The Twilight Watch:

  But I didn't want to admit that, even to myself.

  The café door opened and in came Gesar, Zabulon, Edgar, Kostya . . . and Olga. From the lively way they were talking, it was clear that Olga was already up to speed.

  'Edgar agreed to call in reinforcements . . .' Svetlana said in a low voice. 'That's bad news.'

  The magicians walked across to our table and I saw them glance in passing at the 'compass'. Kostya went over to the counter and ordered a glass of red wine. The woman behind the counter smiled – either he had used a little bit of vampire charm, or she just liked the look of him. Hey, lady . . . don't smile at that young man who rouses your maternal, or maybe even womanly, feelings. He could give you a kiss that will leave you smiling forever . . .

  'Kostya and the Inquisitor have searched every inch of the baggage rooms,' said Gesar. 'Not a trace.'

  'And we've combed the entire station,' said Zabulon with a good-natured laugh. 'Six Others, all clearly not involved.'

  'And an uninitiated little girl,' Olga added, smiling. 'Yes, I was the one who spotted her. She'll be taken care of.'

  Zabulon smiled even more broadly – we had a real smiling competition going on here.

  'I'm sorry, Great One. She is already being taken care of.'

  In an ordinary situation that would only have been the beginning of the conversation.

  'That's enough, Great Ones!' Edgar barked. 'We're not concerned with just one potential Other here. This is a question of our very survival!'

  'That's right,' Zabulon agreed. 'Will you give me a hand, Boris Ignatievich?'

  He and Gesar moved another table over to ours. Kostya brought some chairs – and there we were, all sitting together. Nothing out of the ordinary – like people going off on holiday or a business trip, passing time in the station café . . .

  'Either he's not here or he can conceal himself from us,' said Svetlana. 'In any case, I'd like to ask permission to leave. Call me if I'm needed.'

  'Your daughter's perfectly all right,' Zabulon growled. 'I give you my word.'

  'We might need you here,' said Gesar, backing him up.

  Svetlana sighed.

  'Gesar, please, why not let Svetlana go?' I asked. 'You can see it's not Power we need right now.'

  'Then what do we need?' Gesar asked curiously.

  'Cunning and patience. You and Zabulon have plenty of cunning. And you can't expect patience from a worried mother.'

  Gesar shook his head. He glanced at Olga and she gave a barely perceptible nod.

  'Go to your daughter, Sveta,' said Gesar. 'You're right. If you're needed, I'll call you and put up a portal.'

  'Okay, I'm off,' said Svetlana. She leaned over to me for a moment and kissed me on the cheek – then vanished into thin air. The portal was so tiny I didn't even see it.

  The people in the café didn't even notice Svetlana disappear. We were invisible to them, they simply couldn't see us.

  'She's really powerful,' said Zabulon. He reached out to pick up Kostya's half-empty glass and took a sip. 'Well, you know best, Gesar . . .What next, Mr Inquisitor?'

  'We wait,' Edgar said curtly. 'He'll come for the book.'

  'He or she,' Zabulon added. 'He or she . . .'

  We didn't set up an operational headquarters. Just sat there in the café, ate a bit, drank a bit. Kostya ordered steak tartare – the counter lady was astonished, but she went running into the kitchen and a moment later a young man came out and dashed off to get the meat.

  Gesar ordered a chicken Kiev. The rest of us made do with wine, beer and various small snacks like dried squid and pistachio nuts.

  I sat there watching Kostya wolf down the almost raw meat, wondering about the behaviour of our unidentified criminal. 'Look for the motive!' had been Sherlock Holmes's advice. If we found the motive, we'd find the criminal. He had already become the most powerful Other in the world – or he could do at any moment. But if that wasn't his goal, what was it? Blackmail. That would be stupid. He couldn't impose his will on all the Watches and the Inquisition, he'd end up like Fuaran . . . Maybe the criminal wanted to set up his own, alternative organisation of Others? An organisation of 'wild Others' had been crushed that spring in St Petersburg, hadn't it? But crushed with great difficulty. A bad example was infectious, someone might have been tempted. And the worst thing was that even a Light One could have been tempted. To create a new Night Watch. A Super-Watch. Wipe out the Dark Ones completely, break the Inquisition and lure some of the Light Ones over to his side . . .

  If that was the way things were, it was bad, very bad. The Dark Ones wouldn't surrender without a fight. The modern world was bristling with weapons of mass destruction and nuclear power stations, and a strike at them could wipe out the entire planet. The time was long over when a violent solution could lead to victory. Perhaps that time had never even existed . . .

  'The pointer,' said Edgar. 'Look!'

  My compass had stopped pretending to be a fan. The pointer spun more slowly, then froze, quivered – and began turning slowly to indicate a direction.

  'Yes!' Kostya exclaimed, leaping out of his chair. 'It worked!'

  And for just a split second I saw again the vampire-boy who had still not tasted human blood and was certain he would never have to pay a price for his Power . . .

  'Let's move, gentlemen.' Edgar jumped to his feet. He looked at the pointer, followed its direction and stared hard at the wall. 'To the trains!' he said, sounding very determined.

  CHAPTER 3

  IT'S A COMMON sight at a railway station – a group of people dashing along the platform, trying to work out where their train's leaving from, if it hasn't already left. For some reason the role of these late passengers is almost always played by female shuttle-traders loaded down with Chinese striped-canvas bags or, in contrast, cultured males whose only burden is a Samsonite briefcase.

  We belonged to an exotic subspecies of the second category – we had no baggage at all. Our overall appearance was pretty strange, but it inspired respect.

  On the platform the pointer started spinning again – we were already close to the book.

  'He's trying to get away,' Zabulon declared grandly. 'All right . . . now let's see which trains are leaving . . .'

  The Dark One's gaze clouded over – he was forecasting the future, looking to see which train would leave the platform first.

  I looked up at the information board hanging in the air behind us. And said:

  'The Moscow–Almaty train is about to leave. In five minutes, from platform two.'

  Zabulon returned from his prophetic travels and announced:

  'The train to Kazakhstan leaves from platform two. In five minutes.'

  He looked very pleased with himself.

  Kostya snickered quietly, and Gesar looked up ostentatiously at the information board and nodded.

  'Yes, you're right, Zabulon . . . And the next one's not for half an hour.'

  'We'll stop the train and comb all the carriages,' Edgar suggested quickly. 'Right?'

  'Will your subordinates be able to find the Other?' Gesar asked. 'If he's disguised? If he's a magician beyond classification?'

  Edgar wilted. He shook his head.

  'That's the point,' Gesar said with a nod. 'The Fuaran was in the station. It was right here, and we couldn't find the book or the criminal. What makes you think it will be any easier on the train?'

  'If he's on the train,' said Zabulon, 'the easiest thing to do is destroy the train. No more problem.'

  There was silence.

  Gesar shook his head.

  'I know, I know, it's not an ideal solution,' Zabulon acknowledged.' Even I don't like the idea of a thousand lives simply wasted . . . But what other choice do we have?'

  'What do you suggest, Great One?' asked Edgar.

  'If,' said Zabulon, emphasising the word, 'the Fuaran really is on the train, we have to wait for the moment when the train reaches an unpopulated area. The Kazakh steppes would be perfect. Then . . . we woul
d follow the plans that the Inquisition has for such situations.'

  Edgar gave a nervous jerk of his head and, as always happened when he was agitated, started speaking with a slight Baltic accent.

  'That is not a good solution, Great One. And I myself cannot approve it – the sanction of the tribunal is required.'

  Zabulon shrugged, his entire manner indicating that all he could do was make suggestions.

  'In any case, we have to be certain that the book is on the train,' said Gesar. 'I suggest . . .' he looked at me and gave a barely perceptible nod. 'I suggest that Anton from the Night Watch, Konstantin from the Day Watch and someone from the Inquisition should get on the train. To check it out. We don't need a big group for that. We'll arrive in the morning. And then decide what to do next.'

  'Off you go, Kostya,' Zabulon said affectionately, slapping the young vampire on the shoulder. 'Gesar's talking sense. Good company, a long journey, an interesting job – you'll enjoy it.'

  The mocking glance in my direction was almost too fast to catch.

  'That . . . buys us time,' Edgar agreed. 'I'll go myself. And I'll take my colleagues with me. All of them.'

  'Only one minute left,' Olga said quietly. 'If you've made up your minds, better get moving.'

  Edgar waved to his team and we ran towards the train. The Inquisitor said something to the conductor of the front carriage – a young Kazakh with a moustache – and the conductor's face suddenly went slack, assuming an expression of sleepy contentment. He moved aside to let us in, and we crowded into the little lobby at the end of the carriage. I looked out – Zabulon, Gesar and Olga were standing on the platform, watching us leave. Olga was saying something.

  'In the situation that has arisen, I'll assume overall control,' Edgar declared. 'Any objections?'

  I glanced at the six Inquisitors standing behind his back and said nothing. But Kostya couldn't restrain himself.

  'That depends on what kind of orders you give. I only acknowledge the authority of the Day Watch.'

  'I repeat – I am in charge of the operation,' Edgar said coolly. 'If you don't agree, then you can get out.'

  Kostya hesitated for a second, and then lowered his head.

  'My apologies, Inquisitor. It was a poor joke. Of course you are in charge. But if necessary I will have to contact my superior.'

  'First you'll jump to attention and ask permission.' Edgar was determined to cross all the t's and dot all the i's.

  'Very well,' Kostya said and nodded. 'My apologies, Inquisitor.'

  That put an end to the incipient rebellion. Edgar nodded, stuck his head out of the lobby and called the conductor over.

  'When are we off?'

  'Right now!' the conductor replied, gazing at the Inquisitor with all the adoration of a devoted dog. 'Right away, I just have to get in.'

  'Well, get in then,' said Edgar, moving out of the way.

  The conductor climbed into the small space, still wearing that expression of joyful submission. The train began pulling away slowly. The conductor stood beside the open door, swaying slightly.

  'What's your name?' asked Edgar.

  'Askhat. Askhat Kurmangaliev.'

  'Close the door. Do your job according to your instructions.' Edgar frowned. 'We are your best friends. We are your guests. You have to find places on the train for us. Do you understand?'

  The door clattered shut, the conductor locked it with his key and stood to attention in front of Edgar again.

  'I understand. We need to go to the chief conductor. I don't have enough free places. Only four.'

  'Let's go and see him then,' Edgar agreed. 'Anton, what's the compass doing?'

  I lifted up the note and looked at the Twilight compass.

  The pointer was spinning idly.

  'Looks like the book's on the train.'

  'We'll wait a bit to make sure,' Edgar decided.

  We travelled a good kilometre away from the station, but the pointer carried on spinning. Whoever the thief was, he was travelling with us.

  'He's on the train, the son of a bitch,' said Edgar. 'Wait for me here. I'll go and see the chief conductor, we need to get ourselves seats somewhere.'

  He went out into the corridor with the conductor, who was still smiling contentedly. A second conductor spotted his colleague and said something very quickly in Kazakh, waving his arms about indignantly, but then he caught Edgar's glance and fell silent.

  'Might as well hang signs round our necks – "We're Others!",' said Kostya. 'What's he doing? If there really is a Higher Other in the train, he'll sense the magic . . .'

  Kostya was right. It would have been far better to make do with money – it has a magic that works just as well with people. But Edgar was probably feeling too nervous . . .

  'Can you sense any magic?' one of the junior Inquisitors asked unexpectedly.

  Kostya turned towards him, perplexed. He shook his head.

  'Neither will anybody else. Edgar has an amulet of subjection – it only works at close range.'

  'Inquisitors' tricks . . .' Kostya muttered, clearly nettled. 'Even so, it would be better to keep our heads down. Right, Anton?'

  I nodded reluctantly.

  Edgar came back after about twenty minutes. I didn't bother to ask how he'd dealt with the chief conductor, by giving him money or – more likely – using his mysterious 'amulet of subjection' again. He had a calm, contented expression on his face.

  'We'll divide into two groups,' he said, moving straight into command mode. 'You'– he nodded in the direction of the Inquisitors – 'are staying in this carriage. Take the conductors' compartment and compartment one, that's six places. Askhat will settle you in . . . ask him for anything you need, don't be shy. And don't take any positive action on your own, don't play the amateur detective. Behave like . . . like people. Report on the situation to me every three hours . . . or as necessary. We'll be in carriage number seven.'

  The Inquisitors filed silently out of the lobby, following the smiling conductor. Edgar turned to Kostya and me and said:

  'We'll take compartment four in carriage number seven. We can regard it as our temporary base. Let's go.'

  'Have you come up with a plan yet, chief?' Kostya enquired. I couldn't tell if he was being ironic or sincere.

  Edgar looked at him for a second, clearly also wondering whether it was a genuine question or a jibe. He answered anyway:

  'If I have a plan, you'll hear about it. In good time. Meanwhile I want to get a cup of coffee and two or three hours' sleep. In that order.'

  Kostya and I set off after Edgar. The vampire grinned and I couldn't help winking back at him. After all, we were united now by our position as subordinates . . . despite all my reservations about Kostya.

  The carriage that the chief conductor rides in is the top spot in the whole train. The air conditioning always works. The boiler is always full of hot water, and there's always a fresh brew of tea ready. And finally, it's clean, even in the Central Asian trains, and they give out the sheets in sealed packs – they really have been laundered after the previous run. The toilets work, and you can boldly go into them without rubber boots.