‘We will,’ the witch promised. ‘Now let’s get moving.’
Everyone got to their feet; someone grabbed the phone, someone grabbed the charged amulets out of the safe, someone else started to issue loud orders to the staff.
And I just wearily put my empty coffee cup on the desk.
‘Do they at least feed people in your HQ?’ I said to nobody in particular. ‘I’ve been running on empty for twenty-four hours now.’
‘You’ll survive,’ I was told sharply. ‘Get downstairs and don’t even think of trying any more one-man heroics.’
But strangely enough, at that moment I didn’t feel the slightest desire for any more heroics.
We reached Vnukovo incredibly quickly. The driver of our comfortable minibus was a lippy young guy the Others called Deniska. He was a magician, but he handled a steering wheel even better than Shagron. First we drove round the embankments, then along Ordynka Street and Lenin Prospect, into the South-West district, round the ring road. Everything flashed by so fast I barely had time to see anything. Shagron and Edgar had gone off somewhere, Yura and Kolya had disappeared too. I was left with Anna Tikhonovna and a trio of young witches; every now and then I caught them looking at me curiously. Anna Tikhonovna must have told them to leave me alone, because none of them made any attempt to talk to me. A fat werewolf floundered about heavily in the baggage compartment behind us and growled huskily whenever Deniska threw the minibus into a tight curve as he overtook someone. The tyres squealed, the drive-shaft groaned and the engine hummed like an industrious bumble-bee in May.
We were the first to reach the airport. Deniska drove up to the service entrance and two other vehicles came hurtling up almost immediately – Shagron’s BMW and another minibus carrying the technicians. The Watch members set to work with fantastic co-ordination: they immediately cast information spells that made us empty space to human beings, and a line of technicians carrying laptops set off for the entrance. Someone had already chosen a site for the HQ – a spacious office with a sign on the door saying ‘Accounts’. The human employees had been herded into the next room – either an office or a boardroom – and put into a blissful trance. I would have chosen the boardroom for the HQ, but Hellemar said there were more telephone lines in the accounts office.
Yura appeared and I wondered irrelevantly why Edgar was carrying out the duties of senior deputy while the chief was away, even though he was only borderline second grade. Yura seemed more powerful to me. But the affairs of the Day Watch were none of my business, so I just hunkered down in a corner and tried to figure out if I could make a dash to the restaurant for ten minutes. The young technicians were already stroking away at the touchpads of their laptops.
‘The flight’s making its approach, ETA is twenty minutes plus or minus five.’
‘Have you located the Light Ones?’ Anna Tikhonovna asked.
‘Yes. In the overnight transit rooms, beside the lounge. That’s in the next building.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Looks like they’re tinkering with the weather,’ someone said.
‘What’s the point? To stop the plane landing?’
‘They won’t do anything that might kill the passengers,’ Anna Tikhonovna snorted.
It seemed to me the simplest thing would have been to bring the plane down, and that would have put an end to the whole business. But Light Ones are Light Ones. Even in a situation like this they worry about ordinary human beings. And then, who knew if a plane crash would even damage the artefact from Berne? Maybe it wouldn’t touch it. Power is power, after all.
‘Who’s a weather specialist here?’ Anna Tikhonovna enquired.
‘Me!’ two witches chorused.
‘Right then, feel out what’s going on here.’
The witches began feeling things out – that is, scanning the immediate area for weather spells. I could sense dense arrays of sensitive energy impulses that were intangible and invisible, even to many Others. It wasn’t that the Others couldn’t have traced them – most of them simply didn’t know how. Weather magic has always been a speciality of witches and a few magicians, and like any other specialised field, it has its subtleties.
‘They’re intensifying the cloud cover,’ one of the witches announced. ‘We need power.’
One of the reserve magicians immediately took an amulet and groped for one of the witches’ hands. They concentrated for a while, and finally all three of them held hands, closed their eyes and sank into something like a light trance.
‘Everybody help them if you can,’ Anna Tikhonovna ordered.
I was in no state to help them yet. At least, the energy I could have put into the effort was insignificant compared to the power of the amulet. I’d pretty well drained myself back there on Strastnoi Boulevard.
The Watch continued with its work. The headquarters was really buzzing – nobody seemed to be running, nobody seemed to be agitated, but the air was alive with tension. I even began feeling a bit uncomfortable – I was the only one in the whole headquarters sitting there doing nothing. And something told me I still wouldn’t be able to do anything for quite a while.
So I sneaked out. I stood up and slid into the Twilight. And then I moved deeper, to the second level.
Falling to the ground from the second floor took me about three minutes, even though I hurried it along as much as I could. It was strange, I’d expected the Twilight to drain me completely but, on the contrary, I felt invigorated, as if I’d just taken a shower and downed a shot of vodka. Amazing.
And by the way, that shot sounded like a good idea.
When I surfaced from the Twilight, I headed for the next building – a long glass-and-concrete slab, quite unlike the administrative building, which was crowned by a tall spire – a relic of the architectural pomposity of the Soviet fifties.
I’d left my jacket at the field headquarters, so I had to sprint for the door. The wind was carrying fine pellets of snow, and I wondered how the plane from Odessa was going to land. Darkness and driving snow – it was a night you wouldn’t put a dog out in. And then the Light Ones would be doing their best to spoil things. But if the plane didn’t land, where would it go? Would they redirect it to another Moscow airport? Maybe Bykovo or Domodedovo?
That was an idea, I ought to tell Edgar or Anna Tikhonovna they should send Watch members, just in case.
And then again, they could divert the plane to Kaluga or Tula. If the weather was better there. Which it very well could be – after all, here in Butovo the Light weather magicians were obviously giving it their best shot.
After I’d been outside, the terminal building felt warm and cosy. I went straight up to the second floor, to the bar where Boryansky and I once drank beer while we were waiting for a plane and ate nuts while we listened to a song that had followed us everywhere on that trip: ‘… the summer has flown by, it’s all behind us now …’
It took me a moment to realise that this was a memory – and I hardly had any memories left. What murky depths of my mind had it surfaced from? I couldn’t tell.
I tried to think exactly who Boryansky was, but I couldn’t even remember his face. And as for where we’d been flying to, and what for … For some reason the only memory that kept coming back was that then, in those archaic Soviet times, he had an outsized bidet in his apartment. Of course, it didn’t work … and anyway, what would a Soviet citizen want with a bidet?
But the bar was still exactly the same as I remembered it. A bar, high stools, gleaming beer taps. And a TV in the corner. But the video it was showing was quite different. A young guy with suspiciously red eyes and a girl in a scarlet dress. He was kissing her hand. And the action after that was like a good thriller – complete with slashing wolf’s jaws and all the rest. The moment I really enjoyed was when the young guy who for some reason was now dressed in the girl’s scarlet dress, came into a ballroom and then split apart into several wolves. And I liked the final shot, when the girl’s red eyes glinted as she surveyed her guests.