Night Watch 05 - The New Watch (42 page)

‘What the hell for?’ I asked in amazement. ‘To attract the curses of the envious people all around me? I wouldn’t mind buying some kind of Japanese four-by-four, though. We drove to the dacha in the summer: the road was thick with mud and we got stuck.’

‘Then buy one,’ Gesar said blithely. ‘The natural circulation of money stimulates economic activity, and is ultimately beneficial to people. And especially since Japan has been hit by an earthquake – you’ll be helping them.’

‘Boss, tell me honestly, will you – can you justify absolutely
anything
you like from the perspective of goodness and justice?’ I asked.

Gesar thought for a moment. He scratched the tip of his nose.

‘Basically, probably yes. But don’t you fret about that. It comes to everybody with age.’

At one o’clock I went to the canteen. I didn’t really feel like eating – the events of the morning must have killed my appetite. I just picked at my chicken Kiev and left most of it. Our chef Aunty Klava gave me a reproachful glance as she surveyed the dining hall from the serving hatch, so I had to go through a whole pantomime to demonstrate that my trouser belt would barely close, I was really getting out of shape and that was the only reason I hadn’t eaten up my full portion. Aunty Klava was appeased. I poured myself a glass of her remarkable cranberry mors, downed it in one, took another and sat back down at my table. The canteen was almost empty: after all, it was the middle of the day and the operations staff were either catching up on their sleep or spending time with their families – those who had them, that is. In another hour or two people would start congregating for lunch.

‘Is the mors good, Anton?’ Klava called to me across the canteen.

‘Great!’ I declared quite sincerely, and the chef smiled in delight.

You know, there’s something to all those quack theories about the influence a name has on a person’s character, after all. All those Andreis, Alexanders and Sergeis or Lenas, Mashas and Natashas can be absolutely anybody at all. But once a name deviates just a little bit from the perennially popular list, it starts to have an influence.

With the name Klava, for instance, it’s good to be a chef. Not necessarily fat, but sturdy. And from the age of twenty-five you’ll be known as ‘Aunty Klava’. Because ‘Aunty’ and ‘Klava’ are inseparable somehow.

But how does the name ‘Anton’ influence someone, for instance?

I pondered for a moment, recalling the Antons I had known. One Anton, for example, was a robust, amiable individual, a good family man and conscientious professional. And at the same time an inveterate practical joker and composer of scabrous verse. But then another Anton had been a bookworm, entirely unsuited for real life.

So probably the name Anton wasn’t rare enough to influence people at all.

I picked up my plate and empty glasses, so as to take them over to the sink for washing, but Aunty Klava came across without making a sound and took them out of my hands.

‘Go on, off you go and work. The idea of it, Great Ones carrying dirty dishes around . . .’

‘I’m not a Great One,’ I muttered.

‘A Higher One, are you?’ Klava asked, and then continued: ‘You are, and that means you’ll be a Great One. Off you go.’

I set off to my office, feeling awkward. And about ten metres before I reached the door I heard the mobile phone that I had forgotten on the desk ringing.

And I suddenly had an ominous kind of feeling.

I lengthened my stride, bounded up to the door and hastily unlocked it. Damn, what kind of stupid habit was that? Why would I want to lock my door in the Night Watch, when there weren’t any outsiders here? But all the same I did it . . .

The phone was lying on the desk, still ringing. Stubbornly and insistently. Somehow it was clear that it wouldn’t carry on ringing for long – and this call was very important for whoever was making it.

But, at the same time, I didn’t want to answer it.

‘Hello,’ I said, raising the phone to my ear.

‘Antoine!’ Erasmus Darwin exclaimed with genuine feeling that I could sense through all the digital relay stations, fibre-optic cables and satellites suspended in the sky that bridged the two and a half thousand kilometres between us. ‘I am exceedingly glad to hear your voice! I hope you are presently in good health and a positive frame of mind?’

‘Thank you, Erasmus,’ I replied, sitting on the edge of the desk. ‘Yes, I am in good health and a positive frame of mind.’

‘I am most gratified to hear that,’ said Erasmus. ‘Are you presently in Muscovy, or has duty carried you further afield to regions unknown?’

‘Yes, I’m in Moscow,’ I confessed.

I didn’t like the way Erasmus was talking. He was far too agitated. Speaking just a little bit more hastily than usual. And I could hear some kind of noise in the background. Not loud, but unpleasant.

‘What a pity that we can only speak for two and a half minutes!’ said Erasmus.

‘Why?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Er . . . is your mobile phone running down? Or is there no money in the account?’

Erasmus laughed quietly.

‘No, no! There’s enough money in it to last to the end of my life. Antoine . . . please. I can’t carry on guessing about the Great Gesar’s present. Tell me, Antoine! What is the secret of the bonsai that he sent me?’

The noise in the phone grew louder.

I hesitated for a moment.

‘Erasmus, I don’t know for sure. I haven’t asked Gesar. But I think I’ve realised what the truth is.’

‘Well, well?’ Erasmus asked eagerly.

‘It’s just a little tree in a pot. Just a bonsai. Without any magic. Gesar’s idea of a joke.’

Erasmus said nothing for a second, while the noise in the earpiece grew louder. Then he burst into laughter.

‘Gesar! Oh, the cunning old Tibetan fox! I’d been told that he likes wacky jokes! Thank you, Antoine! I had to find out. I had to hear the answer. Otherwise it was just too upsetting!’

‘Erasmus, what’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Pardon me for asking, but are you drunk?’

‘Yes, a little bit,’ he admitted. I heard a distinct gulp. ‘But this is such a rare whisky . . . so very old. I was keeping it for a special occasion . . .’

‘Erasmus, what’s happening there?’ I shouted.

‘It’s the Tiger,’ the prophet replied very calmly. ‘I deceived you ever so slightly, Antoine. Don’t hold it against me. I carved two chalices out of the tree into which I shouted my prophecy.’

‘You’ve found out what your own prophecy was?’ I cried, jumping up off my chair. I ran to the window. Right now: who was there on the premises right now? No one . . . but if I really hurried, there were people walking by in the street . . . ‘Erasmus, hold on for a minute! I’ll hand the phone to someone, you tell them.’

‘Don’t bother, Antoine,’ Erasmus told me. ‘It’s all predetermined. Don’t bother! And don’t try to discover my prophecy, please. It won’t bring you joy and a long life. Don’t be angry that I gave you the chalice. Forget about it, bury it.’

‘I can’t promise you that I’ll do that,’ I said honestly.

Erasmus sighed into the phone.

‘Then forgive me. I only have twenty seconds left. The Tiger’s about to break through my defences. I’m putting my will into a briefcase – a crocodile-skin briefcase . . . there. It will be lying on the table in the kitchen.’

‘Erasmus, I’m very sorry!’ I exclaimed. ‘Maybe there’s something I can do?’

‘Contact the London Day Watch. Ask them . . . to tidy up my home.’ He paused for a moment, and then said quite calmly and clearly, in good Russian: ‘Farewell, Moscow Magician Anton Gorodetsky.’

First the noise in the earpiece fell silent.

And then the connection was broken.

I looked at the screen. Length of conversation: two minutes, twenty-eight seconds. I had heard Erasmus Darwin’s final prophecy even as he spoke it.

Erasmus was a good Prophet.

Or rather, he had been.

And in general, not a bad Other. For a Dark One, quite remarkable.

I walked over to the window, opened it and lit a cigarette. It was cold and overcast, threatening rain.

That was how Olga found me – smoking at the window. She walked up without saying a word and took out her slim ‘feminine’ cigarettes. When she had emerged from her confinement in the body of an owl thirteen years earlier, she had smoked Belomor
papyroses
at first – the height of chic back in her time. Only she had soon found her bearings in a changed world.

‘What’s wrong, Anton?’ she asked. ‘You look really terrible.’

‘Erasmus phoned me.’

‘Darwin? What did he want?’

‘To say goodbye. He had another chalice with the prophecy sealed inside it – and he couldn’t resist the temptation. He found out his own prophecy . . . and then the Tiger came.’

Olga swore. Coarsely, like a man. She asked: ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

‘No. He only had two and a half minutes – he wanted to say goodbye. And he asked me not to try to find out the prophecy, no matter what.’

‘Destroy the chalice,’ Olga said firmly. ‘Anton, don’t play games with prophecies. It’s a good thing that Kesha’s prophecy turned out to be so vague – incredibly vague, if you ask me. But any prophecy is potentially dangerous.’

I wasn’t surprised that Gesar had already shared his information with her. Or that Olga had immediately come to me and was concerned for my safety: that was in her nature. But there was something bothering me. Something wasn’t right. But Olga gave me a demanding look and I nodded reluctantly.

‘All right.’

‘Today.’

‘All right.’

‘I feel like I ought to keep tabs on you, Anton.’

‘Olga, I swear. I’ll go back home today and destroy the chalice.’

She looked into my eyes and nodded, reassured.

‘Thank you. Maybe everything will be all right. Probably it was wrong—’ she said and stopped.

‘What was wrong?’ I asked. ‘You mean it was wrong of Gesar and you to think up that trick with the Chalk of Destiny? Wrong to turn my daughter into a Zero-Level Enchantress?’

‘Who could tell then that she would be yours . . .’ Olga replied sombrely.

‘Why did you need to do it at all? A massive shift like that in the balance between the Watches . . . I can just imagine the kind of concessions it cost.’

‘Let’s just say we did it on credit,’ Olga said casually.

‘Meaning?’

‘We’ll be settling up with the Dark Ones for fifty years.’

I didn’t say anything to that.

‘I suppose it would be pointless to ask what the Dark Ones were granted the right to in exchange for Nadya’s appearance?’

‘Absolutely pointless,’ Olga replied sharply. ‘Let’s just drop the subject.’

‘But why? What did you need to do it for? A Zero-Level Enchantress is a violation of the equilibrium, a disruption of the balance, it . . . it’s like an atomic weapon that’s made in order not to be used . . .’

I understood the whole thing myself before I’d even finished speaking.

‘It’s not against the Dark Ones, is it?’ I asked Olga. ‘That’s why Zabulon agreed . . . that’s why the Inquisition turned a blind eye . . .’

For a long moment Olga didn’t answer. The dead cigarette end trembled in her fingers.

‘Nadya’s a weapon against the Twilight, right?’ I said. ‘She’s the only Other capable of destroying the Twilight – of destroying the entire world of magic. You . . . you had suspected for a long time . . . for a long time that the Twilight was not simply an environment, not just energy – but a person. And you were afraid. That was why Gesar consulted with Zabulon. And you involved the Inquisition too, right? And it was decided that the Others needed a deterrent, just in case . . . in case the Twilight should suddenly stop carrying out our petty whims and become far too active. How did you decide what colour she would be? Did you toss a coin? Zabulon took heads and Gesar took tails? Doesn’t it bother you that you’re raising a child as a living weapon?’

‘I had no part in it!’ Olga replied abruptly. ‘If you remember, I was still a stuffed bird.’

‘But you held the Chalk!’

‘I was desperate not to spend another fifty years in the cupboard, Anton! And I didn’t realise what it was all about at first. Do you think Gesar let me in on all the details straight away? Oh, sure – it sometimes seems to me that he hides his own plans from himself!’

‘I’ll tell Nadya everything,’ I said. ‘She has a right to know. So that no one can try to use her without her knowledge.’

Olga sighed.

‘No one intends to use her. It’s just a precaution. Don’t burden the child with it, let her grow up.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said and closed the window. ‘But all of you really are . . .’

Olga narrowed her eyes as she looked at me.

‘Really are what? If the leaders of the Watches have arrived at the valid suspicion that the Twilight is an active force, that it possesses will and desires – what would you have us do? The Twilight doesn’t enter into contact with us: its most real manifestation is the Tiger – and he’s not very talkative. So what would you have us do? Rely on its goodwill? But who can say that we understand the good in the same way? Better to have an Other in reserve who can stand up against the Twilight in a crisis. And bear in mind, by the way, that your daughter is effectively under the care and protection of both Watches! She’s a communal weapon!’

‘She’s not a weapon,’ I said wearily. ‘She’s a person.’

‘She’s not an ordinary person, she’s an Other!’

‘All that’s nothing but words, Olga,’ I said, starting to stride round the office. I looked at her and asked: ‘You don’t think that the Twilight really is harmful? That it would be better to destroy it? Maybe I should ask my daughter . . .’

‘But are you certain that she would survive the Twilight?’ asked Olga. ‘She’s an Absolute Enchantress. All the Power in the world flows through her. Are you sure that Nadya can live at all without it?’

‘Bastards,’ I said. ‘You’re all such bastards . . .’

Olga simply shrugged, as if to say: Think what you like.

‘Contact the London Day Watch, will you?’ I asked her. ‘They need to visit Erasmus’s house. His will is lying on the kitchen table, in a crocodile-skin briefcase.’