Сергей Лукьяненко - Day Watch

Igor drained his glass again. Anton raised his glass without speaking and nodded in support of the toast that had not been spoken aloud.

"That was when I became what I am," Igor repeated. "A magician. A field agent. Eternally young. Who loves everybody… and nobody. I'd already made up my mind that I would never fall in love. Never. Girlfriends were one thing, love was something quite different. I couldn't love a human being, because human beings were weak. I couldn't love an Other, because any Other was either an enemy or a comrade-in-arms. That was the principle I adopted for my life, Antoshka. And I stuck to it as closely as I could. It seemed like I was still the same young man who came back from the front, who still had plenty of time to think about falling in love. It's one thing to take a whirl with a girl on the dance floor…" he said, and laughed quietly, "or leap about in cool threads under the ultraviolet light at the discotheque… what difference does it make if it's jazz, rock, or trash, what length the skirt is and what the stockings are made of… It's all good. It's the way things ought to be. Have you seen that American cartoon, about Peter Pan? Well, I became like him. Only not a stupid little boy, but a stupid young man. And I felt just fine for a long time. Supposedly I've outlived the time granted to a man, and it would be a sin to complain-I haven't had any helpless old age or other problems. So don't you torment yourself unnecessarily, Anton."

Anton sat there with his head in his hands, not speaking. It was as if he'd opened a door and seen something behind it… not something taboo, and not something shameful either… Just something that had absolutely nothing to do with him. And he realized that behind every door, if-may the Light forbid!-he was able to open it, he would see something equally alien and… personal.

"I've reached the end of my road, Anton," Igor said almost tenderly. "Don't be so sad. I understand that you came here hoping to shake me up, to get all this nonsense out of my head, to carry out your instructions. Only it won't work. Like a fool, I really did fall in love with a Dark One. I killed her. And it turns out I killed myself too."

Anton didn't say anything. It was all pointless. He was overwhelmed by someone else's anguish, someone else's grief. Instead of simply bringing a parcel to a sick friend, here he was sitting with him at his own wake…

"Anton, don't go away today," Igor said. "I won't sleep anyway… soon I'll catch up on my sleep forever. To be honest, I've got another three bottles of vodka in the refrigerator. And there's a restaurant five floors down."

"Then we'll fall asleep at the table."

"We'll be okay, we're Others. We can take it. I want to talk. To cry on someone's shoulder. I've started feeling afraid of the dark. Can you believe that?"

"Yes."

Igor nodded. "Thanks. I've got my guitar here, we can sing something. Or I'll sing. You know, singing for yourself is just the same as… well, you understand. And apart from that…"

Anton looked at Igor-his voice had suddenly become more focused. Stronger.

"I'm a watchman, after all. I haven't forgotten that, you can be quite sure. And it seems to me that in all this mess, I'm no more than a pawn… no, probably not a pawn… A rook who has taken one of the other side's pieces and occupied a square in the line of fire. Only unlike the other pieces, I can think. I hope you haven't forgotten how to do that, either. I don't care about myself anymore, Anton. But I do care who wins this game. Let's think together."

"Where do we begin?" Anton asked, feeling amazed at himself. Surely he hadn't accepted what Igor had said and agreed to think of him as a piece who had already been removed from the board… or who at least was already doomed as the invisible player reached out his hand for him…

"With Svetlana. With the Chalk of Destiny," said Igor, watching carefully to see how Anton's face changed. He laughed smugly. "Well, have I guessed right? You've been having the same thoughts?"

"And so has Gesar…" Anton whispered.

"Gesar's a clever one," Igor agreed. "But we're no fools, are we? Anyway, why don't we try thinking with our heads and not our hands for once?"

"Okay, let's try," Anton said with a nod. "Only…"

He fumbled in his pocket for the amulet that Gesar had given him. He crushed the little ball in his hand and felt the bone needles prick his skin. There was never any gain without pain… He said:

"Now for twelve hours no one will be able to see us or hear us."

"Are you sure?" Igor asked. "Won't the absence of information alert the Inquisition?"

"There won't be any absence," said Anton. "As far as I understand it, if they have any observational devices here, or if they've cast any tracking spells-they'll provide false information. It's a quality scam."

"Gesar's a clever one," Igor repeated with a smile.

Edgar sat by the window, smoking and slowly sipping a glass of flat champagne. It still tasted good.

His girlfriend was sleeping peacefully in the next room, satisfied and happy. She had turned out to be a fine girl. A German student with some Scandinavian blood, reasonably passionate and reasonably cheerful. But a bit too fanciful in sex for Edgar's taste. Unlike most of his colleagues, Edgar was very conservative in such matters. He didn't take part in orgies, he didn't have underage girlfriends, and out of all the possibilities he preferred the classic missionary position.

But there was no denying that in that position he had achieved perfection.

Edgar stretched sweetly and carefully opened the window. He stood up and breathed in the cold, frosty air. The new day had begun and perhaps the Tribunal would give its verdict that very evening. Then he'd be able to relax and enjoy the festive season, without worrying about all these intrigues.

But who was behind this intrigue, after all… the Day Watch or the Night Watch?

And most important of all-what role had been assigned to him?

Could Yury's hint really be right, was he supposed to be sacrificed, just like Alisa?

"Here, look…" Igor spread out a large sheet of paper on the table and took a pack of felt-tip pens out of his pocket. "I've already drawn a few diagrams… and some things fit together. This is Svetlana."

Anton looked thoughtfully at the circle drawn with a thick yellow line and said, "It doesn't look much like her."

Igor laughed. "All right… very witty. But look at the way things shape up. We and the Dark Ones had a balance, a precarious one, but still a balance… Here are the magicians with first- to third-level powers on our side… here are their equivalents on the Dark Side… Both the ones in active service and the others who can easily be mobilized."

The paper was quickly covered with small circles. Then Igor divided the sheet in two with a sweeping gesture. At the top of one side he wrote "Gesar," and at the top of the other, "Zabulon." He explained: "They're not really in the game. They're the players, but we're interested in the pieces. Look at how things changed with Svetlana's appearance."

"It depends what piece we decide she is," Anton said cautiously. "Right now she's a first-level enchantress… or rather, she was."

"And what does that mean? Just look how many magicians there are at about the same level as her."

"She's a pawn," said Anton, feeling surprised at his own words. "Svetlana's no more than a pawn for years and years to come! While she nurtures her Power, learns to control her abilities, acquires experience… She's more powerful than me… or she was. But I'd have been able to handle her if I'd been on the other side."

"Precisely, Anton," said Igor, deftly pouring himself a glass from the second bottle of vodka-the first was already standing empty under the table. "Precisely! Svetlana made the Night Watch significantly more powerful. And in the future she could easily reach the same level as Gesar. But that's a matter of decades, or even hundreds of years."