The Night Watch (4 page)

I swung round – the girl vampire could have regenerated already. But there was no danger. She was running across the yard between the buildings, taking huge strides. She still hadn't left the Twilight, so I was the only one who could see this extraordinary sight. Apart from the dogs, of course. Somewhere off to one side a small dog broke into hysterical barking, transfixed simultaneously by hatred and fear, and all the other feelings that dogs have felt for the living dead for time immemorial.

I didn't have enough strength left to chase her. I straightened up and captured a 3D image of her aura – grey, desiccated, rotten. We'd find her. There was nowhere she could hide now.

But where was the boy?

After he emerged from the Twilight created by the vampires, he could have fainted or fallen into a trance. But he wasn't in the alley. He couldn't have run past me ... I ran from the alley into the yard and saw him. He was bolting, moving almost as fast as the vampire. Well, good for him! That was wonderful. No help required. It was unfortunate that he would remember everything that had happened, but then who would believe a young boy? And before morning all his memories would fade and assume the less menacing features of a fantastic nightmare.

Or should I really go after him?

'Anton!'

Igor and Garik, our inseparable duo, came running down the alley from the avenue.

'The girl got away!' I shouted.

Garik kicked out at the vampire's shrivelled corpse as he ran, sending a cloud of rotten dust flying up into the frosty air. He shouted:

'The image!'

I sent him the image of the girl vampire running away. Garik frowned and ran faster. Both operatives headed off in pursuit. Igor shouted as he ran:

'Clear up the trash!'

I nodded, as if they needed an answer, and emerged from my own Twilight. The world blossomed. The operatives' silhouettes melted away and their invisible feet even stopped leaving tracks in the snow lying in the human dimension of reality.

I sighed and walked over to the grey Volvo parked at the kerb. There were a few primitive implements lying on the back seat: a heavy-duty plastic sack, a shovel and a small brush. It took me about five minutes to scrape up the vampire's feather-light remains and put the sack in the trunk. I took some dirty snow from a melting pile left by a careless yard-keeper, scattered it in the alley and trampled it a bit, working the final dusty, rotten remains into the slush. No human burial for you . . .

That was that.

I went back to the car, got into the driving seat and unbuttoned my jacket. I felt good. Very good, in fact. The senior vampire was dead, the guys would pick up his girlfriend and the boy was alive.

I could just imagine how delighted the boss would be.

'S
LOPPY WORK!'

I tried to say something, but the next remark stung like a slap on the cheek and shut me up.

'You screwed up!'

'But. . .'

'Do you at least understand your own mistakes?'

The boss had cooled off a bit and I took the risk of raising my eyes from the floor and saying cautiously:

'It seems to me . . .'

I like being in that office. It stirs the child's heart in me to see all those amusing little trinkets on the shelves in the bullet-proof glass cupboards, hanging on the walls. Everything there – from the old Japanese fan to the jagged piece of metal with a deer welded on to it – the symbol of some car plant – each had its own history. If you were lucky and the boss was in the right mood, you could hear some very interesting stories.

Only I don't seem to find him in that kind of mood too often.

'Okay.' The boss stopped striding round the office, sat down in a leather armchair and lit up. 'Let's hear it.'

His voice had turned businesslike, matching his appearance. To the human eye he looked about forty years old, and he belonged to that narrow circle of businessmen that the government likes to rely on so much.

'What do you want to hear?' I asked, at the risk of provoking another tirade.

'The mistakes. Your mistakes.'

Right then . . . Okay.

'My first mistake, Boris Ignatievich,' I said with a perfectly innocent air, 'was that I failed to understand the nature of the mission correctly.'

'Oh, really?'

'Well, I assumed my goal was to track down a vampire who had begun actively hunting in Moscow. To track him down and . . . er . . . neutralise him.'

'Go on, go on . . .' the boss encouraged me.

'In actual fact, the essential purpose of the mission was to ascertain my suitability for operational activity, for field work. Starting from my incorrect understanding of the mission, that is, following the principle of "separate and protect" . . .'

The boss sighed and nodded. Anyone who didn't know him too well might even have thought he was ashamed.

'And did you contravene this principle in any way?'

'No, and that's why I botched the mission.'

'How did you botch it?'

'Right at the beginning . . .' I squinted sideways at a stuffed snowy owl standing on shelf behind the glass. Had it really moved its head? 'Right at the beginning I drained the amulet in a futile attempt to neutralise a black vortex . . .'

Boris Ignatievich frowned. He brushed his hair back with his hand.

'Okay, let's start with that. I've studied the image, and if you haven't touched it up . . .'

I shook my head indignantly.

'I believe you. Well, a vortex like that can't be removed with an amulet. Do you remember the classification?'

Damn! Why hadn't I looked at my old notes?

'I'm sure you don't. But it doesn't matter. There is no class for this vortex. There's no way you could possibly have dealt with it . . .' The boss leaned across the desk and continued in a mysterious whisper: '. . . and you know what . . .'

I was all ears.

'There's no way I could have either, Anton.'

This confession was unexpected, and I couldn't think of anything to say. Maybe no one had ever actually said out loud that the boss could do anything, but that was what everyone at the office believed.

'Anton, a vortex as strong as that can only be removed by the person who created it.'

'We have to find him . . .' I said uncertainly. 'I feel sorry for the girl . . .'

'This isn't about her. Not just about her.'

'Why?' I blurted out and then hastily corrected myself. 'We have to stop the Dark Magician, don't we?'

The boss sighed.

'He might have a licence. He might be entitled to cast the curse . . . This isn't even about the magician. A black vortex as powerful as that . . . You remember the plane that crashed last winter?'

I shuddered. It wasn't that we'd done anything wrong, it had more to do with a loophole in the law: a pilot who was under a curse had lost control and his airliner had crashed into a residential area of the city. Hundreds of innocent lives . . .

'Vortices like that can't act selectively. The girl's doomed, but it won't just be a brick that accidentally falls off some roof on to her head. More likely a building will explode, there'll be an epidemic, or someone will drop an atom bomb on Moscow by mistake. That's the real problem, Anton.'

The boss suddenly swung round and cast a withering glance at the owl. It folded its wings away quickly and the gleam in its glass eyes faded.

'Boris Ignatievich,' I said, horrified. 'I'm at fault. . .'

'Of course you are. There's only one redeeming aspect, Anton.' The boss cleared his throat. 'When you gave way to pity, you acted quite correctly. The amulet couldn't completely detach the vortex, but it has postponed the Inferno for a while. And now we have a day to work with, maybe even two. I've always believed that ill-considered but well-intentioned actions do more good than actions that are well considered but cruel. If you hadn't used the amulet, half of Moscow would already be in ruins.'

'What are we going to do?'

'Look for the girl. Protect her ... as well as we can. We'll be able to destabilise the vortex again once or twice. And in the meantime we'll have to find the magician who cast the curse and make him remove the vortex.'

I nodded.

'Everybody will be involved in the search,' the boss said casually. 'I've recalled everyone from holiday, Ilya will be back from Sri Lanka by morning and the others will be here by lunchtime. The weather's bad in Europe. I've asked our colleagues in the European office to help, but by the time they can disperse the clouds . . .'

'By morning?' I asked, glancing at my watch. 'Another whole day.'

'No, this morning,' the boss replied, as if unaware of the midday sunshine outside the window. 'You'll be searching too. Maybe you'll get lucky again . . . Shall we continue with our analysis of your mistakes?'

'Can we afford to waste the time?' I asked timidly.

'Don't worry, it won't be wasted.' The boss got up, walked over to the glass cupboard, took out the owl and set it down on the desk. From close up you could see it really was a stuffed bird, with no more life in it than a fur collar. 'Let's move on to the vampires and their victim.'

'I lost the girl vampire. And the guys didn't catch her,' I confirmed penitently.

'No complaints there. You fought worthily enough. The point is – the victim . . .'

'Sure, the boy still had his memories. But he took off so fast . . .'

'Anton! Wake up! They hooked the boy with the Call from several kilometres away. When he walked into that alley he ought to have been a helpless puppet. And when the Twilight disappeared, he ought to have fainted. Anton, if he was still able to move after everything that had happened, he possesses extraordinary magical potential!'

The boss paused.

'I'm an idiot.'

'No, but you have been sitting on your backside in the lab far too long. Anton, this boy is potentially more powerful than I am!'

'Oh, come on . . .'

'Drop the flattery.'

The telephone on the desk rang. It was obviously something important, as not many people know the boss's direct number. I don't.

'Quiet!' the boss snapped at the phone. It stopped. 'Anton, you have to find that young boy. The girl vampire who got away isn't dangerous in herself. Either our guys will find her or an ordinary patrol will pick her up. But if she drinks the boy's blood or, even worse, initiates him . . . You've no idea what a fully fledged vampire's like. And these modern ones are mere mosquitoes compared with some Nosferatu. And he, with all his airs, he still wasn't one of the worst ... So the boy must be found, examined and, if possible, taken into the Watch. We have no right to let him go over to the Dark Side, the balance of power in Moscow would completely collapse.'

'Is that an order?'

'Given under licence,' the boss said darkly. 'I have the right to issue that kind of order, you know that.'

'Yes, I know,' I said quietly. 'But where do I start? That is, who do I start with?'

'Whoever you like. I'd say with the girl. But try to find the boy too.'

'Shall I go now?

'Catch up on your sleep first.'

'I've slept long enough, Boris Ignatievich.'

'I doubt it. I'd recommend an hour at least.'

I didn't understand. I'd got up at eleven and gone straight to the office, I felt perfectly fresh and full of energy.

'Here's someone to help you.' The boss flicked the stuffed owl with his finger. The bird stretched out its wings and started screeching indignantly.

I swallowed hard and risked a question:

'Who is it? Or what is it?'

'Why do you need to know?' asked the boss, looking into the owl's eyes.

'To decide whether I want to work with it!'

The owl glanced at me and hissed like an enraged cat.

'That's the wrong way of putting it,' said the boss, shaking his head. 'Will
she
agree to work with you, that's the real question.'

The owl started screeching again.

'Yes,' said the boss, talking to the bird now, not to me. 'There's a lot of truth in what you say. But who was it that requested a new appeal?'

The bird froze.

'I promise I'll intercede for you. And this time there is a chance.'

'Boris Ignatievich, in my opinion—' I began.

'I'm sorry, Anton, that doesn't bother me .. .' The boss stretched out his arm, the owl took a clumsy stride with its fluffy legs and stood on his open hand. 'You don't know just how lucky you are.'

I had no answer to that. The boss went across to the window, opened it wide and stuck his hand out. The owl flapped its wings and went hurtling downward.

'Where has . . . it . . . gone?'

'To your place. You'll be working as partners.' The boss rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'Oh yes! Don't forget, her name's Olga.'

'The owl?'

'The owl. Feed her and take care of her and everything will be fine. And now . . . get a bit of sleep. No need to come into the office when you get up, just wait for Olga to arrive and get on with the job. Check out the circle line on the metro, for one . . .'

'How can I get back to sleep . . .' I began. But the world around me was already turning dim, fading away, dissolving. The corner of a pillow jutted painfully into my cheek.

I was lying in my own bed.

My head felt heavy, my eyes full of sand. My throat was parched and painful.

'Aagh . . .' I gasped hoarsely, turning over on to my back. Through the heavy curtains I couldn't see whether it was still night or whether the day was well advanced. I squinted at the clock: the glowing figures showed eight.

It was the first time I'd been granted an audience with the boss in my sleep.

It's not a very pleasant business, especially for the boss – he must have broken through into my mind.

Time must really be short if he'd decided it was necessary to hold his briefing in the world of dreams. And it had all seemed much more real than I would have expected. The mission analysis, that stupid owl. . .

The sound of tapping on the window made me start. A rapid, gentle tapping that sounded like claws. I heard a muffled screeching.

But what else was I really expecting?

I jumped up, awkwardly adjusted my shorts and hurried over to the window. All the garbage that I'd swallowed as part of the preparation for the hunt was still affecting me, and I could distinguish the outlines of objects quite clearly.

I tore the curtains aside and raised the blind.

The owl was sitting on the windowsill. From down in the street, of course, it would have been hard to tell what kind of bird had landed on the tenth-floor window. But if the neighbours had happened to glance out, they'd have got a real surprise. A snowy owl in the heart of Moscow . . .

'What the hell. . .' I muttered.

I felt like being more specific. But that was a habit they'd cured me of when I first started working for the Watch. Or rather, I'd cured myself. Once you've seen a couple of Dark twisters above the heads of people you've cursed at, you soon learn to hold your tongue.

The owl was looking at me. Waiting.

All the other birds around were going wild. A swarm of sparrows sitting in a tree not far away started chirping crazily. The crows were a bit bolder. They settled on the next-door balcony and on the nearest trees and started cawing, every now and then launching off from the branches and circling near the window. Their instincts told them this surprising new neighbour meant trouble.

But the owl didn't react at all. She couldn't give a damn about the sparrows, or the crows.

'Just who are you?' I said as I threw open the window, ripping away the paper strips glued over the cracks. The boss really had lumbered me with this new partner . . .

The owl flapped its wings once and flew into the room. It landed on the wardrobe and closed its eyes. As if it had always lived here. Maybe it had got cold on the way over. But then it was a snowy owl . . .

I started to close the window, trying to think what to do next. How would I communicate with her, what would I feed her and how could this feathered creature possibly help me?

'Is your name Olga?' I asked, when I'd finished with the window. There was a draught from the cracks now, but I could fix that later. 'Hey, bird!'

The owl half opened one eye, taking no more notice of me than of the fussy, chattering sparrows.

I was feeling more awkward with every moment. In the first place I had a partner I couldn't even talk to. And in the second place my partner was a woman.

Even if she was an owl.

Maybe I ought to put my trousers on. I wasn't really awake yet, standing there in just my crumpled shorts, I hadn't shaved . . .

Feeling like a total idiot, I grabbed my clothes and hurried from the room. The phrase I muttered to the owl as I left added a finishing touch: 'Excuse me, I'll just be a moment.'

If this bird really was what I thought it was, I couldn't have made the best impression.