Night Watch 05 - The New Watch (27 page)

‘Having fun?’

I turned my head. Looked at Arina. Nodded.

‘Yes, kind of. It’s really such incredible nonsense, all this fantasy.’

The witch was looking enchanting again.

‘I laughed for a long time at
The Blair Witch Project
,’ Arina admitted. ‘But you know . . . for two days afterwards I slept with the light on.’

‘You did?’ I asked, astounded.

‘What are you so surprised at? When you live alone in the forest, in a little hut, and you watch horrors like that at night . . .’

I just shook my head. I hadn’t seen that film, but maybe there really was something horrific about it.

‘I liked
The Lord of the Rings
, though,’ said Arina, continuing to share her impressions. ‘Nonsense, of course, but what a wonderful fairy tale!’

I didn’t try to argue with that. In our duty office
The Lord of the Rings
was shown non-stop: it had become a kind of ritual, like the Russian cosmonauts watching
The White Sun of the Desert
, and the entire population of Russia tuning in to
A Twist of Fate
on New Year’s Eve. They didn’t really watch the film, it just played along in the background, but from time to time heated arguments would break out about what kind of spell you could use to set your adversary spinning like that and whirl him up to the top of a high tower . . . or whether it was really possible to create an amulet that would imitate the One Ring of Power – so that it would influence its wearer, and be almost impossible to destroy, and make it possible to enter the Twilight effortlessly. Strangely enough, the film had actually contributed something new to practical magic – after all, there’s always someone who’s simply too stubborn to believe that ‘it can’t be done’ and will come up with a way to do it.

‘I suppose everything seemed very strange when you woke up?’ I asked.

‘Of course,’ Arina snorted. ‘Well . . . television and computers – they’re just human toys. But the medicines really did surprise me, yes . . . They almost put witches completely out of business.’

‘They almost did?’ I asked.

‘Well, yes. Although it was even worse in the 1930s – there was so much the doctors didn’t know how to do, but hardly anyone believed in folk healers. The young people would just laugh in your face. Nowadays it’s not too bad, in fact it’s all right. The first person anyone goes running to is a psychic or a healer,’ Arina declared derisively. ‘The X-ray or the blood analysis comes after that. It all helps the young witches, they have someone to practise on and the money’s good. The charlatans have multiplied too, of course: put the crystal ball on the table, pull the curtains, and away they go, intoning in an otherworldly voice: “I, Eleonora, hereditary White Witch, healer and diviner, mistress of the Tarot, ancient Tibetan magic and sacred incantations, do hereby remove the diadem of singlehood, casting the spell of good fortune . . .” And the doleful music plays, and the little lamps glow in different colours. But if you look closely, it’s just that old slut, Tanya Petrova, forty-two years old but looks fifty-five, who suffers from angina pectoris, thrush and an ingrown toenail – she used to be a Young Communist activist at the railway-carriage repair shop, and now she’s gone in for being a witch . . .’

Arina gave a very lifelike imitation of the charlatan and I smiled and said: ‘We leave people like that alone. They distract attention from the Others.’

‘Yes, I know, I know,’ Arina sighed. ‘I leave them alone, too . . . more or less. I might hex them with eczema on a tender spot . . . sometimes, if I get angry – just to teach them a lesson. And sometimes when I can’t take any more I feel like teaching them a serious lesson. But then I think: just what am I doing? We could end up boiling in cauldrons next to each other in hell – me because I deserve it, and her for sheer stupidity and greed!’

I scratched the tip of my nose. The conversation was getting interesting.

‘Do you seriously believe in hell?’

‘How can you believe in God and not believe in the devil?’ Arina asked. And the way she said it immediately made it clear that for her ‘God’ was written with a capital letter and ‘devil’ with a small one.

‘You believe in the cauldrons and griddles?’ I continued. ‘Forgive me if that’s a personal question . . .’

‘Not at all, what’s personal about it?’ Arina exclaimed in surprise. ‘I don’t believe in the cauldrons, of course, that’s a figure of speech . . .’

‘And the griddles?’ I asked, unable to resist.

Arina smiled.

‘Those too. But the system has to have a feedback loop, there has to be a reward for a righteous life and a punishment for a sinful one.’

‘What system?’

‘The relationship between the Creator and his creatures. Humans and Others, that is. And while humans have a choice, unfortunately we don’t – we’re all guilty and doomed to the torments of hell.’

This was getting more and more interesting.

‘Okay, so you believe in God, that’s your personal business,’ I said. ‘In actual fact, that’s not so very rare for an Other – but usually their view of God is more . . . er . . . humane.’

‘What has being humane got to do with God?’ Arina asked in surprise. ‘Humane attitudes are for human beings. That’s obvious even from the name.’

‘Okay, let’s accept that, but . . . You know, the usual idea is that God values people’s good deeds, their behaviour! You can be a magician, an Other, but still do good deeds . . .’

‘That contradicts the rules,’ Arina said strictly. ‘The Bible is quite clear, no ambiguous interpretations are possible – sorcery is evil. “Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither seek out wizards, to be defiled by them . . .” or, more specifically: “There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter or a witch, or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord and because of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before thee . . .”’

‘Have you always been so smart?’ I asked. ‘So why did you go in for being a witch?’

‘What choice does a little peasant girl have?’ Arina asked, with a shrug. ‘Master Jacob didn’t ask me – not when he pulled my skirt up, and not when he shoved me into the Twilight. And once I’d become a witch, I had to live as a witch – there’s no way that can be fixed by praying.’

‘No way?’ I protested. ‘It seems to me that you underestimate the mercy of God.’

Arina shrugged again.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she agreed with surprising readiness. ‘Only I’ve done more than just work magic. There have been times when I’ve tormented people to death – starting with Jacob, my teacher. And that’s really bad – to kill teachers . . .’

‘But he raped you!’ I cried indignantly. ‘An underage girl!’

‘Phooey,’ said Arina, with a wave of her hand. ‘Big deal. He didn’t rape me, anyway, he seduced me. He gave me a sugarplum, as it happens. He hardly beat me at all. And as for me still being a little girl – times were different then, they didn’t check your passport, just looked to see if you had any boobs or not. If it hadn’t been Jacob the sorcerer, it would have been Vanka the shepherd or Yevgraf Matveevich the master who deflowered me . . .’

She thought for a second and added: ‘Most likely Vanka, I wasn’t really comely enough for the lord to summon me.’

‘And I was sure you killed your teacher for the rape,’ I said. ‘Remember what you wrote in your statement? “Lascivious brute” – I think that was it.’

‘Lascivious brute!’ Arina agreed. ‘And so he was. I washed for him and cooked for him, and in bed I tried with all my young girl’s might! But every month he went to the whorehouse, or seduced some society lady . . . I wept and wailed and hammered at him with my fists, but he just spread his arms and said: “
Meine liebe
Arina – you must understand that man is by his nature a licentious beast, disposed to seek conquests in the field of love. I sleep with you because it is useful for your instruction and training, but you have neither the body nor the experience to lay claim to my full attention.” Of course, I realised that he was right. Only I thought I’d filled out really well on my pupil’s rations, with my breasts way out here, and a backside like that! And I already knew how to satisfy a man in any way at all. But he still kept going off to others on the side! It was my birthday, I was thirteen, and he spent the day in the brothel! Well . . . I just couldn’t stand it. I challenged him to a duel, all fair and square. I hoped he would surrender and ask for forgiveness – I would have forgiven him. But he obviously couldn’t believe that I’d grown stronger than him, he fought to the death . . . and so . . .’

Arina sighed.

‘You’re not making fun of me, are you?’ I asked.

‘No, why would I?’ Arina replied. ‘You have to understand, Light One, that life is complicated, it’s not black-and-white, but coloured, in fine speckles. Of course, there are some who are villains to the depths of their soul, and some who are righteous through and through. But their kind don’t live long. And most are a mixture. Everything’s jumbled up together in people, and we came from people, and there’s no getting away from that . . .’ Arina turned to a hostess who was passing by and said, smiling: ‘Dearie, bring us something to eat, will you? Champagne for me and cognac for my beau.’

‘I don’t want it,’ I muttered.

‘Then champagne for him too,’ Arina said imperturbably.

I WAS CERTAIN
they would start to check us out at the airport. Naturally, we passed through passport control without any problems – the vigilant Taiwanese border guards saw non-existent Taiwanese visas in our passports, and the smart Taiwanese computers docilely swallowed their non-existent numbers. Arina dealt with it – to be honest, I would have preferred simply to pass through the control point while invisible, or walk in through the Twilight. But the Witch preferred to create the fake entry documents, muttering: ‘Just to keep my hand in . . .’ We hadn’t got any sleep in the plane after all, but we had drunk plenty of champagne and cognac, and our eyes were tired from watching films, so we were looking in really fine shape. All I personally wanted was to get to the hotel and collapse into sleep.

After passport control we passed through the control point for Others, and once again it all looked remarkably friendly. No one blocked our way: as we approached passport control we simply saw a poster that was only visible to our kind, politely inviting all Others to ‘visit the check room’. For humans, the poster had a far more frightening message – it declared that in Taiwan the penalty for importing narcotics was capital punishment, and if you had anything suspicious that had been left in your pockets by oversight, it would be best to drop it into the rubbish bin thoughtfully placed below the poster . . .

‘What remarkable trust,’ I said as we made our way towards the ‘check room’. ‘And what if we simply decided not to go? The way out’s wide open.’

‘Don’t be a dunce, charm-caster. I’m sure we’ve been followed from the moment we left the plane – or rather, from when we were still on the plane.’

‘What makes you think that?’ I asked in amazement

‘Our hostess was a Light Other. Weak, only Seventh-Level. But we weren’t concealing ourselves – and I think we did right not to.’

The check room was tucked away closer to the exit, between the toilets and a souvenir stall. (I can’t imagine who would buy souvenirs when they’ve only just got off the plane, but there were a couple of strange individuals like that standing at the stall.) We walked through the door into a perfectly cosy little area with soft furniture, a tiny bar counter, its own toilet and a supervisor’s desk. In this case the term ‘reception desk’ would have been rather more appropriate. I really didn’t want to think of the two pretty girls behind the desk as supervisors. In Russian the word carries far too many bureaucratic associations. The girls were twenty at the outside, and they looked even younger than that: they both had pretty, smiling faces – but one was Light and the other was Dark.

That applied in the literal sense too – one of them had very thoroughly bleached hair.

In fact, no one tried to conceal the fact that we had been watched. As we walked in, the light-haired girl was just pouring a second glass of champagne. Arina laughed and directed my glance to the bottle with her eyes – I looked closer and realised it was the same sort that we had been served in the plane.

‘Welcome to the land of Taiwan,’ the dark-haired girl said, leaning towards us in a half-bow. ‘Have you chosen the hotel in which you will stay, venerable Great Ones?’

‘The Shangri-La,’ Arina replied, accepting a glass.

‘Here is a card with the address, which you should show to your driver,’ said the dark-haired girl, holding out a small rectangle of cardboard to the witch. ‘Unfortunately, not all our drivers here know English . . .’

‘We are Others, and we can—’ I began, astounded at the absurdity of the situation – after all, we were speaking Chinese.

‘If you begin talking in Guoyu or Taiwanese, the driver will feel very awkward. The card indicates the approximate cost of the journey to the hotel in new Taiwanese dollars. If the driver demands a greater amount, pay him, and then call the phone number on the card to let us know.’

‘And then what will happen?’ I asked out of curiosity.

‘He will be sacked,’ the girl twittered. ‘And your money will be returned. May your stay in Taiwan be calm and joyful.’

‘Do we have to fill in any forms?’ I asked.

‘There is no need for that, Mr Gorodetsky,’ the girl replied in Russian – and not just in Russian acquired by magical means. Her speaking voice had the very slightest hint of an accent – just enough to add a little piquancy – and perfectly clear Moscow pronunciation.

I wondered whether, if I had been from St Petersburg, I would have been met by a girl who had studied or worked there.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, I finished my champagne, took the card, bowed briefly to the girl (now where did I get manners like that?) and then Arina and I left.