The Night Watch (8 page)

'Igor and Garik, you carry on looking for the female vampire.' The boss almost seemed to have taken the suggestion seriously. 'She needs blood. She was stopped at the last minute, so she's going insane with hunger and frustration. Expect new victims at any moment. Anton, you and Olga look for the boy.'

That was clear enough.

Again, the most pointless and least significant assignment.

Somewhere in the city there was an Inferno waiting to erupt, somewhere in the city there was a wild, hungry female vampire, and I had to go looking for a kid who might, potentially, possess great magical powers.

'Permission to proceed?' I asked.

'Yes, of course,' said the boss, ignoring my quiet hint of revolt. 'Proceed.'

I swung round and left the Twilight as a sign of protest. The world flickered as it filled with colours and sounds. I was left standing there on my own in the middle of the square. To any outsider watching it would have looked really crazy. And then there were no footprints ... I was standing in a snowdrift, surrounded by a shroud of virgin snow.

That's how myths are born. Out of our carelessness, out of our tattered nerves, out of jokes that go wrong and flashy gestures.

'It's okay,' I said and set off straight for the avenue.

'Thank you ...' a gentle voice whispered affectionately in my ear.

'For what, Olga?'

'For not forgetting about me.'

'It really is that important to you to succeed in this, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is,' the bird answered after a pause.

'Then we'll try really hard.'

I skipped over the snowdrifts and some stones lying around – a glacier must have passed that way, or maybe someone had been playing at Zen gardens – and came out on to the avenue.

'Have you any cognac?' asked Olga.

'Cognac . . . yes. Why?'

'Good cognac?'

'It's never bad. If it's genuine cognac, that is.'

Olga sniffed scornfully.

'Then why don't you offer a lady coffee with cognac?'

I pictured to myself an owl drinking cognac out of a saucer and almost laughed out loud.

'Certainly. Shall we take a taxi?'

'Don't push it, kid!'

Hmm. Just when had she been locked into that bird's body? Or maybe it didn't stop her reading books?

'There's such a thing as television,' the bird whispered.

Dark and Light! I'd been certain my thoughts were safely concealed.

'Experience of life is an excellent substitute for vulgar telepathy . . . a long experience of life,' Olga went on slyly. 'Your thoughts are closed to me, Anton. And anyway, you're my partner.'

'I wasn't really . . .' I gave up. It was stupid to deny the obvious. 'And what about the boy? Are we just dropping the assignment? It's not all that serious . . .'

'It's very serious,' Olga exclaimed indignantly. 'Anton, the boss has admitted that he made a mistake. He's given us a headstart, and we've got to make the most of it. The girl vampire is focused on the boy, don't you see? For her he's like a sandwich she never got to eat, it was just taken right out of her mouth. And he's still on her leash. Now she can lure him into her lair from any side of the city. But that gives us an advantage. Why go looking for a tiger in the jungle, when you can tether a goat out in a clearing?'

'Moscow's just full of goats like that . . .'

'This boy is on her leash. She's an inexperienced vampire. Establishing contact with a new victim is harder than attracting an old one. Trust me.'

I shuddered, trying to shake off a foolish suspicion. I raised my hand to stop a car and said sombrely:

'I trust you. Absolutely and completely.'

T
HE OWL
emerged from the Twilight the moment I stepped inside the door. She launched into the air – for just an instant I felt the light prick of her claws – and headed for the fridge.

'Maybe I ought to make you a perch?' I asked, locking the door.

For the first time I saw how Olga spoke. Her beak twitched and she forced the words out with obvious effort. To be honest, I still don't understand how a bird can talk. Especially in such a human voice.

'Better not, or I'll start laying eggs.'

That was obviously an attempt at a joke.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you,' I replied. 'I was just trying to lighten things up.'

'I understand. It's all right.'

I rummaged in the fridge and discovered a few odd bits and pieces. Cheese, salami, pickles ... I wondered how forty-year-old cognac would go with a lightly salted cucumber. They'd probably find each other's company a bit awkward. The way Olga and I did.

I took out the cheese and the salami.

'I don't have any lemons, sorry.' I realised just how absurd all these preparations were, but still. . . 'At least it's a decent cognac.'

The owl didn't say anything.

I took the bottle of Kutuzov out of the drawer in the table that I used as a bar.

'Ever tried this?'

'Our reply to Napoleon?' the owl asked with a laugh. 'No, I haven't.'

The situation just kept getting more and more ridiculous. I rinsed out two cognac glasses and put them on the table, glancing doubtfully at the bundle of white feathers. At the short, crooked beak.

'You can't drink from a glass. Maybe I should get you a saucer.'

'Look the other way.'

I did as she said. There was a rustling of feathers behind my back. Then a faint, unpleasant hissing sound that reminded me of a snake that's just been woken up, or gas escaping from a cylinder.

'Olga, I'm sorry, but. . .' I said as I turned round.

The owl wasn't there any more.

Sure, I'd been expecting something like this. I'd been hoping she was allowed to assume human form sometimes at least. And in my mind I'd drawn this portrait of Olga, a woman imprisoned in the body of a bird, a woman who remembers the Decembrist uprising. I'd had this picture of Princess Lopukhina running away from the ball. Only a bit older and more serious, with a wise look in her eyes, a bit thinner . . .

But the woman sitting on the stool was young, in fact she was really young. About twenty-five. Hair cut short like a man's, dirt on her cheeks, as if she'd just escaped from a fire. Beautiful, with finely moulded, aristocratic features. But that dirty soot . . . that crude, ugly haircut . . .

The final shock was the way she was dressed.

Stained army trousers 1940s style, a padded jacket, unbuttoned, over a dirty-grey soldier's shirt. Bare feet.

'Am I beautiful?' the woman asked.

'Yes, as a matter of fact, you are,' I replied. 'Light and Dark . . . why do you look that way?'

'The last time I assumed human form was fifty-five years ago.'

I nodded.

'I get it. They used you in the war.'

'They use me in every war,' Olga said with a sweet smile. 'In every serious war. At any other time I'm forbidden to assume human form.'

'There's no war on now.'

'Then there's going to be one.'

She didn't smile that time. I restrained my oath and just made the sign to ward off misfortune.

'Do you want to have a shower?'

'I'd love to.'

'I don't have any woman's clothes . . . will jeans and a shirt do?'

She nodded. She got up – moving awkwardly, waving her arms bizarrely and looking down in surprise at her own bare feet. But she managed to walk to the bathroom as if it wasn't the first time she'd taken a shower at my place.

I made a dash for the bedroom. She probably didn't have much time.

A pair of old jeans one size smaller than I wear now. They'll still be too big for her ... A shirt? No, better a thin sweater. Underwear . . .

'Anton!'

I raked the clothes into a heap, grabbed a clean towel and dashed back out. The bathroom door was open.

'What kind of tap is this?'

'It's foreign, a ball mechanism . . . just a moment.'

I went in. Olga was standing naked in the bath with her back to me, turning the lever of the tap left and right.

'Up,' I said. 'You lift it up for pressure. Left for cold, right for hot.'

'Okay. Thanks.'

She wasn't even slightly embarrassed. Not surprising, considering her age and rank . . . even if she no longer held one.

But
I
felt embarrassed. So I tried to act casual.

'Here are the clothes. Maybe you can pick something out. That is, if you need anything.'

'Thank you, Anton ...' Olga looked at me. 'Take no notice. I've spent eighty years in a bird's body. Hibernating most of the time, but I've still had more than enough.'

Her eyes were deep, fascinating. Dangerous eyes.

'I don't think of myself as a human, or an Other, or a woman any longer. Or as an owl, either, come to that. Just ... a bitter, sexless old fool who can sometimes talk.'

The water spurted from the shower. Olga slowly raised her arms and turned round, revelling in the sensation of the firm jets.

'Washing off this soot is more important to me than . . . the embarrassment of an attractive young man.'

I swallowed the 'young man' without argument and left the bathroom. I shook my head, picked up the cognac and opened the bottle.

One thing at least was clear: she was no werewolf. A werewolf wouldn't have kept the clothes on its body. Olga was a magician. A female magician about two hundred years old who'd been punished eighty years ago by being deprived of her body, but still hoped for a chance to redeem herself. She was a specialist in conflicts involving physical force and the last time she'd been used for a job had been about fifty years earlier . . .

That was enough information to search the computer database. I didn't have access to the complete files, I wasn't senior enough. But fortunately senior management had no idea how much information an indirect search could yield.

Provided, of course, that I really wanted to find out who Olga was.

I poured the cognac and waited. Olga came out of the bathroom about five minutes later, drying her hair with a towel. She was wearing my jeans and sweater.

I couldn't say she was transformed . . . but she was definitely looking a lot more attractive.

'Thanks, Anton. You've no idea how much I enjoyed—'

'I can guess.'

'Guessing's not enough. That smell, Anton . . . that smell of burning. I'd almost got used to it after half a century.' She sat down awkwardly on a stool and sighed. 'It's not good, of course, but I'm glad of this crisis. Even if they don't pardon me, it's a chance to get clean . . .'

'You can stay in this form, Olga. I'll go out and buy some decent clothes.'

'Don't bother. I only have half an hour a day.'

Olga screwed up the towel and tossed it on to the windowsill. She sighed:

'I might not get another chance to take a shower. Or drink cognac . . . Your health, Anton.'

'Your health.'

The cognac was good. I took a sip and savoured it, despite the total muddle in my head. Olga downed hers in one and pulled a face, but she observed politely:

'Not bad.'

'Why won't the boss let you assume your normal form?'

'That's not in his power.'

Clear enough. So it wasn't the regional office that had punished her, but the higher authorities.

'Here's to your success, Olga. Whatever it was that you did . . . I'm sure your guilt must have been expiated by now.'

She shrugged.

'I'd like to think so. I know people find me easy to sympathise with, but the punishment was just. Anyway, let's get down to business.'

'Okay.'

Olga leaned across the table towards me and spoke in a mysterious whisper:

'I'll be honest with you: I've had enough. I've got strong nerves, but this is no way to live. My only chance is to carry through an assignment so important that our superiors will have no option but to pardon me.'

'Where can you find a mission like that?'

'We already have it. And it has three stages. The boy – we protect him and then bring him over to the side of the Light. The girl vampire – we destroy her.'

Olga's voice sounded so confident that suddenly I believed her. Protect one, destroy the other. No problem.

'But that's only the small change, Anton. An operation like that will get you promoted, but it won't save me. The really important part is the girl with the vortex.'

'They're already dealing with her, Olga. They've taken me . . . us off the assignment.'

'Never mind that. They won't be able to handle it.'

'Oh no?' I asked ironically.

'They won't. Boris Ignatievich is a very powerful magician. But this isn't his field.' Olga half closed her eyes in a mocking smile. 'I've been dealing with Inferno eruptions all my life.'

'So that's why it's war!' I exclaimed, catching on at last.

'Of course. You don't get sudden eruptions of hatred like that in times of peace. That bastard Adolf. . . he had plenty of admirers, but he would have been incinerated in the very first year of war. And the whole of Germany with him. The situation with Stalin was different, adoration on a monstrous scale like that is a powerful shield. Anton, I'm a simple Russian woman . . .' – the smile that flitted across Olga's face showed what she really felt about the word 'simple' – 'and I spent all the last war shielding the enemies of my own country against curses. For that alone I deserve to be pardoned. Do you believe me?'

'I believe you.' I got the impression she was already getting slightly drunk.

'It's lousy work . . . we all have to go against our human nature, but that was too much . . . Anyway, Anton, they won't be able to handle it. I can at least try, though even I can't be sure I'll succeed.'

'Olga, if this is all so serious, you should put in a report.'

She shook her head and pushed back her wet hair.

'I can't. I'm forbidden to associate with anyone except my partner on the assignment and Boris Ignatievich. I've told him everything. All I can do now is wait. And hope that I'll be able to deal with this – at the very last moment.'

'But doesn't the boss understand all that?'

'I think he understands it all very well.'

'So that's the way . . .' I whispered.

'We were lovers. For a very long time. And we were friends too, something you don't find so often . . . Okay, Anton. Today we solve the problem of the boy and the crazed vampire. Tomorrow we wait. We wait for the Inferno to erupt. Agreed?'

'I have to think about it, Olga.'

'Fine. Think. But my time's up already. Turn away.'

I didn't have time. It was probably Olga's own fault. She'd miscalculated how much time she had left.

It was a truly repulsive sight. Olga shook and arched over backwards. A shudd er ran through her body and the bones bent as if made of rubber. Her skin split open, revealing bleeding muscles. A moment later, and the woman had been transformed into a formless, crumpled bundle of flesh. And the ball kept shrinking, getting smaller and smaller and sprouting soft, white feathers . . .

The owl launched itself off the stool with a cry that sounded half human, half bird, and fluttered across to her chosen place on the fridge.

'Hell and damnation!' I exclaimed, forgetting all the rules. 'Olga!'

'Isn't it lovely?' The woman's voice was gasping, still distorted by pain.

'Why? Why like that?'

'It's part of the punishment, Anton.'

I reached out my hand and touched one outstretched, trembling wing.

'Okay, Olga, I'm with you.'

'Then let's get to work, Anton.'

I nodded and went out into the hallway. I opened the cupboard where I keep my equipment and moved into the Twilight – otherwise you simply can't see anything in there except clothes and a load of old junk.

A light body settled on my shoulder.

'What have you got?'

'I discharged the onyx amulet. Can you recharge it?'

'No, I've been deprived of almost all my powers. All they left me is what's required to neutralise the Inferno. And my memory, Anton . . . they left me my memory. How are you going to kill the girl vampire?'

'She's not registered,' I said. 'I've only got the old folk methods.'

The owl gave a screeching laugh.

'Are poplar stakes still popular?'

'I don't have any.'

'Right. Because of your friends?'

'Yes. I don't want them to shudder every time they step inside the door.'

'What, then?'

I took a pistol out of a hollow gouged in the bricks and glanced sideways at the owl – Olga was studying the gun.

'Silver? Very painful for a vampire, but not fatal.'

'It has explosive bullets.' I slid the clip out of the Desert Eagle. 'Explosive silver bullets. Four four calibre. Three hits and a vampire's totally helpless.'

'And then?'

'Traditional methods.'

'I don't believe in technology,' Olga said doubtfully. 'I've seen a werewolf regenerate after being torn to pieces by a shell.'

'How long did it take to regenerate?'

'Three days.'

'Well, there you are then.'

'All right, Anton. If you have no faith in your own powers . . .'

She was disappointed, I realised that. But then I was no field operative. I was a staff worker assigned to work in the field.

'Everything will be fine,' I reassured her. 'Trust me. Let's just focus on finding the bait.'

'Okay, let's go.'

'This is where it all happened,' I told Olga. We were standing in the alley. In the Twilight, of course.

The occasional passers-by looked odd skirting round me, yet unable to see me.

'This is where you killed the vampire.' Olga's tone couldn't have been more brisk. 'Right ... I understand. You did a poor job cleaning up the mess, but that's not important.'

As far as I could see, there wasn't a trace left of the dead vampire. But I didn't argue.