Day Watch

Chapter one

–«¦»-

Gesar had summoned Anton in the evening, when the analysts and the technical staff had already gone home, and the field operatives who happened to be on duty that night had only just begun arriving at headquarters. The corridors on the second floor smelled of freshly brewed coffee, hot cinnamon buns, and mild, fragrant tobacco-that year a fashion for smoking pipes had swept through almost the entire Night Watch staff. Even the women hadn't escaped it.

It was about a year already since Anton had worked in the IT department; Tolik had replaced him as boss of the computers and the girls who operated them. A second-level magician-Anton had been classed as second level at the beginning of the year-was too important a figure to be spending his time stuck in a chair, tapping away at a keyboard and debugging programs.

"Like some coffee?" Semyon asked. Anton nodded, and just at that moment the phone rang. Silence fell instantly in the little room where the four field operatives-Anton, Semyon, Garik, and Bear-were sitting. They could all sense a call from the boss.

And who it was for.

Anton's colleagues watched closely as he picked up the receiver.

"Come in to see me as soon as you're free," Gesar ordered him without saying hello. "Finish your coffee and then come in."

"Very well," Anton replied in a steady voice. "As you wish, Boris Ignatievich."

He thought for a moment and then lit his pipe. If Gesar hadn't warned him time was short, it meant there was no great hurry.

"You in line for a dressing-down?" Garik inquired. Anton just shrugged. He could be in line for anything, from a charge of betraying the cause of the Night Watch to a promotion, from being told to stay in the office and not stick his nose outside to being ordered to storm the Dark Ones' headquarters. When a magician of the highest level got some idea into his head, it was pointless trying to guess his plans. Especially if that magician was in the kind of bad mood that Gesar had been in for the last few months.

Basically they were all feeling pretty lousy. This year had been just one failure after another. It had all started in the summer, when the workaday, humdrum arrest of a witch practicing magic illegally had spilled over into conflict with the Dark Ones. Then the fine young magician Igor Teplov, who had drained his powers in that conflict, had been sent to the Artek children's camp to recover and run foul of a deliberate provocation by the Dark Ones. A witch called Alisa Donnikova had managed to enchant him and make him fall in love with her. She was Zabulon's girlfriend, the same Dark bitch who had interfered time and again in the Night Watch's most complicated intrigues. This time Alisa hadn't gone unpunished-Igor had killed her. But in the process he had exceeded the limits of force permissible in self-defense, and now his fate hung by a thread.

About a month later Vitaly Rogoza had turned up, and that had proved to be a real disaster. At first they'd taken him for an ordinary Dark One, then they'd begun to suspect the visiting Ukrainian was an emissary, sent to assist the Day Watch. But Rogoza had turned out to be a Mirror-that very rarest of phenomena, which has been recorded less than ten times in the entire history of the Watches. He was a direct creation of the Twilight, a monstrous fighting machine molded out of a quite unexceptional individual, who might not even have been an Other. If only they'd realized that straightaway… but they hadn't. And in the struggle with the Mirror, Tiger Cub had been killed, Svetlana had lost her powers, and several other magicians had suffered to a greater or lesser degree.

Things were very, very bad…

Anton had cursed himself over and over again for not realizing the need to conduct a detailed analysis of the circumstances in which the Mirror had appeared. After all, there were similar cases in the secret archives-the appearance of a magician who evaded classification, a rapid increase in his powers, a decisive skirmish-and then he disappeared. Everything fit. Right down to the final moment, when Vitaly Rogoza had melted into thin air, dematerialized, and vanished into the depths of the Twilight that had given birth to him.

But never mind Anton, never mind even Garik or Semyon. For them a Mirror was one of those numerous exotic occurrences they'd only heard about in lectures or read about in the archives. Why hadn't Gesar or Olga, with all their experience, realized the truth immediately? They'd run into Mirrors before, after all…

Things were bad. Nothing was going right. As if the Darkness had been infuriated by the Night Watch's recent successes and was striking blow after blow. And very successfully too, it had to be admitted.

Anton shook his head to refuse the second cup of coffee that Semyon offered him. He carefully cleaned out his pipe, casting an involuntary sideways glance at Bear.

He was cleaning out his pipe too. The little pipe with a long, thin stem that had belonged to Tiger Cub. The girl had only smoked it occasionally, mostly to keep her friends company. But now that Tiger Cub was gone, Bear smoked his own pipe and hers by turns. It was probably the only way he had expressed his feelings since Tiger Cub's death-the gentle way he handled that pipe… and perhaps that fixed stare when Vitaly Rogoza had begun to dematerialize. A gaze full of regret: Bear hadn't had a chance to get his hands on Rogoza, he hadn't been able to satisfy his thirst for vengeance…

Like Alisher, the Light One from Uzbekistan whose father had been killed a year earlier by Alisa.

Anton had his own accounts to settle with the Day Watch and its chief, too. But of course the accounts would never be paid. The Treaty shackled both Watches, the Inquisition made sure it was observed, and the only way around it was to cut right to the chase and challenge an enemy to a duel… which was what Igor had done, for instance. And what was the result? The witch was dead, but now the magician was facing dematerialization, waiting for the decision of the European office of the Tribunal. And it wasn't hard to guess what it would be…

Anton got up, nodded to his friends, and made for the boss's office on the third floor.

He was feeling really sick at heart, not looking forward at all to the approaching New Year festivities that people everywhere around the planet were anticipating so eagerly, as if the number 2000 could change anything. What did it all really matter? But when Anton reached the door of the office, he felt a faint stirring of interest.

The magical defenses there were very strong. The Night Watch building itself was protected against observation, and the employees' offices and conference halls had additional screening. But it seemed like today Gesar had put in a lot of extra effort to ensure confidentiality: The air in the corridor was still and stifling, saturated with energy. And this invisible wall extended into the Twilight, much farther down than the first two levels that were accessible to Anton.

He walked into the office and closed the door firmly behind him. He sensed a slight movement behind his back as the defensive field closed together after being torn for a moment.

"Sit down, Anton," said Gesar, and asked in a perfectly friendly voice: "Tea, coffee?"

"Thanks, Boris Ignatievich," Anton replied, calling Gesar by his human name, "but I've just had one."

"A mug of beer then?" Gesar asked unexpectedly.

Anton had to stop himself rubbing his eyes or even pinching his arm. Gesar had never shunned the joys of life. He could leap about with the young people at a discotheque, flirt a bit with the silly young girls, and even take off with one of them for the whole night. He enjoyed sitting in a restaurant over dishes of exotic food, driving the waiters backward and forward, and setting the cooks trembling with his knowledge of exotic culinary subtleties. He could even go out with his staff, acting like one of the boys and drinking beer with smoked bream, vodka with freshly salted pickles, and wine with fruit.

But there was one thing Gesar never did, and that was to hold parties at the workplace. The ten members of the analytical section who drank a bottle of cognac to celebrate the birthday of Yulia, the watch's youngest enchantress and a universal favorite, had been punished with genuinely brilliant originality. Not even an intercession by Olga, who had been involved in the misdemeanor along with the others, had helped. The punishment had been devised individually for each of them, and it had been the most hurtful possible. Yulia, for instance, had been made to stay away from the Watch offices for a week and instead attend an ordinary school with teenagers her own age, go to the ice-cream parlor with the girls in her class, and go to the movies and discotheques with the boys. Yulia had returned to the Watch, fuming with indignation, and for ages she'd kept repeating: "God, if you only knew how stupid they all are! I hate them."

For those three words "I hate them!" she received another day's penalty and a long lecture from Gesar on the subject of "Can a Light enchantress entertain negative feelings for people?"

So now Anton was standing there in front of Gesar, frozen over the chair he'd been about to sit down in. He'd forgotten what he was doing.

"Sit down, will you?" Gesar prompted him. "No point in standing. So will you have a beer?"

"It's not quite the weather for it," Anton replied, indicating the window with his eyes. Outside there were large, heavy flakes of snow swirling through the air. A genuine Christmas blizzard. "Not the right weather… and not the right place?"

He surprised himself by making the last phrase sound like a question.

Gesar thought for a moment. "Yes, we could go to some amusing little place," he said, with a note of real interest in his voice. "For instance, that little cafe in the South-West district, where all the dentists go. Can you imagine it? The favorite cafe of Moscow 's tooth-pullers? And there's a little pizzeria at the Belorussian station, that's a real blast…"

"Boris Ignatievich," Anton asked, unable to resist, "where do you dig all these places up from? The mountain-skiers' restaurant, the lesbians' bar, the plumbers' snack bar, the philatelists' pelmeni joint…"

Gesar shrugged and spread his arms: "Anton, my dear fellow, let me remind you once again what we work with. We work with…"

"The Dark Ones," Gorodetsky blurted out and sat down in the chair.

"No, my boy, you're wrong. We work with people. And people are not a herd of cloned sheep who chew their grass in synchronized motion and all fart at the same time. Every human being is an individual. That is our joy, because it makes the work of the Dark Ones harder. And it's also our misfortune, because it makes our work harder too. In order to understand these people, whose souls, after all, are what the endless battle between the Watches is fought over, we have to know them all. It's not just that I have to, you understand. We have to! And we have to understand every one of them-from the pimply-faced kid who chews Ecstasy tabs at the discotheque to the ancient professor who's the last in a dying line of blue-blooded aristocrats and spends all his time growing cacti… Oh, by the way, the bar where cactus-lovers get together has rather interesting cuisine and highly original decor. But you and I can't go anywhere right now. Did you sense the defenses?"

Anton nodded.

"Believe me, I had good reason to install them. And sound security arrangements in a crowded place would be far more complicated. I don't think I can really afford to waste that much Power at the moment…" Gesar rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. He looked really tired, all right. "By the way… take this. A small present."

Anton accepted the small object from his boss's hands with a surprised expression. It was something like a globe: a ball that was made out of thin needles of bone… yes, it was bone… bent into arcs and stuck into two little disks of wood at the poles. The ball was empty… But no, it wasn't. It was full of Power. Power that was sleeping, constrained.

"What is it?" Anton asked, almost in a panic.

"Don't worry. It's not liquefied bliss."

"Er… what's liquefied bliss?"

Gesar sighed: "How should I know? It was a joke. A figure of speech. A turn of phrase. A metaphor. I'm not even sure that bliss exists, let alone whether it can be liquefied. What you're holding in your hands is something like a magical white noise generator. If you need to have an absolutely-let me emphasize that-absolutely secret conversation, one that nobody can listen to, no matter what means they use, simply break the ball in your hand. You'll probably cut your hand, that's just the unavoidable price. But then for the next twelve hours there'll be no way anyone can monitor or check what's happening in a sphere ten meters across, with you at the center, no matter what technical or magical means they use."

"Thanks," Anton said gloomily. "Somehow a present like this fails to inspire me."

"You'll thank me again for it yet. So, will you have a beer or not?"

"Yes. But why does it have to be beer?"

"To avoid too serious a violation of my own rules," Gesar said with a contented smile. "We're at work, after all."

He pressed a button on the intercom and said quietly: "Olya, bring us some beer."

Nothing in the world was going to surprise Anton now. But Gesar released the button and explained anyway.

"Galochka's a magnificent secretary. But she's a fourth-level enchantress. And she could give information away to the enemy without even realizing it. So just for today I changed my secretary."

A minute later Olga came in with a tray on which there were two immense glass mugs full of light-colored beer, an impressive crystal jug holding about two liters of the same drink, and a plate with an assortment of cheeses.

"Hi there, Antoshka," Olga said in a very friendly tone of voice. "You like Budweiser, don't you?"

"What Light One doesn't like light Czech beer?" Anton asked, trying to joke. The joke fell flat, but his readiness even to attempt a pun was amazing. He hadn't felt like doing that for ages…

"How's Sveta doing?" Olga asked, still in the same tone.

Anton gritted his teeth. The weight that had fallen from his heart returned for a moment.

"Still the same…"

"Nothing?"

Anton nodded.

"I'll call around to see her this evening," Olga told him. "I think she's ready for visitors now. And I'll find some way to make her feel better… trust me."

It was true. Who better to console a Great Enchantress who had lost her magic powers for a long time than another Great Enchantress who had been deprived of her powers for many decades in punishment for a misdemeanor?

"Yes, come round, Olga," said Anton. "Sveta will be very glad to see you."

Gesar cleared his throat gently.

"You've got plenty of time," Olga snapped. "Anton, you know… I wish you luck. I sincerely wish you luck."

"Luck with what?" Anton asked, puzzled.

Instead of answering, Olga leaned down over him and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"Well now!" was all Gesar could find to say.

"Ever since Anton and I swapped bodies," Olga remarked casually, "you don't really have any right to be jealous of me with him. And especially over such a tiny thing. Right, boys! Behave yourselves, don't drink too much, and if there are any problems-call me."

"Any problems?" Gesar echoed with a frown. But Olga was already on her way out. The Great Magician watched her go, and when the door closed, he sighed and said, "Living with a Great Enchantress is a real ordeal. Even for me. How do you manage it, Anton?"

"Svetlana didn't have time to become a genuinely Great Enchantress," Anton remarked. He picked up one of the mugs and took a mouthful of beer. It was excellent. Just the way real beer ought to be.

"But you're glad of that, surely?" Gesar inquired.

"No." Anton took a piece of strong-flavored goat's milk cheese. "I'm not."

"Why not?" Gesar asked with gentle curiosity. "Now you have several decades of happy life as equals ahead of you. Ideally fifty whole years."

"Gesar, what happiness can there be if the woman I love feels like a worthless cripple?" Anton asked sharply. "And if it's my fault, at least partly."

"Partly?"

Anton nodded. "Yes, exactly. Partly."

Gesar paused. Then he asked the question Anton had been expecting three weeks earlier but had already stopped expecting.

"Tell me, what happened between you and Zabulon."

"He came to my apartment again. Like the first time."

"And he entered with the help of your vampire friend again?" Gesar inquired.

"No, after the other time I closed my home to him. I simply don't understand how Zabulon could have got through."

Gesar nodded and took a drink of beer.

"Then Zabulon suggested I should commit… an act of betrayal. He said that Vitaly Rogoza was a Mirror-Magician created by the Twilight in response to the increasing strength of the Night Watch. That his main goal was to kill Svetlana or deprive her of her powers. And if I was late for the session of the Inquisition, then Rogoza would strip Svetlana of her Power and dematerialize."

"And you agreed?"

Anton thought before he formulated his answer. He'd run through this conversation with Gesar plenty of times in his head. But he'd never found the right words…

"Gesar, the only other alternative would have been continuing confrontation. Obviously, either Svetlana would have been killed, or…"

"Or?" Gesar was clearly interested.

"Or many Others would have been… less exalted members of the Watch. To weaken us to the same extent overall."

Gesar nodded. "You figured it out for yourself?"

"No, not entirely. I rummaged in the archives and found a few similar cases, one of which ended with the annihilation of the entire Kiev division of Night Watch, apart from its leader, Alexander von Kissel. That time, the Mirror's target was apparently von Kissel, but he managed to protect himself. The result was that ordinary operatives and magicians died."

"But why didn't you contact me?" Gesar asked. "Why didn't you warn me about Zabulon's visit?"

"How could I know what he was expecting to happen? Maybe just that-for me to go dashing to you for advice. Zabulon was clearly trying to trick me, but I couldn't figure out what the trap was. It could have been a mistake to contact you, or to keep quiet. So I chose a third way. I tried to prevent the Mirror getting to Svetlana. Using a very primitive method-I rammed his car."

"Bravo," said Gesar in a strange, squeaky voice. "Well done, Anton. It didn't work, but it was a good try. But why didn't you tell anyone who Rogoza was?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone, Boris Ignatievich?" Anton asked, raising his head. "Or are you trying to tell me it wasn't you who led the investigation into the events in Kiev in October 1906? Or is one lousy century too much for your memory to retain? The entire situation was a perfect parallel. A certain Vladimir Sobolev came to Kiev from Poltava and registered with the Night Watch. He was later found at the scene of the murder of a young streetwalker, where there were clear signs of vampirism, then he was caught near the spot where a witches' coven was dispersed…"

"What did I summon you for?" Gesar asked in a very loud, indignant voice. "To question you about the dubious circumstances of your relations with Dark Ones or to hear you accusing me?"

"You summoned me, Boris Ignatievich, to have a drink of beer. And to ask me to do something for you."

Gesar started breathing heavily. Then he shook his head. "No, I'm not going to ask. I still have the right to order you."

"Go ahead," Anton said, pleased. "I won't argue, I'll carry out my orders. Right down the line. Only that's not what you want, is it? An obedient agent without any initiative?"

Gesar shrugged. "All right. You win. I want to ask you to do something for me, Anton…"

"First answer me… about the Mirror."

"Then listen. Mirrors have appeared nine times-if we take just the documented and proven instances. Only two of them have been on our side. The last three appearances of a Mirror have been on the side of the Dark Ones, each time at a place where the forces of Light had a significant advantage and plans were being made for… for a large-scale operation of some kind. It's impossible to fight a Mirror. He beats off any magical attack by rising to the level of his enemy and defends himself against ordinary attacks by using magical means. All you can do is choose who to sacrifice-a dozen of the rank and file magicians or one of the Great Ones."

"And you decided to let him have Tiger Cub and Svetlana."

"I didn't decide a thing! In the first place, until Tiger Cub was killed I wasn't even sure that what we were facing really was a Mirror!" Gesar smashed his fist down on the desk, spilling the beer. "And nobody was supposed to die. It was all supposed to end with Rogoza being captured-which would have meant he wasn't a Mirror at all, just an ordinary visiting emissary-or with us retreating. I didn't expect Tiger Cub to blow her top like that!"

"She was a very impulsive girl."

"No, Anton. You're wrong. She was an energetic and impulsive Other, but she had excellent control. And this outburst of hers…" Gesar paused. "It seems that I underestimated the strength of her feelings for Andrei Tiunnikov…"

"They'd been seeing each other a lot just recently," Anton admitted. "He even went to her place out in the country, and Tiger Cub was very fond of her privacy. And when Andrei… well, just why did he go into Rogoza's room?"

"To show off to Tiger Cub…" Gesar sighed. "Ah, you little boys and girls, still green, boasting to each other, showing off your magic, your battle scars, talismans, and amulets… why is there so much human stupidity in all of you?"

"Because we are people. People who are Others, but still people. And we don't become genuine Others right away."

Gesar nodded. "You're right again, Anton. You have to live a complete human life, eighty years or a hundred, lose your family and all your loved ones who are human, see how ridiculous the politicians are, building their empires to last a thousand years, and the philosophers, creating their eternal truths for one or two generations… that's when you become an Other. But while you live your first, human life, you're still a human being. Even if you can enter the Twilight, cast spells, and read the reality lines… You're still a human being, Anton. And so is Svetlana. And Tiger Cub and Andrei were human beings. And your human side is where the Darkness catches you out. Your weaknesses, your emotions."

"Is love really a weakness?"

"If you have love in you, it's a strength. But if you are in love, it's a weakness."

"We can't do it any other way yet."

"Yes, you can, Anton. It's hard for you, but you can…" Gesar looked into his eyes. "Well, are you still angry with me?"

"No. I believe you tried… your best."

"Yes, I tried. And I pulled it off-that's the amazing thing."

"Tiger Cub and Andrei dead, Svetlana powerless-and you say you pulled it off?" Anton exclaimed indignantly.

"Yes. Because all the other options were far worse. And surprising as it may seem, what's happened doesn't simply play into the hands of Zabulon and his mangy curs." Gesar smiled. A cold, ironic smile. A very disturbing, suggestive smile.

"That still won't do Svetlana any good…" Anton began. Then he stopped, because Gesar shook his head.

"It's not finished yet, Anton. In fact, it's only just begun."

The chief of the Night Watch poured them each a second mug of beer, took a sip, and leaned back in his armchair.

"Boris Ignatievich…"

"Anton, I understand everything. You're tired. I'm tired too, we're all tired, we're full of bitterness, pain, anguish. But we're at war, and this war's a very long way from over yet. If you want to withdraw from it-then go. Live as an ordinary Light One. But while you're in the Watch… you are in the Watch, Anton?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that's excellent. Do you like the beer?"

"Yes," Anton muttered.

"Well, that's excellent too. Because you're flying to the homeland of this divine beverage. To Prague."

"When?" Anton asked stupidly.

"Tomorrow morning. Or rather, afternoon. The morning flight will be postponed until six in the evening and you'll take another flight with a stopover in Prague."

"Why?"

"You know that the European office of the Inquisition has moved from Berne to Prague?"

"Yes, of course. Because of Fafnir's Talon, the artifact that those idiots stole…"

"Precisely. Even without that, the Inquisition has a tradition of changing its location every fifty or a hundred years, and it was a very serious embarrassment for the Berne Watches. Anyway, they've settled in now and finally got around to considering our case."

"So that's why I got this present… Igor?"

"Yes. He's already there. We've lodged an official complaint, claiming that the Dark Ones organized a deliberate provocation and Alisa Donnikova enchanted Igor, which was the reason for his nervous breakdown… and that unfortunate incident in which a boy drowned. The Dark Ones, of course, are claiming that Igor enchanted Alisa in an attempt to recruit her to our side…"

Andrei snorted at the absurdity of the accusation-recruiting a witch! As if a Dark One could ever stop being Dark. Frighten her, force her to collaborate, bribe her or blackmail her-all that was possible. But to recruit a witch…

"Well then, the Tribunal will decide who was to blame and what degree of responsibility Igor bears. The lad challenged Alisa to an officially registered duel, so the Watch has nothing to answer for. But if the Inquisition accuses him of exceeding the limits of force required for self-defense or deliberate provocation-there's only one outcome for him. Into the Twilight. He's only half-alive as it is… and he doesn't even seem to want to fight. But we need Igor, Anton. You have no idea just how badly we need him!"

"Boris Ignatievich, what really happened down there?"

"Really? I don't know. We didn't arrange any provocations, you can trust me on that. I sent Igor on vacation because the lad had drained himself completely. Do you know how good working in a young Pioneer Camp is for restoring your powers? Smiling children's faces, happy laughter, cheerful voices…" Gesar's voice warmed so much that Anton was almost expecting the serious boss of the Night Watch to lick his lips and start purring at any moment. But Gesar broke off and then continued: "Either our accusation is just, and then there's a chance of saving Igor. Or everything that happened was just a tragic coincidence…

in that case, there's nothing the Inquisition can accuse us of, but Igor won't survive the whole business. He's punishing himself for the death of that boy… and Alisa."

"What does Alisa matter?"

"He really did fall in love with her… yet another half-baked Other." Gesar watched as the expression on Anton's face changed and nodded. "Yes, he fell in love, no doubt about it. So, you're going to Prague. As our representative at the Tribunal. Defender and prosecutor in the same person. I'll give you all the necessary documentation in a moment."

"Ah… but…" Anton was confused. "I don't have any experience."

"Nobody has. But you'll acquire it. My heart tells me that as things develop there are going to be more and more of these… legal conflicts. Instead of honest battle and open combat. And don't you look so worried-I'll probably come to Prague when the session starts. Possibly even with Olga and Svetlana."

"Why bring Svetlana?"

"Maybe we'll be able to prove that Svetlana lost her powers because of a provocation by the Dark Ones and receive permission to restore her."

"How?"

"The same way we did with Igor. The problem isn't that Svetlana can't restore her powers rapidly, in just a few months. She can. The problem is that I can obtain permission for healing a second- or third-level magician, but restoring the powers of a Great Enchantress is an extreme case. To do that, we need direct permission from the Inquisition. And not the Moscow branch- it has to be the European office at least." Gesar raised his mug and smiled. "Prosit, Anton. Let's drink to your success."

"Boris Ignatievich, even now you're still not telling me everything!" Anton almost shouted.

"No, I'm not. Although I've already told you more than I ought to. But if you really want to lie awake all night with insomnia…" Gesar thought carefully. "Then add up together everything that's happened over the last year: the Chalk of Destiny, the death of Alisa Donnikova, the appearance of the Mirror, those ludicrous buffoons the Regin Brothers, and Fafnir's Talon… and the hysteria everywhere over the end of the second millennium."

"But there isn't a single thread connecting all these things," Anton blurted out.

"Then sleep well," Gesar said with a smile.

Late December is a time of frivolity and bustling activity. A time of frantic preparation for the holidays, a time for presents and drinking champagne with colleagues, even during the working day. A time of brilliant illuminations in the streets, a time for New Year tree bazaars. With the approach of Christmas and the New Year, even the eternal confrontation between the Others dies down, and Light Ones and Dark Ones suddenly slip into a short-lived dreamy state and sometimes even feel like forgiving their rivals their old offenses. The less serious and deeply felt ones, that is.

Edgar, the Dark magician, was late for a daily operational briefing for the first time since he had moved to the Russian capital from Estonia. The reason was trivial, but any self-respecting magician would have been ashamed to admit it.

Edgar had been feeding the ducks at the pond on Chistoprudny Boulevard. He'd surrendered to the memories that had suddenly come flooding back and completely forgotten about the time. He'd got lost in his dreams, like a teenage kid after a glass of beer. And when he finally surfaced, he realized the briefing had already begun.

If age teaches you anything, then one of its lessons is certainly not to hurry if you're already late, so Edgar didn't rush off to flag down a car or make a headlong dash for the metro. He calmly finished crumbling the bun he'd bought for the mallards darting about nimbly at the edge of the unfrozen patch of water or scrambling across the ice, and only then set off toward the Chistye Prudy metro station, with the Christmas snow crunching cheerfully under his shoes.

Twenty minutes later Edgar entered the Day Watch office without hurrying and with his gravitas still intact. The elderly vampire couple on watch were decorating the New Year tree. They greeted Edgar just the way they were supposed to-meekly and respectfully.

"The chief’s been asking for you," the vampire husband told him. "He said to go see him as soon as you turn up."

"Thank you, Filippich," said Edgar. "Is the boss in his office?"

"He is now."

"Aha. Happy holidays to you!"

"And to you, Edgar."

Edgar rode up to the top floors and sent Zabulon the sign of Hojd through the Twilight.

"Come in," Zabulon replied.

The chief of the Day Watch required the strict observance of hierarchical discipline from his subordinates, but at the same time he somehow managed to respect the freedom of even the shabbiest werewolf among the security guards and to trust the magicians at the top of the Watch. He didn't question Edgar directly about why he'd missed the daily briefing session. If he'd missed it, there must have been a good reason.

But there hadn't been any good reason, and so Edgar thought he'd better simply tell Zabulon the way it was and leave it at that, especially since there hadn't been any serious operations planned for today. If a tricky situation had come up, they would have reached out to him through the Twilight or they could have simply given him a call on his cell, so Edgar wasn't feeling particularly guilty.

"Good evening, chief."

"Good evening, Edgar. How do you like this weather?"

"Snow and no wind. I like it. I'm sorry I missed the planning meeting, chief. There wasn't anything urgent, was there?"

"No. But there will be now."

Zabulon was dressed as usual in his favorite gray suit and gray shirt. Edgar thought he'd never seen the chief dressed any other way. Always a suit and a gray shirt when he was in the ordinary world. And without any clothes at all in his Twilight form.

"Would you believe it, chief, I was daydreaming. Walking on the boulevard at Chistye Prudy, remembering Samara and 1912."

Zabulon gave a faint smile and sang quietly: "The photo studio… Samara wrapped in mist again, it's 1912…"

The chief of the Day Watch had a clear, resonant baritone voice. Even though the Dark magicians had known each other for many years, it was the first time Edgar had ever heard Zabulon sing.

"Were you feeding the ducks?" Zabulon asked.

"Yes."

Zabulon sighed as he indulged his memories briefly. Very briefly. Literally for half a minute. "Okay, Edgar. Tomorrow you fly to Prague."

"For the Tribunal?"

"Yes. It's going to hear several cases, including Alisa's murder and the Regin Brothers' case."

"But weren't they going to release them tomorrow?" Edgar asked in surprise. "Or have the Light Ones changed their mind?"

"No, they haven't. They've handed the case over to the European office of the Tribunal. And I think Gesar will try to lay the responsibility for what they did at our door. As if we'd planned it. Or incited them."

"But they don't have any evidence! Not a shred!"

"Well, that's why I'm sending you to Prague. You can take a look, see what's what. And don't take it easy on anyone. We've taken enough, we've given way to them over the last two years-it's time we held our heads up higher."

"It was the circumstances. That's what we gave way to," said Edgar. The prospect of spending Christmas and seeing in the year 2000 in the ancient Gothic city of Prague had really fired his enthusiasm. Edgar loved the solemn city-it was the embodiment of the European spirit, a city where Dark Ones felt free and at ease.

"By the way. You'll probably be flying on the same plane as those Regin Brothers. Take a moment to drop them a hint that the Moscow Day Watch has no intention of abandoning Dark Ones who have suffered on its territory. Tell them not to panic or lose heart."

"And are we really going to defend them?"

"Yes, we really are. You see, Edgar, I have a few plans that involve that absurd trio. For the time being I need this international alliance… So pay a bit of attention to them as well. The Light Ones will probably set a spy on their trail. Keep an eye on him too. Don't let him interfere. Don't get involved in any unnecessary conflict-just keep him at a distance, that's all."

"I understand, chief."

"Take these," said Zabulon, opening the safe beside the desk and handing Edgar two amulets and a charged wand. "I don't expect you'll need to use the Mist. But just in case… And you know where to recharge the wand."

"At Kostnitsa? At that ossuary?" Edgar asked, reacting immediately.

Zabulon nodded.

"Darkness!" said Edgar, almost feeling envious of himself. "I haven't been there for seventy years!"

"And you can purge yourself at the same time," Zabulon advised him. "Do you know how?"

Edgar frowned. They might be friends, but after all, Zabulon was a magician beyond classification, and Edgar hadn't even reached the first level yet, although he obviously had the potential for it. Edgar still had to carry on using his ordinary human name, but on the other hand, his surname had been completely forgotten by now.

"I've mastered the technique. In general terms." It was obvious that Edgar didn't like having to say that.

"Then you can practice it," said Zabulon, closing the subject. "That's all-now go and get ready. If you have any business outstanding, hand it over to someone else. Shagron or Belashevich."

"I understand, chief. I will."

"Good luck."

Edgar left the chiefs office, then called into his own for a moment, composed a message for Shagron, and suspended it in the Twilight before he set out for home. On his way out he ran into Alita.

"Hi there, beautiful!"

"Hello, Edgar. How would you like to go to the skating rink?"

"I don't have time."

"Oh, come on," said the young witch. "It's almost New Year- what business could you have to deal with? The Light Ones are more concerned with the quality of the champagne that's being made than their usual mean tricks. Holidays are for having fun, not for working."

"That's debatable," Edgar said with a sigh. "But anyway, I don't have time. I'm going away."

"Where to?"

"To Prague."

"Ooh!" Alita said enviously. "For long?"

"I don't know. A week or so…"

"The New Year in Prague!" Alita sighed. "And not just any New Year-the year 2000… Maybe I should go with you."

"Go if you like." Edgar didn't try to dissuade her. "But not with me. I'm not going to have fun…"

He felt a little envious too: If the witch went to Prague, she'd be able to relax with a clear conscience. But Edgar had been on too many of these work trips to entertain any groundless illusions that they wouldn't involve much work.

There was always plenty of work, and especially at holiday times, as bad luck would have it. And during the most important holidays (who would claim that a change in the first figure in the number of the year wasn't an important event?) there was always more work than even the gloomiest prognosis suggested.

On his way home Edgar quickly reviewed the probabilities and established that the morning flight to Prague would be delayed until the evening and he would have to take an afternoon flight with a stopover in Prague. Of course, there weren't any tickets in the ticket office, and he couldn't really count on the special reserve either. But that didn't bother Edgar too much- what could be simpler than the old trick with the double-booked ticket? And, of course, the "right" ticket would turn out to be the one bought by the Other. Even if he only bought it a minute before check-in.

Packing for a trip doesn't take an Other long. Why bother taking things with you when it's simpler to buy them on the way? His entire luggage consisted of the amulets, the wand, and a briefcase containing a solitary magazine and several wads of American currency. Of course, an Other can get everything that money can buy without spending a kopeck or a dime. But it's not worth wasting the Power. And not all interventions are the same. Manipulate a sales assistant's mind for a piece of cake, and the Night Watch would nail you for an unsanctioned intervention. That would be just like them.

And apart from that, Edgar would simply have felt sorry for the sales assistant. The cake wouldn't have bothered him, of course. What if he suddenly needed to steal a jeep from an automobile sales room? People were the Other's foundation. Their feed base and substratum. They should be treated with consideration… And there was no need to worry about that kind of ideology sounding too much like the Light Ones'.

The Dark Ones could tell the difference between treating human beings with consideration and doting on them.

They could tell it very clearly.

Edgar used the night to catch up on his sleep, although it was harder than he expected to get to sleep at such an unusual time. Even as he was sinking into slumber, Edgar regretted that he hadn't gone to the skating rink with Alita.

In the morning Edgar discovered that someone had put a lot of work into improving his natural magical shell, strengthening it and weaving in stiff, tightly connected reinforcing threads. Zabulon, of course, who else? It couldn't be anyone else. Hm… thought Edgar. Could this mission really turn out to be complicated and dangerous? Or is Zabulon simply playing it safe?

Since clashes with the Light Ones had become more frequent, Zabulon had installed personal protection for a lot of the members of the Day Watch. Just where did he get all the energy to maintain so many shields?

There were probably only two Others in Moscow who knew the answer to that-Zabulon himself and his eternal opponent Gesar. And maybe the Inquisition. At least its top bosses.

Shagron offered to give Edgar a lift to the airport. It seemed like the newly repaired magician simply enjoyed driving his newly repaired BMW around Moscow when the city was in a holiday mood. The excuse he invented couldn't have been any simpler or more convincing: a briefing on current business. Not that there was much business for Edgar to brief him on. The hysterical response of a thirteen-year-old girl who had discovered that she could enter the Twilight and accidentally looked at herself in a mirror while she was there. Win her confidence, talk some sense into her, support her… an assignment for a beginner. And then there was the gerontophilic succubus who was the laughing stock of half of Biruliovo.

This wasn't even work. It was just a couple of trifling problems. Minor domestic turbulence.

Just as he was walking into the airport terminal, Edgar got a call from another magician high up in the Day Watch-the magician that his colleagues knew as Yury, although he could obviously have used a Twilight name quite openly. Shagron had one for his special services to the Watch, and Yury was significantly more powerful and much older than Shagron.

"Hi, Edgar. On your way to Prague?"

"What of it?" Edgar asked, Odessa-style.

"Listen, and don't interrupt. I know a thing or two about the chief's plans. And why you're being sent there. It's not all as simple and clear-cut as it seems at first glance. There are several Light Ones leaving for Prague today and tomorrow, and I wouldn't be surprised if Gesar himself goes there in a few days. There are a few little signs that indicate the Light Ones are setting up a large-scale operation. Of course, Zabulon is planning an appropriate response. So you just be careful. Especially while you're traveling."

Yury stopped, as if he were expecting a reply from Edgar, but Edgar didn't say anything-he remembered he'd been told not to interrupt. He just reached into the Twilight, attempting to locate Zabulon-but he couldn't find the slightest trace of the chief. He couldn't tell where he was, what secret crannies he was lurking in, or what deep levels of the Twilight he was roaming through. The most powerful magicians had their own paths and their own motives, incomprehensible to those around them.

"You remember the chief sent Alisa Donnikova on vacation?" Yury went on. "Remember what happened to her. Of course, you want to know why I'm telling you all this. I'll tell you right now. Because I'm a Dark One. And also because I've worked with you for quite a while already. Take it any way you like, but I'd prefer to see you as a live, healthy Other, and not just another shadow in the Twilight. See you, Edgar."

Edgar stood there for a while, thoughtfully squeezing the cell phone in his hand. Then he put it back on his belt, picked up his briefcase, and set off for the ticket desks.

Darkness! the magician thought to himself. What was that? A warning of some kind? And obviously behind Zabulon's back. And he brought up that business with Alisa…

Zabulon had simply sacrificed the witch Alisa. Coldly and without any unnecessary pity. Like a pawn in a game of chess. In the games played between the Watches it was absurd to develop any feelings for the faceless figures on the board… but Others know how to feel and love as well. Edgar felt genuinely sorry for Alisa, but he wouldn't have lifted a finger to save her, not even if he had known everything in advance. Every game has its own inflexible rules, set once and for all. And nobody who has joined in a game can ever withdraw from it, or go against the rules. The witch Alisa had made her exit, and the witch Alita had made her entry. The law of conservation in action. In fact, Alita promised to be more likeable…

Working on autopilot, Edgar brainwashed the girl at the desk, still absorbed in his own thoughts. She gave him a little blue booklet with his ticket and canceled the ticket of some other unfortunate passenger. Unfortunately, he would just have to take a later flight, because in the world of people and Others, it was the latter who set the rules. Why did Yury feel the need to warn me? Edgar wondered as he stood at a bar counter with a glass of beer that was very expensive, but not very good. Surely not out of altruism? Nobody breaks the rules of the game that way.

He recalled in passing that when Zabulon left Moscow, he hadn't left Yury or Nikolai as his deputy in charge, although they were the Day Watch's most powerful Dark magicians after the chief. He had appointed Edgar, who was substantially less powerful than either of them. Yury had already been acknowledged as a magician beyond classification in the nineteenth century, and Nikolai just recently, after the war. Edgar still hadn't even reached first level, and if he was honest, he hadn't even mastered the second level completely. Sure, Edgar was a powerful magician. Sure, he was more powerful than most of the Others in Moscow, Dark or Light. But he still couldn't match Yury and Nikolai.

Just why had Zabulon done that? Was Yury trying to take a bit of petty revenge? Out of simple envy? Trying to scare him or even (you could never tell!) simply having a joke at his upstart colleague's expense?

The way Edgar had been brought in from Estonia had been hasty and illogical too. There he was, living a quiet life up in the small Baltic country, running its small, drowsy Day Watch, and then suddenly-slam bang! The urgent summons to Moscow, the mad scramble to get his successor in Tallinn up to scratch-who was a classical "hot-headed Estonian boy," barely even fourth level… Edgar ought to give him a call, by the way. And then what had happened in Moscow? Edgar had been thrown straight into the crucible of a hectic two-week operation, and then, not long after that, he'd taken part in a wild cavalry raid to rescue from the Light Ones a witch who'd been practicing without a license. And that was all. After that, there'd been more than three months of routine work until the middle of November, when he'd suddenly been appointed acting chief of the Day Watch while Zabulon was away, and then there'd been the Mirror's visit and the Tribunal at Moscow University.

If he thought about it, it was quite possible that the old Day Watch magicians could try to teach this newcomer from the Baltic a lesson because he was making a career for himself too fast, but they could hardly believe he was actually conspiring to take over from the chief. Zabulon didn't leave Moscow very often. And when Zabulon was there, Edgar was no more than just another operational agent. A powerful one, of course, an elite operative, but he only had the same rights as the others.

By the time his glass was empty, Edgar had decided to stop guessing at the reasons behind it all. His best bet was to try to figure out a line of conduct that took account of… of everything. Even the very wildest possibilities.

All right. What was it that had finished off Alisa? She hadn't gathered enough Power in time. She hadn't recognized the Light Other, even though he was so close to her. She hadn't refused a duel that she was certain to lose. And most important of all- she'd given way to her emotions. She'd tried to appeal to a Light One's feelings.

Well, then, Edgar wasn't short of Power, and Zabulon had even given him some of his own. His two amulets were a real treasure house of Power, especially the one charged with the Transylvanian Mist. If Edgar used that one, every Other in Europe would sense the monstrous discharge of energy. Plus the battle wand- a highly specialized weapon, but it was fast and reliable. Shahab's Lash was nobody's idea of a joke!

That meant Edgar had to keep as close an eye as possible on the Light Ones. Oh yes, about the Light Ones… Just at that moment there were three of them in Sheremetievo. First, there was his old friend from previous operations, Anton Gorodetsky, who the lower-level Dark Ones had nicknamed "Zabulon's favorite." In that business with the Mirror he'd done just what Zabulon wanted for some reason, and helped the Dark Ones… Or had he just made everyone think he helped the Dark Ones? Probably that was it-otherwise how could he have stayed on in the Night Watch?

Second, there was a middle-aged female healer who had no connection with the Night Watch, thoughtfully sniffing perfumes in the duty-free shop. She probably just happened to be traveling that day by coincidence.

Third, there was a militiaman who was an Other on duty at the check-in, as there was supposed to be in any airport.

Apart from Edgar himself, there were four Dark Ones in the international terminal of Sheremetievo-2. First, his charges, the trio of Regin Brothers, who kept staring guardedly by turns at Edgar and Anton, who had installed himself in the bar at the far end of the hall. Plus a weak magician over by the gambling machines who was paying no attention to anything; he seemed to be trying to earn a bit of extra cash by getting the mechanism to pay out the maximum winnings. His kind was perfectly described by the phrase "cheap trash."

The basic situation couldn't have been clearer.

Check-in and passport control went quickly; no visas were required for the Czech Republic. In fact, just in case, Edgar was carrying Estonian and Argentinian passports, both perfectly legal- Argentina was a wonderful country that traded its own citizenship quite freely.

Edgar spent the rest of the time until boarding in one of the bars. Naturally, not the one where Zabulon's favorite, the Light magician Gorodetsky, had installed himself. Edgar's glance and his had met just once-I know you're here and you know I'm here, and both of us know that the other knows his opponent… and we're on similar missions. To defend our own at the trial and rout our enemies…

To Gorodetsky's credit, he'd made his position perfectly clear: When the trial starts, that's when we'll get to grips. Meanwhile, let's just enjoy the flight and not get in each other's way.

Strange, how easily they understood each other. Maybe it was just a hangover from those ancient times before the Others were divided into Dark Ones and Light Ones, when they simply stood up together against fate and the vicissitudes of life. Back then, of course, any healer was closer to a vampire than he was to any simple, luckless human being in the faceless mass of other people like him. The Twilight can bring you together.

But the Twilight could separate you too. In fact, the Twilight was pretty good at it-nowadays you simply couldn't find more irreconcilable enemies anywhere on earth than Dark Ones and Light Ones. The puny conflict between the USA and the Islamic world was nothing in comparison… Even the old Cold War between the USA and the USSR that was now a part of history hadn't come close to the war of the Watches. They were just childish games for foolish human beings.

Edgar drank coffee that was extremely black, but not very good, thinking about everything at once and nothing in particular. For instance, why all these airport bars that were so expensive and didn't seem to be skimping on the ingredients of their food and drink managed to brew lousy coffee, pour bad beer, and make absolutely inedible sandwiches. Plenty of the problems of human life could be attributed to the struggle between the Watches, but this certainly wasn't one of them.

His charges-the entire ill-assorted trio of them-were peering at him disapprovingly from the waiting hall. Of course, the Regin Brothers regarded him as just another cop. Let them. They were boneheads. Brainless, heedless boneheads. And since that was what they were, they could be used to serve the cause of Darkness. Zabulon had been quite right to decide to make use of them. That business with Fafnir's Talon had certainly put the Light Ones off their stride during Rogoza the Mirror's visit. Without even knowing it, the Regin Brothers had taken one of the blows intended for the Day Watch and allowed the Mirror, who had already grown strong, to top himself right up with Power. That was really what had made certain that Zabulon and his cohorts would win out in the latest clash with the Light Ones.

And serve them right.

Edgar watched without the slightest sympathy as the courteous customs officers led away a furious gent in a prim, formal suit and expensive raincoat. It was his place that Edgar would be occupying on the flight to Prague.

When they were already on their way, Edgar waited until one of the Regin Brothers left his seat and then sat down next to the one who seemed to be the most sensible-the white one.

"Greetings, brother," Edgar said warmly.

The Finn looked at him with big round eyes. A cautious look.

"We are Dark Ones," Edgar went on quietly. "We don't abandon our own. I've been sent to protect you, if necessary. And we'll be able to defend you at the Tribunal-trust me. So hold your heads high, servants of the Darkness. Our hour will come very soon now."

Having said that, Edgar got up and went back to his place without looking back even once.

There. Now let them rack their brains over that.

How dramatic he had been! He'd really had to work hard to keep a solemn, stony face and avoid cracking a smile. But the expression in the Finn's big round eyes had been the opposite of a smile-he'd been really frightened and worried.

"I really shouldn't have," Edgar muttered to himself. "They're like children… And I mock them."

Edgar sighed regretfully and opened his magazine. It was a nice short flight to Prague, not like flying to Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, for instance. You were there before you knew it, without any other stops on the way or that hellish nightmare of having to sleep in your seat. But then, if you really thought about it, the most convenient form of transport was a Dark portal. Only setting up a portal from Moscow to Prague would be an unjustifiable extravagance. So he had to fly, like ordinary human beings.

But not quite like ordinary human beings… at least Others didn't have any problems with tickets.