I took the cup and followed Gesar into his office.
As usual, several new knick-knacks had appeared. In one cupboard there were lots of little figures of mice made of glass, tin and wood, ceramic goblets and steel knives. Propped up against the back wall of the cupboard was an old Civil Defense brochure with a photograph on its cover of a committee judging volunteers folding parachutes, and beside it there was a simple lithograph showing a green forest thicket.
For some reason – I couldn't understand exactly why – it all brought to mind the early years of school.
And hanging from the ceiling was a gold-coloured ice hockey helmet that looked exactly like a bald head. There were several darts stuck into it.
I glanced suspiciously at all these items, which might mean something very important, or absolutely nothing at all, and sat down in one of the visitors' chairs. I noticed a book with a bright cover lying in the wire-mesh wastepaper basket. Could Gesar really have been reading Golovachev? Taking a closer look I realised I was mistaken – the title of the book was Masterpieces of World Science Fiction.
'Drink your coffee, it cleans out the brain in the morning,' Gesar muttered in the same tone of annoyance. As he drank his own coffee, he slurped. I almost thought that if I gave him a saucer and some sugar lumps he'd start drinking it that way – straight from the saucer . . .
'I need answers to some questions, boss,' I said. 'A lot of questions.'
'You'll get them,' Gesar said with a nod.
'Others are much weaker magically than ordinary people.'
Gesar frowned.
'Nonsense. An oxymoron.'
'But isn't the magical Power of human beings . . .'
Gesar raised one finger and wagged it at me.
'Stop right there. Don't confuse potential energy and kinetic energy.'
Now it was my turn to keep quiet, while Gesar strode round the office with his coffee mug, pontificating in a leisurely fashion.
'First . . .Yes, all living things are capable of producing magical Power. All living things – not only human beings. Even animals, or grass. Is there any physical basis to this Power, can it be measured with a scientific instrument? I don't know. Possibly nobody ever will know. Second . . . No one can control their own Power. It dissipates into space and is absorbed by the Twilight, part is caught by the blue moss and part is intercepted by Others. Is that clear? There are two processes – the emission of your own Power and the absorption of Power that is not yours. The first process is involuntary and intensifies as you go deeper into the Twilight. The second is also, to a greater or lesser degree, typical of everybody – both human beings and Others. A sick child asks his mother: sit with me, rub my tummy! His mother strokes his tummy, and the pain goes away. The mother wants to help her child, and she is able to direct part of her Power to produce the desired effect. So-called psychics – human beings with truncated, castrated Other abilities – are not only able to influence people who are near and dear to them in a spontaneous outpouring of heightened emotion, but can heal other people or even put a curse on them. The Power that flows from them is more structured. No longer steam, but not yet ice – it's water. Third . . .We are Others. In us the balance of emission and absorption is displaced towards absorption.'
'What?' I exclaimed.
'Did you think it was all simple, like with vampires?' Gesar asked with an ironic smile. 'Do you think Others only take, without giving anything in exchange? No, we all give back the Power that we produce. But while an ordinary person's process of absorption and emission is in dynamic equilibrium, and the balance is occasionally disrupted as a result of emotional agitation, with us it's different. We are unbalanced from the very beginning. We absorb more from the surrounding world than we give back.'
'And we can juggle the remainder,' I said. 'Right?'
'We operate with the difference in potentials,' said Gesar, wagging his finger at me again. 'It doesn't matter what your "magical temperature" is – that was the term the witches used to use. You can actually generate a great deal of Power, and the rate at which it is emitted will increase in geometrical progression. There are Others like that . . . they give more back to the common pot than people do, but they also absorb very actively. They work on that difference in potentials.'
After a moment's pause, Gesar added a self-critical comment:
'But those are only rare cases, I admit. Far more often Others are less capable of producing magical Power than ordinary people, but equally or even more capable of absorbing it. We're not just crude vampires. We're donors too.'
'But why don't they teach us that?' I asked. 'Why?'
'Because in the most basic understanding of the process, we do, after all, consume Power that comes from someone else!' Gesar barked. 'Why did you come barging in here at such an early hour? To rant and rave and lecture me! How can this be true, that we simply consume the Power produced by people! And you have actually taken it directly, pumped it out, like a genuine vampire! When it was necessary, you didn't think twice. Off you went, in shining white armour, with sadness writ large on your noble visage! And behind you little children were crying!'*
* See The Night Watch, Story Three
He was right, of course. Partly.
But I had already worked in the Watch for long enough to know that a partial truth is also a lie.
'Teacher . . .' I said in a low voice, and Gesar started.
I had refused to be his pupil any more on that day when I gathered power from people.
'I'm listening, pupil,' he said, looking into my eyes.
'Surely it's not a question of how much Power we consume, but how much we give back,' I said. 'Teacher, isn't the goal of the Night Watch to divide and protect?'
Gesar nodded.
'To divide and protect until such time as people's morals improve and new Others will only turn to the Light?'
Gesar nodded again.
'And all people will become Others?'
'Rubbish.' Gesar shook his head. 'Whoever told you such nonsense? Can you find that phrase anywhere in even one of the Watches' documents? In the Great Treaty?'
I closed my eyes and looked at the words that sprang into view.
'We are Others . . .'
'No, it doesn't say that anywhere,' I admitted. 'But all our training, everything we do . . . it's all set up to create precisely that impression.'
'That impression is false.'
'Yes, but the self-deception is encouraged.'
Gesar heaved a deep sigh. He looked into my eyes. And said:
'Anton, everyone needs their life to have a meaning. A higher meaning. Both people and Others. Even if that meaning is false.'
'But it's a blind alley . . .' I whispered. 'Teacher, it's a blind alley. If we defeat the Dark Ones . . .'
'Then we'll defeat Evil. Egotism, selfishness, indifference.'
'But our own existence is egotism and selfishness too!'
'What do you suggest?' Gesar enquired politely.
I didn't answer.
'Do you have any objections to raise against the operational work of the Watches? Against monitoring the Dark Ones? Against helping people, and attempting to improve the social system?'
I suddenly realised how I could strike back.
'Teacher, what exactly did you give Arina in 1931? When you met her near the racetrack?'
'A piece of Chinese silk,' Gesar replied calmly. 'She's a woman, after all, she wanted beautiful clothes . . . and those were hard times. A friend of mine sent me the silk from Manchuria, and I couldn't really think what to do with it . . . Do you blame me?'
I nodded.
'Anton, I was opposed to wide-scale experimentation on human beings from the very beginning,' Gesar said, with obvious disgust. 'It was a foolish idea that had been kicking around since the nineteenth century. No wonder the Dark Ones agreed. It didn't bring any positive changes at all. Just more blood, war, famine, repression . . .'
He stopped speaking, jerked the drawer of his d
esk open with a crash and took out a cigar.
'But Russia would have been a prosperous country now . . .' I began.
'Bla-bla-bla . . .' Gesar shot back. 'Not Russia, the Eurasian Union. A prosperous social-democratic state. Vying with the Asian Union, led by China, and the Conference of English-Speaking Countries, led by the United States. Five or six local nuclear conflicts every year . . . on the territory of Third World countries. A struggle for resources, an arms race far worse than what we have now . . .'
I was shattered and crushed. Totally blown away. But I still tried to object:
'Arina said something . . . about a city on the moon . . .'
'Yes, that's right,' Gesar said with a nod. 'There would have been cities on the moon. Around the nuclear missile bases. Do you read science fiction?'
I shrugged and cast a sideways glance at the book in the waste paper basket.
'What the American writers were writing about in the 1950s – that would all have happened,' Gesar explained. 'Yes, spaceships with nuclear drives . . . all military. You see, Anton, there were three ways that communism in Russia could have gone. The first led to a fine and wonderful society. But that's contrary to human nature. The second led to degeneration and self-destruction. That's what happened. The third way was a conversion to Scandinavian-type social-democracy, followed by the subjugation of most of Europe and North Africa. Alas, one of the consequences of following this path was the division of the world into three opposed blocks and – sooner or later – global war. But before that, people would have found out that the Others existed and wiped them out or brought them under control. I'm sorry, Anton, but I decided that was too high a price to pay for cities on the moon and a hundred different types of salami by 1980.'
'But now America . . .'
'You and your America,' Gesar said with a frown. 'Wait until 2006, and then we'll talk.'
I said nothing. I didn't even ask what it was Gesar had seen in the future, in 2006, which was already so near . . .
'I can appreciate your emotional torment,' said Gesar, reaching for his lighter. 'You won't think me too cynical if I light up now?'
'Have a glass of vodka, if you like, teacher,' I snarled back.
'I don't drink vodka in the morning,' Gesar started puffing to get his cigar lit. 'I understand your torment . . . your . . . doubts very well. I also do not regard the present situation as correct. But what's going to happen if we all fall into a melancholy depression and leave our jobs? I'll tell you what! The Dark Ones will be only too delighted to take on the role of shepherds of the human flock. They won't be embarrassed. They won't believe their luck . . . So make your mind up.'
'About what?'
'You came here intending to hand in your resignation,' Gesar replied, raising his voice. 'So make up your mind if you're staying in the Watch, or you think our goals aren't Light enough for you.'
'Where there's black, even grey looks white,' I replied.
Gesar snorted. He asked in a calmer voice:
'What's happening with Arina, did she get away?'
'Yes. She took Nadiushka hostage and demanded help from me and Svetlana.'
Not a single muscle even twitched in Gesar's face.
'The old hag has her principles, Anton. She can bluff with the best, but she would never harm a child. Trust me, I know her.'
'And what if her nerve cracked?' I asked, recalling the horrors I'd been through. 'She couldn't give a damn for the Watches, or the Inquisition. She's not even afraid of Zabulon.'
'Maybe not Zabulon . . .' Gesar laughed. 'I informed the Inquisition about Arina, but I contacted the witch as well. All official and above board, by the way. Everything's minuted. And she was warned about your family. Specially warned.'
This was unexpected.
I looked into Gesar's calm face and didn't know what to say.
'Arina and I have known and respected each other for a long time,' Gesar explained.
'How did you manage that?'
'What exactly?' Gesar asked in surprise. 'Mutual respect? Well, you see . . .'
'Every time I'm convinced that you're a villainous intriguer, you prove that I'm wrong within ten minutes. We're parasites on people? It turns out that it's all for their own good. The country's in ruins? Things could have been a lot worse. My daughter's in danger? She's in about as much danger as little Sasha Pushkin with his old nanny . . .'
Gesar's expression softened.
'Anton, a long, long time ago, I was a puny, snot-nosed kid.' He looked thoughtfully straight through me! 'Yes. Puny and snot-nosed. When I quarrelled with my mentors, whose names wouldn't mean anything to you, I was convinced that they were villainous intriguers too. But they always convinced me I was wrong. The centuries have gone by, and now I have my own pupils . . .'
He blew out a cloud of smoke and stopped speaking. What point was there in going on?
Centuries? Ha! Thousands of years – long enough to learn how to counter any outbursts from his subordinates. And do it so they would arrive fuming with indignation and leave filled with love and respect for their boss. Experience is a powerful thing. Far more powerful than magic.
'I'd really like to see you when you're not wearing any mask, boss,' I said.
Gesar smiled benignly.
'Tell me one thing at least, was your son an Other?' I asked. 'Or did you make him into one? I understand all that stuff about how the secret can't be revealed, it's better for everyone to think . . .'
Gesar's fist came crashing down onto the table. And he half-stood, leaning forward over his desk. 'How long are you going to go on harping on that subject?' he barked. 'Yes, Olga and I duped the Inquisition and won the right to remoralise Timur. He would have become a Dark One, and I couldn't allow that! Clear? Go and report me to the Inquisition if you like! But drop this ridiculous nonsense!'
For a brief moment I felt afraid. But Gesar started striding round his office again and gesticulating energetically, with his feet constantly coming out of his slippers.
'It's impossible to turn a human being into an Other. Impossible! There's no way. Would you like me to tell you the truth about your wife and daughter? Olga intervened in Svetlana's destiny. She used the second half of the Chalk of Destiny for her. But not even the Chalk of Destiny could have transformed your unborn daughter into an Other if she wasn't going to have been born an Other anyway. We only made her even more powerful, gave her absolute power.'
'I know,' I said with a nod.
'How?' Gesar asked, astonished.
'Arina gave me a hint.'
'She's a smart one,' Gesar said. He lowered his voice again. 'That's it! Now you know everything there is to know on the subject. A human being cannot become an Other. By employing the most powerful artefacts it is possible, in the early stages, or in advance, to make an Other more or less powerful, or incline him to the Light or the Dark . . .Within very narrow limits, Anton! If the boy Egor had not been neutral initially, we wouldn't have been able to erase his initiation to the Dark. If your daughter had not been meant to be born a Great Enchantress, we could never have made her into the Greatest of the Great. Before the vessel can be filled with Light or Dark, the vessel has to exist. It depends on us what will be poured into it, but we're not capable of creating the vessel itself. We can only work with the little things, the very tiniest things. And you think it's possible to turn a human being into an Other!'