The Night Watch (52 page)

And then chalk was mentioned in the article "The Books of Fate." I read halfway through it and realized I'd hit the bull's-eye. The information was just lying there in full view, accessible to any novice magician—it might even be available in sources that were open to ordinary people.

The Books of Fate. Chalk.

It all fit.

I closed the file and switched off the laptop. Then I sat there for a while, chewing things over. Then I looked at the clock.

It was almost time for me to set out for my strange rendezvous with Gesar. I took a shower and changed my clothes. I took three amulets with me—Zabulon's medallion, the Night Watch badge, and a combat disc Ilya had given to me—an ancient round piece of bronze a bit bigger than a five-ruble coin. I'd never used the disc before. Ilya had told me the amulet had only one charge left—maybe two at most.

I took my pistol out of its hiding place and checked the clip. Explosive silver bullets. Good against werewolves, of doubtful use against vampires, totally effective against Dark Magicians. As if I were going off to war, not for a talk with my boss.

The cell phone rang in my pocket when I was already at the door.

"Anton?"

"Sveta?"

"Olga wants to talk to you; I'll give her the phone."

"Okay," I agreed, unlocking the door.

"Anton, I love you very much. Please don't do anything stupid." I couldn't think of anything to say. Olga took the phone.

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"Anton. I want you to know that everything's already been decided. And it's all going to happen very soon."

"Tonight," I said.

"How do you know that?"

"I can just feel it. That was why the Watch was sent out of town, wasn't it? And why Svetlana was put into the right mood."

"What do you know?"

"The Book of Destiny. Chalk. I understand everything now."

"That's bad," Olga said curtly. "Anton, you have to…"

"I don't have to do anything for anyone. Except for the Light inside me." I cut off the call and switched off the cell phone. I'd had enough. Gesar could easily contact me without any technical devices. Olga would only keep trying to change my mind. And Svetlana wouldn't understand what I was doing and why in any case.

I decided to see things through just as I was, all on my own.

"Sit down, Anton," said Gesar.

The bar turned out to be absolutely tiny. Six or seven tables separated off by partitions, plus the bar itself. The air was filled with smoke. A television with the sound switched off, showing free-fall jumps. A photograph of the same thing on the wall—bodies in bright-colored overalls spread-eagled in flight. There weren't many people there, maybe because of the time: It was too late for lunch, and there was still a long time to go before the evening peak. I glanced around and saw Boris Ignatievich sitting in the corner.

The boss was not alone. There was a bowl of fruit on the table in front of him, and he was lazily plucking grapes off a bunch. An olive-skinned young man was sitting a short distance away from him, with his arms crossed. Our eyes met and I felt a slight but distinct pressure.

He was an Other too.

We looked at each other for about five seconds, gradually building up the pressure. He had powers, substantial powers, but he didn't have much experience. As soon as I got the chance, I relaxed my resistance, dodged the young man's probe, and scanned him before he had time to raise his defenses. Other. Light. Grade four.

The young man grimaced as if he were in pain. He looked at Gesar with the eyes of a beaten dog.

"Let me introduce you," said Gesar. "Anton Gorodetsky, Other, member of the Moscow Night Watch. Alisher Ganiev, Other, new member of the Moscow Night Watch."

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The courier.

I held out my hand and lowered my defenses.

"A Light One, grade two," said Alisher, looking into my eyes. He bowed. I shook my head and answered:

"Grade three."

The young man glanced at Gesar again. This time he looked surprised, not guilty.

"Grade two," the boss confirmed. "You're at the top of your form, Anton. I'm delighted for you. Sit down and we'll talk. Alisher, you observe."

I took a seat opposite the boss.

"Do you know why I decided to meet here?" asked Gesar. "Try the grapes, they're very good."

"How should I know? Maybe they have the best grapes in Moscow?" Gesar laughed.

"Bravo. However, that's not a very important thing. We bought the fruit at the market."

"The pleasant surroundings, then."

"Nothing of the kind. Just one small room, and if you go through that door, there are two more tables and a pool table."

"You're a secret parachutist, boss."

"I haven't jumped for twenty years now," Gesar countered imperturbably. "Anton, my dear boy, I came in here for a bite of potato and beef stroganoff simply in order to show you a micro-environment. A tiny little society. Just sit there for a while and relax. Alisher, a glass of beer for Anton! Take a look around, soldier. Look at the faces. Listen to the talk. Breathe in the air." I turned away from the boss and moved to the end of the wooden bench, so that I could at least see the other people there. Alisher was already standing at the bar, waiting for my beer. The regulars in the Para Bar had strange faces. All alike in some strange, indefinable way. Distinctive eyes, distinctive gestures. Nothing really special, just the same stamp on every one.

"A team," said the boss. "And a micro-environment. We could have had this conversation in the gay club Chance, or in the restaurant of the Central Writer's House, or in a snack bar next to some factory. That didn't matter. What did matter was that there had to be a small, close-knit team. More or less isolated from general society. It couldn't have been McDonald's or a luxurious restaurant; it had to be an official or unofficial club. And you know why? Because this is us. It's a model of our Watch." I didn't answer. I watched a young guy on crutches hobble up to the next table, wave away an invitation
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to sit down, lean on the partition, and start talking about something. The music drowned out his words, but I could absorb the general meaning through the twilight. A parachute that didn't open and had to be dumped. A landing with the reserve chute. A broken leg. And now six damn months without jumping!

"The public here has a very specific profile," the boss continued calmly. "Risk. Intense thrills. Little understanding of other people. Their own slang. Problems normal people couldn't possibly understand. And also, incidentally, regular injuries and death. Do you like it here?" I thought for a moment and said:

"No, you have to be one of the in crowd here. There's no other way you can be here."

"Of course. It's interesting to drop into any micro-environment like this—once. After that you either accept its laws and join its little society, or you're rejected. Well, we're no different. In essential terms, that is. Every Other who has been found and has accepted his own nature is faced with a choice. He either joins the Watch on his side, becomes a soldier, a warrior, who inevitably risks his life. Or he keeps living an almost human life, without developing his special magical powers, making use of some of the advantages of an Other, but suffering all the disadvantages of living like that. The most painful situation is when the initial choice is wrong. When for some reason the Other doesn't wish to accept the laws of the Watch. But it's almost impossible to leave our organization. Tell me, Anton, could you live outside the Watch?"

Of course, the boss never makes abstract conversation.

"Probably not," I admitted. "It would be hard, almost impossible in fact, for me to keep within the limits of what an ordinary Light Magician is allowed to do."

"And without joining the Watch, you wouldn't be able to justify your magical actions by citing the interests of the struggle against Darkness. Right?"

"Right."

"And that's where the difficulty lies, Antoshka, that's the whole problem." The boss sighed. "Alisher, don't just stand there."

He was really giving the young guy a hard time. But it wasn't hard to guess why: The courier had wormed his way into the Moscow Watch, and now he had to take the inevitable consequences.

"Your beer, Light One Anton." The young guy put the glass in front of me with a brief nod. I accepted the beer without saying anything. This young, talented magician wasn't to blame for anything. I was sure we could be friends. But just then I was actually feeling angry with him: The delivery Alisher had brought toMoscow would separate me from Svetlana forever.

"Anton, what are we going to do?" the boss asked.

"Just what, exactly, is the problem?" I answered, looking at him with the eyes of a devoted Saint Bernard.

"Svetlana. You're opposing her mission."

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"Of course."

"Anton. There are basic principles involved here. Axioms. You have no right to object to the policy of the Watch on the basis of your own personal interests."

"What have my own personal interests got to do with it?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I regard the entire operation that's being planned as immoral. It won't be of any benefit to ordinary human beings. Like it or not, every attempt to bring about a fundamental change in human society has been a failure."

"Sooner or later we shall succeed. Note that I don't even claim that this attempt will bring success. But the chances are better now than ever before."

"I don't believe it."

"You can lodge an appeal at the highest level."

"Will they have time to consider it before the day Svetlana picks up the chalk and opens the Book of Destiny?"

The boss closed his eyes and sighed.

"No, they won't. It's all happening tonight, just as soon as our time begins. Are you happy now that you know when exactly it's all going to happen?"

"Boris Ignatievich," I said, deliberately using the name by which I'd first known him. "Listen to me, please. You once left your homeland and came toRussia . Not to serve the interests of the Light, not for the sake of your career. Because of Olga. I don't know very much about your past history, how much hate and love, how much betrayal and nobility there is in it. But you have to understand me. Because you can."

I don't know what kind of answer I'd expected. Maybe I thought he'd look away, or promise to cancel the project.

"I understand you very well, Anton," the boss said with a nod. "In fact, you can't even imagine how well. That's exactly why the plan will go ahead."

"But why?"

"Because, my boy, there's such a thing as destiny. And there's nothing stronger than destiny. Some are destined to change the world. Some are not. Some are destined to bring entire states to their knees, and some to stand in the wings holding the puppets' strings, with their hands covered in chalk dust. Anton, I know what I'm doing. Believe me."

"I don't believe you."

I got up, leaving my untouched beer with its wilting cap of foam. Alisher gave the boss an inquiring look, as if he were prepared to stop me.

"You have the right to do whatever you want," said the boss. "The Light is in you, but the Twilight is always waiting behind you. You know where any false step will lead. And you know that I am willing to help you; I am obliged to help you."

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"Gesar, my mentor, thank you for everything that you have taught me," I said with a bow, and the parachutists cast curious glances in my direction. "I believe I no longer have the right to expect your help. Please accept my gratitude."

"You are free of all obligations to me," Gesar replied calmly. "Act as your destiny requires of you." That was all. He cast off his former pupil as simply as that. I wondered how many pupils he'd had who failed to acknowledge his supreme goals and sacred ideals?

Hundreds, thousands.

"Goodbye, Gesar," I said. I glanced at Alisher. "I wish you luck, new watchman." The young man looked at me reproachfully:

"If I may be allowed to say something…"

"Say it," I told him.

"In your place, I would not be in any hurry, Light One Anton."

"I've already lost too much time, Light One Alisher," I said with a smile. I was used to thinking of myself as one of the most junior magicians in the Watch, but everything passes. And for this novice I was an authority. For the time being at least. "One day you will hear the sound of time rustling as it slips through your fingers like sand. Remember me then. I wish you luck."

Heat.

I was walking along Old Arbat Street—artists sketching cartoon portraits, musicians playing clichéd music, street traders all selling the same souvenirs, foreigners with the standard look of interest in their eyes, Muscovites in their usual irritated mood running past the stalls of sham craftwork. Should I shake you all up a bit?

Should I put on a little show for you?

Juggle a few bolts of lightning? Swallow genuine fire? Make the paving stones open up to reveal a fountain of mineral water? Heal a dozen crippled beggars? Feed the homeless urchins darting around with cakes conjured up out of thin air?

What point would there be?

They'd toss me a handful of small change for the fireballs that should be used to kill creatures of evil. The mineral water fountain would turn out to be a broken water main. These crippled beggars are already healthier and richer than most of the people walking by. And the homeless urchins would run for it, because they learned a long time ago that there's no such thing as free cakes. Yes, I could understand Gesar, I could understand all the higher magicians who'd been fighting against
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the Darkness for thousands of years. You can't live forever with a feeling of powerlessness. You can't keep sitting in the trenches forever: That kills the army more surely than the enemy's bullets. But how did I come into it?

Did the banner of victory really have to be sewn out of the fabric of my love?

And how did these humans come into it?

Turning the world upside down and then turning it back again was easy enough, but who'd stop all the people from falling off?