‘He’s called Igor,’ Natasha suddenly said out of the blue: she was sitting beside me. This was the same girl who had been dreaming about a boy the night before. She didn’t sunbathe like a child either – she sat up on the sand with her legs stretched out and her head thrown back, with her hands propping her up from behind. She must have seen the pose in some fashion magazine or a film. Or perhaps she’d simply realised that in that position her new little breasts stood out clearly under her swimming costume. She would go a long way …
‘Thank you, Natasha,’ I said. ‘I thought I’d met him somewhere before.’
The girl squinted at me and smiled. She said dreamily:
‘And he’s handsome …’
Whatever are young people coming to these days!
‘But he’s too old, right?’ I said, trying to tease her.
‘No, he’s still not too bad,’ the girl declared.
And then she totally amazed me by declaring:
‘He’s reliable, though, isn’t he?’
‘Why do you think so?’
Natasha pondered for a moment and replied lazily:
‘I don’t know. I just think so. My mum says the most important thing in a man is reliability. They don’t have to be handsome, let alone intelligent.’
‘That depends on what you have in mind.’ I wasn’t going to be bested by an eleven-year-old smarty-pants.
‘Yes,’ Natasha agreed readily. ‘There have to be handsome ones too. But I wasn’t talking about that sort of nonsense.’
How delightful! I thought that if this girl turned out to be an Other, I would definitely take her on as an apprentice. There wasn’t much of a chance, of course, but just maybe …
A moment later, shedding all her precocious wisdom in an instant, Natasha jumped up and went dashing off along the beach after some kid who had splashed water on her. I wondered if the concept of reliability included daily dousings on the beach.
I looked at the young guy again. He’d already stopped messing about in the water and was driving his charges out onto the sand.
What a striking figure! And the form of his skull was very regular. Maybe it’s funny, but apart from a good figure there are two things I like in men – a beautifully shaped head and well-tended toes. Maybe it’s some kind of fetish?
I couldn’t see his toes, of course. But so far I liked everything else I’d seen.
My little spy came back to report. Wet, excited and happy. She plumped down on the sand beside me and started whispering, nervously winding a lock of hair round her finger:
‘His name’s Igor Dmitrievich. He’s good fun and he only came yesterday. He plays songs on the guitar and tells interesting stories. The leader of the fourth brigade went away, his wife had a little boy he thought it was going to be a month later, but it happened now!’
‘Well, wasn’t that lucky,’ I said, thinking mostly of my own interests. Bearing in mind that I had no powers at all and I couldn’t make the young guy fall in love with me, a coincidence like that was very useful. He’d just arrived, he hadn’t had a chance to form any romantic attachments. He surely wasn’t planning to spend his entire session just practising his educational skills, was he? He was there for the taking …
Olechka giggled happily and added in a very quiet voice:
‘And he’s not married either.’
What on earth can you do with them?
‘Thank you, Olechka.’ I smiled. ‘Shall we go in for a swim?’
‘Uhuh.’
I picked up the little girl, who squealed with delight, and ran into the water. It was clear that in the evening the favourite topic of conversation would be the new camp leader and my interest in him.
But that was okay.
In a couple of days I’d be able to make them forget anything I thought they ought to.
The day rushed by like a film played at high speed.
The comparison was all the more appropriate because I’d arrived in Artek during the sixth session, when a children’s film festival was traditionally held there. Two days later there was going to be a grand opening, and film directors and actors were already giving talks in some of the camps. I didn’t have the slightest desire to watch any old or new children’s films, but the festival promised to give me a short break from keeping an eye on the girls. And I already felt like taking a break – I was as exhausted as after a long, tense spell of duty on the streets of Moscow.
After the afternoon snack, which consisted of apple juice and rolls with the romantic name ‘Azure’, I couldn’t hold out any longer and phoned Zabulon. His satellite phone worked anywhere in the world, but there was no answer, which could only mean one thing – the boss was not in our world, but somewhere in the Twilight.
Well, he was a very busy man.
And sometimes his business wasn’t very pleasant. Travelling through the lower levels of the Twilight, where all parallels with the human world completely disappeared, was quite an ordeal. I’d never been down there myself, it required absolutely immense powers. Except, that is, for that one time, after my stupid stunt, when I was caught gathering energy from people illegally.
I can hardly remember anything about what happened. Zabulon rendered me unconscious, at one and the same time punishing me for my misdemeanour and protecting me against the deep levels of the Twilight. But sometimes I do recall something. As if there was one moment of clear awareness in the blank greyness.
It’s like a dream or a delirious vision. Maybe I was delirious? Zabulon, in the form of a demon, carrying me thrown across his shoulder. His scaly hand squeezing my legs and my head dangling above the ground, above that shimmering, rainbow-coloured sand. I look up and I see a glowing sky. A sky made entirely of blinding light. With big, black stars scattered across it.
And between me and the sky there are two arches rising up to an immense height. Dull grey, as if they are made out of mist … there’s nothing frightening about them, but for some reason I am struck with terror.
And the rustling – a dry, menacing rustling sound on all sides, as if the grains of sand are trembling and rubbing against each other, or there is a cloud of insects hovering somewhere outside my field of vision.
I was probably delirious after all.
Maybe now, when everything had been put right between us, I could risk asking Zabulon what was down there in the depths of the Twilight?
But the day rolled on, and now it was rapidly approaching evening. I got Olga and Ludmila to make up after they quarrelled, we went to the beach again and Anya swam a few metres for the first time without any help. She beat the palms of her hands against the surface of the water, with her eyes staring wildly, but she still swam …
This was hard labour, not a holiday. This was all for the Light Ones, they’d be only too happy to spend all their time on educational work. My only consolation was that night was approaching. The sun was already getting low in the sky and even the indefatigable children were beginning to get tired.
After fish, pancakes and potatoes for supper – I wondered where they put it all – I was all ready for action. Now I only had to amuse the girls for another two hours until their second supper (anyone would think all the kids who had come were severely undernourished), and then it would be time to sleep.
It probably showed in my face.
Galina, the leader of the seventh brigade, came up to me. I’d got to know her that afternoon, more in order to keep up my cover than out of any real interest. She was an ordinary human girl, a standard product of the Light Ones’ tedious moralising – kind, calm and reasonable. She had a tougher job than me – her brigade was made up of girls who were twelve to thirteen years old, and that meant they were constantly falling in love, getting hysterical and crying into their pillows. But even so Galina was positively on fire with the desire to help me.