Sergei Lukyanenko - The New Watch

It had worked with the traffic police!

So when I grasped a basket and set out on my journey round the shop (right, oil – there it is… the eggs are close by) I was ready for anything. Sausages… bread… the toilet paper’s near the entrance, I’ll pick it up there…

Standing in the queue for the checkout, I automatically picked up a round lollipop and a chocolate egg with a surprise in it off the counter. I thought about how for the last few months these traditional treats had no longer roused the same childish delight in Nadya that they once had.

What could be done about it? Children grow up faster than we can grasp what’s happening.

There was an old woman in the queue. And a youth with some kind of bottle. And the checkout girl was young and lippy-looking, with a piercing in her nose.

I braced myself inwardly.

The old woman set out on the conveyor belt a chicken, a bag of grain (what was this, did my clairvoyant abilities still work, even when my magic was blocked?) and, rather unexpectedly, a bottle of Crimean Cahors wine. And then a plastic card appeared from her little old purse.

‘My terminal’s not working, only cash,’ the checkout girl began.

‘Am I supposed to know the terminal’s not working?’ asked the old woman, instantly joining battle.

‘I put up a sign,’ said the checkout girl. Then she deftly raked together the old woman’s purchases, got up and carried them to the next conveyor belt. ‘Leila, let the granny through ahead of the queue.’

The old woman moved to the next checkout, muttering something indignantly, although she did growl ‘Thank you’ to the girl with the pierced nose. The queues waited patiently. The youth fidgeted nervously, looking at his watch, but he stayed where he was. I studied the sign: Sorry, we are temporarily unable to accept bank cards .

A man who looked like a building labourer bought two packs of two-minute noodles and a can of strong beer, and then set off towards the chemist’s stand with a confident stride. I had no doubt that he was going to buy either ‘antiseptic liquid, 96 per cent ethyl alcohol’ or ‘tincture of hawthorn’, which possessed the additional advantage of having a pleasant smell. And then the youth who came after him didn’t buy any alcohol at all, but some kind of vitaminised lemonade ‘made with natural ingredients’. Maybe he was intending to mix this lemonade with tincture of hawthorn too, of course. But I decided not to think badly of people. Otherwise I would start thinking of them as inferior too.

The girl quickly rang up my purchases and even treated me to a weary workaday smile before she turned to the next customer. I walked thoughtfully towards the doors.

On the one hand, Las was wrong: I could live without magic, no problem. But on the other, it turned out that I really had lost the habit, if a simple trek to the shop had become a reason for me to anticipate heroics…

And incidentally, what was that Las had said about our bank cards from the Watch?

I walked towards the ATMs. Took out my card and twirled it in my hands. It had been issued by some bank I’d never heard of called the Commonwealth Bank of Australia, which seemed basically rather strange. Didn’t Russia have enough of its own banks or branches of well-known foreign ones? I stuck the card in the slot and entered the pin code. Right, let’s try it… Balance request . No information. Naturally, the ATM belonged to Raiffeisen, and I’d never seen any ATMs belonging to the Commonwealth Bank of Australia in Russia. I probably ought to look for them in Australia. And I thought I’d seen their logo in Taiwan, too… But I’d never even thought of checking my balance.

I wondered what the point was of the Night Watch providing its staff members with cards from a bank that didn’t conduct any business or have any offices in Russia.

Well… for instance, so that they couldn’t check their balance.

But then, what was the point of that?

I selected Withdraw cash on the menu. Then Another amount . I smiled at the pun. Another amount for an Other… The usual limit for a single withdrawal of cash was thirty thousand roubles.

I punched in 30 500 and pressed Enter .

The ATM thought for a second and started rustling banknotes.

I entered the pin code again. Went to withdraw cash. Selected the dollar menu. Paused before I entered the sum.

No, this was raving lunacy.

25 000. Enter .

No way could an ATM issue me two hundred and fifty hundred-dollar notes!

Something inside the machine started chirring. A stack of hundred-dollar notes slid halfway out. I pulled it out and stuck it in my pocket, as if I was dreaming. The ATM didn’t ask for the pin code again – it started counting out more notes. I stood there, trying to hide the slot with the money in it from curious eyes – the European tact in such matters hadn’t yet caught on in Russia.

Another stack of money.

The rustling of notes as another portion was counted out…

What was I going to do with twenty-five thousand greenbacks? I could buy a new car with that, but what did I need it for?

And the answer was basically this:

Light Others aren’t ascetics or saints who have renounced money. We like to dress in beautiful clothes and eat good food. We won’t say no to a new TV. Or to a new car.

But, unlike the Dark Ones, we feel… awkward about it, I suppose. It’s as if we try to live according to the utopian Communist slogan: ‘From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.’ Only we assess our abilities ourselves – and sometimes rather critically. And as a result we reduce the level of our needs.

What can be done to allow convinced altruists to indulge themselves whenever they feel like it? The answer’s simple – cure them of the habit of counting. Here are your bank cards, lads. Your pay (and believe me, the boss knows how much you’ve earned) is transferred to your account… Enjoy.

We were probably the only organisation in the world, whether human or Other, in which the boss tried to deceive his rank-and-file colleagues by increasing their pay.

Or rather, by not setting any limit to it.

That was funny.

‘Not the smartest thing for an Other who has blocked his abilities to do,’ a quiet voice said behind me. ‘I mean walking round Moscow in the evening with your pockets stuffed with bucks.’

‘I think walking round London or New York with that kind of money wouldn’t be too wise, either,’ I replied without turning round. ‘I knew you were following me, Arina.’

The witch laughed quietly. I finished stuffing the money into my pockets and turned to face her.

She was looking superb. As always.

‘Did you deliberately block your magic?’ she asked. ‘To lure me out?’

‘No,’ I admitted honestly. ‘I had a bet… with a colleague.’

‘About whether you could live without magic? Well, how is it?’ There was a note of unfeigned interest in Arina’s voice.

‘A mass of unpleasant little details, but I can get by.’

‘But I can’t,’ Arina sighed. ‘I’d turn into a decrepit old ruin… And by the way, you’re not being entirely honest. You blocked your magic, but you still have the health of an Other, your magical aura’s visible – and no vampire or werewolf would dare to attack you.’

‘I blocked what I could,’ I said morosely. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do?’

‘Me?’ Arina asked in genuine surprise. ‘I’ll see you home, to make sure no one hurts you. We’ll have a talk on the way – I swear not to work any evil! You won’t attack me, will you?’

Naturally, I could have removed the magical block that I had set up myself. But that would have taken a few minutes and Arina would have sensed it.