WHERE DO WE GET THE IDEA THAT MILK STRAIGHT FROM THE COW TASTES good?
It must be something we do in first grade. Some memorable phrase from the textbook Our Native Tongue, about how wonderfully tasty milk is straight from the cow. And the naive city kids believe it.
In fact milk straight from the cow tastes rather peculiar. But after it's been left to stand in the cellar for a day and cooled off¡ª now that's a different matter. Even those poor souls who lack the necessary digestive enzymes drink it. And there are plenty of them, by the way: As far as mother nature's concerned, grown-ups have no business drinking milk¡ªit's children who need it...
But people usually don't pay much attention to nature's opinion.
And Others pay even less.
I reached for the jug and poured myself another glass. Cold, with a smooth layer of cream... why does boiling make the cream so smooth, the tastiest part of milk? I took a large swallow. No more¡ªI had to leave some for Svetka and Nadiushka. The whole village¡ªit was quite a big one, with fifty houses¡ªhad only one cow. It was a good thing there was at least one... and I had a strong suspicion that the humble Raika had Svetlana to thank for her magnificent yields. Her owner, Granny Sasha, already an old woman at forty, had no real reason to feel proud. As well as Raika, she owned the pig Borka, the goat Mishka, and a gaggle of miscellaneous poultry without any names.
It was just that Svetlana wanted her daughter to drink genuine milk. That was why the cow never caught any illnesses. Granny Sasha could have fed her on sawdust and it wouldn't have changed a thing.
But genuine milk really is good. Never mind the characters in the ads¡ªthey can arrive in a village with their cartons of milk and that jolly gleam in their eyes and say "the real thing!" as often as they like. They're paid money to do that. And it makes things easier for the peasants, who were long ago broken of the habit of keeping any kind of livestock. They can just carry on abusing the politicians and the "city folk" and not worry about pasturing any cows.
I put down my empty glass and sprawled back in a hammock hung between two trees. The locals must have thought I was a real bourgeois. I arrived in a fancy car and brought my wife lots of funny foreign groceries, spent the whole day lounging in a hammock with a book... In a place where everybody else spent the whole day roaming about, searching for a drop of something to fix their hangovers...
"Hello, Anton Sergeevich," someone said over the top of the fence¡ªit was Kolya, a local alcoholic. He might have been reading my thoughts¡ªand how come he'd remembered my name?
"How was the drive?"
"Hello, Kolya," I greeted him in lordly fashion, not making the slightest attempt to get up out of the hammock. He wouldn't appreciate it in any case. That wasn't what he'd come for. "It was fine, thanks."
"Need any help with anything, around the house and the garden, or you know..." Kolya asked hopelessly. "I thought, you know, I'd just come and ask..."
I closed my eyes¡ªthe sun, already sinking toward the horizon, glowed blood-red through my eyelids.
There was nothing I could do. Not the slightest little thing. A sixth or seventh-level intervention would have been enough to free the poor devil Kolya from his hankering for alcohol, cure his cirrhosis and inspire him with a desire to work, instead of drinking vodka and thrashing his wife.
And what if I had defied all the stipulations of the Treaty and made that intervention in secret? A brief gesture of the hand... And then what? There wasn't any work in the village. And nobody in the city wanted Kolya, a former collective farm mechanic. Kolya didn't have any money to start 'his own business'. He couldn't even buy a piglet.
So he'd go off again to look for moonshine, getting by on money from odd jobs, and working off his anger on his wife, who drank as much as he did and was just as weary of everything. It wasn't the man I needed to heal¡ªit was the entire planet Earth.
Or at least this particular sixth part of the planet Earth. The part with the proud name of Russia.
"Anton Sergeevich, I'm desperate..." Kolya said pathetically.
Who needs a former alcoholic in a dying village where the collective farm has fallen apart and the only private farmer was burned out three times before he took the hint?
"Kolya," I said. "Didn't you have some kind of special trade in the army? A tank driver?"
Did we have any paid professional soldiers at all? It would be better if he went off to the Caucasus, instead of just dropping dead in a year's time from all that fake vodka...
"I wasn't in the army," Kolya said in a miserable voice. "They wouldn't take me. They were short of mechanics here back then. They kept giving me deferments, and then I got too old... Anton Sergeevich, if you want somebody's face smashed in, I can still do that all right. Don't you worry, I'll tear them to pieces!"
"Kolya," I asked him, "would you take a look at the engine in my car? I thought it was knocking a bit yesterday..."
"Sure, I'll take a look!" said Kolya, brightening up. "You know, I..."
"Take the keys." I tossed him the bunch. "And I owe you a bottle."
Kolya broke into a happy smile. "Would you like me to wash your car too? It must have cost a lot... and these roads of ours..."
"Thanks," I said. "I'd be very grateful."
"Only I don't want any vodka," Kolya suddenly said, and I started in surprise. What was this, had the world turned upside down? "It's got no taste to it... now a little bottle of homebrew..."
"Done," I said. Delighted, Kolya opened the gate and set off toward the small barn I'd driven the car into the evening before.
And then Svetlana came out of the house¡ªI didn't see her, but I sensed her. That meant Nadiushka had settled down and was enjoying a sweet after-lunch nap... Sveta came over, stood at the head of the hammock and paused for a moment, then she put her cool hand on my forehead.
"Bored?"
"Uh huh," I mumbled. "Svetka, there's nothing I can do. Not a single thing. How can you stand it here?"
"I've been coming to this village since I was a child," Svetlana said. "I remember Uncle Kolya when he was still all right. Young and happy. He used to give me rides on his tractor when I was still a little snot-nose. He was sober. He used to sing songs. Can you imagine that?"
"Were things better before?" I asked.
"People drank less," Svetlana replied laconically. "Anton, why didn't you remoralize him? You were going to¡ªI felt a tremor run through the Twilight. There aren't Watch members here... apart from you."
"Give a dog a bone and how long does it last?" I answered churlishly. "I'm sorry... Uncle Kolya's not where we need to start."
"No, he's not," Svetlana agreed. "But any intervention in the activities of the authorities is prohibited by the Treaty. 'Humans deal with their own affairs, Others deal with theirs...'"
I didn't say anything. Yes, it was prohibited. Because it was the simplest and surest way of directing the mass of humanity toward Good or Evil. Which was a violation of the equilibrium. There had been kings and presidents in history who were Others. And it had always ended in appalling wars...
"You'll just be miserable here, Anton..." said Svetlana. "Let's go back to town."
"But Nadiushka loves it here," I objected. "And you wanted to stay here another week, didn't you?"
"But you're fretting... Why don't you go on your own? You'll feel happier in town."
"Anybody would think you wanted to get rid of me," I growled. "That you had a lover here."
Svetlana snorted. "Can you suggest a single candidate?"
"No," I said, after a moment's reflection. "Except maybe one of the vacationers..."
"This is a kingdom of women," Svetlana retorted. "Either single mothers, or their husbands are slaving away and the women are here to give the children some fresh air and exercise... That reminds me, Anton. There was one strange thing that happened here..."
"Yes?" I asked, intrigued. If Svetlana called something "strange"...
"You remember Anna Viktorovna came over to see me yesterday?"
"The teacher?" I laughed. Anna Viktorovna was such a typical school marm, she should have been in the film The Muddle. "I thought she came over to see your mother."
"My mother and me, too. She has two kids¡ªa little boy, Romka, he's five, and Ksyusha¡ªshe's ten."
"Good," I said, giving Anna Viktorovna my approval.
"Don't try to be funny. Two days ago the children got lost in the forest."
My drowsiness suddenly evaporated and I sat up in the hammock, holding onto a tree with one hand. I looked at Svetlana. "Why didn't you tell me straight away? The Treaty's all very well, but..."
"Don't worry, they got lost, but then they turned up again. They came home in the evening on their own."
"Well, that's really unusual," I couldn't resist saying. "Children who stayed in the forest for an extra couple of hours. Don't tell me they actually like wild strawberries?"
"When their mother started scolding them, they started telling her they got lost," Svetlana went on imperturbably. "And they met a wolf. The wolf drove them through the forest¡ªand straight to some wolf cubs..."
"I see..." I muttered. I felt a vague flutter of alarm in my chest.
"Anyway, the kids were in a real panic. But then this woman appeared and recited some lines of verse to the wolf, and it ran away. The woman took the kids to her little house, gave them some tea, and showed them to the edge of the forest. She said she was a botanist and she knew special herbs that wolves are afraid of..."
"Childish fantasies," I snapped. "Are the kids all right?"
"Absolutely."
"And here I was expecting some kind of foul play," I said, and lay back down in the hammock. "Did you check them for magic?"
"They're absolutely clean," said Svetlana. "Not the slightest trace."
"Fantasies. Or maybe they did get a fright from someone... maybe even a wolf. And some woman led them out of the forest. The kids were lucky, but a good belt..."
"The young one, Romka, used to stammer. Quite badly. Now he speaks without the slightest problem. He rattles on, recites pieces of poetry..."
I thought for a moment.
"Can stammering be cured? By suggestion, you know, hypnosis... or what else is there?"
"There is no cure for it. Like the common cold. And any doctor who promises to stop you stammering with hypnosis is a charlatan. Of course, if it were some kind of reactive neurosis, then..."
"Spare me the terminology," I asked her. "So there is no cure. What about folk medicine?"
"Nothing, except maybe some wild Others... Can you cure stammering?"
"Even bedwetting," I growled. "And incontinence. But Sveta, you didn't sense any magic, did you?"
"But the stammer's gone."
"That can only mean one thing..." I said reluctantly. I sighed and got up out of the hammock after all. "Sveta this is not good. A witch. With Power greater than yours. And you're first level."
Svetlana nodded. I didn't often mention the fact that her Power exceeded my own. It was the main thing that came between us... that could come between us some day.
And in any case, Svetlana had deliberately withdrawn from the Night Watch. Otherwise... otherwise she would already have been an enchantress beyond classification.
"But nothing happened to the children," I went on. "No odious wizard pawed the little girl, no evil witch made soup out of the little boy... No, if this is a witch, why such kindness?"
"Witches don't have any compulsion to indulge in cannibalism or sexual aggression," Svetlana said pompously, as if she were giving a lecture. "All their actions are determined by plain, ordinary egotism. If a witch were really hungry, she might eat a human being. For the simple reason that she doesn't think of herself as human. But otherwise... why not help the children? It didn't cost her anything. She led them out of the forest and cured the little boy's stammer as well. After all, she probably has children of her own. You'd feed a homeless puppy, wouldn't you?"
"I don't like it," I confessed. "A witch as powerful as that? They don't often reach first level, do they?"
"Very rarely." Svetlana gave me a quizzical look. "Anton, do you have a clear idea of the difference between a witch and an enchantress?"
"I've worked with them," I said curtly. "I know."
But Svetlana wasn't satisfied with that.
"An enchantress works with the Twilight directly and draws Power from it. A witch uses accessories, material objects charged with a greater or lesser degree of Power. All the magical artifacts that exist in the world were created by witches or warlocks¡ªyou could call them their artificial limbs. Artifacts can be things or cornified elements of the body¡ªhairs, long fingernails... That's why a witch is harmless if you undress her and shave her, but you have to gag an enchantress and tie her hands."
"For sure nobody's ever going to gag you," I laughed. "Sveta, why are you lecturing me like this? I'm not a Great Magician, but I know the elementary facts. I don't need reminding..."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Svetlana apologized quickly.
I looked at her and saw the pain in her eyes.
What a brute I was. How long could I go on taking out my complexes on the woman I loved? I was worse than any Dark One...
"Svetka, forgive me..." I whispered and touched her hand. "Forgive a stupid fool."
"I'm no better myself," Svetlana admitted. "Really, why am I lecturing you on the basics? You deal with witches every day in the Watch..."
Peace had been restored, and I was quick to say, "With ones as powerful as this? Come on, in the whole of Moscow there's only one first-level witch, and she retired ages ago... What are we going to do, Sveta?"
"There is no actual reason to interfere," Sveta said thoughtfully. "The children are all right, the boy's even better off than he was before. But there are still two questions that need to be answered. First, where did the strange wolf that drove the children toward the cubs come from?"
"That's if it was a wolf," I remarked.
"If it was," Svetlana agreed. "But the children's story hangs together very well... And the second question is¡ªis the witch registered in this locality, and what's her record like?"
"We'll soon find out," I said, taking out my cell phone.
Five minutes later I had the answer. There was nothing in the Night Watch records about any witches in the area and there shouldn't be any.
Ten minutes after that I walked out of the yard, armed with instructions and advice from my wife¡ªin her capacity as a potential Great Enchantress. On my way past the barn, I glanced in through the open doors¡ªKolya was hovering over the open hood of the car, and there were some parts lying on a newspaper spread out on the ground. Holy Moses... all I'd done was mention a knocking sound in the engine!
And Uncle Kolya was singing too, crooning quietly to himself:
We're not stokers and not carpenters either, But we're not bitter, we have no regrets!
Those were clearly the only lines his memory had retained. And he kept repeating them nonstop as he rummaged enthusiastically in the engine:
We're not stokers and not carpenters either, But we're not bitter, we have no regrets!
When he spotted me, Uncle Kolya called out happily, "This is going to cost you more than half a liter, Antosha! Those Japanese have completely lost it. The things they've done to the diesel engine, I can hardly bear to look."
"They're not Japanese, they're Germans," I corrected him.
"Germans?" Uncle Kolya said. "Ah, right, it's a BMW, and I've only fixed Subarus before... I was wondering why everything was done different... Never mind, I'll put it back together. Only my head's humming, the son of a bitch..."
"Look in to Sveta. She'll pour you a drop," I said, accepting the inevitable.
"No." Uncle Kolya shook his head. "Not while I'm working, no way... Our first farm chairman taught me that¡ªwhile you're messing with the metal, not a single drop. You go on, go on. I've got enough here to keep me busy till the evening."
Bidding a mental farewell to the car, I walked out into the dusty, hot street.
Little Romka was absolutely delighted at my visit. I walked in just as Anna Viktorovna was about to suffer ignominious defeat in the battle of the afternoon nap. Romka, a skinny, suntanned little kid, was bouncing up and down on the springy bed and yelling ecstatically.
"I don't want to sleep by the wall! My knees get all bent!"
"What can I do with him?" asked Anna Viktorovna, very glad to see me. "Hello, Anton. Tell me, does your Nadyenka behave like this?"
"No," I lied.