The Twilight Watch:

  'Not a huge choice . . .' I said.

  'Ha!' Gesar said, smiling. 'Just be glad that there's any choice at all.'

  The suburbs of Saratov sped by outside the windows. The train was slowing down.

  I was sitting in an empty compartment, watching the pointer.

  Kostya was still following us.

  What was he expecting?

  Arbenin's voice sang in my earphones:

  From deception to deception

  Only manna pours down from the sky.

  From siesta to siesta

  They feed us only manifestos.

  Some have gone, some have left.

  I have only made a choice.

  And I sense it with my back:

  We are different, we are other.

  I shook my head. It should be 'We are Others'. But even if we were to disappear, everyone would still be divided into ordinary people and Others. No matter how those Others were different.

  People can't get by without Others. Put two people on an uninhabited island, and you'll have a human being and an Other. And the difference is that an Other is always tormented by his Otherness. It's easier for ordinary people. They know they're human, and that's what they ought to be. They have no choice but to be that way. All of them, forever.

  We stand in the centre,

  We blaze like a fire on an ice floe

  And try to warm ourselves,

  Disguising the means with the goal.

  Burning through to our souls

  In meditative solitude.

  The door opened and Gesar came into the compartment. I pulled the earphones out of my ears.

  'Look.' Gesar put his palm-held computer on the table. There was a dot crawling across the map on the screen – our train. Gesar glanced at the compass, nodded and confidently marked a thick line on the screen with his stylus.

  'What's that?' I asked, looking at the point that Kostya's trajectory was heading for. I guessed the answer myself: 'An airport?'

  'Exactly. He's not hoping for negotiations.' Gesar laughed. 'He's making a dash straight for the airport.'

  'Is it military?'

  'No, civilian. But what's the difference? He has the piloting templates.'

  I nodded. For 'backup' all operational agents carried a collection of useful skills – the ability to drive a car, fly a plane or a helicopter, emergency medical knowledge, martial arts . . .Of course the template didn't provide perfect skills, an experienced driver would overtake an Other with a driving template, a good doctor would operate far more skilfully. But Kostya could get any kind of aircraft into the air.

  'Surely that's a good thing,' I said. 'We'll send up the jet fighters and . . .'

  'What if there are passengers?' Gesar asked sharply.

  'It's still better than the train,' I said quietly. 'Fewer casualties.'

  That very moment I felt an odd twinge of pain somewhere deep inside. It was the first time I'd ever weighed human casualties on the invisible scales of expediency and decided one side was lighter than the other.

  'That's no good . . .' said Gesar, and then added: 'Fortunately. What does he care if the plane's destroyed? He'll just transform into a bat and fly down.'

  The station platform appeared outside the window. The train blew its whistle as it slowed to a halt.

  'Ground-to-air nuclear missiles,' I said stubbornly.

  Gesar looked at me in amazement.

  'Where from? The nuclear warheads were all removed years ago. Except for the air defence units around Moscow . . . but he won't go to Moscow.'

  'Where will he go?' I asked expectantly.

  'How should I know? It's your job to make sure he doesn't get anywhere,' Gesar snapped. 'That's it! He's stopped!'

  I looked at the compass. The distance between us and Kostya had started to increase. He'd been flying as a bat, or running along as the Grey Wolf from the fairy tale, but now he'd stopped.

  The interesting thing was that Gesar hadn't even looked at the compass.

  'The airport,' Gesar said, sounding pleased. 'Okay, no more talk. Go. Requisition someone with a good car and get to that airport fast.'

  'But . . .' I began.

  'No artefacts, he'll sense them,' Gesar retorted calmly. 'And no one else goes with you. He can sense all of us now, you understand? All of us. So get a move on!'

  The brakes hissed and the train came to a halt. I paused for a moment in the doorway and heard him say:

  'Yes, stick to the "grey prayer". Don't make things complicated. We'll pump you so full of Power he'll be splattered across the airport.'

  That was it. Apparently the boss was so fired up I didn't even have to say anything to him – he could hear my thoughts before they were formulated in words.

  In the corridor I walked past Zabulon, and couldn't help shuddering when he gave me an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

  Zabulon didn't take offence. He just said:

  'Good luck, Anton! We're counting on you!'

  The passengers were sitting quietly in their compartments. The chief conductor was the only one who watched me go, with a glassy stare, as he made an announcement into a microphone.

  I opened the door into the lobby at the end of the carriage, lowered the step and jumped down onto the platform. Everything was moving fast somehow. Too fast . . .

  There was the usual bustle in the station. A noisy group tumbled out of the next carriage, and one of them bellowed: 'Now, where are all those grannies with our favourite stuff?'

  The 'grannies' – aged from twenty to seventy – were already hurrying to answer the call. Now there'd be vodka, beer, roast chicken legs and pies with dubious fillings.

  'Anton!'

  I swung round. Las was standing beside me with his bag thrown over his shoulder. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and an expression of blissful relief on his face.

  'Are you getting off too?' he asked. 'Maybe I can give you a lift somewhere? I've got a car waiting.'

  'A good car?' I asked.

  'I think it's a Volkswagen.' Las frowned. 'Is that good enough? Or do you insist on a Cadillac?'

  I turned my head to look at the windows of the chief conductor's carriage. Gesar, Zabulon and Edgar were watching me.

  'That's fine,' I said glumly. 'Right . . . I'm sorry. I'm in a serious hurry and I need a car. I turn you towards . . .'

  'Well, let's get going, why are we standing here, if you're in such a hurry?' Las asked, interrupting the standard formula for recruiting volunteers.

  He slipped into the crowd so smartly that I had no choice but to follow.

  We forced our way through the mindless, jostling throng in the station and out to the square. I caught up with Las and tapped him on the shoulder:

  'I turn you . . .'

  'I see it, I see it!' Las said, ignoring me. 'Hi, Roman!'

  The man who came up to us was quite tall, with a well-fed look, almost like a plump baby. He had a small mouth with thin lips and narrow, inexpressive eyes that looked bored behind his spectacles.

  'Hello, Alexander,' the gentleman said formally, holding his hand out smoothly to Las.

  'This is Anton, my friend, can we give him a lift?'

  'Why shouldn't we give him a lift?' Roman agreed sadly. 'The wheels go round, it's a smooth road.' Then he turned and walked towards a brand-new Volkswagen Bora.

  We followed him and got into the car. I impudently slipped into the front passenger seat. Las cleared his throat loudly, but climbed meekly into the back. Roman switched on the ignition and asked:

  'Where do you want to go, Anton?'

  His speech was as smooth and streamlined as if he wasn't speaking, but writing the words in the air.

  'The airport, it's urgent,' I said sombrely.

  'Where?' Roman asked in genuine amazement. He looked at Las: 'Perhaps your friend ought to find a taxi?'

  Las gave me an embarrassed look. Then he gave Roman an equally embarrassed one.

  'All right,' I said. 'I turn you towards th
e Light. Reject the Dark, defend the Light. I grant you the vision to distinguish Good from Evil. I grant you the faith to follow the Light. I grant you the courage to battle the Dark.'

  Las giggled. And then immediately fell silent.

  It's not a matter of words, of course. Words can't change anything, not even if you emphasise every last one of them as if they were spelt with a capital letter. It's like the witches' spells – a mnemonic formula, a template implanted in my memory. I can simply compel someone to obey me, but this way . . . this way's more correct. It brings an old, tried and tested mechanism into play.

  Roman straightened up and his cheeks even seemed to lose some of their plumpness. A moment ago the person beside me had been an overgrown, capricious infant, but now he was a man. A warrior.

  'The Light be with you!' I concluded.

  'To the airport!' Roman declared in delight.

  The engine roared and we tore off, squeezing every last ounce of power out of the small German car. I'm sure that sports sedan had never really shown what it could do before.

  I closed my eyes and looked through the Twilight – at a pattern of branching coloured lines against a background of darkness. Like a crumpled bundle of optical fibres – some green, some yellow, some red. I'm not the best at reading the lines of probability, but this time I found it surprisingly easy. I was feeling in better shape than I ever had before.

  That meant there was already power flowing into me. Power from Gesar and Zabulon, Edgar and the Inquisitors. And maybe at that moment Others were entranced right across Moscow, Light Ones and Dark Ones – the ones Gesar and Zabulon had the right to draw Power from.

  I'd only ever felt anything like this once before. That time when I drew Power directly out of people.

  'We go left at the third turn, there's a traffic jam ahead,' I said. 'Then we turn right into the yard and out through the archway . . . into the side street there . . .'

  I'd never been in Saratov before. But that didn't make any difference right now.

  'Yes sir!' Roman replied briskly.

  'Faster!'

  'Very well!'

  I looked at Las. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. The car hurtled through the crowded streets. Roman drove with the wild fury of a tram driver who's been given a chance to lap Schumacher in a Grand Prix.

  Las sighed and asked:

  'Now what's going to happen to me? Are you going to take a little torch out of your pocket and tell me "it was a marsh gas explosion"?'

  'You can see for yourself – no torch required,' I said.

  'But will I survive?' Las persisted.

  'Yes,' I reassured him. 'But you won't remember anything. I'm sorry, but that's standard procedure.'

  'I get it,' Las said sadly. 'Shit . . .Why is that always the way? . . .Tell me, since it makes no difference . . .'

  The car tore along a side street, bouncing over the potholes. Las stubbed his cigarette out and went on:

  'Tell me, who are you?'

  'An Other.'

  'What sort of other exactly?'

  'A magician. Don't worry – I'm a Light Magician.'

  'My, but you've grown, Harry Potter . . .' Las said. 'What a crazy business. Maybe I've just lost my mind?'

  'No chance . . .' I said, pushing my hands hard against the roof. Roman was really going for it, driving straight across some flowerbeds to cut a corner. 'Careful, Roman! We need to move fast, but safely!'

  'Then tell me,' Las carried on. 'Does this car race have anything to do with that abnormally large bat we saw yesterday night?'

  'Believe it or not, it does,' I confirmed. The Power was seething inside me, as intoxicating as champagne. It made me feel like clowning. 'Are you afraid of vampires?'

  Las took a flat bottle of whisky out of his bag, tore the top off and took a long swig. Then he said cheerfully:

  'Not a bit!'

  CHAPTER 6

  HALFWAY TO THE airport a militia patrol car pulled out and sat on our tail. I put a spell on the Bora that diverts attention and the patrolmen immediately fell back and disappeared. Others normally use that spell to protect their cars against being stolen, so I was delighted to have found a new use for it. But I quickly removed it when a truck nearly flattened us a minute later.

  'We'll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes,' Roman reported. 'What will our instructions be, boss?'

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Las shake his head and take another swig. We were already out of town and hurtling along the road to the airport. A fairly decent road by Central Russian standards.

  'Turn the radio on,' I said. 'This journey's getting a bit dreary.'

  Roman turned it on. He just caught the end of the news:

  '. . . to the delight of millions of readers, whose three-year wait has finally come to an end,' the presenter declared. 'And to conclude – an announcement from the cosmodrome at Baikonur, where a joint Russian-American crew is already preparing for lift-off. The launch is planned for six-thirty this evening, Moscow time. And now we continue with our musical . . .'

  'Like some whisky?' Las asked.

  'No, I've got work to do.'

  'Alexander, pull yourself together, this is no time to be drinking!' Roman declared briskly. 'We've got work to do!'

  This extremely amiable man, who probably couldn't even have slit a chicken's throat in real life, seemed to think that he was James Bond – or at least his assistant.

  We all have something we never got out of our systems when we were children.

  'You will guard the car,' I told him. 'This is a very responsible assignment. We are relying on you.'

  'I serve the Light!' Roman barked.

  'I'd never have believed it . . .' Las groaned on the back seat. 'Shall I guard the car too?'

  'Yes.' I nodded. 'Only . . . please, please . . . don't try to run away.'

  I heard more gurgling from the back seat. Maybe I ought to turn Las to the Light too? It would be more humane . . . the poor man was suffering unnecessary torment.

  But I had no time left to think about it – the car flew out onto the square in front of the terminal building and pulled up at the entrance with a squeal of brakes. Nobody took any notice – someone was late for their flight, it happened all the time . . .

  I took out Arina's note and looked at the compass.

  The pointer was swaying, but it still indicated a definite direction.

  Had Kostya sensed my approach? Gesar had been sure he would.

  What lay in store for me?

  Strangely enough, up until that moment, I hadn't felt any fear. In my heart of hearts I hadn't been prepared to see Kostya as an enemy – and especially not the kind of enemy who might kill me. I was a second-grade magician – that was already something not to be taken lightly. I had the entire might of the Night Watch behind me and now – something quite unheard of – the might of the Day Watch as well. What could one solitary vampire possibly do to me, even if he was a Higher Vampire?