The Twilight Watch (21 page)

Unfortunately for the witch, a great discovery like that attracted
the interest of every single Other. Back then there was no Treaty,
no Watches and no Inquisition, and so everyone who heard rumours
of the miracle made a dash to get their hands on the formula. For
a while Fuaran and her daughter managed to beat off the attacks
– apparently the already mighty witch had not only turned her
daughter into a powerful Other, but also increased her own grade
of power. The aggrieved Others banded together into an army of
magicians, with no division between Dark Ones and Light Ones,
struck all together and wiped out the family of witches in a terrible
battle. In her final hour Fuaran fought desperately for her life –
she even transformed her human servants into Others . . . but
although they acquired power, they were too disoriented and
unskilled. One of the servants turned out to be cleverer than the
others, and didn't hang around, but just grabbed the book and ran.
By the time the victorious magicians realised that the witch's 'laboratory
notes' had disappeared (essentially that was all
Fuaran
was, lab
notes), the fugitive's tracks were already cold. The fruitless search
for the book went on for a long time. Occasionally someone would
claim that he had met the runaway servant, who had become a
rather powerful Other, and that they had seen the book and looked
through it. Counterfeit books also appeared, some of them produced
by crazy followers of the witch, some by Other swindlers. All the
cases were thoroughly analysed and documented in the book.

The final chapter contained a discussion of the theme 'What
did Fuaran invent?' The authors had no doubt that she really had
succeeded, but they believed the book had been lost forever. The
reluctant conclusion was that her discovery was so fortuitous and
original that its essential nature was impossible to guess.

But what surprised me most of all was the brief résumé – if
the book
Fuaran
still existed, it was the duty of every Other to
destroy it immediately, 'for reasons clear to everyone, despite the
substantial temptation and motives of personal gain . . .'

Oh, those Dark Ones! How they clung to their great power!

I closed the book and started walking round the yard. I looked
into the barn again, and decided once more not to risk turning
on the car's engine.

Fuaran and her book had existed. The witches had been certain
of that. I had to allow for the possibility of a hoax, but in my
heart I didn't really believe it.

So the theoretical possibility of transforming a human being
into an Other did exist!

That made sense of what had happened at Assol. Gesar and
Olga's son had been a human being – as Others' children usually
were. That was why the Great Ones hadn't been able to find him.
But when they had found him, they'd turned him into an Other,
then set up the whole show . . . they hadn't even been afraid to
deceive the Inquisition.

I lay down in the hammock and took out my minidisc player.
Pressed the random selection switch and closed my eyes. I felt like
switching off completely, filling my ears with something meaningless
. . .

But I was unlucky. I got Picnic.

Oh no, this makes me want to laugh,
There is no window here, the door's corroded;
The Grand Inquisitor himself
Has come to torture me.
The Inquisitor squats down,
Picks up an instrument:
'Tell me everything you know,
And you'll feel better soon'.
I'm sure he wants to open me up
Like a simple suitcase, he knows one thing:
Even the very emptiest of the emptiest
Has a false bottom, a false bottom.

I don't enjoy coincidences like that. Even the most ordinary
people can influence reality, they're just not capable of directing
their power. Everybody's familiar with the feeling – when buses
turn up just as you need them; when the songs playing on the
radio link to your thoughts; when you get phone calls from people
you were just thinking about . . . There is a very simple way of
checking if you're getting close to the abilities of an Other. If for
several days in a row when you happen to glance at the clock you
see the figures 11.11, 22.22 or 00.00, it means your connection
with the Twilight is becoming more intense. On days like that
you shouldn't ignore your premonitions and intuitions.

But that's just small-scale human stuff. In Others the connection
is just as unconscious as in people, but it's far more pronounced.
I really didn't like the fact that the song about the Grand Inquisitor
had turned up at precisely that moment . . .

If I had had more strength
I would have told him: 'Dear fellow,
I do not know who I am, where I am,
What forces rule this world;
And the labyrinths of long streets
Have snared my wandering feet . . .'
The Inquisitor does not trust me,
He gives the screw a turn
I'm sure he wants to open me up
Like a simple suitcase, he knows one thing:
Even the very emptiest of the emptiest
Has a false bottom, a false bottom.

Aha. And I would have liked to know what forces rule this
world too . . .

Someone patted me gently on the shoulder.

'I'm not asleep, Sveta,' I said. And opened my eyes.

The Inquisitor Edgar shook his head, smiling reticently. I read
his lips:

'Sorry, Anton, but I'm not Sveta.'

Despite the heat, Edgar was wearing a suit, a tie and polished
shoes without a single speck of dust on them. And in these city
clothes he still didn't look ridiculous. That's Baltic blood for you.

'What the hell!' I barked, tumbling out of the hammock. 'Edgar?'

Edgar waited patiently. I pulled out my earphones, caught my
breath and declared:

'I'm on holiday. According to the rules, harassing an employee
of the Night Watch while he is off duty . . .'

'Anton, I just dropped in to see you,' he replied. 'You don't
mind, do you?'

I didn't dislike Edgar. He'd never be a Light One, but his move
to the Inquisition inspired respect. If Edgar wanted to have a word
with me, I'd be happy to meet him any time.

But not at the dacha where Sveta and Nadiushka were on holiday.

'Yes, I mind,' I said sternly. 'If you don't have an official warrant,
get off my land!'

I pointed with an impossibly absurd gesture to the crooked
picket fence. My land . . . what a grand-sounding phrase.

Edgar sighed. And slowly reached for something in his inside
pocket.

I knew what it was. But it was too late to start back-pedalling
now.

The warrant from the Moscow Office of the Inquisition said
that 'for purposes of an official investigation we hereby command
the employee of the Moscow Night Watch, Anton Gorodetsky,
Light Magician of the second rank, to afford every possible assistance
to Edgar, Inquisitor of the second rank'. It was the first time
I'd ever seen an actual warrant from the Inquisition, and so a few
petty details stuck in my mind: the Inquisitors continued to define
power in the old-style 'ranks', they weren't ashamed to use a phrase
like 'hereby command', and they called each other only by their
first names even in official documents.

And then I noticed the most important part, at the bottom.
The seal of the Night Watch and a flourish in Gesar's handwriting:
'I have been informed and consent'.

How about that!

'What if I refuse?' I asked. 'I don't much like being 'hereby
commanded'.

Edgar frowned and peered at the document. He said:

'Our secretary's just turned three hundred. Don't take offence,
Anton. It's nothing but archaic terminology. Like "rank".'

'And is doing without surnames another part of old tradition?'
I asked. 'I'm just curious.'

Edgar glanced at the piece of paper, perplexed. He frowned
again. Then he said irritably, beginning to draw out his vowels in
the Baltic style:

'Why-y that old hag . . . She forgot my surname and she was
too proud to ask.'

'Then I have good grounds for throwing this warrant on the
compost heap.' I looked round the plot of land for a compost
heap, but didn't find one. 'Or down the toilet. The instruction
doesn't have your surname on it, so it has no force, right?'

Edgar didn't answer.

'And what's in store for me if I refuse to co-operate?' I asked.

'Nothing too serious,' Edgar said glumly. 'Even if I bring a new
warrant. A complaint to your immediate superior, punishment at
his discretion . . .'

'So your intimidating document comes down to a request for
help?'

'Yes,' said Edgar and nodded.

I was relishing the situation. The terrible Inquisition that green
novices used for frightening each other with, had turned out to
be a toothless old crone!

'What's happened?' I asked. 'I'm on holiday, do you realise that?
With my wife and daughter. And my mother-in-law too. I'm not
working.'

'That didn't stop you going to see Arina,' said Edgar, without
batting an eyelid.

It served me right. Never, ever, let your guard down.

'That relates to my direct professional responsibilities,' I retorted.
'Protecting people and monitoring the activities of Dark Ones.
Always and everywhere. By the way, how do you know about Arina?'

Now it was Edgar's turn to smile and take his time.

'Gesar informed us,' he said eventually. 'You called him yesterday
and reported in, didn't you? Since this is an unusual situation,
Gesar felt it was his duty to warn the Inquisition. As a token of
our unfailing friendly relations.'

I didn't understand a thing.

Was the witch somehow mixed up in that business with Gesar's
son?

'I have to call him,' I said, walking demonstratively towards the
house. Edgar remained standing docilely beside the hammock. He
even peered briefly at a plastic chair, but decided it wasn't clean
enough.

I waited with the mobile phone pressed against my ear.

'Yes, what is it, Anton?'

'Edgar's come to see me . . .'

'Yes, yes, yes,' Gesar said absent-mindedly. 'Yesterday, after your
report, I decided I ought to inform the Inquisition about the witch.
If you feel like it, help him out. If you don't, just send him you
know where. His warrant is drawn up incorrectly, did you notice?'

'Yes, I did,' I said, glancing sideways in Edgar's direction. 'Boss,
what about those werewolves?'

'We're checking,' Gesar replied after a brief hesitation. 'A dead
end so far.'

'And something else, about that witch . . .' I glanced down at
the 'book about the book'. 'I requisitioned a rather amusing book
from her . . .
Fuaran: fantasy or fact
?.'

'Yes, yes, I've read it,' Gesar said amiably. 'Now if you'd found the
genuine
Fuaran
, then you'd really deserve a medal. Is that all, Anton?'

'Yes,' I said. Gesar hung up.

Edgar was waiting patiently.

I walked up to him, paused theatrically for a moment and asked:

'What is the purpose of your investigation? And what do you
want from me?'

'You are going to co-operate, Anton?' Edgar exclaimed, genuinely
delighted. 'My investigation concerns the witch Arina, whom you
discovered. I need you to show me how to get to her.'

'What business does the Inquisition have with that old bag of
bones?' I enquired. 'I don't see the slightest indication of any crime
here. Not even from the Night Watch's point of view.'

Edgar hesitated. He wanted to lie – and at the same time, he
realised that I would sense it if he did. Our powers were more or
less equal, and even his Inquisitor's gimmicks wouldn't necessarily
work.

'We have some old leads on the witch,' the Dark Magician
admitted. 'On file from back in the 1930s. The Inquisition has a
number of questions for her.'

I nodded. I'd been bothered from the start by her story about
being persecuted by the malicious NKVD. All sorts of things
happened back then, the peasants could have kicked up a racket
to attempt to try to get even with a witch. But they could only
have tried. A trick like that might work with a lower-grade Other.
But not with a witch of such great power . . .

'Okay, we'll go to see her,' I agreed. 'Would you like some breakfast,
Edgar?'

'I wouldn't say no,' the Dark Magician replied frankly. 'Er . . .
Will your wife object?'

'Let's ask her,' I said.

It was an interesting breakfast. The Inquisitor felt out of place and
tried awkwardly to crack jokes, at the same time as paying compliments
to Svetlana and Ludmila Ivanovna, talking baby-talk to
Nadiushka and praising the simple omelette.

Clever little Nadiushka took a close look at 'Uncle Edgar', shook
her head and said:

'You're different.'

After that she never left her mother's side.

Svetlana found Edgar's visit amusing. She asked him innocent
questions, recalled the story of the Mirror
^*
and in general behaved
as if she was entertaining a colleague from work and a good comrade.

^*
See
The Day Watch
, Story One

But Ludmila Ivanovna was delighted with Edgar. She liked
the way he dressed and spoke. The way he held his fork in his
left hand and his knife in his right made her ecstatic. Anyone
would have thought the rest of us were eating with our hands.
And the fact that Edgar firmly refused 'a little glass for the appetite'
provoked a reproachful glance in my direction, as if I was in the
habit of gulping down a couple of glasses of vodka every morning.

And so Edgar and I set out feeling well fed, but slightly irritated.
I was irritated by my mother-in-law's fawning raptures, and
he seemed to be irritated by her attention.

'Can you tell me what the charges against the witch are?' I
asked as we approached the edge of the forest.

'Well, after all, I suppose we did drink to
Brüderschaft
back in
Prague that time,' Edgar reminded me. 'Why don't we address each
other less formally? Or is my new job . . .'