that was absolutely certain. It had been observed just as carefully as Kostya. And its destruction had been confirmed by magical means. The discharge of energy when such a powerful and ancient artefact is destroyed is quite impossible to confuse with anything else.
Basically, there was no way that Edgar could have saved Kostya – that was the first conclusion. And he didn’t have any need to save him – that was the second.
But even so, even so …
Alisher stopped the jeep and switched off the engine. The silence that fell was deafening.
‘I think we’re here,’ he said. He stroked the steering wheel and added: ‘A good little vehicle. I didn’t think we’d make it.’
I turned back towards Afandi, but he was no longer asleep. He was looking at the freakish stone figures scattered around in front of us. His lips were pressed tightly together.
‘Still standing there,’ I said.
Afandi glanced at me in genuine fright.
‘I know about it,’ I explained.
‘It was a bad business,’ Afandi said, with a sigh. ‘Ugly. Not worthy of a Light One.’
‘Afandi, are you Rustam?’
Afandi shook his head.
‘No, Anton. I’m not Rustam. I’m his pupil.’
He opened the door and climbed out of the jeep. After a pausing for a second, he murmured:
‘I am not Rustam, but I will be Rustam …’
Alisher and I glanced at each other and got out of the jeep too.
It was quiet and cool – it’s always cool in the mountains at night, even in summer. And it was just starting to get light. The plateau that I knew from Gesar’s memories had changed hardly at all. Except perhaps that the outlines of the stone figures had been softened by the wind and the rare showers of rain: they were less clearly defined but were still recognisable. A gro
up of magicians with their hands raised in invocatory spells, a werewolf, a magician running …
I started to shiver.
‘What is this …?’Alisher whispered. ‘What happened here …?’
He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
‘Give me one too,’ I said.
We lit up. The air around us was so pure that the sharp smell of tobacco seemed like a memory of home, a reminder of the smog of the city.
‘These … were they people?’ Alisher asked, pointing to the blocks of stone.
‘Others,’ I told him.
‘And they …’
‘They didn’t die. They turned to stone. Lost all their external senses. But their reason remained, attached to the lumps of rock.’ I looked at Afandi, but he was still standing there, pensively examining the field of the ancient battle, or watching the eastern horizon where the sky had turned slightly pink.
Then I looked at the plateau through the Twilight.
The sight was genuinely blood-curdling.
What Gesar had seen two thousand years ago had made him feel fear and revulsion. But what I saw now made me feel pity and pain.
Almost all the Dark Ones who had been turned to stone by the White Mist were insane. Their reason had not been able to withstand being incarcerated in total isolation from any sense organs. The fluttering coloured auras around the stones blazed with the brown and reddish-green fire of madness. If I try to think of something to compare this sight with, I would say it looked like a hundred total lunatics whirling around on the spot, or rather standing there absolutely motionless: screaming, giggling, groaning, weeping, muttering, drooling, scratching their faces or trying to poke their own eyes out.
There were only a few auras that retained some remnants of reason. Their owners were either distinguished by quite incredible willpower, or they were blazing with the thirst for revenge. There was not much madness in them, but they were overflowing with fury, hatred and the desire to annihilate everyone and everything.
I stopped looking through the Twilight and looked at Alisher instead. The young magician was still smoking, and he hadn’t noticed that his cigarette had already burned down to the filter. He only dropped the butt when it scorched his fingers. And then he said.
‘The Dark Ones got what they deserved.’
‘Don’t you feel any pity for them?’ I asked.
‘They abuse our pity.’
‘But if you have no pity in you, how do we differ from them?’
‘In our colour,’ said Alisher. He looked at Afandi and asked: ‘Where should we seek the Great Rustam, Afandi?’
‘You have found him, Light One with a heart of stone,’ Afandi replied in a quiet voice. And he turned to face us.
He had transformed with the speed of a mature shape-shifter. He was a whole head taller and much wider in the shoulders – his shirt had split and the upper button had been torn out, together with a piece of cloth. To my surprise, his skin had turned lighter, and his eyes had become bright blue. I had to remind myself that two thousand years earlier the inhabitants of this part of Asia had looked quite different from they way they did now. Nowadays a Russian will smile when someone from Central Asia tells him that his ancestors had light brown hair and blue eyes. But there is a lot more truth in these words than modern-day Russians realise.
Rustam’s hair, however, was actually black. And of course, his eastern origins could be seen in the features of his face.
‘So you are Rustam after all,’ I said, bowing my head. ‘Greetings, Great One! Thank you for responding to our request.’
Beside me Alisher went down on one knee, like a valorous knight in front of his lord – respectfully, but proudly.
‘Afandi is not Rustam,’ the ancient magician replied. His gaze was clouded, as if he were listening to someone else’s voice. ‘Afandi is my pupil, my friend, my guardian. I no longer live among people. My home is the Twilight. If I need to walk among mortals, I borrow his body.’
So that was it … I nodded in acknowledgement of his words and said:
‘You know why we have come here, Great One.’
‘I do, and I would prefer not to answer Gesar’s question.’
‘Gesar said that you—’
‘My debt to Gesar is my debt.’ A spark of fury glinted in Rustam’s eyes. ‘I remember our friendship and I remember our enmity. I asked him to leave the Watch. I asked him to stop the war over people. For the people’s own sake. But Gesar is like this youth …’
He stopped talking and looked at Alisher.
‘Will you help us?’ I asked.
‘I will answer one question,’ said Rustam. ‘One question. And then my debt to Gesar will be no more. Ask, but do not make any mistake.’
I almost blurted out: ‘Did you really know Merlin?’ Oh, these sly tricks … ask one question, make three wishes …
‘What is the Crown of All Things and what is the easiest way to get it from the seventh level of the Twilight?’ I asked.
A smile appeared on Rustam’s face.
‘You remind me of a certain man from Khorezm. A cunning merchant to whom I owed money … and I promised to grant him three wishes. He thought for a long time and said: “I wish to grow young again, be cured of all ailments and become rich – that is one wish.” No, young magician. We shall not play that game. I am not granting a wish, I am answering one question. That will be enough. What is it that you wish to know? What the Crown of All Things is, or how to get it?’
‘I really don’t want to wind up like Pandora by asking “How do I open this box?’” I muttered.
Rustam laughed, and there was a hint of madness in his laugh.
But what else could you expect from a Light One who had dissolved into the Twilight and was living beside the enemies he had once condemned to eternal torment? He had fixed his own punishment, or penance, and it was slowly killing him.
‘What is the Crown of All Things?’ I asked.
‘A spell that pierces through the Twilight and connects it with the human world,’ Rustam responded instantly. ‘You made the right choice, young magician. The reply to the second question would have confused you.’
‘Oh no, if you’re answering one question, then answer fair and square!’ I exclaimed. ‘Explain how this spell works and what it’s for!’
‘Very well,’ Rustam agreed with surprising readiness. ‘The strength of an Other lies in the ability to use the human Power flowing through all the levels of the Twilight. Our world is like an immense plain covered with tiny springs that give out Power, but do not know how to use it. We Others are merely the ruts into which this water flows from the hundreds and thousands of springs. We do not provide a drop of water to this world. But we know how to retain and use the water of other people. Our ability to accumulate that Power is the consequence of our ability to immerse ourselves in the Twilight, to break through the barriers between the levels and manipulate ever more powerful energies. The spell that was invented by the Great Merlin erases the barriers between our world and the levels of the Twilight. What do you think would happen as a result of that, young magician?’
‘A catastrophe?’ I guessed. ‘The Twilight world is different from ours. On the third level there are two moons … ‘
‘Merlin thought otherwise,’ Rustam said. He seemed quite carried away now that he had answered the question and was perfectly willing to talk. ‘Merlin believed that each level of the Twilight is something that didn’t happen to our world. A possibility that was never realised. A shadow cast on existence. He thought our world would not die, it would destroy the Twilight. Obliterate it, as the sunlight obliterates shadows. Power would flood the entire world, like the waters of the ocean. And under that layer of water, it would make no difference who had once been able to immerse himself in the Twilight and who had not. Others would lose their Power. For ever.’
‘Is that certain, Rustam?’
‘Who can say?’ Rustam asked, spread
ing his hands wide. ‘I answer your second question because I do not know the answer. Perhaps that is what would happen. People would not even notice the change, and Others would become ordinary people. But that is the simplest answer, and is the simple answer always right? Possibly catastrophe would await us. Two small moons colliding with one large one, blue moss starting to grow in the wheat fields … who can say, magician, who can say? Perhaps Others would grow weaker, but still retain some of their powers. Or perhaps something absolutely inconceivable would happen. Something we cannot even begin to imagine. Merlin did not take the risk of using the spell. He invented it to amuse himself. He found it pleasant to think that he could change the entire world … but he did not intend to do it. And I think Merlin was right. It is not a good idea to touch what he has hidden in the Twilight.’
‘But the Crown of All Things is already being hunted,’ I said.
‘That is bad,’ Rustam declared imperturbably. ‘I would advise you to cease these attempts.’
‘We’re not the ones,’ I said. ‘It’s someone quite different. An Inquisitor, a Light One and a Dark One, who have joined forces.’
‘Interesting,’ Rustam said. ‘It is not often that a single goal brings enemies together.’
‘Can you help us to stop them?’
‘No.’
‘But you say yourself that it is bad!’
‘There is very much in the world that is bad. But usually the attempt to defeat evil engenders more evil. I advise you to do good – that is the only way to win the victory!’
Alisher snorted indignantly and even I winced at this well-meant but totally useless conclusion. I thought what a victory evil would have won if Rustam and Gesar had not used the White Mist! Perhaps I did feel pity for the incarcerated Dark Ones, but I had no doubt at all that if they had destroyed the two Light Ones standing in their way an agonising death would have awaited the Others and the people whom Gesar and Rustam were defending … Yes, perhaps you couldn’t defeat evil with evil. But you couldn’t increase the amount of good by using nothing but good.
‘Can you at least suggest what they are trying to achieve?’ I asked.