Сергей Лукьяненко - Day Watch

Edgar giggled quietly. "Anton… you've answered your own point. "If he realizes…' What if he doesn't realize? Do you remember the case of that maniac healer? Twelve years ago, I think it was…"

Anton remembered. He hadn't been initiated at the time, but he'd discussed and analyzed the unprecedented case with every member of the Watch, with every Light One.

A Light healer with a powerful gift of foresight. He lived outside Moscow and wasn't an active member of the Night Watch, but he was listed in the reserve. He worked as a doctor, and used Light magic in his practice. His patients adored him-after all, he could literally work miracles… But he also killed young women who were his patients. Not by using magic-he simply killed them. Sometimes he killed them using acupuncture-he had a perfect knowledge of the body's energy points…

The Night Watch discovered what he was doing almost by accident. One of the analysts started wondering about the sharp rise in deaths among young women in a small town just outside Moscow. One especially alarming factor was that most of the victims were pregnant. They also noticed a remarkably high number of miscarriages, abortions, and stillbirths. They suspected the Dark Ones, they suspected vampires and werewolves, Satanists, witches… They checked absolutely everyone.

Then Gesar himself got involved in the case, and the murderer was caught. The murderer who was a Light magician…

The charming and imposing healer simply saw the future too clearly. Sometimes, when he received a patient, he could see the future of her unborn child, who was almost certain to grow into a murderer, a maniac, or a criminal. Sometimes he saw that his patient would commit some monstrous crime or accidentally cause the deaths of large numbers of people, so he decided to fight back any way he could.

At his trial the healer had explained ardently that Light magical intervention wouldn't have been any use-in that case the Dark Ones would have been granted the right to an equal intervention in response, and the quantity of evil in the world wouldn't have been reduced. But all he had done was "pull up the weeds." And he had been prevented from sinking into the Twilight by the firm conviction that the amount of good he had brought into the world was far greater than the evil he had done.

Gesar had had to dematerialize him in person.

"He was a psychopath," Anton explained. "Just a psychopath. With the typical deranged way of thinking… You get cases like that, unfortunately."

"Like that sword-bearer of Joan of Arc's, the Marquis Gilles de Rais," Edgar prompted eagerly. "He was a Light One too, wasn't he? And then he started killing women and children in order to extract the elixir of youth from their bodies, conquer death, and make the whole of humanity happy."

"Edgar, nobody's insured against insanity. Not even Others. But if you take the most ordinary witch…" Anton began, fuming.

"I accept that," said Edgar, spreading his hands in a reconciliatory shrug. "But we're not talking about extreme cases here! Just about the fact that it's possible , and the defense mechanism you're so proud of, dematerialization-let's call it simply conscience- can fail. And now think-what if Gesar decides that if you die it will do immense good for the cause of the Light in the future? If the scales are balanced between Anton Gorodetsky on one side and millions of human lives on the other?"

"He wouldn't have to trick me," Anton said firmly. "There'd be no need. If such a situation arises, I'm prepared to sacrifice myself. Every one of us is."

"And what if he can't tell you anything about it?" Edgar laughed, delighted. "So the enemy won't find out, so you'll behave more naturally, so you won't suffer unnecessarily… after all, it's Gesar's responsibility to preserve your peace of mind as well."

He raised the next mug of beer with a satisfied expression and sucked in the foam noisily.

"You're a Dark One," said Anton. "All you see in everything is evil, treachery, trickery."

"All I do is not close my eyes to them," Edgar retorted. "And that's why I don't trust Zabulon. I distrust him almost, as much as I do Gesar. I can even trust you more-you're just another unfortunate chess piece who happens by chance to be painted a different color from me. Does a white pawn hate a black one? No. Especially if the two pawns have their heads down together over a quiet beer or two."

"You know," Anton said in a slightly surprised voice, "I just don't understand how you can carry on living if you see the world like that. I'd just go and hang myself."

"So you don't have any counterarguments to offer?"

Anton took a gulp of beer too. The wonderful thing about this natural Czech beer was that even if you drank lots of it, it still didn't make your head or your body feel heavy… Or was that an illusion?

"Not a single one," Anton admitted. "Right now, this very moment, not a single one. But I'm sure you're wrong. It's just difficult to argue about the colors of a rainbow with a blind man. There's something missing in you… I don't know what exactly.

But it's something very important, and without it you're more helpless than a blind man."

"Why am I?" Edgar protested, slightly offended. "It's you Light Ones who are helpless. Bound hand and foot by your own ethical dogmas. And those who have moved up onto the higher levels of development, like Gesar, control you."

"I'll try to answer that," said Anton. "But not right now. We'll be seeing each other again."

"Avoiding the question?" Edgar asked, laughing.

"No, it's just that we decided not to talk about work. Didn't we?"

Edgar didn't answer. The Light One really had got him there! Why had he bothered getting into such a useless argument? You can't paint a white dog black, as they said in the Day Watch.

"Yes," he agreed, "It's my fault, I admit it. Only…"

"Only it's very hard not to talk about the things that separate us," Anton said with a nod. "I understand. It's not your fault… it's destiny."

He rummaged in his pockets and took out a pack of cigarettes. Edgar couldn't help noticing that they were cheap ones, 21st Century, made in Russia. Well, well. A Dark magician of his level could afford all the pleasures of life. But Anton smoked Russian cigarettes… and maybe it was no accident that he'd ended up in this small, cozy restaurant that was so inexpensive?

"Where is it you're staying?" he asked.

"The Kafka Hotel," Anton answered. "Zizkov, on Cimburkova Street."

That fit, all right-it was a small, second-rate hotel. Edgar nodded as the Light One lit up. It looked awkward somehow, as if he hadn't been smoking long or didn't smoke very often.

"And you're in the Hilton, aren't you?" Anton suddenly said. "Or the Radisson SAS at the very worst?"

"Are you following me?" Edgar asked, suddenly on his guard again.

"No. It's just that all Dark Ones are so fond of famous names and expensive establishments. You're predictable too."

"So what?" Edgar said defiantly. "Are you a supporter of asceticism and the poor life?"

Anton looked around ironically at the restaurant, the pathetic remains of his leg of pork on the knife-scarred wooden board, his latest mug of beer-how many had there been? It didn't seem like he even needed to answer, but he did: "No, I'm not arguing that. But the number of rooms and staff that a hotel has isn't the most important thing. Nor is the price of the dishes on the menu. I could have stayed at the Hilton too, and gone to drink beer in the most expensive tavern in Prague. But what for? And you-why did you come to this place? Not exactly top flight, is it?"

"It's comfortable here," Edgar admitted. "And the food's good."

"See what I mean?"

In a sudden fit of drunken magnanimity, Edgar exclaimed, "That's it! I think I've got it! That's what the difference between us is. You try to limit your natural requirements. Maybe it's some kind of modesty… But we're more extravagant, yes… With power, money, financial and human resources…"