The Twilight Watch (42 page)

The 'magician's shield'.

So much power had probably never been wasted so senselessly.

Now not a single magician in the world was so reliably protected.

Against everything.

A white reticulated cocoon appeared around me. The threads
of the cocoon crackled with the energy streaming through them.
It was rooted way down in the deepest depths of the universe,
beyond the countless levels of the Twilight, where there is no
matter, or space, or time – nothing that a human being or Other
can comprehend.

'What are you doing?' Kostya asked, with an expression of childish
resentment on his face. 'What are you doing, Anton?'

I didn't answer, just stood there, looking at him. I didn't want
even the shadow of a thought to show on my face. I wanted him
to think whatever he wanted to think.

Let him.

'Are you frightened?' Kostya asked. 'You . . . why you . . . you're
a coward, Anton!'

I didn't answer.

And the Higher Ones were silent too. Or, more likely, they
were shouting, swearing, cursing me – because I'd squandered
all the power they'd collected on absolute protection for
myself.

If they hit Baikonur with a thermonuclear warhead now, I'd be
left safe and unharmed. Floating in a cloud of plasma, encased in
boiling stone, but completely safe.

'I don't even know what to say . . .' Kostya shrugged. 'I wasn't
going to kill you anyway. I haven't forgotten that you were my
friend.'

I didn't answer.

Forgive me, but I can't call you my friend any more. That's why
you must not realise what I have realised. You must not read my
thoughts.

'Goodbye, Anton,' Kostya said.

The technicians came over to him and lowered the glass shield
of his helmet. He cast a final glance at me through the glass – a
glance of incomprehension and resentment. And then turned away.

I was expecting him to open the portal into space there and
then. But Kostya had made his preparations for the leap thoroughly.
What did I know? I'd never even heard of anyone attempting
to transport themselves on board an aeroplane in flight, let alone
a space station in orbit.

Abandoning the cosmonauts and the personnel in their state of
trance, Kostya walked out of the hall. Las moved aside and squinted
at me, holding up the pistol.

I shook my head, and he didn't shoot.

We simply followed him into the flight control room, where
the technicians and programmers were all sitting at their computers
like zombies.

When had he found the time to subject them all to his will?

Could he really have done it all the moment he reached
Baikonur?

An ordinary vampire can easily keep one or two people under
his control. A Higher Vampire can manage about twenty.

But Kostya really had become an absolute Other – he had the
entire fine-tuned mechanism of the huge cosmodrome dancing
to his music.

They brought Kostya some kind of print-outs, and pointed out
something to him on the screens. He listened and nodded but
didn't look in our direction once.

A clever boy. Well educated. He studied in the physics faculty,
and then moved to biology, but it looked like he'd maintained his
enthusiasm for physics and maths. Those diagrams and graphs
wouldn't have meant a thing to me, but he was preparing to put
up a magical portal directly into orbit. To go out into space using
magical means – one small step for an Other, one huge leap
forward for all mankind . . .

Just don't let him drag it out too long.

Just don't let Gesar panic.

Just don't let them make that nuclear strike – it won't do any
good, and there's no need, there's no need!

Kostya didn't look at me until after he'd opened the prism of
the portal. He stared at me with that contemptuous resentment
in his eyes. The lips behind the glass moved and I realised what
they'd said: 'Goodbye'.

'Goodbye,' I agreed.

With his life-support pack in one hand and the briefcase
containing the
Fuaran
in the other, Kostya stepped into the portal.

And then I allowed myself to remove the shield – and all that
Power that wasn't mine zoomed away from me, spreading out in
all directions.

'Just how do you propose to explain all that?' Gesar asked.

'What exactly?' I sat down on the nearest chair, shaking. How
long would the air supply last in a light spacesuit never intended
for spacewalking? A couple of hours? It was unlikely to be more.

Kostya Saushkin didn't have long left to live.

'What makes you so sure . . .' Gesar began. Then he stopped. I
even thought I heard him exchange a few words with Zabulon.
No doubt something about orders that had to be rescinded, about
bombers that had to be returned to base. About the team of magicians
that would start covering up the traces left by the outrageous
events that had taken place at Baikonur. About the official
cover story for the failed launch.

'What happened?' Las asked, sitting down beside me. The technician
he had unceremoniously shoved off the chair gazed around,
perplexed. People were gradually recovering their wits.

'That's it,' I said. 'It's all over. Or almost all over.'

But I knew it wasn't really over yet. Because somewhere high
in the sky, up above the clouds, in the cold starlight, the Absolute
Other was tumbling over and over in his stolen spacesuit. Kostya
Saushkin. He was trying to open a portal – but he couldn't. He
was trying to get to the space station drifting past him – but he
couldn't. He was trying to get back to Earth – but he couldn't.

Because he was an Absolute Zero.

Because we were all vampires.

And up there, beyond the bounds of the warm, living Earth,
far from the people and animals, the plants and microbes, far from
everything that breathes and moves and lives, we all become absolute
zeroes. Without the free supply of power that allows us to fling
bright ball lightning at each other so elegantly and heal sicknesses
and cast hexes and turn maple leaves into banknotes or sour milk
into vintage whisky.

All our Power was not ours.

All our Power was weakness.

That was what the fine young man Kostya Saushkin had failed
to understand and refused to accept.

I heard Zabulon laugh – far, far away in the city of Saratov, standing
under an awning in an open-air café with a glass of beer in his hand.
Zabulon was gazing up at the darkening evening sky, looking for a
swift new star whose flight would be brilliant but brief.

'You look like you're crying,' said Las. 'Only there aren't any
tears.'

'You're right,' I said. 'No tears, and no strength either. I won't
be able to open a portal to get us back. We'll have to take a plane.
Or wait for the clean-up team, maybe they'll help.'

'Who are you?' a technician asked. 'Eh? What's going on?'

'We're inspectors from the Ministry of Health,' said Las. 'So why
don't you tell us what you thought you were doing, burning cut
cannabis plants by the air intake of the ventilation system?'

'What cannabis?' the technician asked, starting to stammer.

'Arboraceous!' I snapped. 'Come on, Las, I still have to explain
officially.'

As we walked out of the hall, several technical personnel and
soldiers with automatic weapons came running towards us. But
the chaos was so total that no one took any notice of us – or
perhaps we were still protected by the remains of the magical
shield. At the end of the corridor I caught a glimpse of the German
tourist's rosy backside – he was hopping and skipping along, with
his finger still stuck in his mouth. There were two men in white
coats chasing after him.

'Okay, listen to me,' I told Las. 'Apart from the ordinary human
world that is visible to the eye, there is also a Twilight world. The
Twilight can only be entered by those . . .'

I gulped and faltered – I'd had another vision of Kostya. Kostya
as he had been years ago, the vampire-boy who had no powers
yet . . .

'Look, I'm transforming! I'm a terrible bat! I can fly! I can fly!'

Goodbye, Kostya. You made it.

You're flying now.

S
EMYON CAME INTO
the office, pushing Las in ahead of him, as
if he was a low-grade Dark Sorcerer caught red-handed in some
petty crime. Las was fiddling with a tightly rolled tube of paper,
trying to hide it behind his back.

Semyon flopped down into an armchair and growled:

'Your protégé, Anton? You sort this out.'

'What's happened?' I asked cautiously.

Las's expression wasn't guilty at all. Just slightly embarrassed.

'His second day in training,' said Semyon. 'Absolutely basic,
elementary assignments. Not even anything to do with magic . . .'

'And?'

'I asked him to meet Mr Sisuke Sasaki from the Tokyo Watch . . .'

I chortled. Semyon turned scarlet.

'It's a normal Japanese name! No funnier than yours – Anton
Sergeevich Gorodetsky.'

'I realise that,' I agreed. 'Is he the same Sasaki who handled the
case of the girl werewolves in '94?'

'The same.' Semyon squirmed in his chair. Las carried on standing
by the door. 'He stopped off on his way to Europe, and wanted
to discuss something with Gesar.'

'And what happened?'

Semyon looked at Las indignantly, then cleared his throat and
said:

'Our trainee here enquired if the highly respected Mr Sasaki
knew Russian. I explained that he didn't. Then our trainee printed
out a notice and went off to Sheremetievo to meet the Japanese
gentleman . . . Show him the notice.'

Las sighed and unrolled the tube of paper.

The Japanese name was written in very large hieroglyphs. Las
had made an effort and loaded a Japanese font into the computer.

But at the top, in slightly smaller Russian characters, it said:

'Second Moscow Congress for Victims of Forcible Infection
with Cholera.'

It took an immense effort for me to keep a straight face.

'Why did you write that?' I asked.

'I always meet foreigners like that,' Las said, sounding offended.
'My business partners, and my relatives – I've got family abroad
. . . If they don't know any Russian, I print their names in big
letters in their own language and something funny in Russian in
smaller letters. For instance: "Conference of Non-Traditionally
Oriented Transsexuals", "European Festival of Deaf-Mute Musicians
and Performers", "Forum of Activists of the International
Movement for Total Sexual Abstinence" . . . And I hold the notice
up like this . . . turning in all directions, so that everybody who's
waiting for someone can see it . . .'

'I get the idea,' I said. 'What I want to know is what do you
do it for?'

'When the person I'm meeting comes out of customs, everyone
in the place wants to see who he is,' Las explained, unmoved.
'When he appears, everybody smiles, some even applaud and whistle
and wave. He doesn't know why they're reacting like that. All he
can tell is that everyone's glad to see him, then he spots his name
and comes over to me. I promptly roll up the notice and take him
to the car. And afterwards he tells everyone what wonderful, friendly
people the Russians are. Everyone greeted him with a smile.'

'Blockhead,' I said emphatically. 'That's fine with an ordinary
person. But Sasaki's an Other. A Higher Other, as it happens. He
doesn't know Russian, but he perceives the meaning of written
words on the conceptual level.'

Las sighed and lowered his head:

'I realise that now . . .Well, if I've screwed up, chuck me out.'

'Was Mr Sasaki offended?' I asked.

'When I explained everything, Mr Sasaki was kind enough to
laugh long and loud,' Las replied.

'Please,' I said, 'don't do it again.'

'Never?'

'Definitely not with Others.'

'Of course I won't.' Las promised. 'It spoils the whole point of
the joke.'

I shrugged and looked at Semyon.

'Wait for me in the corridor,' Semyon told Las. 'Leave the notice
here.'

'Actually I collect . . .' Las began, but he put the notice down
and went out.

When the door closed Semyon laughed, picked up the notice,
rolled it back into a tube and said to me:

'I'll go round the departments with it and give everyone a laugh
. . . How are you getting on?'

'Not too bad.' I leaned back in my chair. 'Settling in.'

'A Higher One . . .' Semyon drawled. 'Ha . . . and they used to
say everyone has his limits. A Higher Magician . . . you've made
a great career for yourself, Gorodetsky.'

'Semyon . . . It was nothing to do with me. It just turned out
that way.'

'I know, I know . . .' Semyon stood up and started walking round
the office. It was a small office, of course, but even so . . . 'Assistant
director for personnel . . . Ha. The Dark Ones will start stirring
things up now. With you and Svetlana that makes four Higher
Magicians we have. And without Kostya Saushkin, the Day Watch
only has Zabulon . . .'

'They can recruit someone from the provinces,' I said. 'I wouldn't
object. Or we can expect another visit from a Mirror.'
^*

^*
See
The Night Watch
.

'We're wiser now,' Semyon said with a nod. 'We always learn
from our mistakes.'

He moved towards the door, scratching his stomach through
his linen T-shirt – a wise, benign, tired Light Magician. We all
become wise and benign when we get tired. He stopped at the
door and looked at me thoughtfully:

'It's a shame about young Saushkin. He was a decent guy, as far
as that's possible for a Dark One. Is it getting to you?'

'I had no choice,' I said. 'He had no choice, and I didn't either.'

Semyon nodded.

'And it's a shame about the
Fuaran
. . .'

Kostya had burned up in the atmosphere twenty-four hours
after his leap into space. He hadn't calculated his orbit all that
precisely after all.

The briefcase had burned up with him. They'd kept a radar fix
on them to the very last moment. The Inquisition had demanded
a space shuttle launch to collect the book, but there hadn't been
enough time.

As far as I'm concerned, it's just fine that there wasn't enough
time.

Maybe he was still alive when the fiery kisses of the atmosphere
started burning up his spacesuit hundreds of kilometres
above the Earth. After all, he was a vampire, and lack of oxygen
might not have affected him as badly as an ordinary Other – like
the overheating and overcooling and other delights of outer space
that lie in wait for a cosmonaut in a light flight suit. I don't know,
and I'm not going to go searching through the reference books
to find out. If only because no one can say which is more terrible
– death by suffocation or death by fire. After all, nobody dies twice
– not even vampires.

'Look,' he used to say, 'I'm a terrible immortal vampire! I can
turn into a wolf and a bat! I can fly!'

Semyon went out without saying another word, and I sat there
for a long time, looking out of the window.

The sky's not for us.

We weren't meant to fly.

All we can do is try not to fall.

July 2002 – July 2003