The Day Watch (45 page)

The passengers stood up and began moving toward the exit and the goffered bridge that was so unfamiliar to the inhabitants of the former USSR. Edgar took his raincoat out and put it on, left his magazine in the pocket on the seat in front, picked up his briefcase, and followed the others.

The feeling of being in Europe and not Russia was instantaneous and strangely comprehensive. It was hard to grasp exactly what triggered it-the expressions on people’s faces, their clothes, the cleanliness of the airport, the way it was laid out? Thousands of minor details. The announcements in Czech and English without a Ryazan accent. The far greater number of smiles. The fact that there weren’t any of those gypsies or private taxi drivers that he detested on the square in front of the terminal building.

And there was a line of attractive yellow Opels at the taxi stand.

His taxi driver gabbled away equally freely in Russian and English and, of course, in his native Czech: Where to?

A hotel. The Hilton, I suppose. Oh! Russians don’t often go straight to the Hilton. And the ones who do, look different, wearing lots of gold, bigwigs with bodyguards, riding in expensive limousines… I’m not Russian, I’m Estonian. Yes, that’s not the same thing any longer… It wasn’t the same thing before either. Ah, even a Czech was almost the same as a Russian before… That’s debatable. Yes, maybe it is.

The driver’s chatter was distracting and Edgar decided to take a break from all his thinking. He wouldn’t get any real work done on the day he arrived, in any case. He could actually relax-with a mug or two of beer, naturally.

Who in his right mind wouldn’t sip a mug of genuine Czech beer, provided his stomach was in good shape (or even if it wasn’t)?

Only a dead man.

Just like in any Hilton, a free room could be found without any real problem, even when Prague was crowded with tourists just before Christmas. But just like in any country that had not yet cast off the shackles of its recent socialism, it cost crazy money for a non-Other. Edgar was an Other, and so he paid up right away without even a frown, although they were obviously expecting one from him. He was Russian, after all, and he didn’t look like a nouveau riche bandit… A hundred years earlier Edgar wouldn’t have been able to resist sticking his Argentinian passport under the administrator’s nose. But he was a whole hundred years more mature now, and he made do with his Russian passport.

The person at the registration desk-the one that not everybody went to-was a Dark One. A very rare type, too-a Beskud. He glanced at Edgar, licked his thin lips, and opened his slit pupils wide. And then, at last, he smiled-his teeth were small and sharp, all the same triangular shape.

“Greetings! Here for the Tribunal?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here you go…”

He threw a small bundle of blue fire at Edgar-it was his temporary registration. The fire passed easily through Edgar’s clothes and landed on Edgar’s chest in the form of an oval seal that glowed in the Twilight.

“Thanks.”

“You give them a roasting at the Tribunal,” the Beskud told him. “A real roasting. It’s our time now…”

“I’ll try,” Edgar promised with a sigh.

He went up to his room, just to get a wash and leave his briefcase there.

And now, Edgar thought enthusiastically as he rode down in the elevator, I’m off to the Black Eagle! And I’m going to order the peceno veprevo koleno.

This dish, roast leg of pork, was so popular he’d even come across a description of it in a fantasy magazine he’d read once.

As he waited for his order, Edgar took sips of his second mug of beer (he’d drunk the first one Russian-style, straight down, evoking a nod of approval from the waiter), and tried to focus on his thoughts. But something was preventing him. Or someone.

Edgar looked up and saw Anton Gorodetsky, who was standing near the table and staring steadily at him.

Edgar shuddered, thinking he must have been followed. But there was a puzzled expression in Gorodetsky’s eyes too, and Edgar breathed a sigh of relief. A coincidence, nothing more than a coincidence.

And what’s more, there weren’t any places left. Except at Edgar’s table.

Acting on a sudden impulse, Edgar nodded to the Light One and said, “Sit down. I’m taking a break. You should

do the same-to hell with all this work!”

Anton hesitated and Edgar thought he was going to leave, but then he decided to stay. He walked up and sat down facing Edgar, giving him a sullen look, as if he found it hard to believe it when his old enemy claimed all he wanted to do was relax for a while. What was that saying the Light Ones had? Anyone you’ve done combat with once is an enemy forever.

Nonsense. Fanaticism. Edgar preferred a more flexible approach-if today it was advantageous to conclude an alliance with someone you hurled Shahab’s Lash at yesterday, why not conclude an alliance? But then, after Shahab’s Lash there wasn’t usually anybody left to conclude an alliance with… Ashes didn’t make a very good ally.

“And not a word about the Watches?” Anton asked ironically.

“Not a word,” Edgar confirmed. “Just two fellow countrymen in Prague just before Christmas. I’ve ordered the peceno veprevo koleno. I recommend it.”

“Thanks, I know it,” said Anton, still without a shadow of a smile, and turned to the waiter who had come over to them.

No, these Europeans had no
i.e.
what a real frost was, what a real winter was… As Anton came out of the Malostranska metro station, he wondered if he ought to button up the collar of his jacket, but he didn’t bother.

Snowy weather, but there was no bite to it. Two degrees below zero at the most.

He set off along the street, strolling at a leisurely pace across the ancient cobblestones. Sometimes he gave in to curiosity and dropped into the souvenir shops-amusing wooden toys, curiously shaped ceramics, photographs with views of Prague, T-shirts with amusing inscriptions. He ought to buy something, after all. Just to make his mark, so to speak. Maybe that T-shirt with the funny face on it and the words “Born to be Wild.”

There were almost three hours left until he was due to meet the Inquisition’s representative. He didn’t even need to take a taxi or ride the metro-he could eat a leisurely lunch and stroll to the appointed place on foot. A rendezvous under the clock tower-what could be more romantic? What if the Inquisition’s representative turned out to be a female, maybe even attractive, and a Light One? Then romance would really be in the air.

Anton laughed at his own thoughts. He didn’t feel the slightest desire to play the field or start an affair. And anyway, the concepts of “Light” and “Dark” didn’t apply to the Inquisition. They stood outside and apart from the two great powers.

Maybe the concept of gender did apply? But then, as far as Anton knew, when Maxim, the Light magician from Moscow they’d nicknamed the Maverick, became an Inquisitor, he had divorced his wife. Apparently they simply lost interest in all that petty human stupidity-love, sex, jealousy…

The Black Eagle was one of Anton’s favorite restaurants in Prague. Maybe that was simply because he’d been there a few times on his first trip to the city. It doesn’t take much to make a Russian happy, after all. Good service that isn’t intrusive, good food, incredible beer, low prices. That last point was pretty important. It was only the Dark Ones who could afford to throw their money around. Even Rogoza, that creation of the Twilight, had appeared in Moscow carrying heaps of cash. It was possible to earn money honestly, but to earn a lot of money-you could never do that without compromising your conscience a little. And when it came to that, the Night Watch was definitely at a disadvantage compared to the Day Watch.

The street Anton was walking along divided into two, like a river, leaving a number of old, low buildings forming a long, narrow island along its center-most of them were restaurants and souvenir shops. The Black Eagle was the first in the row.

As he walked into the small courtyard, Anton saw a Light Other.

No, he wasn’t a member of any Watch. Just an Other who preferred an almost ordinary, almost human life to the front line of the magical war. A tall, handsome, middle-aged man with a good figure, wearing the uniform of an officer in the US Air Force. He was on his way out of the restaurant, obviously feeling quite contented with the way he’d spent his time, with his girlfriend-a pretty Czech girl-and with himself.

He didn’t spot Anton right away-he was too absorbed in conversation. But when he did spot him, he gave a broad, beaming smile.

There was nothing else for it-Anton raised his shadow from the snow-covered cobblestones and stepped into the Twilight. Silence fell, all the sounds were muffled in cotton wool. The world slowed down and lost its colors.

People’s auras shimmered into life, like rainbows-most of them calm and peaceful, not overloaded with unnecessary thoughts. The way it ought to be in a tourist spot.

“Greetings, watchman!” the American hailed him happily. Here in the Twilight there were no problems with language.

“Hello, Light One,” Anton replied. “Glad to see you.”

“The Prague Watch?” the American queried. He’d read the watchman’s aura, but not made out the details. But

then, he was a pretty weak magician. Somewhere around sixth level, and with a strong attachment to natural magic. There wouldn’t have been anything for him to do in the Watch anyway, except maybe sit somewhere out of the way and keep an eye on witches and shape-shifters whose powers were as weak as his own.

“Moscow.”

“Oh, the Moscow Watch!” There was a clear note of respect in the American’s voice now. “A powerful Watch.

Allow me to shake your hand.”

They shook hands. The American airman seemed to regard the encounter as one more element of a pleasant evening.

“Captain Christian Vanover Jr. Sixth-level magician. Do you need my assistance, watchman?” The formal proposal was made with all due seriousness.

“Thank you, Light One, but I don’t require any assistance,” Anton replied no less politely.

“On vacation?” Christian asked.

“No. A business trip. But there’s no assistance required.”

The American nodded. “This is my Christmas vacation. My unit’s stationed in Kosovo, so I decided to visit Prague.”

“Good choice,” said Anton with a nod. “A beautiful city.”

He didn’t want to continue the conversation, but the American was full of bonhomie. “A wonderful city. I’m glad we managed to save it in the Second World War.”

“Yes, we saved it…” said Anton, nodding again.

“Did you fight back then, watchman?”

Anton realized Christian must be a really weak magician. Not to see his real age, at least approximately…

“No.”

“I was too young too,” the American sighed. “I dreamed of joining the army, but I was only fifteen. A pity, I could have got here fifty years earlier…”

Anton only just stopped himself from saying that Christian wouldn’t have had the chance, because the American forces never entered Prague. But he immediately felt ashamed of his own thoughts.

“Well, good luck,” said the American, finally deciding to move on. “Some day I’ll fly into Moscow to see you, watchman!”

“Only not the way you flew into Kosovo.” This time Anton was too slow to stop himself, but Captain Christian Vanover Jr. didn’t take offense. On the contrary, he smiled his broad smile and said, “No, I don’t think it will come to that, do you? May the Light be with you, watchman!”

Anton followed the American out of the Twilight. Christian’s girl hadn’t noticed a thing. He took her by the arm and winked at Anton.

“And may the force be with you…” Anton muttered in Russian.

That was a stroke of bad luck… His good mood had completely melted away, like a lump of ice on a hot skillet.

He could tell himself a thousand times over that no arguments and disputes between states had anything to do with the concerns of the Light and the Darkness. He could accept that in a war this airman-magician was far more likely not to aim his bombs at civilians. But even so…

Just how could he manage to go out on bombing raids and drop his explosives on people’s heads, and still remain a Light One? Because he was a Light One, no doubt about that! But he almost certainly had human lives on his conscience. How did he manage not to fall back into the Twilight? What incredible faith he must have in his own righteousness, to be able to combine active military service and the cause of the Light.

Anton entered the Black Eagle in a gloomy and depressed mood.

He immediately spotted Christian Vanover’s fellow airmen. About ten of them, all ordinary human beings. They were sitting at a long table, eating goulash and drinking Sprite. They really were drinking Sprite.

In a Czech beer bar! On vacation!

And not because they were teetotalers. There were empty beer bottles on the table, American Budweiser, which Anton would only have considered drinking if he was dying of thirst in a desert.

Anton walked past the Americans. There were no more free tables-another stroke of bad luck… But there was someone over there sitting on his own, maybe he could join him… The person at the table looked up-and started.

And Anton did pretty much the same.

It was Edgar.

Chapter three

-«?»—

One thing the Dark Ones certainly had was a lust for life. Anton had never had any doubt about that. He only had to look at the way Edgar was dealing with that tasty-looking leg of pork that no dietician would ever have

approved, larding it generously with mustard-the kind the Russians liked, of course, sweetish, but still with a sharp bite-and horseradish too, and swilling it down with plenty of beer.

Anton had always found that astonishing. He had always been on perfectly friendly terms with his vampire neighbors, and even they sometimes looked more full of the joy of life than the Light magicians. The Higher Magicians, that was-those whose powers were at Anton’s level still hadn’t finished “playing at people.”

The unpleasant thing about it was that their love of life usually didn’t extend beyond themselves.