That sounded strange.
'When was "before"?' I asked.
'In '31,' the witch said reluctantly.
'You've been living here since 1931?' I said, unable to believe my ears. 'Arina . . .'
'I've been living here for two years. Before that . . .' She frowned. 'It doesn't matter where I was before that. I didn't hear about the new laws.'
Maybe she was actually telling the truth. It sometimes happens like that with old Others, especially those who don't work in the Watches. They hide themselves away somewhere in the back of beyond, way out in the taiga or the forest, and sit there for decades at a time, until the boredom just gets too much.
'And two years ago you decided to move here?' I asked, trying to get things straight.
'Yes. What would an old fool like me want with the city?' Arina laughed. 'I just sit here and watch TV, read books. Catching up on what I've missed. I found an old friend of mine who sends me books from Moscow.'
'Well, all right,' I said. 'Then it's just the normal procedure. Have you got a sheet of paper?'
'Yes.'
'Write a statement. Your name, where you're from, year of birth, year of initiation, if you've ever served in a Watch, what grade of Power you possess.'
Arina obediently found a piece of paper and a pencil. I frowned, but I didn't offer her my ball-point pen. She could write it with a goose quill if she wanted.
'When was the last time you registered or made your location known to the official agencies of the Watches? Where have you been since then?'
'I won't write it,' said Arina, putting her pencil down. 'All this new-fangled paper-scribbling . . . Whose business is it where I've been warming my old bones?'
'Arina, stop talking like an old peasant woman,' I told her. 'You were speaking perfectly normally before.'
'I was in disguise,' Arina declared without batting an eyelid. 'Oh, very well. But you have to drop that bureaucratic tone too.'
She rapidly covered the entire sheet with close, neat handwriting. Then handed it to me.
She wasn't as old as I'd been expecting. Less than two hundred years. Her mother had been a peasant, her father was unknown, none of her relatives were Others. She had been initiated as a girl of eleven by a Dark Magician or, as Arina stubbornly referred to him, a sorcerer. Someone not local, German in origin. At the same time he had deflowered and abused her, which for some reason she found necessary to write down, adding 'the lascivious wretch'. So that was it. This 'German' had taken her as his servant and student – in every respect. Evidently he hadn't been too bright or too gentle – by the age of thirteen the girl had acquired enough power to vanquish her mentor in a fair duel and dematerialise him. And he had been a fourth-grade magician, by the way. After that she had come under the surveillance of the Watches of that time. But she had no other criminal acts in her record – if her statement was to be believed, that is. She didn't like cities, she had lived in villages and made her living by using petty witchcraft.
After the revolution several attempts had been made to 'dekulakise her' as part of the communists war against rich peasants . . . the peasants had realised she was a witch and decided to set the Soviet Secret Police onto her. Mausers and magic, would you believe it! Magic had won out, but things couldn't go on like that forever. In 1931 Arina had . . .
I looked up at the witch and asked:
'Seriously?'
'I went into hibernation,' Arina said calmly. 'I realised the red plague was going to last a long time. I could have chosen to sleep for six, eighteen or sixty years. We witches always have to take a lot of conditions into account. Six years or eighteen was too short for the communists. I went to sleep for sixty years.'
She hesitated, and then confessed:
'It was here that I slept. I protected my hut as securely as I could, so that no human being or Other could come close.'
Now I understood. Those were bad times. Others were killed almost as often as ordinary people. It wasn't too hard to go missing.
'You didn't tell anyone you were sleeping here?' I asked. 'None of your friends . . .'
Arina laughed:
'If I'd told anyone, you wouldn't be here talking to me, Light One.'
'Why?'
She nodded towards the bookcase:
'That's my entire fortune. And it's a substantial one. A great temptation.'
I folded the statement and put it in my pocket. Then I said:
'It is. But there's still one rare book I didn't spot.'
'Which one?' the witch asked in surprise.
'Fuaran.'
Arina snorted.
'Such a big boy, and you believe in fairy stories . . .There is no such book.'
'Aha. And the little girl made up that title all on her own.'
'I didn't clear her memory,' Arina sighed. 'Tell me, after that what's the point in doing good deeds?'
'Where's the book?' I asked sharply.
'Third shelf down, fourth volume from the left,' Arina said irritably. 'Did you leave your eyes at home?'
I walked across to the bookcase
Fuaran!
Written in big gold letters on black leather.
I took the book out and looked triumphantly at the witch.
Arina was smiling.
I looked at the title on the front cover – Fuaran: fantasy or fact? The word 'Fuaran' was in large print, the others were smaller.
I looked at the spine.
Now I saw it. The smaller letters had faded and crumbled away.
'A rare book,' Arina admitted. 'Thirteen copies were printed in St Petersburg in 1913, at the printing works of His Imperial Highness. Printed properly, at night when the moon was full. I don't know how many of them have survived.'
Could a frightened little girl have seen only the single word printed in big letters?
Of course she could!
'What's going to happen to me now?' Arina asked woefully. 'What rights do I have?'
I sighed, sat down at the table and turned the pages of the 'fake Fuaran'. It was an interesting book, no doubt about it.
'Nothing's going to happen to you,' I told her. 'You helped the children. The Night Watch is grateful to you for that.'
'Why do people wrong for no reason?' the witch muttered. 'You're only harming yourself . . .'
'In view of that fact, and also the special circumstances of your life . . .' I searched my memory, trying to recall the paragraphs, footnotes and comments. 'In view of all of this, you will not suffer any punishment. There's just one question . . . what is your grade of Power?'
'I wrote the answer "I don't know",' Arina answered calmly. 'How can you measure that?'
'At least approximately?'
'When I went to sleep, I was on the first rank,' the witch admitted with a certain pride. 'But now I've probably moved beyond all the ranks.'
That had to be right. That was why I hadn't been able to penetrate her illusion.
'Do you intend to work in the Day Watch?'
'What can they show me that I haven't seen before?' Arina asked indignantly. 'Especially as Zabulon's worked his way up to the top. Hasn't he?'
'Yes,' I confirmed. 'Why does that surprise you? Surely you don't think he isn't powerful enough?'
'He was never short of Power,' Arina said, frowning. 'It's just that he abandons his own people far too easily. His girlfriends . . . he never lived with any of them for more than ten years, something always happened . . . and the stupid young fools still kept leaping into his bed anyway. And he really hates Ukrainians and Lithuanians. When there's dirty work to be done, he calls in a brigade from Ukraine, and gets them to do it for him. If someone has to take a risk, then a Lithuanian will be at the top of the list. I thought he wouldn't last in the job with habits like that.' Arina suddenly laughed. 'Obviously he's become an expert at avoiding trouble. Good for him!'
'Yes, good for him,' I said sourly. 'If you're not going to work in the Day Watch structures, and you continue to live as an ordinary c
ivilian, you are granted the right to perform certain magical actions . . . for personal purposes. Each year – twelve seventh-degree interventions, six sixth-degree interventions, three fifth-degree interventions and one fourth-degree intervention. Every two years – one third-degree intervention. Every four years – one second-degree intervention.'
I stopped.
Arina enquired:
'And first-degree interventions?'
'The maximum grade of power permitted to Others not in service with the Watches is limited to their previous grade,' I commented spitefully. 'If you undergo an examination and are registered as a witch beyond classification, then once every sixteen years you will be granted the right to use first-degree magic. By arrangement with the Watches and the Inquisition, naturally. First-degree magic is a very serious business.'
The witch smirked. It was a strange kind of smirk, just like an old woman's, and it looked unpleasant on that beautiful young face.
'I'll get by without the first-degree one way or another. If I understand correctly, the limitations only apply to magic directed against people?'
'Against people and Others,' I confirmed. 'You can do whatever you like with yourself and inanimate objects.'
'Well, thanks for that, at least,' Arina said. 'You know, I'm sorry I tried to enchant you, Light One. You don't seem too bad. Almost like us.'
That dubious compliment made me cringe.
'One more question,' I said. 'Who were those werewolves?'
Arina paused. Then she asked:
'Why, has the law been changed?'
'What law?' I asked, trying to play the fool.
'The old law. A Dark One is not obliged to inform on a Dark One. Or a Light One on a Light One . . .'
'There is such a law,' I admitted.
'Well then, you catch the werewolves yourself. They may be bloodthirsty fools, but I won't give them away.'
She said it with firm confidence. I had nothing to pressure her with – she hadn't assisted the werewolves, quite the reverse.
'As for the magical acts directed against me . . .' I thought for a moment. 'Never mind, I forgive you for that.'
'Just like that?' the witch asked, surprised.
'Just like that. I'm pleased I was able to resist them.'
The witch snorted:
'You think you resisted them, all on your own? . . .Your wife's an enchantress, I'm not blind. She put a spell on you so that no woman could seduce you.'
'That's a lie,' I replied calmly.
'Yes, it is,' the witch admitted. 'Well done. Enchantment's got nothing to do with it, it's just that you love her. Well, my best wishes to your wife and daughter. If you happen to meet Zabulon, tell him he always was an ass and still is.'
'With pleasure,' I promised. Well, good for the old witch! She wasn't afraid to badmouth Zabulon. 'And what shall I tell Gesar?'
'I'm not sending him any greetings,' Arina said contemptuously. 'What business could a village idiot like me have with great Tibetan magicians?'
I stood there, looking at this strange woman – so beautiful in her human form, so repulsive in her true shape. A witch, a mighty witch. But I couldn't say she was spiteful or malicious – she was a jumble of just about everything.
'Don't you get miserable here on your own, Grandma?' I asked.
'Are you trying to insult me?'
'Not in the least. I have learned a few things, after all.'
Arina nodded, but didn't answer.
'You didn't want to seduce me at all, and you don't have any physical desires left,' I went on. 'It's not the same for witches as for enchantresses. You're an old woman and you feel like an old woman, you couldn't give a damn about men. But then, you could carry on as an old woman for another thousand years. So you were only trying to seduce me for sport.'
In the blink of an eye Arina was transformed, changed into a neat, clean old woman with ruddy cheeks and a slight stoop, bright, lively eyes, a mouth with only a few teeth missing and tidily arranged grey hair. She asked:
'Is that better?'
'Yes, I suppose so,' I said, feeling slightly disappointed. After all, her previous form had been very attractive.
'I used to be like this . . . a hundred years ago,' said the witch. 'And I was the way you first saw me . . . once. I was so lovely at sixteen. Ah, Light One, what a happy, beautiful girl I used to be! Even if I was a witch . . . Do you know how and why we age?'
'I heard something about it once,' I admitted.
'It's the price for moving up in rank.' Once again she used the old-fashioned word that had been displaced in recent years by the term 'grade'. 'A witch can stay young in body. Only then you'll be stuck on third rank for ever. We're more closely linked with nature, and nature doesn't like falsehood. Do you understand?'
'I understand,' I said
Arina nodded:
'Well then, Light One . . . be glad that your wife's an enchantress. You've dealt fairly with me, I won't deny that. Would a present be all right?'
'No,' I said and shook my head. 'I'm on duty. And a present from a witch . . .'
'I understand. I don't want to give you a present. It's for your wife.'
That set me back. Arina hobbled spryly across to a trunk bound with strips of iron, standing where there had been an ordinary chest of drawers before, opened the lid and put her hands inside. A moment later she came back to me, holding a small ivory comb.
'Take it, watchman. With no spite or dark intent, not for sorrow or for care. Make me a shadow if I lie, may I be scattered in the air.'
'What is it?' I asked.
'A wonder.' Arina furrowed her brow. 'What do they call them nowadays . . . an artefact!'
'But what's it for?'
'Don't you have enough power to see?' Arina asked slyly. 'Your wife will understand. And what do you want explanations for, Light One? I'll just lie, and you'll believe me. You're not as powerful as I am, you know that.'
I bit my tongue and said nothing. After all . . . I'd insulted her a few times. And now I'd been given the answer I deserved.
'Take it, don't be afraid,' Arina repeated. 'Baba-Yaga might be wicked, but she helps fine young heroes.'
What was my problem, really?
'It would be better if you handed over the werewolves,' I said, taking the comb. 'I accept your present only as an intermediary, and this gift does not impose any obligations on anyone.'
'A cunning young fellow,' Arina chuckled. 'But as for the wolves . . . I'm sorry. You understand, I know you do. I won't give them away. By the way, you can take the book. Borrow it, to check. You have that right, don't you?'
It was only then I realised I was still holding Fuaran: fantasy or fact? in my left hand.
'For expert examination, temporarily, within the terms of my rights as a watchman,' I said glumly.