The Night Watch
Page 39

'Because you're the only who has the moral right to do it. You're the one under threat. You're only protecting yourself. For anybody else, handing over a Light One, even if he is purely acting on instinct, self-taught and misguided, would be too much of a shock. You'll survive it.'
'I'm not so sure.'
'You will. And remember, Anton. You've only got tonight. The Day Watch have no reason to drag things out. They'll bring a formal charge against you in the morning.'
'Boris Ignatievich!'
'Now remember. Remember who was in the restaurant. Who followed the Dark Magician out to the lavatory?'
'Nobody,' Svetlana put in. 'I'm sure of it. I kept looking to see when he would come out.'
'That means the Maverick was waiting for the Dark Magician in there. But he had to come out. Do you remember? Sveta, Anton?'
Neither of us said anything. I didn't remember. I'd been trying not to look at the Dark Magician.
'One man did come out,' said Svetlana. 'He was kind of. . .'
She thought about it.
'Ordinary, absolutely ordinary. An average man, as if someone had mixed a million faces together and made an average one. I just caught a glimpse and forgot him straight away.'
'Remember now,' the boss demanded.
'I can't, Boris Ignatievich. He was just a man. Middle-aged. I didn't even realise he was an Other.'
'He's an elemental Other. He doesn't even enter the Twilight, just stays right on the edge. Remember, Sveta! His face or some distinctive feature.'
Svetlana rubbed her nose with her finger.
'When he came out and sat down at his table, there was a woman there. A beautiful woman with dark blonde hair. It was dyed. And she was upset about something. She was smiling, but her smile looked wrong. As if she wanted to stay, but they had to leave.'
She started thinking again.
'The woman's aura. You remember it. Let me have the image!' the boss exclaimed, speaking more loudly and in a different tone. Of course, no one in the restaurant heard him, but for a brief moment the expressions on people's faces distorted and a waiter carrying a tray stumbled and dropped a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Svetlana shook her head sharply. The boss had put her in a trance as easily as if she was an ordinary human. Her pupils opened wide and a pale, thin, glimmering rainbow connected their two faces.
'Thank you, Sveta,' said Boris Ignatievich.
'Did I manage it?' the girl asked, surprised.
'Yes. You can consider yourself a seventh-grade magician. I'll confirm that I tested you in person. Anton!'
This time I looked into the boss's eyes.
A brief jolt.
Streaming threads of an energy unknown to ordinary humans.
An image.
No, I didn't see the face of the Maverick's female companion. I saw her aura, and that's worth far more. Blue and green layers intermingled like ice-cream in a glass, a small brown spot, a white streak. A fairly complex aura, not easy to forget, and essentially quite attractive. It upset me – she loved him.
She loved him and she was feeling hurt about something. She thought he didn't love her any more, but she was still holding on and she was prepared to keep going on like that.
By following this woman's trail I would find the Maverick. And hand him over to a tribunal – to certain death.
'No!' I said.
The boss gave me a pitying look.
'She's not guilty of anything. And she loves him, you can see that.'
That dismal music was still whining in my ears, and nobody there took any notice of my cry. I could have rolled around on the floor and dived under people's tables – they'd have just lifted their feet up and carried on with their curries.
Svetlana looked at us. She'd remembered the aura, but she hadn't been able to interpret it. That's a grade six skill.
'Then you'll die,' said the boss.
'At least I'll know what for.'
'Have you thought about the people who love you, Anton?'
'I don't have any right to do that.'
Boris Ignatievich grinned wryly:
'A hero! Oh, what great heroes we all are! Clean hands, hearts of gold, feet that have never trodden in shit. Have you forgotten the woman who was taken out of here? And the crying children, have you forgotten them? They're not Dark Ones. They're ordinary people, the ones we promised to protect. How long do we spend on getting the balance right for every operation we plan? I may curse our analysts every moment of the day, but why are they all grey-haired by the age of fifty?'
It felt like the boss was striking me across the face. He was lecturing me just as I'd lectured Svetlana so recently, with absolute confidence.
'The Watch needs you, Anton. It needs Sveta. But it doesn't need some crazy psychopath, no matter how well intentioned he might be. It's easy enough to take a little dagger and start hunting Dark Ones in back alleys and lavatories. Without thinking about the consequences or weighing up the guilt. Where's our front line, Anton?'
'Among ordinary people.' I lowered my eyes.
'Who do we protect?'
'Ordinary people.'
'There is no abstract Evil, you have to understand that! Its roots are here, all around us, in this herd that carries on chewing and having a good time only an hour after a murder. That's what you have to fight for. For people. Evil is a hydra with many heads, and the more of them you cut off, the more it grows! Hydras have to be starved to death, don't you see? Kill a hundred Dark Ones, and a thousand more will take their place. That's why the Maverick is guilty. And that's why you, Anton, and no one else, will find him. And make sure he stands trial. Either voluntarily or forcibly—'
The boss suddenly broke off and rose abruptly to his feet.
'Let's go, ladies.'
I'd never seen him behave like that. I leapt up and grabbed my handbag – an automatic reflex response.
The boss wouldn't get jittery without good reason.
'Quickly!'
I suddenly realised I needed to visit the place where the unfortunate Dark Magician had met his end. But I didn't say a word. We moved towards the exit so fast the security guards would have been sure to stop us, if only they could have seen us.
'Too late,' the boss said quietly, right beside the door. 'We were talking too long.'
Three people walked into the restaurant as if they were sliding through the door. Two well-built young men and a woman.
I knew the woman. It was Alisa Donnikova, the witch from the Day Watch. Her eyes widened when she spotted the boss.
She was followed by two barely perceptible silhouettes moving through the Twilight.
'Would you wait a moment, please?' Alisa said in a hoarse voice, as if her throat had suddenly gone dry.
'Begone!' The boss made a swift gesture with one hand, and the Dark Ones were forced aside, towards the walls. Alisa leaned over hard, trying to resist the elastic wall of force, but her powers weren't up to it.
'Zabulon, I summon you!' she cried.
Well, well! The witch must be a real favourite of the Day Watch boss if she had the right to summon him.
The other two Dark Ones emerged from the Twilight. I identified them at a glance as warrior magicians of the third or fourth grade. Of course, they were absolutely no match for Boris Ignatievich, and I could give the boss a hand, but they could drag things out.
The boss realised that too.
'What do you want?' he asked threateningly. 'This is the time of the Night Watch.'
'A crime has been committed,' said Alisa, her eyes blazing. 'Here, not long ago. One of our brothers has been killed, killed by one of. . .' She stared hard at the boss, then at me.
'One of. . . ?' the boss asked expectantly. The witch didn't take the bait. If she'd been foolish enough to level an accusation like that at the boss, with her status and at the wrong time, he would have splattered her across the wall.
And he wouldn't have paused for a moment to wonder if such a step was reasonable or not.
'One of the Light Ones!'
'The Night Watch has no idea who the criminal is.'
'We officially request assistance.'
So. Now we had nowhere left to retreat. A refusal to render assistance to the other Watch was as good as a declaration of war.
'Zabulon, I call on you!' the witch cried again. I was beginning to hope that maybe the Dark leader couldn't hear her or was tied up with something important.
'We are willing to collaborate,' said the boss. His voice was like ice.
I glanced back into the dining area, over the shoulders of the magicians – the Dark Ones had already surrounded us, clearly intending to keep us by the door – and what was happening in the restaurant was quite incredible.
People were stuffing themselves.
They were chewing so loudly it sounded as if there were pigs at every table. Their eyes were glazed, their fingers clutched knives and forks, but they were raking up the food with their hands, choking on it, snorting and spitting it out. A respectable-looking middle-aged man who'd been dining sedately in the company of three bodyguards and a young woman was gulping wine straight from the bottle. A smart-looking young man – a yuppie type – and his pretty girlfriend were fighting over a plate, spilling the thick, orange sauce over themselves. The waiters were rushing from table to table, flinging plates, cups, bottles, braziers and dishes at the diners. . .
The Dark Ones have their own methods of distracting outsiders.
'Were any of you present in the restaurant when the murder was committed?' the witch asked triumphantly. The boss paused before he answered.
'Yes.'
'Who?'
'My companions.'
'Olga, Svetlana,' said the witch, devouring us with her eyes. 'Was there not also present another Night Watch agent, whose human name is Anton Gorodetsky?'
'Apart from us, there were no other members of the Night Watch present,' Svetlana said quickly, perhaps too quickly. Alisa frowned.
'A quiet night, isn't it?' said a voice from the doorway.
Zabulon had answered the summons.
I looked at him in despair, realising that a supreme magician would not be taken in by my disguise. He might not have recognised Ilya as the boss, but the old fox wouldn't be caught out by the same trick twice.
'Not so very quiet, Zabulon,' the boss said simply. 'Call off your minions, or I'll have to do it for you.'
The Dark Magician still looked exactly the same, as if time had stopped, as if the icy winter hadn't finally given way to a warm spring. A dark suit, a tie, a grey shirt, old-fashioned, narrow shoes. Sunken cheeks, dull eyes, short hair.