The Night Watch (28 page)

"So, you're afraid to love cut flowers?" said Svetlana, slowly advancing on me. "That's your problem, is it?"

I got the idea. But it took a moment or two.

"Get out of here! Get out!"

I backed away until I ran into the door. But the moment I stopped, Svetlana stopped too. She jerked her head to one side and yelled:

"Stay in that body! It suits you better; you're not a man, you're a spineless wimp!" I didn't answer. I didn't say a word, because I could already see the way things would go. I could see the lines of probability stretching out ahead of us, see destiny derisively weaving its pathways together.
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And when Svetlana burst into tears, instantly robbed of all her fighting spirit, and lowered her face into her hands, when I put my arm around her shoulders and she sobbed in relief on my shoulder, I felt cold and empty inside. The cold was piercing, as if I were back standing on a snow-covered roof in a blustery winter wind.

Svetlana was still human. There wasn't enough of the Other in her yet; she didn't understand, she couldn't see the road leading off into the distance, the road we were destined to follow. And so she couldn't see how that road divided in two, running off in different directions.

Love is happiness, but only when you believe it will last forever. Even though every time it turns out to be a lie, it's only faith that gives love its strength and its joy.

Svetlana was sobbing on my shoulder.

Great knowledge brings great sorrow. How I wished I didn't know the inevitable future! I wished I didn't know it, and I just could love her without thinking twice about it, like an ordinary, mortal human being.

And what a pity it was that I wasn't in my own body.

To any outsider it might have looked like two women who were close friends had decided to spend a quiet evening in front of the TV with tea with jam. Drinking a bottle of dry wine and chatting about those three eternal subjects: All men are bastards, I've nothing to wear, and the most important of all—how to lose weight.

"You really like bread rolls, don't you?" Svetlana asked in surprise.

"Yes. With butter and jam," I replied morosely.

"I thought someone promised to take care of that body?"

"I'm not doing it any harm! Believe me, it's having a really great time."

"Well now," Svetlana said vaguely, "you ask Olga afterward how she takes care of her figure." I hesitated, but went ahead and cut another roll in half, then spread it generously with jam.

"And whose brilliant idea was it to hide you in a woman's body?"

"The boss's, I think."

"I thought it must be."

"Olga supported him."

"I should think so. She worships the very ground Boris Ignatievich walks on." I had my doubts about that, but I kept quiet about them. Svetlana got up and went over to the
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wardrobe, opened it, and looked thoughtfully at the hangers.

"Will you put on a robe?"

"What?" I said, choking on my roll.

"Are you going to sit around in the house like that? Those jeans are bursting on you. It must be uncomfortable."

"Can't you find something like a sweat suit?" I asked pitifully. Svetlana gave me a mocking glance and then took pity.

"I suppose I might."

To be quite honest, I'd rather have seen that combination on someone else. On Svetlana, for instance. Brief little white shorts and a blouse. For playing tennis, or maybe for jogging.

"Get changed."

"Sveta, I don't think we're going to spend the whole evening in the apartment."

"Never mind. It'll be useful anyway; I need to check that the size is right. You get changed and I'll go and make some tea."

Svetlana went out and I hurriedly pulled off the jeans. I started unbuttoning the blouse, fumbling with the funny little buttons that were too tight, and then glared balefully at myself in the mirror. A good-looking girl, that was for sure. A good model. I put the new clothes on in a hurry and sat down on the couch. There was a soap opera on the TV—I was amazed Svetlana watched this junk. But then, the others were probably showing the same stuff.

"You look great."

"Don't, Sveta, please," I begged her. "I feel sick enough already."

"Okay, I'm sorry," she said lightly, sitting down beside me. "So what have we got to do?"

"We?" I asked with gentle emphasis.

"Yes, Anton. You didn't come here by chance."

"I had to tell you about the mess I'm in."

"Okay. But if the boss…"—Svetlana managed to pronounce the word "boss" with real relish, with respect and irony at the same time—"… has allowed you to confide in me, that means I have to help you. It must be the will of destiny." She couldn't resist putting that in. I gave in.

"I mustn't be left alone. Not for a moment. The basis of the whole plan is that the Dark Ones are
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deliberately sacrificing their own pawns—either killing them or allowing them to die."

"Like the other time?"

"Yes. Precisely. And if this provocation is directed at me, there's going to be another killing any time now. At some moment when they think I don't have an alibi."

Svetlana looked at me with her chin propped on her hands and slowly shook her head.

"And then you'll jump out of this body like a jack out of his box. And it'll be clear that you couldn't have carried out these serial killings. The enemy is confounded."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm sorry, I haven't been in the Watch for long; maybe there's something I don't understand." That put me on my guard. Svetlana hesitated for a second and then went on:

"When all those things happened to me, what was going on? The Dark Ones were hoping to initiate me. They knew Night Watch would notice; they even figured out that you could possibly intervene and help."

"Yes."

"That was why they played out that complex maneuver, sacrificing a few pieces and building up false positions of strength. And to begin with, Night Watch was taken in. If the boss hadn't launched his counter-maneuver, if you hadn't gone charging straight in, taking no notice of anything…"

"You'd be my enemy now," I said. "You'd be studying with the Day Watch."

"That's not what I meant, Anton. I'm grateful to you, and to everyone in Night Watch, above all to you. But that's not what I'm talking about right now. Surely you understand that what you've just told me sounds about as probable as that story did? Everything fit together so neatly, didn't it? A pair of vampires poaching. A boy with exceptional powers. A woman under a powerful curse. A massive threat to the entire city."

I didn't know what to say. I looked at her and felt my cheeks beginning to burn. A girl who wasn't a third of the way through the introductory course, a total novice in our line of work, was laying out the situation for me the way I ought to have laid it out for myself.

"What's happening right now?" Svetlana continued, not noticing the torment I was in. "There's a serial killer destroying Dark Ones. You're on the list of suspects. The boss immediately makes a cunning move: You and Olga swap bodies. But just how cunning is this move, really? As far as I understand it, the practice of body-swapping is quite common. Boris Ignatievich himself used it only recently, didn't he?

Has he ever used the same move twice in a row? Against the same enemy?"

"I don't know, Svetlana; they don't tell me all the details of the operations."

"Then think for yourself. And another thing. Is Zabulon really so petty, so hysterically vengeful? He's hundreds of years old, isn't he? He's been in charge of the Day Watch for a very, very long time. If this maniac…"

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"Maverick."

"If they really have let this Maverick run loose on the streets ofMoscow while they get ready to make their move, then would the head of Day Watch really waste him on such petty business? I'm sorry, Anton, but you're really not such an important target."

"I understand. Officially I'm a fifth-grade magician, but the boss said I could aim for third-grade."

"Even taking that into account."

We looked into each other's eyes and I shrugged:

"I give up, Svetlana, you must be right. But I've told you all I know. And I can't see any other possible interpretation."

"SO you're just going to follow instructions? Walk around in a skirt, never let yourself be alone for a single moment?"

"When I joined the Watch, I knew I was giving up part of my freedom."

"Part of it!" Svetlana snorted. "Is that what you call it? Okay, you know best. So we're spending the night together, then?"

I nodded:

"Yes… But not here. It's best if I stay with people all the time."

"What about sleeping?"

"It's riot that hard to go without sleep for a few nights," I said with a shrug. "I am sure Olga's body is trained at least as well as mine. These last few months her life's been one never-ending high-society whirl."

"Anton, I haven't learned these tricks yet. When do I sleep?"

"During the day. In class."

She frowned. I knew Svetlana would agree; she couldn't help herself. With her character she couldn't even refuse to help some stranger in the street, and I certainly wasn't that.

"Why don't we go to the Maharajah?" I suggested.

"What's that?"

"An Indian restaurant; it's pretty good."

"Is it open all night?"

"No, unfortunately. But we'll think of somewhere else to go afterward." Svetlana stared at me so long she got under even my naturally thick skin. What had I done wrong this
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time?

"Thank you, Anton," she said with real feeling. "Thank you very much. You've just invited me to a restaurant. I've been waiting two months for that."

She got up, went across to the wardrobe, opened it, and gazed thoughtfully at the clothes hanging there.

"I don't have anything decent in your size," she said. "You'll have
to get
back into the jeans. Will they let you into the restaurant?"

"They should," I said, not too sure of myself. But if it came
to that, I
could always influence the
restaurant staff
a little bit.

"If need be, I can practice implanting suggestions," Svetlana said, as if she'd read my thoughts. "I'll make them let you in. That will be a good deed, won't it?"

"Of course."

"You know, Anton…" Svetlana said, taking a dress off a hanger, holding it up against herself and shaking her head. Then she took out a beige suit. "… I'm amazed at the way the members of the Watch use the interests of the Good and the Light to justify any interference in reality."

"Not any interference!" I protested.

"Absolutely any. If necessary, they'll even claim robbery's a good deed, even murder."

"No."

"Imagine you're walking along the street and you see a grownup beating a child, right there in front of you. What would you do?"

"If I had any margin left for intervention," I said with a shrug, "I'd perform a remoralization. Naturally."

"And you'd be absolutely certain that was the right thing to do? Without even thinking it over, without looking into things? What if the child deserved to be punished for what it had done? What if the punishment would have saved it from serious problems later in life, but now it will grow up to be a murderer and a thief? You and your remoralization!"

"Sveta, you don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"Even if I didn't have any margin left for parapsychological influence—I still wouldn't just walk on by." Svetlana snorted.

"And you'd be certain you were right? Where's the boundary line?"

"Everyone determines the line for himself. It comes with experience." She looked at me thoughtfully.

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"Anton, every novice asks these questions. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes." I smiled.

"And you're used to answering them, you know a series of ready-made answers, sophisms, historical examples, and parallels."

"No, Sveta. That's not the point. The point is that the Dark Ones never ask questions like these."

"How do you know?"

"A Dark Magician can heal; a Light Magician can kill," I said. "That's the truth. Do you know what the difference is between Light and Darkness?"

"No, I don't. For some reason, they don't teach us that. I expect it's hard to formulate clearly?"

"Not at all. If you always put yourself and your own interests first, then your path leads through the Darkness. If you think about others, it leads toward the Light."

"And how long will it take to reach it? The Light, I mean?"

"Forever."

"This is all empty words, Anton. A word game. What does an experienced Dark Magician tell his novice? Maybe he uses words that are just as beautiful and true?"

"Oh, sure, about freedom. About how everyone gets the place in life that they deserve. About how pity is degrading and true love is blind, and true kindness is useless—and true freedom is freedom from everyone else."

"And is that a lie?"

"No," I said with a shake of my head. "That's a part of the truth too. Sveta, we're not given the chance to choose absolute truth. Truth's always two-faced. The only thing we have is the right to reject the lie we find most repugnant. Do you know what I tell novices about the Twilight the first time? We enter it in order to acquire strength. And as the price for entering it we give up the part of the truth that we don't want to accept. Ordinary human beings have it easier. A million times easier, even with all those disasters and problems and worries that don't even exist for the Others. Humans have never had to face this choice: They can be good and bad, it all depends on the moment, on their surroundings, on the book they read yesterday, on the steak they had for dinner. That's why they're so easy to control; even the most malicious villain can easily be turned to the Light, and the kindest and most noble of men can be nudged toward the Darkness. But we have made a choice."

"I've made it too, Anton. I've already been in the Twilight."

"Yes."

"Then why don't I understand where the boundary is and what the difference is between me and some witch who attends black masses? Why am I still asking these questions?"
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