The Twilight Watch:

  We appeared at the first level almost simultaneously. I was a little wary of looking at Edgar – what would the Twilight world transform him into?

  It wasn't too bad, he'd hardly changed at all. His hair had just thinned out a bit.

  'Deeper!' I waved my hand insistently. Edgar moved his head, raised his open hand to his face – and his palm seemed to suck all of him in.

  Impressive. Inquisitors' gimmicks.

  At the second level, where the house turned into a log hut, we stopped and looked at each other. Of course, Arina wasn't there.

  'She's gone down to the third level . . .' Edgar whispered. His hair had now completely disappeared and his skull had stretched out, like a duck's egg. Even so, he still looked almost human.

  'Can you do it?' I asked.

  'I managed it once,' Edgar answered honestly. Our breath turned to steam. It didn't feel all that cold yet, but there was an insidious chill in the air . . .

  'And I managed it once,' I admitted.

  We hesitated, like overconfident swimmers who have suddenly realised that the river in front of them is too turbulent and too cold. And neither of us dared take the first step.

  'Anton, will you help?' Edgar asked eventually.

  I nodded. Why else had I come dashing into the Twilight?

  'Let's go,' said the Inquisitor, gazing down intently at his feet.

  A few moments later we stepped into the third level – a place where only first-grade magicians were supposed to go.

  The witch wasn't there.

  'Well, that's inventive,' Edgar whispered. The house of branches really was impressive. 'Anton, she built this herself . . . she can stay down here for a long time.'

  Slowly – the space around us resisted sudden movements – I walked over to the wall, parted the branches and looked out.

  It was nothing like the human world.

  There were glittering clouds drifting across the sky – like steel filings suspended in glycerine. Instead of the sun there was a broad cloud of crimson flame way up high – the only spot of colour in the hazy grey gloom. On all sides, as far as the horizon, there were low, contorted trees, the same ones the witch had used to build her house. But then, were they really trees? There were no leaves, just a fantastic tangle of branches . . .

  'Anton, she's gone deeper. She's beyond classification,' Edgar said behind me. I turned and looked at the magician. Dark-grey skin, a bald, elongated skull, sunken eyes . . . But still human eyes. 'How do I look?' Edgar asked and bared his teeth in a smile. I wished he hadn't – his teeth were sharp cones, like a shark's.

  'Not great,' I admitted. 'I suppose I don't look any better?'

  'It's only an appearance,' Edgar replied casually. 'Are you holding up okay?'

  I was. My second immersion in the lower depths of the Twilight was going more smoothly.

  'We have to go to the fourth level,' said Edgar. His eyes were human, but with a fanatical gleam.

  'Are you beyond classification then?' I asked him. 'Edgar, it's hard for me even to go back!'

  'We can combine our powers, watchman!'

  'How?' I was perplexed. Both the Dark Ones and the Light Ones have the concept of a 'Circle of Power'. But it's a dangerous thing, and it requires at least three or four Others . . . and anyway, how could we combine Light Power and Dark Power?

  'That's my problem!' said Edgar, and began shaking his head about. 'Anton, she'll get away! She'll get away on the fourth level! Trust me!'

  'A Dark One?'

  'An Inquisitor,' the magician barked. 'I'm an Inquisitor, do you understand? Anton, trust me, I ord . . .' Edgar stopped short and then continued in a different tone: 'I'm asking you, please!'

  I don't know what made me do it. The excitement of the hunt? The desire to catch a witch who had destroyed thousands of people's lives? The way the Inquisitor asked?

  Or maybe a simple desire to see the fourth level? The most mysterious depths of the Twilight, which even Gesar visited only rarely, and where Svetlana had never been? 'What do I do?' I asked.

  Edgar's face lit up. He reached out his hand – the fingers ended in blunt, hooked claws – and said:

  'In the name of the Treaty, by the equilibrium that I maintain, I summon the Light and the Dark . . . and request power . . . in the name of the Dark!'

  He gazed insistently at me and I also held out my hand, and said:

  'In the name of the Light . . .'

  In part this was like the swearing of an oath between a Dark One and a Light One. But only in part. No petal of flame sprang up in my hand, no patch of darkness appeared on Edgar's open palm. It all happened on the outside – the grey, blurred world around us suddenly acquired clarity. No colours appeared, we were still in the Twilight. But there were shadows. It was like a TV screen with the colour turned right down, when you suddenly turn up the brightness and contrast.

  'Our right has been acknowledged . . .' Edgar whispered, gazing around. His face looked genuinely happy. 'Our right has been acknowledged, Anton!'

  'And what if it hadn't been?' I asked cautiously.

  'All sorts of things could have happened . . . But our right has been acknowledged, hasn't it? Let's go!'

  In the new 'high-contrast' Twilight it was much easier to move around. I raised my shadow as easily as in the ordinary world.

  And found myself where only magicians beyond classification have any right to go.

  The trees – if they really were trees – had disappeared. All around us the world was as level and flat as the old medieval pancake Earth, supported on the backs of three whales. Featureless terrain, an endless plain of sand . . . I bent down and ran a handful of the sand through my fingers. It was grey, as everything in the Twilight was supposed to be. But there were embryonic colours discernible in its greyness – smoky mother-of-pearl, coloured sparks, golden grains . . .

  'She's got away,' Edgar said right in my ear. He stretched out an arm that had become surprisingly long and slim.

  I looked in that direction and saw a grey silhouette way off in the distance, dashing away at great speed. I could only see the witch because the plain was so flat, and she was moving in immense leaps, soaring into the air and flying over the ground ten metres at a time, throwing her arms out and moving her legs in a strange way, like a happy child skipping across a meadow in spring.

  'She must have drunk her own potion,' I guessed. I couldn't think of any other way she could have leapt like that.

  'Yes. She knew what she was doing when she brewed it,' said Edgar. He swung his arm and flung something after Arina.

  A string of balls of flame went hurtling after the witch. A group fireball, a standard battle spell for the Watches But this was some special Inquisitors' version.

  A few charges burst before they reached the witch. One accelerated sharply and reached her, touched her back and exploded, shrouding the witch in fire. But the flames immediately went out and, without even turning round, she tossed something behind her, and a pool of liquid that glimmered like mercury spread out at that spot. As they flew over the pool, the remaining charges lost speed and height, plunged into the liquid and disappeared.

  'Witches' tricks,' Edgar said in disgust. 'Anton!'

  'Eh? What?' I asked, with my eyes still fixed on Arina as she disappeared into the distance.

  'Time for us to be going. The power was only granted in order to catch the witch, and the hunt's over. We'll never catch up with her.'

  I looked upwards. The crimson cloud that had shone at the previous level of the Twilight was gone. The entire sky glowed an even pinkish-white colour.

  How strange. Colours appeared again here . . .

  'Edgar, are there any more levels?' I asked.

  'There always are.' Edgar was clearly starting to feel worried. 'Come on, Anton! Come on, or we'll get stuck here.'

  He was right, the world around us was already losing contrast, wreathing itself in grey vapour. But the colours were still there – the mother-of-pearl sand and the p
inkish sky . . .

  Already feeling the cold prickling of the Twilight on my skin, I followed Edgar up to the third level. As if it had been waiting for that moment, the world finally lost all its colour and became grey space, filled with a cold, roaring wind. Holding each other's hands – not in order to exchange power, which is almost impossible, but in order to stay on our feet – we made several attempts to return to the second level. The 'trees' on all sides were breaking with a barely audible cracking sound, and the witch's bivouac tumbled onto its side as we kept searching and searching for our shadows. I don't even remember the moment when the Twilight parted in front of me and allowed me back through into the second level. It seemed almost normal, not frightening at all . . .

  We sat there on the clean-scraped wooden floor, breathing heavily. We were in an equally bad way, the Dark Inquisitor and the Light Watchman.

  'Here.' Edgar put his hand awkwardly into his pocket and brought out a block of Guardsman chocolate. 'Eat that.'

  'What about you?' I asked, tearing off the wrapper.

  'I've got more.' Edgar rummaged in his pockets for a long time and finally found another pack of chocolate – Inspiration this time. He started unwrapping the fingers of chocolate one at a time.

  We ate greedily. The Twilight draws the strength out of you – and it's not just a matter of magical power, it even affects something as basic as your blood sugar level. That's about all we've managed to discover about the Twilight, using the methods of modern science. Everything else is still as much of a mystery as ever.

  'Edgar, how many levels are there to the Twilight?'

  He finished chewing another piece of chocolate and answered:

  'I know of five. This is the first time I've been on the fourth.'

  'And what's down there, on the fifth level?'

  'All I know is that it exists, watchman. No more than that. I didn't even know anything about the fourth level, until now.'

  'Colours came back there,' I said. 'It's . . . completely different. Isn't it?'

  'Uhuh,' Edgar mumbled. 'Different. That's not for us to worry about, Anton. It's beyond our powers. You should be proud you've been down to the fourth, not all first-grade magicians have gone that deep.'

  'But you can?'

  'If needs be, in the line of duty,' Edgar admitted. 'After all, it's not necessarily the most powerful who join the Inquisition. And we have to be able to stand up to a crazy magician beyond classification, right?'

  'If Gesar or Zabulon ever go crazy, we won't be able to stand up to them,' I said. 'We couldn't even manage the witch.'

  Edgar thought for a moment and agreed that the Moscow Office of the Inquisition wasn't really up to dealing with Gesar and Zabulon. But only if they happened to violate the Treaty simultaneously. Otherwise Gesar would be glad to help neutralise Zabulon, and Zabulon would be glad to help neutralise Gesar. That was the way the Inquisition worked.

  'Now what do we do about the witch?' I asked.

  'Look for her,' Edgar said briskly. 'I've already been in touch with my people, they'll cordon off the district. Can I count on your continued assistance?'

  I thought for a moment.

  'No, Edgar. Arina's a Dark One. Obviously she did do something terrible . . . seventy-odd years ago. But if she was exploited by Light Ones . . .'

  'So you're going to carry on sticking to your own side,' Edgar said in disgust. 'Anton, do you really not understand? There is no Light or Dark in a pure sense. Your two watches are just like the Democrats and Republicans in America. They quarrel, they argue, but in the evening they hold cocktail parties together.'

  'It's not evening yet.'

  'It's always evening,' Edgar replied bleakly. 'Believe me, I was a law-abiding Dark One. Until I was driven into . . . until I left the Watch to join the Inquisition. And you know what I think now?'

  'Tell me.'

  'Power of night and power of day – same old nonsense anyway. I don't see any difference between Zabulon and Gesar any more. But I like you . . . as a human being. If you joined the Inquisition, I'd be glad to work with you.'

  I laughed:

  'Trying to recruit me?'

  'Yes, any watchman has the right to join the Inquisition. No one has the right to hold you back. They don't even have a right to try to change your mind.'

  'Thanks, but I don't need to have my mind changed. I'm not planning to join the Inquisition.'

  Edgar groaned as he got up off the floor. He dusted down his suit, although there wasn't a single speck of dust, or a crease, anywhere on it.

  'That suit of yours is enchanted,' I said.

  'I just know how to wear it. And it's good material.' Edgar went over to the bookcase, took out a book and leafed through it. Then another, and another . . . He said enviously: 'What a library! Narrowly specialised, but even so . . .'

  'I thought Fuaran was here too,' I admitted.

  Edgar just laughed.

  'What are we going to do about the hut?' I asked.

  'There, see – you're still thinking like my ally,' Edgar promptly remarked. 'I'll put spells of protection and watchfulness on it, what else? The experts will be here in two or three hours. They'll give everything a thorough going-over. Shall we go?'

  'Don't you feel like rummaging around a bit yourself?' I asked.

  Edgar looked around carefully and said he didn't. That the little house could be hiding lots of nasty surprises left by the cunning witch. And that digging through the belongings of a witch beyond classification was a job that could be dangerous for your health . . . better leave it to those who had it in their job description.

  I waited while Edgar put up several spells of watchfulness round the hut – he didn't need any help. And we set off for the village.

  The way back took a lot longer, as if some elusive magic that had helped us find our way to the witch's house had disappeared. Edgar was far more garrulous now – maybe my help had inclined him to talk more freely?

  He told me about his training, how he had been taught to use Light power as well as Dark. And about the other Inquisition trainees – they had included two Ukrainian Light Enchantresses, a Hungarian werewolf, a Dutch magician and many different sorts of Others. He said the rumours about the Inquisition's special vaults overflowing with magical artefacts were greatly exaggerated: there were plenty of artefacts, but most of them had lost their magical power long ago and were no good for anything any more. And he told me about the parties the trainees had organised in their free time . . .

  It was all very entertaining, but I knew perfectly well where Edgar was headed. So I started recalling the years of my own training with elaborate enthusiasm, bringing up various amusing incidents from the history of the Night Watch, including Semyon's historical tall tales . . .

  Edgar sighed and I went quiet. In any case, we'd already reached the edge of the forest. Edgar stopped.

  'I'll wait for my colleagues,' he said. 'They should be here any minute now. Even Witiezslav postponed his departure and promised to call over.'

  I wasn't in any great hurry to invite the Inquisitor back – especially not along with a Higher Vampire. I nodded, but couldn't help asking: