“You’re good with the sophistry, Zabulon. Far better than I am, no doubt. But just because you call things by different names, it doesn’t change their essential nature. Betrayal is always betrayal.”
“All right,” Zabulon agreed with surprising readiness, “then betray love. Basically, you have a choice between two
betrayals-surely you can understand that? To betray yourself or to prevent yet another cycle of bloodshed from happening. To forestall the inevitable battles between the Watches or to allow them to happen. Or haven’t there been enough deaths for you yet? You went out on patrol with Andrei Tiunnikov more than once. You were friends with the girl shape-shifter, Tiger Cub. Where are they now? Who else are you willing to sacrifice in the name of the Light? Don’t go to the Tribunal session tomorrow, and your friends will stay alive. We don’t need any more deaths, Anton. We’re willing to avoid conflict. To settle things peacefully. That’s why I’m suggesting you should help everybody. Everybody. Dark Ones and Light Ones. And even simple, ordinary people. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand how my absence from the Tribunal session will help restore equilibrium.”
“You’ve already run into the Dark One from Ukraine, haven’t you? Vitaly Rogoza?”
“Yes, I have,” Anton replied reluctantly.
“He’s not an Other.”
Anton was startled.
“How do you mean, not an Other?”
“He’s not entirely an Other. He’s only a Mirror. And he doesn’t have long left to live.”
“What, or who, is a Mirror?”
“Definitely ‘what,”” Zabulon said with a sigh. “Alas, only a ‘what’… That’s not important, Anton. It’s more useful for you to know something else. If you stay away from the session of the Inquisition, no more blood will be spilled. If you go, a bloodbath is inevitable.”
“Failure to appear at a Tribunal is punished by the Inquisition.”
“The Inquisition will regard your reluctance to engage in combat with Rogoza as legitimate. There have been precedents; if you wish, I can even obtain the relevant documents. But you can take my word for it. I’ve never deceived you yet.”
“I don’t like the sound of that ‘yet.”“
Zabulon smiled with just the corner of his mouth. “It can’t be helped. I am a Dark One, after all. I just don’t think it’s useful to lie without any reason.”
Zabulon stood up, and Anton also got to his feet.
“Think, Anton. Think, Light One. And remember: Your love and the lives of your friends depend on your decision.
That’s the way things turn out sometimes: In order to help your friends, first you have to help your enemy. Better get used to it.”
Zabulon walked rapidly out of the room, and then out of the apartment. That very instant the sentry sign started howling in the Twilight, and the mask of Chkhoen on the wall pulled a terrifying face. As Anton listlessly put everything in order, he tried to gather his thoughts.
Should he believe Zabulon or not?
Should he be with Svetlana or not?
Should he call Gesar and tell him everything or keep quiet?
Every conflict, from a simple, crude brawl to intrigues between different states and the Watches, is a battle of information. Whoever has the most precise
i.e.
of the strength and aims of his enemy will win.
Zabulon’s aims and Anton’s could not be the same. That was absolutely impossible. But what if the head of the Day Watch had told Anton what he had, precisely in order to make him reject the very
i.e.
of missing the Tribunal?
Where was the truth, and where was the lie? Zabulon’s words were a cage, but inside the cage there was a mantrap, and inside the mantrap there was a mousetrap, and inside the mousetrap there was poisoned bait…
How many layers of falsehood had to be peeled away in order to expose the truth?
Anton took a coin out of his pocket. He tossed it in the air and caught it, then laughed and put it back in his pocket, without even looking to see if it had come up heads or tails.
That wasn’t the right way.
If one of the two choices was a trap, then he had to look for a third.
In order to get to the Tribunal at dawn, I either had to get up very early, or not go to bed at all. I chose the second option. I could catch up on my sleep later.
My Dark colleagues had grilled me stubbornly for a while, trying to extract the motives for my actions, but since I myself didn’t understand very much about why I behaved the way I did and not some other way, they didn’t get much out of me.
Nothing really interesting happened until the evening; I went to the shop where they burned mini-disks for my stylish little player and asked if they kept the lists of the collections ordered by their clients. It turned out they did. And for some reason I chose to order a copy of the disk that Anton Gorodetsky, the Light magician, had put together. Maybe I was trying to get an
i.e.
of his view of the world from his musical preferences? I don’t know…
Just recently I’d got out of the habit of asking questions, because most of the time I didn’t get any answers. And correct answers were even rarer.
There was one other thing that stuck in my memory that evening: someone I met in the metro. I was on my way back from the music shop. On the metro. Sitting there with my hands in the pockets of my jacket (my Dark colleagues had kindly brought my things back from the field HQ at the airport) and listening to the disk I’d just bought. I was in a good mood, feeling calm.
The essence of things and the sequence of years, The faces of friends and the masks of enemies Are clearly visible, they cannot be concealed From the sight of the poet-he owns the centuries. The light of distant stars and the beginning of dawn, The secrets of life and the mysteries of love At the moment of inspiration, warmed by the sun, All is reflected in the poet’s soul, In the mirror of the world…
Suddenly there was a subtle change of some kind in my surroundings. The announcer was just warning the unfortunate passengers to be careful because the doors were closing. I pressed “pause” and raised my head, glancing around.
Then I saw him. A teenage kid, fourteen or fifteen years old. There was no doubt that he was an Other. He must have been initiated, because he was staring at me in fascination through the Twilight and shielding himself against the Twilight pretty skillfully at the same time. But his aura was absolutely pristine. As pure as the newly fallen snow, an identical distance from the Light and the Darkness. He was an Other, but at the same time he wasn’t either Light or Dark.
We looked at each other for a long time, all the way to the next stop. Probably we would have carried on looking at each other for even longer, but a rather attractively built woman, obviously his mother, roused the kid from his trance.
“Egor! Are you asleep? We’re getting off.”
The teenager started, looked at me one last time with obvious anguish in his eyes, and stepped out onto the platform. I was left behind in the carriage.
It took me about a minute to gather my thoughts. I was still wondering what had struck me so much about this Other. He had reminded me of something. Something very important, but elusive. I just couldn’t think what it was.
Then I went back to Nikolsky and his “Mirror of the World,” and that made me feel a bit calmer.
The mirror shows me how a man has lived, Who has composed his song out of lies, Who wants it to be night everywhere, Shows me that I must help people. I have the mirror of the world, If you want to look-don’t fear the fire, The fire that I will glorify in song, Let people know there is a good power In the mirror of the world…
Strange. This song would suit the Light Ones better. So why did I, a Dark One, feel that strange aching in my heart?
I carried this vague, uncertain feeling back to the Day Watch office with me. The elderly, worldly-wise vampire at the entrance started away from me like a sanctimonious hypocrite from sudden temptation. Shocked, I suddenly realized that there were a few bluish-white streaks glowing in my own aura.
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my aura in order. “It’s a disguise.”
The vampire gave me a suspicious look. A female vampire stuck her head out of the duty office-it was a sure bet she was his wife.
They checked my seals very thoroughly and it looked as if they were going to stall me as long as they could, but at this point Edgar came into the office with a pretty young witch. He understood what was happening from the first glance, and a single movement of his eyebrow was enough for the over-vigilant couple on watch. Edgar nodded to me and walked toward the elevators. The witch was devouring me with her eyes.
In the elevator she plucked up her courage and asked, “Are you new here?”
Her voice expressed an entire spectrum of emotions and aspirations that I felt no desire to analyze. Somehow I didn’t feel like demonstrating my own Power in front of Edgar and the other powerful Dark Ones.
But Edgar’s attention had been caught, and I could see he was genuinely interested in how I would answer.
“Well, in a certain sense, I’m new.”
The young witch smiled. “Is it true that you defeated four Light warriors single-handed and killed the tiger-woman?”
Edgar curved his lips very slightly in a sarcastic smile, but he still said nothing, listening with interest.
“Yes.”
The witch had no time to ask any more questions. We’d arrived.
“Alita,” Edgar said in a deep, hollow voice, “you can pester our guest later. First go and report to Anna Tikhonovna…”
Alita nodded enthusiastically and then turned to me: “Can I come around and see you for coffee? In about an hour?”
“Yes, okay,” I agreed. “Only I haven’t got any coffee.”
“I’ll bring some,” the pretty witch promised, and she set off for the office.
She didn’t ask where I was staying, which meant she already knew.
For a few seconds I watched the witch from behind. Her stylish silver jacket, the kind that mountain skiers and tourists wear (I was immediately reminded of my acquaintances from the for-est), was decorated with a brightly colored image: a cartoon of a girl with big eyes and her foot thrust out in a kick, with the caption “Battle Angel Alita.” The drawing and the caption were partly covered by the witch’s long hair, which was hanging down across the jacket.
Edgar also looked as Alita walked away. There was plenty to look at, despite the winter outfit.
“She’ll come,” Edgar said thoughtfully. “She’s already asked about you.”
I shrugged. “The Tribunal’s tomorrow,” I said, changing the subject. “What should I do? Skip it? Go with everyone else?”
“Go with everyone else, of course. You’re a witness.” Edgar looked around. “Would you come into the office for a moment?”
“All right.”
Somehow I was quite sure this office had never been used by the genuine head of the Day Watch, who wasn’t in Moscow right then. It was more likely Edgar’s office or the office of one of the senior Dark Ones. I slumped gratefully into an armchair, noting to myself that it was far more comfortable than the sagging seats in the metro carriages. Edgar took an already opened bottle of cognac out from somewhere under the desk.
“Shall we take a shot?” he suggested.
“Sure.”
Who would want to refuse old Koktebel?
“I’m glad you’ve come back,” said Edgar, pouring the cognac. “Otherwise we would have had to go looking for you.”
“In order to clarify our tactics and strategy at tomorrow’s session of the Tribunal?” I asked, guessing.
“Exactly.”
It was good cognac. Smooth and aromatic. Maybe it wasn’t the most famous and prestigious brand (which one is, anyway?), but I really enjoyed it.
“I won’t even ask any more why you behave so strangely. To be quite honest, I’ve been instructed not to. From up there.” Edgar raised his eyes expressively to the ceiling. “And I’m not going to try to figure out who you really are, either. For the same reason. All I want to ask is: Are you on our side? Are you with the Day Watch? With the Dark Ones? Can we count on you as one of ours tomorrow?”
“Definitely,” I said, without even pausing for thought. Then I made it even clearer: “That’s the answer to all your questions.”
“That’s good,” Edgar said with a rather weary sigh and drained his spherical glass in a single gulp.
I didn’t think he believed me.
We finished the cognac in total silence. Edgar didn’t find it necessary to hold a consultation on how to behave at the next day’s session of the Tribunal. He had clearly decided that I’d behave however I wanted to anyway. And he was absolutely right.
I spent the night with Alita, over coffee and conversation. The young witch had even managed to get hold of that long-forgotten brand Casa Grande. We settled down in the armchairs and chatted-about everything and nothing. It was a long time since I’d had such a good time, just sitting and chatting. About music, which I turned out to know quite a lot about. And literature, which I knew rather less about. And movies, which I knew absolutely nothing about. Every now and then, Alita tried to get me to talk about myself and my abilities, but she did this so artlessly that I never even suspected she could have been sent by the vigilant Anna Tikhonovna.
An hour before dawn there was a knock at the door.
“It’s open,” I shouted.
Edgar and Anna Tikhonovna came in.
“Are you ready?” Edgar asked.
“Always prepared, like a Young Pioneer,” I assured him. “Are we moving out in close formation? In armored vehicles or in marching order?”
“Don’t play the clown,” said Anna Tikhonovna, pursing her lips and giving Alita a severe look. Alita gazed back innocently.
“All right, I won’t,” I promised. “Where are we going? I don’t even know.”
In fact, I had no doubt that the reliable internal guide, buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, would tell me where we were going and which direction to follow. But I asked anyway.
“The main building of Moscow University,” Edgar told me. “Up in the tower. Shagron’s waiting downstairs with his car-you can go with him.”
“Okay. I’ll go with him.”