Сергей Лукьяненко - Day Watch

The Black Eagle was one of Anton's favorite restaurants in Prague. Maybe that was simply because he'd been there a few times on his first trip to the city. It doesn't take much to make a Russian happy, after all. Good service that isn't intrusive, good food, incredible beer, low prices. That last point was pretty important. It was only the Dark Ones who could afford to throw their money around. Even Rogoza, that creation of the Twilight, had appeared in Moscow carrying heaps of cash. It was possible to earn money honestly, but to earn a lot of money-you could never do that without compromising your conscience a little. And when it came to that, the Night Watch was definitely at a disadvantage compared to the Day Watch.

The street Anton was walking along divided into two, like a river, leaving a number of old, low buildings forming a long, narrow island along its center-most of them were restaurants and souvenir shops. The Black Eagle was the first in the row.

As he walked into the small courtyard, Anton saw a Light Other.

No, he wasn't a member of any Watch. Just an Other who preferred an almost ordinary, almost human life to the front line of the magical war. A tall, handsome, middle-aged man with a good figure, wearing the uniform of an officer in the US Air Force. He was on his way out of the restaurant, obviously feeling quite contented with the way he'd spent his time, with his girlfriend-a pretty Czech girl-and with himself.

He didn't spot Anton right away-he was too absorbed in conversation. But when he did spot him, he gave a broad, beaming smile.

There was nothing else for it-Anton raised his shadow from the snow-covered cobblestones and stepped into the Twilight. Silence fell, all the sounds were muffled in cotton wool. The world slowed down and lost its colors. People's auras shimmered into life, like rainbows-most of them calm and peaceful, not overloaded with unnecessary thoughts. The way it ought to be in a tourist spot.

"Greetings, watchman!" the American hailed him happily. Here in the Twilight there were no problems with language.

"Hello, Light One," Anton replied. "Glad to see you."

"The Prague Watch?" the American queried. He'd read the watchman's aura, but not made out the details. But then, he was a pretty weak magician. Somewhere around sixth level, and with a strong attachment to natural magic. There wouldn't have been anything for him to do in the Watch anyway, except maybe sit somewhere out of the way and keep an eye on witches and shape-shifters whose powers were as weak as his own.

" Moscow."

"Oh, the Moscow Watch!" There was a clear note of respect in the American's voice now. "A powerful Watch. Allow me to shake your hand."

They shook hands. The American airman seemed to regard the encounter as one more element of a pleasant evening.

"Captain Christian Vanover Jr. Sixth-level magician. Do you need my assistance, watchman?" The formal proposal was made with all due seriousness.

"Thank you, Light One, but I don't require any assistance," Anton replied no less politely.

"On vacation?" Christian asked.

"No. A business trip. But there's no assistance required."

The American nodded. "This is my Christmas vacation. My unit's stationed in Kosovo, so I decided to visit Prague."

"Good choice," said Anton with a nod. "A beautiful city."

He didn't want to continue the conversation, but the American was full of bonhomie. "A wonderful city. I'm glad we managed to save it in the Second World War."

"Yes, we saved it…" said Anton, nodding again.

"Did you fight back then, watchman?"

Anton realized Christian must be a really weak magician. Not to see his real age, at least approximately…

"No."

"I was too young too," the American sighed. "I dreamed of joining the army, but I was only fifteen. A pity, I could have got here fifty years earlier…"

Anton only just stopped himself from saying that Christian wouldn't have had the chance, because the American forces never entered Prague. But he immediately felt ashamed of his own thoughts.

"Well, good luck," said the American, finally deciding to move on. "Some day I'll fly into Moscow to see you, watchman!"

"Only not the way you flew into Kosovo." This time Anton was too slow to stop himself, but Captain Christian Vanover Jr. didn't take offense. On the contrary, he smiled his broad smile and said, "No, I don't think it will come to that, do you? May the Light be with you, watchman!"

Anton followed the American out of the Twilight. Christian's girl hadn't noticed a thing. He took her by the arm and winked at Anton.

"And may the force be with you…" Anton muttered in Russian.

That was a stroke of bad luck… His good mood had completely melted away, like a lump of ice on a hot skillet.

He could tell himself a thousand times over that no arguments and disputes between states had anything to do with the concerns of the Light and the Darkness. He could accept that in a war this airman-magician was far more likely not to aim his bombs at civilians. But even so…

Just how could he manage to go out on bombing raids and drop his explosives on people's heads, and still remain a Light One? Because he was a Light One, no doubt about that! But he almost certainly had human lives on his conscience. How did he manage not to fall back into the Twilight? What incredible faith he must have in his own righteousness, to be able to combine active military service and the cause of the Light.

Anton entered the Black Eagle in a gloomy and depressed mood.

He immediately spotted Christian Vanover's fellow airmen. About ten of them, all ordinary human beings. They were sitting at a long table, eating goulash and drinking Sprite. They really were drinking Sprite.

In a Czech beer bar! On vacation!

And not because they were teetotalers. There were empty beer bottles on the table, American Budweiser, which Anton would only have considered drinking if he was dying of thirst in a desert.

Anton walked past the Americans. There were no more free tables-another stroke of bad luck… But there was someone over there sitting on his own, maybe he could join him… The person at the table looked up-and started. And Anton did pretty much the same.

It was Edgar.

–«¦»-

One thing the Dark Ones certainly had was a lust for life. Anton had never had any doubt about that. He only had to look at the way Edgar was dealing with that tasty-looking leg of pork that no dietician would ever have approved, larding it generously with mustard-the kind the Russians liked, of course, sweetish, but still with a sharp bite-and horseradish too, and swilling it down with plenty of beer.

Anton had always found that astonishing. He had always been on perfectly friendly terms with his vampire neighbors, and even they sometimes looked more full of the joy of life than the Light magicians. The Higher Magicians, that was-those whose powers were at Anton's level still hadn't finished "playing at people."

The unpleasant thing about it was that their love of life usually didn't extend beyond themselves.

Anton lifted his heavy mug of Budweiser and muttered, "Prosit."

It was a good thing the Czechs didn't have the custom of clinking glasses. Anton wouldn't have liked to clink glasses with a Dark One.

"Prosit," Edgar replied. He drained half of his mug in two swallows, savoring the beer, and wiped the foam off his upper lip. "That's good."

"It is," Anton agreed, although he was still feeling tense. No, of course there was nothing reprehensible about them drinking beer together like this. The rules of the Night Watch didn't prohibit contact with Dark Ones; on the contrary-if a member of the Watch was confident that he was safe, it was welcomed. You never knew what you might find out. You might even be able to influence a Dark One. Not turn him to the Light, of course… but at least stop him from pulling his next lousy trick. Anton surprised himself by saying, "It's nice to find at least one thing we can agree on."