Or at least to break it less obviously.
‘The Tribunal session to consider the case of Igor Teplov, magician of the second grade, will commence tomorrow evening,’ said Witiezslav. Anton appreciated the fact that he had used Igor’s full name and given his status as a magician, and also the statement that the session would ‘commence’ and not ‘take place’. That meant the Inquisition hadn’t reached any conclusions yet. And it was prepared for a long hearing. ‘Would you like to see him?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Anton said with a nod. ‘I have some letters for him from the other guys, some presents.’
He stopped short – mentioning the letters and the presents had sounded somehow dismal. As if he really had brought a parcel for someone in prison. Or to the hospital bed of someone who was seriously ill.
‘I’ve got a car,’ said the Inquisitor. ‘We can call round to your hotel for the parcel and then go to see the detainee.’
‘Igor … is he somewhere in the Inquisition?’
‘No, why would he be?’ said Witiezslav, answering a question with a question. He stopped beside a Skoda Felicia parked at the kerb. ‘We might have kept a Dark One who was detained under observation. But your colleague is in an ordinary hotel. He signed an undertaking not to leave the city.’
Anton nodded, acknowledging that it had been a stupid question. It was true, what was the point of putting a Light Magician in a cell?
‘Excuse me, Witiezslav,’ he said. ‘I know it has nothing to do with the work you do now, but I was wondering … just wondering, without any ulterior motive … I could probably try to probe you, but it’s not appropriate somehow …’
‘Who I used to be?’ asked Witiezslav.
‘Yes.’
The Inquisitor took out his keys and switched off the car alarm. He opened the door.
‘I’m a vampire. Or rather, I was a vampire.’
‘A higher vampire?’ Anton asked, for some reason.
‘Yes.’
Anton got into the front seat and fastened his seat belt. The vampire Witiezslav started the engine, but waited before driving off, giving it a chance to warm up.
‘I’m sorry, it really was an idiotic question,’ Anton admitted.
‘Of course it was. Absolutely idiotic.’ The Inquisitor obviously didn’t suffer from an excess of tact. ‘As far as I’m aware, Anton, you are still extremely young.’
He drove the car out into the street, carefully and smoothly. Of course, he didn’t ask what hotel Anton was staying in – he didn’t need to. He said:
‘You probably have certain illusions concerning the nature of the Inquisition and what kind of Others work in it. So allow me to explain a few things to you. The Inquisition is not a third force, as many ordinary members of the Watches believe. And we don’t become some special kind of Other connected to neither the Dark nor the Light … We are simply Inquisitors. Selected from those Dark and Light Others who for various reasons have come to realise the absolute necessity of the Treaty and the truce between the Watches. Yes, we do possess certain information that you in the Watches don’t have, apart, perhaps, from the very greatest magicians. And believe me, Anton Gorodetsky, when I tell you there is nothing comforting in what we know. We are obliged to stand on guard over the Treaty. Do you understand?’
‘I’m trying to understand,’ said Anton.
‘I’m a vampire,’ Witiezslav repeated. ‘An absolutely genuine higher vampire who has often killed young girls … that’s the most correct ener—’
‘Please don’t lecture me on the physiology of vampires,’ said Anton. ‘I find it unpleasant, believe me.’
Witiezslav nodded, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road. Anton suddenly realised that the car was still new, it had been well taken care of. The Inquisitor was clearly proud of it.
‘Well, then, I don’t possess a soul, and I’m not even alive in the sense that Light Ones use that word,’ said Witiezslav. ‘I regard the cause of the Light as a naïve, dangerous and frequently criminal doctrine. And on the other hand, I sympathise with the cause of the Dark. But …’
He paused for a moment, as if he were defining a complex pattern of thought.
‘But I have a very clear picture of the alternative to the present situation. And that’s why I’m a member of the Inquisition. That’s why I punish those who have violated the Treaty. Note that, Anton. Not those who are wrong – after all, there are always at least two sides to the truth. The Light has sometimes acquired great power, and there have been times when the Dark has triumphed. All the Inquisition does is stand guard over the Treaty.’
‘I understand,’ said Anton. ‘Naturally But I’ve always wondered if a situation could arise in which the Inquisition would support one side or the other, not based on the letter of the Treaty, but on the truth.’
‘There are always at least two sides to the truth,’ the Inquisitor repeated. ‘A situation …’
He thought about it.
‘I’ve never come across a Light Inquisitor who would support his own Watch,’ Anton added. ‘But is the situation really the same with a Dark Inquisitor? Say what you will, but you have your own powers, your own esoteric knowledge. And I’m not talking about confiscated artefacts in the archives.’
‘Anything is possible,’ the vampire said unexpectedly. ‘Yes, – I could imagine it. If open war broke out between the Dark and the Light, not just a clash between the Watches, but real war between the Dark and the Light. If every Other stood on his own side of the front, then what need would there be for the Inquisition? Then we would simply be Others.’
He nodded and added:
‘Only by that time the Inquisition would probably have been destroyed. In the attempt to prevent such a situation arising. There aren’t that many of us. And what a few surviving Others who once wore the Inquisitors’ robes might decide to do wouldn’t change anything.’
‘I understand what makes the Night Watch observe the Treaty,’ said Anton. ‘We’re afraid for people. And I know what motivates the Day Watch – fear for themselves. But what makes you Inquisitors go against your own essential natures?’
Witiezslav turned his head and said quietly:
‘The only thing that restrains you is fear, Anton Gorodetsky For yourself, or for people – that’s not important. But we are restrained by horror. And that is why we observe the Treaty. You have no need to be concerned about the outcome of the trial – there won’t be any fixes. If your colleague has not violated the Treaty he will leave Prague alive and well.’
By the evening Edgar had somewhat recovered from his annoyance. Maybe a good dinner in an expensive restaurant had helped, with a bottle of vintage Czech wine (well, it wasn’t French, or even Spanish, but it certainly wasn’t bad). Or maybe the atmosphere of Prague at Christmas had a soothing effect. Naturally, Edgar didn’t believe in God – not many of the Others, especially Dark Ones, suffered from such superstitions. But he found the festival of Christmas really very enjoyable, and he always tried to celebrate it accordingly.
Maybe it was the influence of memories from his childhood? When he was a simple country boy called Edgar who helped his father on the farm, went to church and looked forward to every holiday with his heart singing. Or maybe he remembered the nineteen-twenties and thirties, when he was already an Other, but not actively involved in the Watch, when he lived in Tallinn, had a good practice as a barrister, a wonderful wife and four little boys? His parents had died long ago, and he had buried his wife. One of his two surviving sons lived in Canada and the other in Pärnu, but he hadn’t seen them for forty years. It would have been hard for the old men to believe that this youthful, sturdy man was their father, who had been born in the late nineteenth century.