ZABULON GRINNED. HE CLEARLY DIDN'T BELIEVE A SINGLE WORD OF WHAT Edgar had just said.
And Gesar seemed to be really furious. It was hardly surprising. First I'd nettled him with the Fuaran, and now an Inquisitor was doing the same.
"My esteemed... European Inspector..." After a brief pause the boss launched into an address that was only moderately sarcastic. "I am no less fascinated by mythology than you are. Among witches, stories about the Fuaran are very widespread, but we know perfectly well that they are no more than an attempt to add luster to the reputation of their own... caste. There are precisely similar folktales in the culture of werewolves, vampires, and various kinds of Others who are fated to play a subordinate role in society. But we have a real problem here, and wandering off into the thickets of ancient superstition..."
Edgar interrupted him. "I understand your point of view, Gesar. But the problem is that two hours ago Witezslav called me on his cell phone. While he was checking Arina's things, he stumbled across the secret room. Anyway... Witezslav was very excited. He said the Fuaran was lying in the secret room. That it was genuine. I... must confess that I was skeptical. Witezslav was an excitable character."
Gesar shook his head skeptically.
"I didn't come right away," Edgar went on. "Especially since Witezslav said he was summoning Inquisition operatives from the security cordon."
"Was he afraid of something?" Zabulon asked curtly.
"Witezslav? I don't think so, not anything specific. But it is standard procedure when an artifact of such great power is discovered. I completed my round of the security posts and was actually talking to Konstantin when our operatives reported that they had surrounded the house but they could not sense Witezslav's presence. I ordered them to enter the house. They reported that there was no one in the house. At that point I..." Edgar hesitated before continuing "... felt rather puzzled. Why would Witezslav hide from his colleagues? I took Kostya with me, and we got here as quickly as we could. It took us about forty minutes¡ªwe didn't want to go through the Twilight because we might need all of our Power¡ªand our agents were unable to put up a reliable portal. There are too many magical artifacts here..."
"I see," said Gesar. "Go on."
"There was a cordon around the house and two agents were on guard inside. We entered the secret room together and discovered Witezslav's remains."
"How long was Witezslav left without protection," Gesar asked, still speaking doubtfully, but with a new note of interest in his voice.
"About an hour."
"And for another forty minutes Inquisitors guarded his corpse. There are six of them, third- and fourth-level." Gesar frowned. "A powerful magician could have gotten through."
"Unlikely," said Edgar, shaking his head. "Yes, they are third- and fourth-level¡ªRoman is the only one who's just barely second-level¡ªbut they're equipped with our guard amulets. Not even a Great One could have gotten through."
"Then the killer must have been here before they arrived?"
"Most probably," Edgar confirmed.
"A magician powerful enough to kill a Higher Vampire swiftly..." Gesar shook his head. "I can only think of one candidate."
"The witch," Zabulon muttered. "If she really did have the Fuaran, she could have come back for it."
"First she abandoned it, and then came back?" Svetlana exclaimed. I realized she was trying to defend Arina. "That's not logical."
"Anton and I pursued her," Edgar responded ingenuously. "She fled in a panic. Clearly she didn't make a run for it immediately, as we assumed, but hid somewhere nearby. And then when Witezslav found the book she sensed it and panicked."
Gesar gave me and Svetlana a dark look. But he didn't say anything.
"Or perhaps Witezslav died without any help?" Svetlana persisted. "He found the book, tried to work some spell in it... and was killed. There have been such cases."
"Aha," Zabulon said acidly, "and in the meantime the book grew legs and ran away."
"I wouldn't even exclude that possibility," said Gesar, standing up for Svetlana now. "It could have sprouted legs, and it could have run away."
Silence fell, and in the silence Zabulon's scoffing laugh sounded especially loud.
"Well, well! So we believe in the Fuaran?"
"I believe that someone killed a Higher Vampire with ease," said Gesar. "And that someone is not frightened of the Watches or the Inquisition. That very fact demands speedy and efficient investigation. Don't you agree, colleague?"
Zavulon nodded reluctantly.
"If we accept even for one moment that the Fuaran really was here..." Gesar shook his head. "If all the rumors about this book are true..."
Zabulon nodded again.
Both Great Magicians froze, looking at each other. Either they were simply trying to stare each other down or, despite all the defenses around them, they somehow managed to conduct a magical conversation.
I walked over to the vampire's remains and squatted down.
A disagreeable sort. Disagreeable, even for a vampire.
But still one of us.
An Other.
Behind my back Edgar was burbling something about the need to bring in fresh reinforcements, and how catching Arina had now become a matter of vital importance. The witch was out of luck. An old violation of the Treaty, even on a grand scale, was one thing. But killing an Inquisitor was something else altogether.
And all the facts were against her. Who else was powerful enough to take out a Higher Vampire?
But somehow I didn't believe Arina was guilty...
For some reason, I didn't find Witezslav's remains disgusting. There was obviously nothing human left in him at all, there wasn't even any trace of bones. Gray dust, like the ash from a slightly damp cigarette, maintaining its form, but absolutely homogenous in structure. I touched something that hinted vaguely at the form of a clenched fist¡ªand was not at all surprised when the ash crumbled away, revealing a crumpled piece of paper.
"A note," I said.
A deathly silence fell. Since there were no objections, I picked up the piece of paper, straightened it out and read it. And only then looked at the magicians.
All their faces were as tense as if they expected to hear me say, "Witezslav wrote down the name of his killer before he died... it was you!"
"Witezslav didn't write this," I said. "It's Arina's writing; she wrote the explanatory note for me..."
"Read it aloud," Edgar ordered.
"Dear Inquisitors!" I read in a loud voice. "If you are reading this, it means that you are still pursuing issues from the past. I suggest a peaceful settlement. You get the book you have been looking for. I get a pardon."
"So you were looking for it, then?" Gesar asked in a very calm voice.
"The Inquisition tries to locate all artifacts," Edgar replied calmly. "Including those that are classed as mythological."
"Would she have gotten her pardon?" Svetlana asked unexpectedly.
Edgar looked at her in annoyance, but he answered:
"If the Fuaran had been lying here? It's not my decision to make, but the answer's probably yes. If it's the genuine Fuaran."
"I'm inclined to think now that it is the genuine article..." Gesar said in a quiet voice. "Edgar, I'd like to consult with my colleagues."
Edgar merely shrugged. The Inquisitor probably wasn't too keen on being left alone with Zabulon and Kostya, but his expression remained imperturbable.
Svetlana and I followed Gesar out of the secret room.
The Inquisitors greeted us with suspicious glances, as if they thought we'd killed all the Dark Ones. But it didn't bother Gesar.
"We're withdrawing for a conference," he said casually, heading for the door. The Inquisitors glanced at each other, but they didn't argue¡ªone of them just walked toward the secret room. But we were already out of the witch's house.
It seemed as if morning hadn't arrived yet here in the dense heart of the forest. All around there was a mysterious semi-darkness, like the very first hour of dawn. I glanced up in surprise, and saw that the sky really was unnaturally gray: It was like looking through a pair of dark glasses. Apparently that was the manifestation in our world of the magical defenses erected by the Inquisitors.
"Everything's falling apart.. ." Gesar muttered. "Things are really bad..."
His gaze shifted rapidly from me to Svetlana and back, as if he couldn't decide which of us he needed right then.
"Was the Fuaran really there?" Svetlana asked.
"Apparently. Evidently the book exists." Gesar pulled a wry face. "This is bad, really bad..."
"We'll have to find the witch," said Svetlana. "If you want..."
Gesar shook his head. "No, I don't want. Arina has to get away."
"I understand," I said, taking Svetlana by the hand. "If they catch Arina, she might confess who that Light One was..."
"Arina doesn't know who that Light One was," said Gesar, interrupting me. "That Light One came to her in a mask. She can suspect and surmise, she might even be certain¡ªbut she doesn't have a single fact. It's something else that's the problem..."
That was when I understood.
"The Fuaran?"
"Yes. That's why I ask you..."
Before he could finish, I hurriedly put in, "We don't know where Arina is. Do we, Sveta?"
Svetlana frowned, but she nodded.
"Thank you," said Gesar. "That's the first thing. Now for the second. We have to find the Fuaran. At any cost. They'll probably put together a search party. I want Anton to be our member of it."
"I'm more powerful," Svetlana said in a quiet voice.
"That makes no difference at all." Gesar shook his head. "Not a scrap. Svetlana, I'll be needing you here."
"What for?" Svetlana asked cautiously.
Gesar hesitated for a second. Then he said, "To initiate Nadya if we should need to."
"You're out of your mind," Svetlana said in an icy voice. "No way can she become an Other at her age and with her Power!"
"It might turn out that we have no other choice," Gesar muttered. "Svetlana, it's up to you. All I ask is that you stay with the child."
"Don't worry about that," Svetlana snapped. "I won't take my eyes off her."
"Well that's fine." Gesar smiled and walked toward the door. "Do come and join us, our Council at Fili is about to start."
The moment the door closed behind him, Svetlana swung around to face me and asked in a demanding voice: "Do you understand anything at all?"
I nodded.
"Gesar was unable to find his own son. He really was just an ordinary human being! He only became an Other just recently."
"Arina?"
"Looks like it. She emerged from hibernation and took a look around. Found out who was at the top now..."
"And used the Fuaran to give Gesar a little secret present? She turned his son into an Other?" Svetlana shrugged. "It makes no sense, why would she do that? They're not that close, surely?"
"Why? Now Gesar will do everything possible to make sure they don't find Arina. She took out an insurance policy, get it?"
Svetlana screwed up her eyes and nodded. "But listen, what about the Day Watch..."
"How do we know what she did for Zabulon?" I shrugged. "Somehow I get the feeling the Day Watch won't demonstrate any excessive zeal looking for the witch either."
"What a cunning old hag," Svetlana said, but with no malice. "I was wrong to think so little of witches. And did you understand that about Nadya?"
I shook my head.
What Gesar had said really made absolutely no sense. Sometimes Other children were initiated at the age of five or six, but never any earlier than that. A child who has acquired the abilities of an Other but is unable to control them properly is a walking bomb. Especially an Other as powerful as Nadiushka. Even Gesar himself would be unable to stop the little girl if she got overexcited and started using her Power.
No, I couldn't figure out what Gesar had meant.
"I'll pull his legs off and put them where his arms used to be," Svetlana promised in a perfectly calm voice, "if he even hints that we have to initiate Nadya. All right, shall we go?"
We linked arms¡ªwe really wanted to feel close to each other at that moment¡ªand went back into the house.
The Inquisitors whom chance had chosen to make privy to the secret had been put back in the security cordon around the house, and the other six of us were sitting around the table.
Gesar was drinking tea that he'd made himself by taking the witch's brew and adding herbs from her abundant reserves. I took a cup, too. The tea smelled of mint and juniper; it was bitter and spicy, but bracing. No one else was tempted to drink it¡ª Svetlana politely took a sip and put her cup down.
The note was lying on the table.
"Twenty-two or twenty-three hours ago," said Zabulon, looking at the piece of paper. "She wrote the note before your visit, Inquisitor."
Edgar nodded and added reluctantly, "Possibly... just possibly even during our visit. It was hard for us to pursue her in the depths of the Twilight¡ªshe had quite enough time to gather her wits and write a note."
"Then we have no grounds for suspecting the witch," Zabulon muttered. "She left the book in order to buy off the pursuit. She had no reason to come back for it and kill the Inquisitor."
"Agreed," Gesar said after a pause, and nodded.
"A most astonishing unity of thought between the Dark Ones and the Light Ones," said Edgar. "You frighten me, gentlemen."
"This is no time for disagreements," Zabulon replied. "We have to find the killer and the book."
They definitely had their own reasons for protecting Arina!
"Good." Edgar nodded. "Let's go back to the beginning. Witezslav calls me and tells me about the Fuaran. Nobody heard the conversation."
"All cell phone calls are monitored and recorded..." I put in.
"What are you suggesting, Anton?" Edgar looked at me ironically. "That the human special services are conducting a campaign against the Others? And when they heard about the book, they immediately sent an agent here? And that agent killed a Higher Vampire?"
"Anton's not that far off the mark," Gesar said in my defense.
"You know, Edgar, that every year we have to suppress human activity directed at exposing us. And you know about the secret departments in the special services..."
"We have our people in them," Edgar retorted. "But even if we assume that they're searching for Others again, that there's been a leak of information, then Witezslav's death still remains a mystery. No James Bond could have crept up on him without being noticed."
"Who's James Bond?" Zabulon inquired.
"That's another myth," Gesar laughed. "Contemporary mythology. Gentlemen, let us not waste time in idle discussion. The situation is perfectly clear. Witezslav was killed by an Other. A powerful Other. And most likely someone the Inquisitor trusted."
"He didn't trust anyone, not even me," muttered Edgar. "Suspicion is in a vampire's blood... pardon me for the pun."
Nobody smiled. Kostya gave Edgar a moody glance, but didn't say anything.
"Are you suggesting we should check the memories of everyone here?" Gesar inquired politely.
"Would you agree?" Edgar responded eagerly.
"No," Gesar snapped. "I appreciate the work done by the Inquisition, but there are limits!"
"Then we're stuck." Edgar shrugged. "Gentlemen, if you are not willing to cooperate..."
Svetlana cleared her throat delicately. "May I speak?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, of course." Edgar nodded politely.
"I think we're on the wrong track," said Svetlana. "You have decided that we need to find the killer, and then we'll find the book. That's right, only we don't know who the killer is. Why don't we try to find the Fuaran? And then locate the killer through the book?"
"And how are you going to look for the book, Light One?" Zabulon asked ironically. "Send for James Bond?"
Svetlana reached out her hand and cautiously touched Arina's note.
"There... as I understand it, the witch put this note on the book. Perhaps even between its pages. The two things were in contact for some period of time, and the book is a very powerful magical object. If we summon up a simulacrum... you know, the way novice magicians are taught to do..."
She faltered under the gaze of the Higher Magicians and began to lose her thread. But both Zabulon and Gesar were looking at her approvingly.
"Yes, there is magic like that," Gesar muttered. "Of course, I remember... they stole my horse once, and I was left with just the bridle..."
He stopped and shot a glance at Zabulon, then suggested in a very friendly tone of voice, "After you, Dark One. You create the simulacrum."
"I'd prefer you to do it," Zabulon replied with equal politeness. "There'll be no unnecessary suspicion of deception."
There was something wrong here. But what?
"Well then, as the old saying goes: 'First lash to the informer!'" Gesar responded cheerfully. "Svetlana, your idea is accepted. Go ahead."
Svetlana looked at Gesar in embarrassment.
"Boris Ignatievich... I'm sorry, these are such simple magical actions... It's such a long time since I performed them. Perhaps we ought to ask one of the junior magicians?"
So that was it... The Great Ones couldn't manage the basic elements of magic that were taught to beginners. They were confused and embarrassed¡ªlike academics who have been asked to multiply figures in a long column and write out letters in neat lines.
"Allow me," I said. And without waiting for an answer, I reached out one hand toward the note. I half closed my eyelids so that the shadow fell on my eyes and looked at the gray piece of paper through the Twilight. I imagined the book¡ªa thin volume bound in human skin, the journal of a witch cursed by humans and Others alike...
The image began slowly taking shape. The book was almost exactly as I had visualized it, except that the corners of the binding were protected by golden triangles of metal. Evidently a later addition, one of the Fuaran's owners had taken care to preserve it.
"So that's what it's like," Gesar said with lively interest. "Well, there it is..."
The magicians rose from their seats and examined the image of the book, which only Others could see. The note was quivering gently on the table, as if there was a draft in the room.
"And can we open it?" asked Kostya.
"No, it's only an image, it doesn't contain within itself the essential nature of the object..." Gesar said amiably. "Go on, Anton. Stabilize it... and invent some kind of tracking mechanism."
It was hard enough for me to stabilize the image of the book, and I was definitely not prepared to come up with a tracking mechanism. Eventually I settled on a grotesque simulacrum of a compass¡ªit was huge, the size of a dinner plate, with a pointer swinging on a pin. One end of the pointer glowed more brightly¡ªthe end that was supposed to point toward the Fuaran.
"Add more energy," Gesar said. "Let it work for at least a week... you never know."
I added more energy.
And then, completely bushed, but pleased with myself, I relaxed.
We looked at the compass floating in the Twilight. The pointer was pointing directly at Zabulon.
"Is this a joke, Gorodetsky?" he inquired. He got up and moved to one side.
The pointer didn't waver.
"Good," Gesar said, pleased. "Edgar, get all your agents back in here."
Edgar walked to the door and called, then came back to the table.
One by one the Inquisitors entered the room.
The pointer didn't move. It still pointed into empty space.
"Quod erat demonstrandum¡ªthat's what we needed to prove," Edgar said, relieved. "Nobody here is involved in the theft of the book."
"It's trembling," said Zabulon, looking closely at the compass. "The pointer's trembling. And since we didn't observe any legs on the book..."
He laughed a wicked, devilish laugh, clapped Edgar on the shoulder and asked, "Well then, senior comrade? Do you require any assistance with the arrest?"
Edgar was also watching the compass carefully. Then he asked, "Anton, how accurate is the device?"
"Not very, I'm afraid," I admitted. "The trace left by the book was very weak."
"How accurate?" Edgar repeated.
"Within about a hundred yards," I suggested. "Maybe fifty. If I'm right, when the target's close, the pointer will start to swing about chaotically. I'm sorry."
"Don't let it bother you, Anton, you did everything right," Gesar praised me. "No one could have done better with such a weak trace to work on. A hundred meters it is... can you determine the distance to the target?"
"Roughly, from how brightly the pointer glows... About seventy, seventy-five miles."
Gesar frowned. "The book's already in Moscow. We're wasting time, gentlemen. Edgar!"
The Inquisitor put one hand in his pocket and took out a small yellowish-white sphere. It looked like an ordinary pool ball, only a little smaller, and it had incomprehensible pictograms engraved haphazardly on its surface. Edgar squeezed the sphere tightly in his hand and concentrated.
A moment later I felt something changing. As if there had been a shroud hanging in the air¡ªinvisible to the eye, but palpable nonetheless¡ªand now it was disappearing, being sucked into the small sphere of ivory...
"I didn't know the Inquisition still had Minoan spheres," said Gesar.
"No comment," said Edgar. He smiled, pleased at the effect he had produced. "That's it, the barrier has been removed. Put up a portal, Great Ones!"
Of course. A direct portal, without any reference points in place at "the other end," was a riddle for Great Ones to solve. Edgar either couldn't do it, or he was saving his strength...
Gesar squinted at Zabulon. "Will you trust me to do it again?" he asked.
Zabulon made a pass with his hand without speaking¡ªand a gap opened up in midair, oozing darkness. Zabulon stepped into it first, then Gesar, gesturing for us to follow him. I picked up Arina's precious note, together with the invisible magical compass, and stepped in after Svetlana.
Despite the difference in external appearances, inside the portal was exactly the same. Milky-white mist, a sensation of rapid movement, total loss of any sense of time. I tried to concentrate¡ªsoon we would find ourselves near the criminal who had killed a Higher Vampire. Of course, we had Gesar and Zabulon leading us; Svetlana was just as powerful, if less experienced; Kostya was young, but he was still a Higher Vampire; and there was Edgar and his team with their pockets full of Inquisitors' artifacts. Even so, the fight could turn out to be deadly dangerous.
But a moment later I realized there wasn't going to be any fight.
At least, not right away.
We were standing on a platform at Moscow's Kazan railroad station. There was no one really close to us¡ªpeople sense when a portal is opening nearby and they spontaneously move out of the way. But all around us there was the kind of crush that even in Moscow you can only find at a railroad station in summer.
People walking to their suburban trains, people getting off trains and carting baggage along, people smoking in front of the mechanical notice boards, waiting for their train to be announced, people drinking beer and lemonade, eating those monstrous railroad station pies and bread wraps with suspicious fillings. There were probably at least two or three thousand people within a radius of a hundred yards of us.
I looked at the spectral compass¡ªthe pointer was spinning lazily.
"We need Cinderella here at once," said Zabulon, gazing around. "We have to find a poppy seed in a sack of millet."
One by one the Inquisitors appeared beside us. The expression of readiness for fierce battle on Edgar's face was suddenly replaced by confusion.
"He's trying to hide," said Zabulon. "Excellent, excellent..."
But his expression didn't look too happy either.
An agitated woman pushed a trolley full of striped canvas bags up to our group. Her red, sweating face was set in an expression of firm determination that could only be mustered by a Russian woman who works as a "shuttle trader" to feed her idle, useless husband and three or four children.
"Haven't announced the Ulyanovsk train yet, have they?" she inquired.
Svetlana closed her eyes for a moment and replied, "It will arrive at platform one in six minutes and leave with a delay of three minutes."
"Thank you," the woman said, not surprised in the least by such a precise answer. She set off for platform one.
"That's all very nice, Svetlana," Gesar muttered. "But what suggestions do you have concerning the search for the book?"
Svetlana just shrugged.
The cafe was as cozy and clean as a railroad station cafe can be. Maybe because it was in such a strange place¡ªthe basement level, beside the baggage rooms. The countless station bums obviously didn't stick their faces in here¡ªthe owners had cured them of that habit. There was a middle-aged Russian woman standing behind the counter, and the food was carried out from the kitchen by taciturn, polite men from the Caucasus.
A strange place.
I took two glasses of dry wine from a three-liter box for Svet-lana and myself. It was surprisingly cheap and also¡ªto my great amazement¡ªpretty good. I went back to the table where we were sitting.
"It's still here," said Svetlana, nodding at Arina's note. The pointer in the compass was spinning idly.
"Maybe the book's hidden in the baggage rooms?" I suggested.
Svetlana took a sip of her wine and nodded, either agreeing with my suggestion or expressing approval of the Krasnodar merlot.
"Is something bothering you?" I asked cautiously.
"Why the station?" Svetlana asked in return.
"To make a getaway. To hide. The thief must have realized he'd be followed."
"The airport. A plane. Any plane," Svetlana replied laconically, taking small sips of her wine.
I shrugged.
It really was strange. Once he had the Fuaran, the renegade Other, whoever he might be, could have tried either to hide or make a run for it. He'd chosen the second option. But why a train? A train as a means of escape¡ªin the twenty-first century?
"Maybe he's afraid of flying?" Svetlana suggested.
I just snorted. Of course, even an Other didn't have much chance of surviving a plane crash. But even the very weakest Other was capable of examining the lines of probability for the next three or four hours and figuring out if there was any danger of a plane crashing.
And Witezslav's killer was anything but weak.
"He needs to get somewhere the planes don't go," I suggested.
"But at least he could have flown out of Moscow to shake off the pursuit."
"No," I said, enjoying the feeling of putting Svetlana right. "That wouldn't be any good. We would have identified the thief's approximate location, worked out which plane he'd taken, questioned the passengers, taken information from the surveillance cameras at the airport and discovered his identity. Then Gesar or Zabulon would have opened a portal... they could open one to any place he happened to go. And we'd all be right back where we are now. Except that we'd know what our enemy looks like."
Svetlana nodded. She looked at her watch and shook her head. She closed her eyes for an instant, then smiled calmly.
That meant Nadiushka was okay.
"Why does he have to try to get away at all," Svetlana said thoughtfully. "I doubt if the ritual described in the Fuaran requires much time. The witch turned a lot of her servants into Others when she was attacked. It would be much easier for the killer to use the book and become a Great One... the Greatest of all. And then either take us on or destroy the Fuaran and hide. If he becomes more powerful than we are, we simply won't be able to unmask him."
"Perhaps he has already become more powerful," I remarked. "Since Gesar raised the subject of initiating Nadya..."
Svetlana nodded in agreement. "Not a very pleasant prospect. What if Edgar himself used the Fuaran? And now he's acting out a comedy, just pretending to search. He didn't get along too well with Witezslav, he's crafty... he wanted to become the most powerful Other in the world..."
"But then what does he need the book for?" I exclaimed. "He could just have left it where it was. We wouldn't even have known that Witezslav had been killed. We'd have put it all down to protective spells that the vampire failed to notice."
"That makes sense," Svetlana agreed. "That's right, the killer isn't after Power. Or not only Power. He wants the book as well."
I suddenly remembered Semyon.
"There's someone the killer wants to make into an Other!" I exclaimed. "He realized that he wouldn't be allowed to use the book. That's why he killed Witezslav... it doesn't matter now exactly how. He performed the ritual and became a very powerful Other. He hid the book... somewhere here, at the station. And now he's hoping to get it out."
Svetlana reached out to me under the table and we shook hands triumphantly.
"Only how can he get it out?" Svetlana queried. "The two most powerful magicians in Moscow are here right now..."
"Three," I corrected her.
Svetlana frowned and said, "Then it's four. After all, Kostya's a Higher..."
"He's a snot-nosed kid, even if he is higher..." I muttered. Somehow I just couldn't get my head around the fact that this kid had killed ten people in just a few years.
And the most disgusting thing was that we gave out the licenses...
Svetlana realized what I was thinking about. She stroked my hand and said in a quiet voice, "Don't get upset. He couldn't go against his own nature. What could you have done? Except kill him..."
I nodded.
Of course he couldn't have acted differently.
But I didn't want to admit that, even to myself.
The door of the cafe opened gently¡ªand in came Gesar, Zab-ulon, Edgar, Kostya... and Olga. From the lively way they were all discussing something, Olga was already up to speed.
"Edgar agreed to call in reinforcements..." Svetlana said in a low voice. "That's bad news."
The magicians walked across to our table and I saw their glances slip toward the compass. Kostya went over to the counter and ordered a glass of red wine. The woman behind the counter smiled¡ªeither he had used a little bit of vampire charm, or she just liked the look of him. Hey, lady... don't smile at that young guy who rouses your maternal, or maybe even womanly, feelings. That young guy can give you a kiss that will leave you smiling forever...
"Kostya and the Inquisitor have searched every inch of the baggage rooms," said Gesar. "Not a trace."
"And we've combed the entire station," said Zabulon with a good-natured laugh. "Six Others, all clearly not involved."
"And an uninitiated little girl," Olga added, smiling in reply. "Yes, yes, I was the one who spotted her. She'll be taken care of."
Zabulon smiled even more broadly¡ªwe had a whole smiling competition going on here. "I'm sorry, Great One. She is already being taken care of."
In an ordinary situation that would only have been the beginning of the conversation.
"That's enough, Great Ones!" Edgar barked. "We're not concerned with just one potential Other here. This is a question of our very survival."
"That's right," Zabulon agreed. "Will you give me a hand, Boris Ignatievich?"
He and Gesar moved another table over to ours. Kostya brought over some chairs without saying anything¡ªand there was our group, all sitting together. Nothing out of the ordinary¡ªpeople going off on vacation or a business trip, passing the time in the station cafe..."
"Either he's not here or he can conceal himself from us," said Svetlana. "In any case, I'd like to ask permission to leave. Call me if I'm needed."
"Your daughter's perfectly all right," Zabulon growled. "I give you my word."
"We might need you here," said Gesar, backing him up.
Svetlana sighed.
"Gesar, please, why not let Svetlana go?" I asked. "You can see it's not Power we need right now."
"Then what do we need?" Gesar asked curiously.
"Cunning and patience. You and Zabulon have plenty of cunning. And you can't expect patience from a worried mother."
Gesar shook his head. He glanced at Olga and she gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Go to your daughter, Sveta," said Gesar. "You're right. If you're needed, I'll call you and put up a portal."
"Okay, I'm gone," said Svetlana. She leaned over to me for a moment and touched my cheek with her lips¡ªthen vanished into thin air. The portal was so tiny I didn't see it.
And the people in the cafe didn't even notice Svetlana disappear. We were invisible to them; they didn't even want to see us.
"She's powerful," said Zabulon. He reached out toward Kostya, picked up his half-empty glass and took a sip. "Well, you know best, Gesar... What next, Mr. Inquisitor?"
"We wait," Edgar said curtly. "He'll come for the book."
"He or she," Zabulon added. "He or she..."
We didn't set up an operational headquarters. Just sat there in the cafe, ate a bit, drank a bit. Kostya ordered steak tartare¡ª the counter lady was astonished, but she went running into the kitchen and a moment later a young guy came out and dashed off to get the meat.
Gesar ordered a chicken Kiev. The rest of us made do with wine, beer, and various small snacks like dried squid and pistachio nuts.
I sat there watching Kostya wolf down the almost raw meat and wondering about the behavior of our unidentified criminal. "Look for the motive!" had been Sherlock Holmes's advice. If we found the motive, we'd find the criminal. He had already become the most powerful Other in the world¡ªor he could do so at any moment. But if that wasn't his goal, what was it? Blackmail? That would be stupid. He couldn't impose his will on all the Watches and the Inquisition¡ªhe'd end up like Fuaran... Maybe the criminal wanted to set up his own, alternative organization of Others? An organization of "wild Others" had been crushed that spring in St. Petersburg, hadn't it? But crushed with great difficulty. A bad example was infectious, someone might have been tempted. And the worst thing was that even a Light One could have been tempted. Tempted to create a new Night Watch. A Super-Watch. To wipe out the Dark Ones completely, break the Inquisition, and lure some of the Light Ones over to his side...
If that was the way things were, it was bad¡ªvery bad. The Dark Ones wouldn't surrender without a fight. The modern world was bristling with weapons of mass destruction and nuclear power stations, and a strike at them could wipe out the entire planet. The time was long gone when a violent solution could lead to victory. And perhaps that time had never even existed...
"The pointer," said Edgar. "Look!"
My compass had stopped pretending to be a ventilator. The pointer spun more slowly, then froze, quivered¡ªand began turning slowly to indicate a direction.
"Yes!" Kostya exclaimed, leaping out of his chair. "It worked!"
And for just a split second I saw again the boy-vampire who had still not tasted human blood and was certain he would never have to pay a price for his Power...
"Let's move, gentlemen." Edgar jumped to his feet. He looked at the pointer, then followed its direction and stared hard at the wall. "To the trains!" he said in a determined voice.