‘I ought to have insisted on seven years,’ said Geser. ‘You agreed to five too easily.’
‘But what’s to be done now? We’ve already agreed,’ said Zabulon, puffing out a cloud of smoke. He turned to me. ‘Anton, did you come to see Gennady after Kostya was killed?’
‘No,’ I answered.
‘But why didn’t you? As an old friend and neighbour … ai-ai-ai…’
I didn’t answer. Eight years earlier I would have blown my top.
‘We’ve decided this matter,’ said Geser. He frowned as he looked out into the corridor, where they had started carrying out the bodies. The whole entrance and stairway had been put under a light spell that completely removed any desire the inhabitants of the building might have had to glance out of their doors or look out of their windows. But then, in view of the fact that no one had come to see what the woman from my old apartment had been screeching about, people around here must all have been exceptionally incurious anyway.
It kept getting harder and harder for me to love them. I had to do something about that.
‘What else?’ Zabulon asked. ‘As far as help in catching Saushkin is concerned, there’s no problem. My watchmen are already out hunting for him. Only I’m afraid they might not deliver him in one piece …’
‘You’re not looking too good, Zabulon,’ Geser suddenly said. ‘Why don’t you go to the bathroom and wash your hands and face?’
‘Really?’ Zabulon asked curiously. ‘Well, since you ask …’
He got up and then halted in the doorway for a moment to make way for two watchmen who were carrying a half-decomposed corpse in a plastic sack. Apart from blood, there’s a lot of water in a human body. If you leave a bloodless body to rot inside a plastic cocoon, the result is extremely unpleasant.
Zabulon, however, was not appalled by the sight.
‘I beg your pardon, madam,’ he said, letting the remains past. Then he strode cheerfully off to the bathroom.
‘Were there women as well?’ Geser asked.
‘Yes,’ Olga replied briefly.
Geser didn’t ask any more questions. Apparently even our iron boss’s nerves had given way.
That night the lads who were carrying out the bodies would get totally juiced. And although it was a breach of the rules, I wouldn’t try to stop them. I’d sooner go out on patrol duty myself.
Zabulon came back a minute later. His face was wet.
‘The towel’s dirty, I’ll dry off like this,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Well?’
‘Your opinion?’ Geser asked.
‘I had this friend once, she liked to draw a New Year’s tree on the mirror with toothpaste for the festive season. And the words “Happy New Year,” and little numbers.’
‘Very funny,’ Geser said fastidiously. ‘Have you heard anything about such an organisation?’
‘About a “Last Watch”?’ Zabulon asked, clearly emphasising the capital letters in his intonation. ‘My dear enemy, even among the Dark Ones there are any number of sects, groups and mere clubs that I have never even heard of. But there are some that I have heard of. And the names that you come across! “Children of the Night!,” “Watchmen of the Full Moon,” “Sons of the Wind”. And, by the way, I recall one group of children – human children, not Others – who love to play at vampires. Perhaps we ought to bring them here? To make them realise that a vampire is not really an imposing gentleman in a black cloak who lures maidens into an ancient castle? It’s not that Gothic at all…’
‘Zabulon, have you heard anything about the “Last Watch”?’
‘No.’
‘Gorodetsky has suggested’ – Geser paused and looked at me – ‘that it’s what the three Others who tried to get their hands on the artefact in Edinburgh call themselves. The Dark One, the Inquisitor and the Light One.’
‘The Dark One is Saushkin, the Inquisitor is Edgar,’ Zabulon said, nodding. ‘But who is the Light One?’
‘I don’t know. We’ve checked all the Higher Ones, they’re clean.’
‘Well, Saushkin wasn’t a Higher One …’ Zabulon said with a shrug. ‘Although … it’s easier for vampires. And then, what about Edgar? Gorodetsky?’
‘I didn’t have time to study his aura thoroughly,’ I replied. ‘There was a battle going on … and he was also hung with amulets from head to toe. Give me five minutes in a quiet situation, and I’ll know everything there is to know about him …’
‘Nonetheless,’ Zabulon insisted, ‘I know what happened on the Plateau of Demons. In general terms. So tell us about it.’
‘In battle he behaved like a Higher One,’ I stated after seeing Geser nod reluctantly in consent. ‘There were three of us … well, two, if you don’t count Afandi, although he tried his best too. We had a set of protective amulets from Geser, all very well chosen. But he was almost a match for us. I even think that he might have been able to continue the fight and have a chance of winning. But when Rustam left, Edgar had no reason to carry on fighting.’
‘And so we have an Other who has managed to raise his level,’ said Zabulon. ‘My dear Geser, don’t you think that the Inquisition did get hold of the Fuaran after all?’
‘No,’ Geser said firmly.
‘If Kostya had survived,’ Zabulon said, thinking out loud, ‘then we might have hypothesised that he had memorised the formulas in the Fuaran. And managed to create some – er – copy of the book. Perhaps not as powerful, but still capable of raising Edgar to the Higher level. And then a Light One could have been subjected to the same procedure.’
‘And then we could suspect any Light One,’ Geser summed up. ‘But fortunately for us, Kostya is dead and he wasn’t able to reveal the secret of the Fuaran to anyone.’
‘Did he not have time to share the contents of the book with his father?’
‘No,’ Geser replied firmly. ‘It’s a book of enchantment. You can’t retell it over the phone, you can’t photograph it.’
‘What a shame, that would be such a good idea,’ Zabulon said, clicking his fingers. ‘A little witch showed me just recently that there’s this thing in cellphones, it’s called MMS messaging! You can send a photograph over the phone.’
At first I thought Zabulon was being witty again. Talking with a straight face about the MMS messages that little kids cheerfully send each other in class, he looked very comical.
And then I realised he was being serious. Sometimes I forget just how old they are. To Zabulon a cellphone is like magic.
‘Fortunately it’s not possible,’ said Geser. ‘He could have memorised something and reproduced it… but no, that’s nonsense. Even that’s impossible. The nature of a vampire is different from the nature of a witch. Only an experienced witch could recreate the Fuaran, even in a weaker form…’
I looked at Geser and asked:
‘Tell me, Boris Ignatievich … can a witch become a Light One?’
The happiest moments in the life of the parents of a small child are from a quarter to nine until nine o’clock in the evening. Fifteen minutes of happiness while the child joyfully watches adverts for yogurt and chocolate (even though that is a bad thing) and then his or her eyes are glued to Piggy, Crow, Stepashka and the other characters in the programme Good Night, Kiddies.
If only the people who allocate time for children’s programmes on TV sat with their own children in the evening, instead of dumping them on highly trained nannies, then Good Night would last half an hour. Or an hour.