The Twilight Watch (37 page)

I didn't answer.

'If I'd done anything that would interest the security forces, I'd
be pissing myself,' Las went on. 'Only I get the feeling this is something
that would frighten even them.'

'Let's not get into that, okay?' I suggested. 'It would be best that
way.'

'Okay,' Las agreed promptly. 'Right. So what should I do, get
off at Saratov?'

'Get off and make straight for home,' I said, nodding as I stood
up. 'Thanks for the cognac.'

'Yes sir,' said Las. 'Always glad to be of help.'

I couldn't tell if he was clowning about or not. Evidently that
way of speaking just comes naturally to some people.

After a fairly solemn handshake with Las, I went out into the
corridor and set off back towards our carriage.

So it was Witiezslav then? What a devious trickster . . . A tried
and tested agent of the Inquisition!

I was bursting with excitement. Obviously, having become
unimaginably powerful, Witiezslav was capable of disguising himself
as absolutely anyone. As that two-year-old boy peeping cautiously
out of his compartment. Or that fat girl with the huge, vulgar
gold earrings. Even that chief conductor who fawned on Edgar
– and why not?

Even Edgar or Kostya . . .

I stopped and gazed at the Inquisitor and the vampire standing
in the corridor outside the door to our compartment. What
if . . .

No, wait, this is insanity. Everything is possible, but not everything
happens. I'm me, Edgar's Edgar, Witiezslav's Witiezslav.
Otherwise it's just not possible to do anything.

'I have some information,' I said, standing between Kostya and
Edgar.

'Well?' Edgar asked with a nod.

'Las was influenced by a vampire. He remembers . . . something
like music luring him into the journey.'

'How poetic,' Edgar snorted. But he wasn't smiling, and nodded
approvingly. 'Music? That certainly sounds like bloodsu . . . Sorry,
Kostya. Like vampires.'

'You could use the correct term: "Like haemoglobin-dependent
Others".' Kostya said with a half-smile.

'Haemoglobin's got nothing to do with it, as you well know,'
Edgar snapped. 'Well, it's a lead.' He smiled suddenly and clapped
me on the shoulder. 'You never give up. Now the train has a
chance. Wait for me here.'

Edgar moved off quickly down the corridor. I assumed he was
on the way to his men, but then I saw him go into the chief
conductor's compartment and close the door.

'What scheme has he come up with now?' asked Kostya.

'How should I know?' I glanced sideways at him. 'Maybe there
are some special spells for detecting vampires?'

'No,' Kostya snapped. 'It's exactly the same as for all the Others.
If Witiezslav's hiding among the humans you won't weed him out
with spells. It's all so stupid . . .'

He was clearly nervous now – and I could understand that.
After all, it's tough being a member of the most despised minority
in the world of Others – and to have to hunt down one of your
own kind. He once told me when I was a young, stupid, bold
vampire hunter: 'There aren't many of us. When someone departs,
we sense it immediately'.

'Kostya, did you sense Witiezslav's death?'

'How do you mean?'

'You once told me you can sense the death of . . . your own
kind.'

'We sense it if the vampire's registered. When it's the registration
seal that kills him, the recoil is agony for everyone for miles
around. Witiezslav didn't have any seal.'

'But Edgar's obviously come up with something,' I muttered.

'Some special kind of Inquisitor's trick, maybe?'

'Probably.' Kostya frowned. 'Why is it like that, Anton? Why are
we the ones who are always persecuted . . . even by our own side?
The Dark Magicians kill us too!'

Suddenly he was speaking to me the way he used to, when he
was still an innocent vampire-boy . . . but then, what kind of innocence
could a vampire have? It was terrible, it used to tear me
apart – those damned questions and that cursed predestination:
and now I was hearing it from someone who had already crossed
the line. Who had started to hunt and kill . . .

'You kill . . . for food,' I said.

'And killing for power, for money, for amusement – is that more
noble?' Kostya asked bitterly. He turned towards me and looked
into my eyes. 'Why do you talk to me so . . . squeamishly? We
used to be friends. What happened?'

'You became a Higher Vampire.'

'So what?'

'I know how your kind become Higher Vampires, Kostya.'

He looked into my eyes for a few seconds. And then he started
to smile. With that special vampire smile, as though there are
no fangs in his mouth yet, but you can already feel them on
your throat.

'Ah yes . . . Drink the blood of young virgins and children, kill
them . . . The old, classical recipe. That's how dear old Witiezslav
became a Higher One . . . Do you mean to say that you never
once looked in my file?'

'No,' I replied.

He actually went limp, and his smile became pitiful and confused.

'Not once?'

'No,' I said, already beginning to realise I'd made a mistake
somewhere along the line.

Kostya made a clumsy gesture with his hands and began talking
in nothing but conjunctions, interjections and pronouns:

'Why that . . . it's . . . look . . . but you . . . and I . . . yes . . .
and you . . .'

'I don't like looking in a friend's file,' I said, and added awkwardly:
'Not even a former friend's.'

'And I thought you'd looked at it,' said Kostya. 'Right. This is
the twenty-first century, Anton. Look . . .' He reached into his
jacket pocket and took out his flask. 'A concentrate of donor's
blood. Twelve people give blood – and there's no need to kill
anyone. Of course, haemoglobin has nothing to do with it! The
emotions a person feels when he gives blood are far more important.
You can't imagine how many people are mortally afraid, yet
they still go to the doctor and give blood for members of their
family. My own personal formula . . . "Saushkins's prescription".
Only it's usually called "Saushkin's cocktail". That must be in the
file.'

He looked at me triumphantly . . . and probably couldn't understand
why I wasn't smiling. Why I didn't mumble guiltily: 'Kostya,
forgive me, I thought you were a low son of a bitch and a murderer
. . . but you're an honourable vampire, a good vampire, a modern
vampire . . .'

Yes, that's what he was. Honourable, good and modern. He
hadn't wasted his time in the Haematological Research Institute.

But why had he told me about the formula? About the blood
from twelve people?

I knew why. As far as he was concerned, I couldn't have known
what was in the
Fuaran
! There was no way I could have known
that the spell required precisely the blood of twelve people!

Witiezslav didn't have the blood of twelve people with him. He
couldn't have worked the spell in the
Fuaran
and increased his powers.

But Kostya had his flask.

'Anton, what's wrong with you?' Kostya asked. 'Say something!'

Edgar came out of the conductor's compartment still talking,
shook the chief conductor's hand and came towards us with a
satisfied smile on his face.

I looked at Kostya. And read everything in his eyes.

He knew that I knew.

'Where are you hiding the book?' I asked. 'Quick. This is your
last chance. Your only chance. Don't destroy yourself.'

At that moment he struck. Without any magic – unless you can
call a vampire's inhuman strength magic. The world exploded in
a white flash, the teeth in my mouth crunched and my jaw
suddenly went numb. I was sent flying down the corridor and
crashed into a passenger who'd come out at the wrong moment
for a breath of air. I probably had him to thank for the fact that
I didn't lose consciousness – in fact, it was the passenger who
flaked out instead of me.

Kostya stood there, rubbing his fist, and his body flickered,
moving rapidly into the Twilight and back out again, slipping
between the worlds. That ability the vampires have that had once
so astounded me . . . I remembered Gennady, Kostya's father,
walking towards me across the courtyard, Kostya's mother Polina,
with her arm round the shoulders of the vampire who was still
a little kid . . . we're law-abiding . . . we don't kill anyone . . .
what a surprise – to have a Light Magician as a neighbour . . .

'Kostya!' Edgar exclaimed, coming to a halt.

Kostya slowly turned his head towards Edgar. I couldn't see, but
I sensed him bare his fangs.

Edgar flung his hands out in front of him – and the corridor
was blocked off by a dull, translucent wall that looked like a layer
of rock crystal. Maybe the Inquisitor still hadn't realised what was
going on, but his instincts were in good order.

Kostya made a low, howling sound and pressed his hands against
the wall. The wall held. The carriage lurched and swayed over the
points and behind my back a woman launched into a slow, measured
wail. Kostya lurched backwards and forwards, trying to break
through Edgar's line of defence.

I raised my hand and directed a 'grey prayer' at Kostya – an
ancient spell against non-life. The 'grey prayer' tears to shreds any
organic matter raised from the grave that possesses no consciousness
of its own and lives only through the will of a sorcerer. It
slows vampires down and weakens them.

Kostya swung round when the fine grey threads wrapped
themselves around him in the Twilight. He took a step towards
me, shook himself – and the spell was torn apart before my
eyes. I'd never seen such crude but effective work before.

'Don't get in my way!' he bellowed. Kostya's features had lengthened
and sharpened, his fangs were all the way out now. 'I don't
want . . . I don't want to kill you . . .'

I managed to get up and crawl over the felled passenger into
a compartment. On the top bunks, two men of impressive dimensions
started squealing, outdoing the woman who was yelling
outside by the door of the washroom. There were glasses and
bottles rolling around on the floor underneath me.

In a single bound Kostya appeared in the doorway. He cast a
glance at the men – and they fell silent.

'Surrender . . .' I whispered, sitting up on the floor beside the
table. The way my jaw moved felt strange – it didn't seem to be
dislocated, but every movement was agony.

Kostya laughed:

'I can finish you all off . . . if I want to. Come with me, Anton.
Come! I don't want to hurt anyone! What's this Inquisition to
you? Or these Watches? We'll change everything!'

He was speaking utterly sincerely. Actually pleading.

Why do you always have to become stronger than anyone else
before you can permit yourself weakness?

'Come to your senses . . .' I whispered.

'You fool! You fool!' Kostya growled, taking a step towards me.
He reached out his hand – the fingers already ended in claws.
'You . . .'

A half-full bottle of Posolskaya vodka, with its contents draining
out lazily, rolled right into my hand.

'It's time we drank to
Brüderschaft
,' I said.

Kostya managed to dodge, but a few splashes still got him in
the face. He howled and threw his head back. Even for the Highest
Vampire of them all, alcohol is still poison.

I stood up, grabbed a full glass off the little table and drew my
hand back. I shouted:

'Night Watch! You're under arrest! Put your hands above your
head! Withdraw your fangs!'

At precisely that moment three Inquisitors appeared in the
doorway. Either Edgar had summoned them, or they'd sensed something
was wrong. They grabbed hold of Kostya, who was still
wiping his bloody face. One of them tried to press a grey metal
disk against his neck – something charged up to the hilt with
magic . . .

Then Kostya showed what he was really capable of.

A kick sent the glass flying out of my hand and flattened my
back against the window. The frame gave a loud crack. And then
where Kostya had been standing there was nothing but a grey
blur – the punches and kicks followed each other faster than any
movie hero could have thrown them. There were splashes of blood
and scraps of flesh flying in all directions, as if someone was
grinding up a piece of fresh meat in a blender. Then Kostya jumped
into the corridor, glanced around – and dived through the window
as if he hadn't even noticed the twin panes of thick glass.

The glass didn't notice him either.

I caught one last glimpse of Kostya outside, tumbling down the
embankment – and then the train hurtled on.

I'd heard about that vampire trick, but I'd always thought it was
pure fantasy. Even in the textbooks the phrase 'walking through
walls and panes of glass in the real world' was marked with a
prudish 'n.p.' – for 'not proven'.

Two of the Inquisitors were lying in a shapeless heap in the
compartment, so badly mutilated there was no point in trying to
find any kind of pulse.

The third one had been lucky: he was sitting on a bunk, squeezing
shut a wound in his stomach.

There was blood slopping down over his feet.

The passengers on the upper bunks weren't yelling any more
– one had covered his head with a pillow, the other was staring
down with glassy eyes and giggling to himself.

I picked my way across the compartment and staggered out into
the corridor.

A
S THE HERO
of a certain hoary old joke put it: 'Now life is
returning to normal!'

The passengers in the chief conductor's car were sitting in their
compartments, and staring vacantly out of the windows. For some
reason people walking through the carriage lengthened their stride
and only looked straight ahead. In one closed compartment there
were two bodies packed in black plastic sacks and the wounded
Inquisitor, who was lying down after a colleague had treated him
with healing spells for about fifteen minutes. Another two
Inquisitors were standing on guard at the door of our compartment.

'How did you guess?' Edgar asked.

He'd fixed my jaw in about three minutes, after helping his
wounded comrade. I hadn't asked what the problem was – simple
bruising, a crack or a break. He'd fixed it, that was all I cared
about. But my two front teeth were still missing, and it was weird
to feel the gap with my tongue.

'I remembered something about the
Fuaran
. . .' I said. In the
commotion of the first few minutes after Kostya bolted, I'd had
time to think of what to tell the inquisitor. 'The witch . . . you
know, Arina . . . said that according to the legends, for the spells
in the
Fuaran
to work, you had to have the blood of twelve people.
Just a drop from each one would do.'

'Why didn't you tell me earlier?' Edgar asked sharply.

'I didn't think it was important. At the time I thought the whole
story of the
Fuaran
was pure fantasy . . . And then Kostya mentioned
that his cocktail was made from the blood of twelve people, and
it clicked.'

'I see. Witiezslav didn't have twelve people handy,' Edgar said
with a nod. 'If only you'd told me straight away . . . if only you'd
told me . . .'

'You knew about the formula of the cocktail?'

'Yes, of course. The Inquisition has discussed "Saushkin's cocktail".
The stuff doesn't work any miracles, it won't increase a vampire's
strength beyond the natural limits. But it does allow a vampire to
rise to his maximum potential without killing anyone . . .'

'Rise or sink?' I asked.

'If there's no killing involved, then rise,' Edgar replied coolly.
'And you didn't know . . . would you believe it . . .'

I said nothing.

Yes, I hadn't known. I hadn't wanted to know. What a hero.
And now two Inquisitors were wearing black polythene and no
one could do anything to help them . . .

'Let's drop it,' Edgar decided. 'What point is there now . . . He's
flying after us.'

I glanced at the compass, and had to agree it looked that way.
The distance between us and Kostya, or rather, the book, hadn't
changed, although the train was travelling at seventy or eighty
kilometres an hour. He had to be flying after us. He wasn't making
a run for it after all.

'There has to be something he wants in Central Asia . . .' said
Edgar, perplexed. 'The only thing is . . .'

'We should summon the Great Ones,' I said.

'They'll come,' Edgar said casually. 'I've informed them of everything,
put up a portal . . . they're deciding what to do.'

'I know what they're deciding,' I muttered. 'Zabulon's demanding
that Kostya be handed over to him. Together with the
Fuaran
, of
course.'

'No one's going to get their hands on the book, don't you
worry.'

'Apart from the Inquisition?'

Edgar ignored that.

I made myself more comfortable. Felt my jaw.

It didn't hurt.

But I was upset about the teeth. I'd have to go to a dentist or
a healer. The trouble was that even the very best Light healers
couldn't fix your teeth without any pain. They simply couldn't do
it . . .

The pointer of the compass quivered, but maintained its direction.
The distance hadn't changed – ten to twelve kilometres. So
Kostya must have undressed and transformed into a bat . . . or
maybe some other creature? A gigantic rat, a wolf . . .That wasn't
important. He'd transformed, probably into a bat, and was flying
after the train, clutching a bundle containing his clothes and the
book in his claws. Where had he been hiding it, the bastard? On
his body? In a secret pocket in his clothes?

He was a real bastard all right . . . but he had some nerve! The
sheer insolence of it – to join in the hunt for himself, to come
up with theories, give advice . . .

He'd duped everyone.

But in the name of what? The desire for absolute power? The
chances of victory weren't all that good, and Kostya had never
been particularly ambitious. He had ambition, of course, but without
any crazy ideas about ruling the world.

Why wasn't he making a run for it now? He had the blood of
three Inquisitors on his hands. That was something that would
never be forgiven, even if he gave himself up and confessed, even
if he gave back the book. He ought to run, after first destroying
the book that the tracking spell was linked to. But no, he was still
carrying the book and following the train. That was just plain
stupid . . . Or was he hoping for negotiations?

'How were you expecting to identify Witiezslav among the
passengers?' I asked Edgar.

'What?' he answered after a pause, lost in thought. 'A simple
trick, the same thing you used: alcohol intolerance. We were going
to get dressed up in white coats and carry out a medical inspection
of the entire train. Supposedly looking for people with atypical
pneumonia. We would have given everyone a thermometer
well soaked in medical spirit. Anyone who couldn't take it in his
hands or was burned would have been a suspect.'

I nodded. It might have worked. Of course, we'd have been
taking a risk, but taking risks was our job. And the Great Ones
would have been somewhere close at hand, on call, ready to strike
with all their might if necessary.

'The portal's opening . . .' Edgar grabbed hold of my hand and
pulled me down onto the bunk. We sat beside each other, with
our legs pulled in. A trembling white radiance filled the compartment.
There was a low exclamation – Gesar had banged his head
against a bunk as he emerged from the portal.

Then Zabulon appeared. In contrast with my boss, he had a
mellow smile on his face.

Gesar rubbed the top of his head, looked at me dourly and
barked:

'You might as well have put up a portal in a Zaporozhets automobile
. . . What's the situation?'

'The passengers have been pacified, we've washed away the
blood, the wounded agent is receiving treatment,' Edgar reported.
'The suspect Konstantin Saushkin is moving parallel with the train
at a speed of seventy kilometres an hour.'

'No point calling him a suspect any more . . .' Zabulon said caustically.
'Ah, what a talented boy he was . . . what promise he had.'

'You don't seem to have much luck with promising young
colleagues, Zabulon,' Edgar said in a quiet voice. 'Somehow they
don't stay around for very long.'

The two Dark Magicians glared at each other with hostility. Edgar
had old scores to settle with Zabulon, ever since that business with
Fafnir and the Finnish sect. No one likes to be used as a pawn.
^*

^*
See
The Day Watch
, Story Three

'Please refrain from sarcasm, gentlemen,' said Gesar. 'I could say
a few things on my own account . . . to you, Zabulon, and to you,
Edgar . . . How powerful is he?'

'Very powerful,' said Edgar, still looking at Zabulon. 'The guy
was already a Higher . . .'

'Vampire,' Zabulon said with a contemptuous laugh.

'Higher Vampire. Without much experience, of course . . . far
less than you. But then he used the book, and became stronger
than Witiezslav. That's already serious. I'm inclined to believe that
Witiezslav was at the same grade as you, Great Ones.'

'How did he finish Witiezslav off?' Zabulon asked. 'Do you have
any theories?'

'I do now,' Edgar said. 'Vampires have a hierarchy of their own.
The boy challenged him to a duel for pre-eminence. It's not very
. . . spectacular. A battle of minds, a duel of wills. Rather like a
crude stare-out. After a few seconds one backs down and submits
totally to the other's will. Whenever the Inquisition came up
against vampires, Witiezslav always subdued them easily. But this
time he lost.'

'And was killed,' said Zabulon, nodding.

'That's not necessarily the outcome,' Edgar observed. 'Kostya
could have made him his slave. But either he was afraid of losing
control or he decided to see it through to the end. Basically he
ordered Witiezslav to dematerialise. And Witiezslav had no choice
but to obey.'

'A talented boy,' Gesar said ironically. 'I won't lie, Witiezslav's
final destruction doesn't exactly upset me . . . Okay, so Konstantin
has become more powerful than Witiezslav. Just how powerful,
what's your assessment?'

Edgar shrugged.

'How can I assess that? He's more powerful than I am. I assume
he's more powerful than either of you. Maybe more powerful than
all of us put together.'

'Don't start panicking,' Zabulon muttered. 'He's inexperienced.
Magic isn't arm-wrestling, magic's an art. When you have a sword
in your hand, the important thing is to strike a precise blow, not
just swing wildly with all your might . . .'

'I'm not panicking,' Edgar said in a soft voice. 'It's just hard to
assess his level of power. It's very high. I used the "crystal shield"
– Kostya very nearly broke through it.'

The Great Ones exchanged glances

'The "crystal shield" can't be broken,' Gesar observed. 'And
anyway, how could you . . . all right, I understand. More artefacts
from the special vault.'

'He very nearly broke through the shield,' Edgar repeated.

'And how did you manage to survive?' Gesar asked me. Maybe
I imagined it, but I thought I heard a note of sympathy in his
voice.

'Kostya didn't want to kill me,' I said simply. 'He went for
Edgar . . . at first I hit him with the "grey prayer"' – Gesar
nodded in approval – 'and then I found some vodka and I
splashed it in his face. Kostya went wild. But he still didn't want
to kill me. Then the Inquisitors distracted him, he tore them to
shreds, and left.'

'A purely Russian approach – solving a problem with a glass
of vodka,' Gesar said morosely. 'What for? Why did you provoke
him? He's not a novice. It must have been obvious you couldn't
handle him. Was I supposed to present Svetlana with your remains
afterwards?'

'I got carried away myself,' I admitted. 'It was all just so unexpected.
Then Kostya started saying "Come with me, I don't want
to hurt anyone . . ."'
'He doesn't want to hurt anyone,' Gesar said bitterly. 'A vampire
reformer. A progressive lord of the world . . .'

'Gesar, we have to decide what to do,' Zabulon said quietly. 'I
can have the fighters from the military airport scrambled.'

Neither magician spoke for a while.

I imagined jet fighters screeching through the sky in pursuit of
a bat, blazing away at it with their rockets . . .

A phantasmagorical vision.

'Helicopters then . . .' Gesar said thoughtfully. 'No. That's
nonsense, Zabulon. He'll just brush any humans aside.'

'A bomb after all then?' Zabulon asked curiously.

'No!' Gesar shook his head. 'No. Not here. And it's too late
for that . . . he's on the alert. We have to strike at him with
magic.'

Zabulon nodded. Then suddenly he started giggling.

'What's this?' Gesar asked.

'All my life . . .' said Zabulon. 'Would you believe it, my old
enemy? All my life I've dreamed of working in harness with you!
Well, now I really am . . . from hatred to love . . .'

'You really are an absolute goon,' Gesar said in a quiet voice.

'We're all a little touched,' Zabulon chuckled. 'Well then? You
and me? Or shall we bring in
our
colleagues? They can pump in
power, and we can be the spearhead, striking the blow.'

Gesar shook his head.

'No, Zabulon. We shouldn't go near Konstantin. I have a different
suggestion . . .'

He looked at me.

I felt at the broken stump of a tooth with my tongue. That was
a real drag.

'I'm ready, Gesar.'

'Yes, there's a chance,' Zabulon said, with a nod of approval.
'Since Kostya still allows sentimental considerations to influence
him . . . the only thing is, will you be able to strike at him, Anton?'

I paused. I had to think about it seriously.

There was no question of an arrest. I'd have to strike swiftly
and surely and kill him. Become the spearhead, the focus of the
power that would be pumped into me by Gesar, Zabulon, Edgar
. . . maybe other magicians as well. Sure, I was less experienced
than the Great Ones. But there was a chance I could get close to
Kostya without a fight.

On account of those 'sentimental considerations'.

The alternative was simple – the Great Ones would gather all
their power into a single fist. Even Nadya's power would be required
– and Gesar would demand that Svetlana initiate our daughter . . .

There was no alternative.

'I'll kill Kostya,' I said.

'Wrong,' Gesar said in a low voice. 'Say it right, watchman!'

'I'll subdue the vampire,' I whispered.

Gesar nodded.

'And don't get all introspective about it, Gorodetsky,' Zabulon
added. 'None of your intellectual snivelling. That nice boy Kostya
doesn't exist any more. He never did. Maybe he hasn't killed
anybody for blood, but he's still a vampire. Non-life.'

Gesar nodded in agreement.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Non-life.

He was lacking that thing that we call a soul.

A certain vital component that even we Others can't define.
From early in his childhood – thanks to his parents. As the boy
grew up, the doctor in the local clinic had listened to his heart
and admired his robust health. He had turned from a boy into a
man, and no girl had ever said his lips were cold when she kissed
them. He could have had children – perfectly ordinary children
with a perfectly ordinary woman.