Day Watch

Chapter three

–«¦»-

Life is a strange business.

A day earlier I had left my apartment, a young, healthy witch full of Power-but unhappy.

Half a day earlier I had been standing in the Watch offices, crippled, with no hope or belief in the future… How everything had changed!

"Would you like some more wine, Alisa?" asked Pavel, my escort, looking quizzically into my eyes.

"A little bit," I said, looking out of the window.

The plane had already begun its descent for the landing at Simferopol airport. The old Tupolev jet creaked as it slowly heeled over, and the passengers' faces were anxious and tense. Pavel and I were the only ones sitting there quite calmly-Zabulon himself had checked to make sure the flight was safe.

Pavel handed me a crystal wine glass. Of course, the glass hadn't come from the stewardess's standard stock, and neither had the South African sauterne that was in it. The young shape-shifter seemed to be taking his mission very seriously indeed. He was flying south for a vacation with some friends of his, but at the last minute he'd been taken off the flight to Kherson and instructed to accompany me to Simferopol. The rumors that my relationship with Zabulon had been restored had clearly already reached him.

"Why don't we drink to the chief, Alisa?" Pavel asked. He was trying so hard to ingratiate himself that it was beginning to annoy me.

"All right," I agreed. We clinked glasses and drank. The stewardess walked past us, checking for the last time that all the seat belts were fastened, but she didn't even look at us. The spell of inattention that Pavel had cast was doing its job. Even this wretched shape-shifter could do more than I could now…

"You must admit," Pavel told me after he'd taken a sip of wine, "that the way our chief treats the staff is pretty good!"

I nodded.

"And the Light Ones…" he said, putting all the contempt he could muster into those two words, "… they're much greater individualists than we are."

"Don't overdo it," I said. "That's not really true."

"Oh come on, Alisa!" The wine had made him talkative. "Do you remember how we stood in the cordon a year ago? Just before the hurricane?"

That cordon was probably the only place I remembered having seen him before. The shape-shifters do all the crude work and our paths seldom cross. Only during combat operations, and on those rare occasions when the entire Watch personnel is convened.

"I remember."

"Well then, that… Gorodetsky. That lousy servant of the Light!"

"He's a very powerful magician," I objected. "Very powerful."

"Oh, sure! He grabbed all that Power, squeezed the last drops out of ordinary people, and then what? What did he use it for?"

"For his own remoralization."

I closed my eyes, remembering how it had looked.

A fountain of light shooting up into the sky. The streams of energy that Anton had gathered from those people. He had risked everything on a single throw of the dice, even risked using borrowed Power, and for a brief instant he had acquired Power that matched or even surpassed the abilities of Zabulon and Gesar.

And he had expended all that tremendous Power on himself.

Remoralization. The search for the ethically optimum solution. The Light Ones' most terrible problem was how to avoid causing harm, how to avoid taking a step that would result in inflicting evil on human beings.

"That makes him a super-egotist!" Pavel said with relish. "He could have defended his girlfriend, couldn't he? And he could have fought us, couldn't he? And how-with that Power! But what did he do? He used everything he collected on himself. He didn't even try to stop the hurricane… but he could have done that, he could have!"

"Who knows what any other course of action would have led to?" I asked.

"But he acted just like any of us. Like a genuine Dark One!"

"If that were true, he'd be in the Day Watch."

"And he will be," Pavel said confidently. "Where else can he go? He couldn't bear to give away all that Power, so he used it on himself. And afterward he made excuses-it was all so that he could make the correct decision… And what was his decision? Not to interfere! That was all-not to interfere! That's our way, the Dark way."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Pavlusha," I said.

The plane shuddered as the undercarriage was lowered.

At first glance the shape-shifter seemed to be right. But I could remember Zabulon's face during the days after the hurricane. The expression in his eyes was very gloomy-I'd learned to tell the difference. It was as if he'd realized too late that he'd been tricked.

Pavel carried on discussing the subtleties of the struggle between the two Watches, their different approaches, their long-term operational planning. What a strategist… he should have been sitting in headquarters, not roaming the streets…

I suddenly realized how tired he'd made me feel during our two-hour flight. But at first he'd made quite a pleasant impression…

"Pavlusha, who do you transform into?" I asked.

The shape-shifter started breathing heavily through his nose and answered reluctantly: "A lizard."

"Oho!" I looked at him again with more interest. Shape-shifters like that were a genuine rarity; he was no ordinary werewolf, like the late Vitalik. "That's serious! But why don't I see you on operations more often?"

"I…" Pavel stopped and frowned. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his sweaty forehead. "You see, the thing is…"

His embarrassment was wonderful to watch. He was like an erring schoolgirl on a visit to the gynecologist.

"I transform into a herbivorous lizard," he finally blurted out. "Not the most useful kind in a fight, unfortunately. The jaws are strong, but the teeth are flat, for grinding. And I'm too slow. But I can break an arm or a leg… or chew off a finger."

I couldn't help laughing. I said sympathetically, "Well, never mind. We need personnel like that too! The important thing is for you to look impressive and instill fear and confusion."

"I look impressive all right," said Pavel, squinting sideways at me suspiciously. "Only my scales are too colorful, like a painted Khokhloma toy. It's hard to disguise myself."

I managed to keep a straight face.

"Never mind, I think that's interesting. When people have to be frightened, especially little children, colorful scales are just the thing."

"That's the kind of work I usually do…" Pavel admitted.

A sharp jolt cut short our conversation as the plane touched down on the runway. The passengers burst into applause somewhat prematurely. I gazed avidly out through the window for a few seconds, looking at the greenery, the airport terminal, a plane taxiing to take off…

I simply couldn't believe it.

I'd escaped from stuffy, oppressive Moscow. I had the vacation I'd been waiting for so long… and my special rights… and when I got back-Zabulon would be waiting for me again…

Pavel saw me as far as the trolley stop. It's the most amusing trolley route I know: all the way from one town to another, from Simferopol to Yalta. But strangely enough, it's quite a convenient way to travel.

Everything here was different, quite different. It seemed hot- but it wasn't the asphalt-and-concrete city heat of Moscow. And even though the sea was a long way off, I could sense it. And the luxuriant greenery, and the whole atmosphere of a huge resort at the height of the season.

It felt good… it really did. I just wanted to get a shower as soon as possible, get a good night's sleep, tidy myself up…

"You're not going to Yalta, are you?" Pavel asked understandingly.

"Not exactly to Yalta," I said. I looked gloomily at the long line. Even the children were all keyed up, ready to grab a seat in the trolley. I had nothing with me at all-just my purse and the sports bag over my shoulder, and I could have stood quite easily-but only if I managed to get on the trolley without a ticket.

And I didn't feel like standing.

If it came down to it, I had a thick wad of cash for my travel allowance, vacation allowance, and medical allowance-Zabulon had managed to issue me almost two thousand dollars. That was certainly plenty for two weeks. Especially in Ukraine.

"All right, Pavlusha," I said and kissed him on the cheek. The shape-shifter blushed. "I'll get there, no need to see me off."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I was instructed to give you every possible help."

Oh, my little protector… A herbivorous lizard, a cow with scales…

"I'm sure. You need to get some rest too."

"I'm going to go on a bicycle trip with friends," he informed me for some reason. "They're really nice guys-Ukrainian werewolves and even a young magician. Maybe we could call in to see you?"

"I'd like that."

The shape-shifter walked back toward the airport, clearly in-tending to board another flight, and I set off along the thin line of taxis and private cars offering lifts. It was already getting dark, and there were only a few of them left.

"Where to, lovely lady?" a stout man with a moustache called out. He was standing beside his little Zhiguli and smoking. I shook my head-I'd never traveled between towns in a Zhiguli… I ignored the Volga as well, and the tiny Oka too- goodness only knew what that driver was hoping for.

But that brand new Nissan Patrol would suit me very well.

I leaned in over the lowered window. There were two dark-haired young guys sitting in the car. The one in the driving seat was smoking and his companion was drinking beer from a bottle.

"Are you guys free?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at me, sizing me up. I didn't look too creditworthy-that was necessary for my cover…

"Possibly," the driver said. "If we can agree on a price."

"We can," I said. "To the Artek camp. Fifty."

"Are you a Young Pioneer?" the driver laughed. "For fifty we'll give you a ride round town."

The witty type. He was so young he shouldn't have been able to remember what a Young Pioneer was. And his ambitions were exorbitant… fifty rubles-that was almost ten dollars.

"You didn't ask the most important thing," I remarked. "Fifty what?"

"Well, fifty what?" the driver's friend repeated obligingly.

"Bucks."

The young guys' expressions changed immediately.

"Fifty bucks, we go fast, without any other passengers, and we don't turn the music up loud," I added. "Is it a deal?"

"Yes," the driver decided. He began looking around. "What about your things?"

"I've got them all here." I got into the backseat and dropped my bag down beside me. "Let's go."

My tone of voice seemed to have had the right effect. A minute later we were already swinging out onto the road. I relaxed and leaned back a bit more comfortably. This was it. Vacation. I needed to rest… eat the peaches… gather my strength…

And afterward Moscow and Zabulon would be waiting for me…

Just at that moment my cell phone rang in my bag. I got it out without opening my eyes and took the call.

"Alisa, how was the flight?"

I felt a warm glow in my chest. One surprise after another! Even during our best times Zabulon hadn't felt a need to take any interest in such petty details. Or was this just because I was unwell and feeling down?

"It was excellent, thanks. They say there were some problems with the weather, but…"

"I know about that. The guys in the Simferopol Day Watch gave us a hand with the weather conditions. That's not what I meant, Alisa. Are you in a car now?"

"Yes."

"Your forecast for this trip is bad."

I pricked up my ears. "The road?"

"No. Apparently your driver."

In front of me the young guys' cropped heads were like blank stone. I looked at them for a second, furious at my helplessness. I couldn't even feel their emotions, let alone read their thoughts…

"I'll handle it."

"Have you let your escort go?"

"Yes. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll handle it."

"Are you sure, Alisa?" There was genuine concern in Zabulon's voice. And that had the same effect on me as dope on an athlete.

"Of course. Try looking further ahead in the forecast!"

Zabulon was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Yes, it straightens out… But keep in touch. I'll come if it's necessary."

"If they do anything to me, just skin them alive, sweetheart," I said.

"I'll do more than that-I'll make them eat their own skins."

Zabulon agreed. It was no empty threat, of course, but a real promise. "Well, have a good vacation, darling."

I switched off the cell phone and slipped into a doze. The Nissan drove on smoothly and we were soon out on the high road. The young guys occasionally lit a cigarette and there was a smell of tobacco-fortunately not the worst kind. Then the sound of the motor became more labored-we were climbing the mountain pass. I opened my eyes and glanced through the open window at the starry sky. How big the stars were in the Crimea. How close.

Then I fell asleep for real. I even began dreaming-a sweet, languorous dream. I was swimming in the sea at night and there was someone beside me, and sometimes in the darkness I could almost make out the lines of his face, and I could feel the gentle touch of his hands…

When I realized that the touch was real, I instantly woke up and opened my eyes.

The engine was silent and the car was standing a little distance off the highway. I think it was in the emergency side road for poor souls whose brakes have failed.

My driver's brakes and his friend's had definitely failed. I could see it in their eyes.

When I woke up the driver's friend took his hand away from my face. He even gave a crooked smile as he said, "We're here, sister."

"It doesn't look like Artek, brother," I replied.

"It's the Angarsky Pass. The motor's overheated," said the driver, licking his lips. "We have to wait. You can get out for a breath of fresh air."

If he was still trying to make lame excuses, he was obviously far more nervous than his companion, who screwed up his courage and said, "You can take a piss…"

"Thanks, I don't need one." I carried on sitting there, watching the pair of them curiously, wondering what they'd try. Would they try to drag me out of the car? Or try to rape me where I was? And afterward?

It would be too dangerous to let me go. They'd probably throw me off a cliff. And probably into the sea-the murderer's best friend throughout the ages. The land preserves clues for a long time, but the sea has a short memory.

"We were starting to wonder," the driver declared, "if you really have the money… Young Pioneer."

"Since I hired you," I said, emphasizing the word 'hired," "it means I do."

"Show us," the driver demanded.

Oh, how stupid you are… you little people…

I took the wad of money out of my purse, peeled off a fifty and held it out, as if I hadn't noticed the greedy eyes devouring the money. Well, now I was certainly done for.

But they still seemed to need some kind of justification. If only for themselves.

"It's counterfeit!" the driver squealed, carefully hiding the fifty in his pocket. "You bitch, you were trying to…"

I looked at them calmly as I listened to a choice serving of obscene language. I felt something inside me tense up, but even so, I didn't have the normal powers of an Other that would have allowed me to turn these two young runts into obedient puppets.

"Hoping your friend can help, are you?" the driver's friend asked. "Is that it? Going to skin us alive, is he? We'll skin him, you bitch!"

I laughed as I imagined the million and one amusing things Zabulon would have done to these young pups just for saying that.

The driver grabbed hold of my arm. His young face was basically rather handsome-I wouldn't have minded having a resort romance with an attractive young man like that-but now it was contorted by a mixture of anger, fear, and lust.

"You're going to pay in kind, you bitch."

Ugh. In kind. And with all my things, and a brief flight through the air down an almost vertical incline…

No, I didn't want my acquaintance with the warm water of the Black Sea to start that way. The other young guy reached out toward me, clearly intending to rip my blouse. The bastard-it cost two hundred and fifty bucks! His hands had almost reached me when I pressed the barrel of my pistol against his forehead.

There was a brief pause.

"My, what tough kids you are," I purred. "All right, get your hands off, and get out of the car."

The pistol had really stunned them. Maybe because I'd come out of the airport, so there was no way they could have expected me to be carrying a gun. Or maybe because their little pups' instincts told them it would be a pleasure for me to blow their brains out.

The young guys jumped out of the car and I followed them. They hesitated for a few seconds and then tried to make a run for it. But that didn't suit me now.

I put the first bullet into the ankle of the driver's friend. His legs were less important-he didn't have to work the pedals. It was a trivial glancing scrape-more like a skin burn than a firearms wound-but it was more than enough. The friend fell to the ground with a howl and the driver stopped dead in his tracks with his hands in the air. I wondered who they thought I was. A Federal Security Service agent on vacation?

"I understand your greed perfectly," I said. "The economy's in ruins, people aren't getting paid… And the lust too. After all, you still have the sexual hyperdrive of youth seething inside you. So do I, as it happens!"

Even the wounded one stopped making noise. They listened to me without saying a word-as night came on the highway had emptied and there was just one set of headlights approaching in the distance. It was an enchanting, still night, with the sky covered in stars-a warm Crimean night, and down at the bottom of the cliff, the sea was murmuring.

"You're both very good-looking boys," I said. "The only trouble is, I'm not in the mood for sex now. You haven't behaved well enough. But!" I raised one finger and they stared at it as if they were hypnotized. "We can find a way round that!"

Judging from the expressions on their faces, they were expecting the worst. But they needn't have. I'm not a murderer, after all.

"Since there are two of you, and you're clearly good friends," I explained, "it won't be any problem for you to satisfy each other. And after that we'll go on to the camp, calmly, with no more adventures."

"Why you!" The driver took a step toward me, but the pistol barrel aimed at his crotch had the desired effect.

"There is another possibility," I agreed. "I could relieve you of certain unnecessary body parts. And I bet you three to one I can do it with the first shot."

"You…" hissed the wounded one. "For us they'll…"

"They wouldn't give a bent kopeck for you," I told him. "Get your trousers down and get to work."

I didn't have the Power that allows an Other to break a human being's will. But my voice probably still carried the old conviction. They obeyed me. Or they tried to obey me.

We sometimes watch gay porno in our department-it's very amusing. And the vampires and magicians often show lesbian films in the duty room. In the films the actors always set about the job with enthusiastic skill, but these two halfwits were obviously upset by this sudden turn of events, and they lacked the necessary experience. So I just basically admired the night view of the sea and kept an eye out to make sure the boys weren't slacking.

"Never mind," I comforted them when I thought they'd been humiliated enough. "Like the man said-the first time doesn't count. You can practice a bit more in your free time. Get in the car!"

"What for?" the driver asked when he'd finished spitting. He probably thought I wanted to shoot them in their fancy auto and push them over the cliff into the sea.

"Well, you agreed to take me to Artek, didn't you?" I said in an astonished voice. "And you've already got the money."

We drove the rest of the way without any more adventures.

Except that halfway there the driver started howling that he couldn't live with himself, he had nothing left to live for, and he was going to turn the wheel and drive off the cliff.

"Go on, go on!" I agreed. "With a bullet in the back of your head you won't even feel the fall!"

That shut him up.

I kept the pistol in my hands all the way to the gates of the Artek camp.

After I opened the door, I leaned back and said, "Ah, there's just one more thing, guys…"

They looked at me with hate in their eyes. All that Power I could have drained off if only I'd been in good shape!

"Better not even try to find me again. Or this night will seem like paradise. You understand?"

There was no answer.

"Silence signifies agreement," I said decisively, putting the little Astra Cub back in my purse. The ideal weapon for a frail woman… although Pavel had had to carry it through customs. I walked toward the gates and the Nissan roared and set off back the way we'd come. I hoped the failed rapists and robbers would have enough sense not to attempt any kind of revenge… But then, a couple of days later I wouldn't be concerned about local petty bandits anymore.

And so 1 arrived at the Artek camp, where I was supposed to restore my health, at two in the morning. "To sup light broth," as Karl Lvovich had said as he signed the necessary authorizations.

Every exemplary Soviet Young Pioneer was supposed to do three things: Visit Lenin in his mausoleum, take a vacation at Artek, and tie some little Child of October's necktie, then after that he could proceed to the next stage of his development-the Komsomol.

In the course of my brief childhood career as a Young Pioneer, I had only managed to fulfill the first point. This was my chance to make up for one of the things I'd missed.

I don't know how it was in Soviet times, but now the exemplary children's camp had a serious look to it. The fence around its territory was in perfect order, and there were guards at the entrance. I couldn't actually see any weapons… not at a first glance… but the strong young guys in militia uniform looked serious enough without them. There was a kid of about fourteen or fifteen there too, looking completely out of place beside these guardians of order. Was he perhaps a hanger-on from the old days, when the bugles were sounded and the drums beaten as the neat ranks of Young Pioneers marched to the beach for their prescribed water therapy?

To be honest, I'd been expecting a lot of bureaucratic red tape. Or at least considerable surprise. But it seemed like it wasn't the first time that Young Pioneer leaders (although now my job had the simpler title of teacher) had arrived at Artek at two o'clock in the morning in a foreign automobile. One of the guards took a quick look at my documents-they were genuine, checked and approved in all the appropriate offices, certified with signatures and seals-and then he called over the kid.

"Makar, take Alisa to the duty camp leader."

"Uh-huh," the kid mumbled, looking me over keenly. He was a good kid, with no complexes. When he saw a beautiful young woman he wasn't afraid to show he was interested. He'd go a long way…

After we left the guards' hut, we walked past a long row of stands with lists of daily activities, announcements of various events, and children's wall newspapers… what a long time it was since I'd seen wall newspapers! Then we set off along a badly lit path, and I found myself trying to spot the traditional Soviet plaster statues of boy buglers and girls clutching oars along the sides of it, but there weren't any.

"Are you a new leader?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

"Makar." He held out his hand in a dignified manner.

"Alisa." I shook hands with him, barely managing to restrain a smile.

The difference between our ages was about ten years, or maybe twelve. But even the names showed how everything had changed in that time. Where were all the girls named after Lewis Carroll's Alice now? They'd gone the way of the plaster buglers, the Young Pioneer banners, the lost illusions, and the failed dreams. Marched off in tidy columns to the strains of a cheerful, rousing song… The little girl who had made every boy in the country fall in love with her when she played Alice in the old film was now quietly working as a biologist and merely smiled when she remembered her old romantic image.

There were other names now. Makar, Ivan, Egor, Masha… It was an immutable law of nature-the worse things get in a country, the more it's trampled into the mud, the stronger the yearning for the old roots. For the old names, the old ways, the old rituals. But these Makars and Ivans were no worse. They were probably better, in fact. More serious, more single-minded, not shackled by any ideology or fake show of unity. They were much closer to us Dark Ones than all those Alisas, Seryozhas, and Slavas…

But I still felt a bit slighted somehow, maybe because we hadn't been like that. Or maybe it was just because they were like that.

"Are you just going to be here temporarily?" the boy asked, as serious as ever.

"Yes. My friend's fallen ill. I'm going to take her place. But I'll try to come back again next year."

Makar nodded. "Do, this is a good place we have here. I'm going to come next year too. I'll be fifteen then."

Maybe I imagined it, but I thought I saw a brief sparkle in the little imp's eyes.

"And after you're fifteen?"

He shook his head and replied with obvious regret. "You can only come until you're sixteen. But anyway, at sixteen I'm going to go to Cambridge to study."

I almost choked in surprise.

"That's pretty expensive, Makar."

"I know. It was all planned five years ago, don't worry." He had to be the son of one of those New Russians. They had everything planned in advance.

"Well, that's doing things thoroughly. Are you going to stay there?"

"No, what for? I'll get a decent education and come back to Russia."

A very serious child. No doubt about it, these human beings sometimes threw up amusing types. It was a pity I couldn't test him for Other abilities right now… we could use kids like that.

I followed my guide as he turned off the pathway and its square flagstones onto a narrow track.

"This is a shortcut," the boy explained. "Don't worry, I know everything round here…"

I followed him in silence-it was pretty dark, and I was relying on just my human abilities, but his white shirt was a reliable marker.

"There, you see that light?" Makar asked, turning back to look at me. "You go straight toward that. I'm off now…"

It seemed like the boy just wanted to play a trick on me… it was three hundred meters to the light through the dense growth of the park. He would have been able to boast to his friends about how he led the new teacher into the bushes and left her there…

But Makar had no sooner taken a step off to the side than he caught his foot on something and fell with a cry of surprise. I didn't even feel like gloating-it was so funny.

"Didn't you say you knew everything round here?" I couldn't resist asking.

He didn't even answer, just breathed heavily through his nose as he rubbed his bruised and bleeding knee. I squatted down beside him and looked into his eyes:

"You wanted to play a trick on me, didn't you?"

The kid glanced at me and quickly turned his eyes away. He muttered, "I'm sorry…"

"Do you play tricks like that on everyone?" I asked.

"No…"

"So why was I accorded such an honor?"

It was a moment before he answered. "You looked like… you were very sure of yourself."

"I should think so," I agreed simply. "I had some adventures on my way here. I was almost killed on the way-word of honor! But I got through it. So how am I supposed to look?"

"I'm sorry…"

All his seriousness and self-assurance had completely deserted him. As I squatted beside him I said, "Show me your knee."

He took his hand away.

Power. I know what it is. I could almost feel it, the Power pouring out of the boy: generated by the pain, the resentment, the shame-it was pure Power… I could almost take it-like any Dark Other, whose strength is people's weakness.

Almost.

But it wasn't what I actually needed. Makar sat there gritting his teeth and not making a sound. He wouldn't give way, and he held the Power inside himself. It was too much for me right now…

I took a flashlight as slim as a pen out of my purse and switched it on.

"It's nothing. Do you want me to put a Band-Aid on it?"

"No, don't. It will be okay like that."

"As you wish." I stood up and shone the flashlight around. Yes, it would have been difficult trying to find my way to that lighted window in the distance… "What now, Makar. Are you going to run away? Or are you going to show me the way after all?"

He got up without saying anything and set off, and I followed him. When we were already at the building, which turned out not to be small at all-it was a two-story mansion house with columns-Makar asked, "Are you going to tell the duty teacher?"

"About what?" I laughed. "Nothing happened, did it? We just had a quiet stroll along the path…"

He stood there sniffing loudly for a second, then repeated his apology, only this time far more sincerely: "I'm sorry. That was a stupid stunt I tried to pull."

"Take care of that knee," I advised him. "Don't forget to wash it and dab it with iodine."