The Day Watch (51 page)

“The Mirror…” Igor frowned. “A Mirror is created by the Twilight. Zabulon couldn’t make use of him directly… but he certainly could bring those stupid sect members to Moscow with that artifact of theirs and feed Rogoza with Power. And the reason for doing that is obvious-to destroy Svetlana.”

“Rogoza didn’t destroy her. He only drained her, but then that’s…”

“One of us didn’t play the game the way Zabulon had planned it,” Igor replied. “Someone didn’t make the move that would have led to the Mirror totally destroying Svetlana… as an individual. Maybe what saved her was the fact that Tiger Cub and Andrei had already died? A Mirror isn’t exactly a Dark Other, and he isn’t directly involved in the confrontation between the two Watches. You see, maybe he was expecting another blow of some kind?

From you, for instance. From Gesar. But the blow never came… and he didn’t strike back with all his strength.”

“Then explain to me, Igor-why did Zabulon set you and Alisa up?”

“That was an accident,” Igor muttered. “I told you, Alisa…”

“Okay, so she didn’t know. But Zabulon knew, believe me! And he sent her to her death-he swapped one piece for another. Why?”

“I wish I knew,” said Igor with a shrug.

Chapter five

-«?»—

Raivo began walking around the hotel room, gesticulating with untypical fervor.

“I still think there’s trouble ahead! We have no right to count on assistance from the Day Watch of Moscow, of

Prague, or Helsinki-from any of them.”

“But that Dark One promised to help us…” Yari objected.

Raivo frowned and waved his hands through the air picturesquely. “He promised. Yes, of course he did. And who was it who promised our brothers that Fafnir would be resurrected?”

“It seems to me,” Yukha said in a quiet voice, “that it would have been far more rational to serve the great cause of Fafnir’s resurrection than actually try to resurrect the ancient magician…”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Yukha…” Yari said reproachfully. “You… you can’t just say that…”

“Why can’t I? The times when magicians used to play without any rules are long gone. Do you want a global cataclysm?”

“But our…”

“Our decrepit leaders were out of their minds. And that’s why they were duped by somebody’s promises. That’s why they were killed in Berne… And we won’t get any help-Raivo’s right about that. Those who have departed can’t be brought back.

Pasi believed too-and where’s Pasi now? Dematerialized in the Twilight by Gesar.”

The telephone on the table rang. Clearly reluctant to stop talking, Yukha picked up the receiver. “Yes.”

The next moment he leapt in the air, dropping his glass of Czech beer. He shouted: “You? You… where are you calling from? What?”

He listened for a minute, with the expression on his face growing ever more joyful and confused. The expression of a man given good news after he has already braced himself to hear bad news and even managed to infect everyone else with his own pessimism. Finally Yukha put the phone down and whispered:

“Brothers…”

Anton couldn’t decide if they’d been right or wrong to open the second bottle of vodka. On the one hand, it seemed like they were getting close to the essential truth of what was going on… but on the other, it was getting harder and harder to discuss the problem. For instance, Igor had become extremely skeptical, and he just couldn’t understand what Anton was trying to demonstrate to him.

“Igor, in such a complicated setup, if even one episode doesn’t fit in right, the whole thing collapses. There had to be a reason. Maybe you represented some kind of obstacle to Zabulon’s plans?”

“Me?” Igor gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m an ordinary field operative. Third level… second level at a stretch… with no special abilities and no prospects. I couldn’t have stood up against the Mirror. I don’t know, Anton.”

“But you have an
i.e.
about something,” Anton muttered. He poured some vodka, paused for a second, and asked, “Igor, was there something between you and Svetlana?”

“No,” Igor answered sharply. “No, and don’t even think about it. There wasn’t anything, there isn’t, and there won’t be. And if you’re thinking I was supposed to be the father of the future Messiah…” He burst out laughing.

“It was just an idea…” Anton muttered, feeling like a total idiot.

“Anton, think about it… that’s your jealousy speaking, not your head, I’m sorry! The ordinary human process of reproduction has nothing to do with all this. If Svetlana’s Book of Destiny has been rewritten, if she has to be the mother of the new Messiah-that’s a process that involves subtle matter, the energetics of the Light and the Darkness, the fundamental substance of the universe. What difference does it make who…” -he faltered for a moment and went on-“… happens to be the biological father? It even depends on Svetlana only to a certain extent. No, that’s nonsense. The only person Zabulon has to be afraid of is Svetlana.”

“Then I don’t see the point in eliminating you…”

“Neither do I. But there probably is one…”

They drank in silence, without clinking glasses. And then they both began staring at the sheet of paper.

“Let’s start with the basics,” said Anton, noticing that he was slurring his words a little. “So, a year and a half ago Gesar and Olga rewrote Svetlana’s destiny? And now she’s supposed to give birth to a Messiah?”

“Yes, that’s the way it looks.”

“And Zabulon tried to use the appearance of the Mirror to destroy her, but he failed…”

“Yes, that’s it…”

“Okay, let’s leave your part in all this aside for the moment… What could Zabulon’s next move be? Now, when Svetlana has no magic powers at all and is defenseless?”

“She’s not defenseless,” said Igor, wagging his finger at Anton. “Why do you say that? I’m sure she’s been given the finest possible protection. And in any case, to attack her is a violation of the Treaty. The Dark Ones are fond of their own skins, no one wants to face dematerialization…”

“What could his response be? Only one…”

“The appearance of an Antichrist, the only one capable of standing against the Messiah.”

“And humanity is expecting the appearance of the Antichrist with no less eagerness,” Anton exclaimed, “thanks to mass culture.”

“Have you got a Bible?” Igor asked unexpectedly.

“With me? No, of course not…”

“Just a moment…” said Igor. He walked quickly, if not entirely steadily, into the other room and came back with a small, thick book. He gave Anton a rather embarrassed look and said, “Of course, I’m an atheist. But the Bible…

you understand. Now…”

“Igor,” said Anton, putting his hand on the book, “it won’t help us. Why don’t we try thinking logically?”

“All right,” Igor agreed readily, setting the Holy Writ aside with some relief.

“Zabulon wants to live too. He doesn’t want an Apocalypse… I hope. He needs a figure equal in Power to a Messiah of the Light.”

“Fafnir…” Igor said thoughtfully. “Fafnir?”

“A powerful Dark magician…” Anton agreed. “But he’s not the Antichrist.”

“Six six six!” said Igor, squirming in his chair. “Come on, let’s count what the letters in the name Fafnir add up to!”

“I don’t remember how the name Fafnir is written in the original. But if we write it in Russian, then…” Anton thought for a moment “… then it’s eighty-eight! Nothing like six hundred sixty-six.”

“But eighty-eight is a strange kind of number too,” said Igor, looking at Anton with blazing eyes. “Just think about it. Not eighty-seven. Not eighty-nine. Exactly eighty-eight. It’s suspicious!”

“It is…” Anton agreed. The number really had begun to seem suspicious to him for some reason. “And it probably is possible to resurrect Fafnir, to bring him back from the Twilight… But…”

“Not just to resurrect him,” said Igor. “This whole business depends on people, right? On their expectations, on their readiness to believe! And if Fafnir’s return to life can be staged in the appropriate way, the insane magician can be made into an insane anti-Messiah.”

“But how?”

“With those four horsemen of the Apocalypse… the emergence of the beast from the sea…”

Igor’s eyes suddenly glazed over. “Anton, Fafnir was supposedly buried at sea! What if Alisa and that boy, Makar, dying in the sea was some kind of sacrifice… what a release of Dark Power…”

Anton shook his head and wiped his sweaty forehead. “Igor, maybe we’ve had too much to drink? Yes, I agree that Gesar’s intending to use… could use Svetlana as the mother of a new Messiah… a reincarnation of Christ to some extent… or just a magician of unprecedented Power… It looks very much that way. And to counter that, Zabulon might try to come up with a figure of equal Power, but tying all this up with Armageddon, the Bible, and religion-that’s pushing things too far!”

“What about the year 2000?” Anton almost shouted. “You understand? Magicians might intend to do one thing, but human dreams and fears shape reality in their own way. So the figures who appear will possess all the required qualities. Let’s go!”

“Where?”

“To get some vodka. In the restaurant.”

Anton sighed and glanced at the bottle. Yes, it really was empty.

“Why don’t we just call and order some?”

“Oh no, I feel like a walk.”

Anton stood up and put the amulet in his pocket. He nodded. “Okay, let’s go…”

There was no one at the elevators, but they had to wait for a long time. Igor leaned against the wall and declaimed. “Look, this is how Zabulon can do it… Fafnir’s Talon is taken out of the vault…”

“How?”

“What does it matter how? If they’ve stolen it once, they’ll manage it somehow. Then they carry out the magical operation, plus staging all the mythological notions about the Apocalypse. All those locusts… the star Wormwood… the four horses…”

“I can just see Zabulon leading four horses by the reins…”

“He doesn’t need any horses!” Igor said with a frown. “You know as well as I do what the magic of appearances can do. For instance, let’s take four people, or better still-four Dark Others. One from Asia-he can be the red horse, one black-skinned-he can be the black horse, the third a European-he can be the white horse, and one, let’s say, Scandinavian-the pale horse… We put them on wooden toy horses…”

The door of the elevator opened and Anton froze.

Staring out at the Light Ones in fright from the mirror-lined box were the Regin Brothers. The adopted children of

the sect: the African, the Chinese, and the Ukrainian. Of course, where else would they be but in this hotel?

They’d come for the Inquisition Tribunal too… Anton thought in a slow, leisurely way that the fourth fighter commando had been a Scandinavian.

It was a good thing he wasn’t around any longer…

Igor seemed to have had the same thought. He muttered, “Three of them…”

In the deathly silence the doors of the elevator began to close. But Yukha Mustajoki suddenly stepped forward and stuck his foot between them, just where the sensor was. The doors reluctantly parted again.

“I’d like to thank the Night Watch of Moscow,” he said unexpectedly. He was obviously agitated, but trying to maintain his dignity. “It was very humane.”

“What was?” asked Anton.

“To spare Pasi Ollikainen. We… we appreciate the fact that he’s still alive.”

“Where is he?” exclaimed Anton.

“Downstairs… in the bar…” said Yukha, gaping in surprise at the two Light magicians.

“Four horses…” Igor said in a hollow voice. “Four horses. Four horses!”

Mustajoki staggered back rapidly and exchanged puzzled glances with his comrades.

The Light magicians were left alone.

“It all fits,” said Igor, turning to Anton. “You see? Everything!”

“Hang on…”

Anton concentrated, remembering the movements. He raised his right hand, made a pass in front of Igor’s face, then pulled his hand sharply downward and back up again, curving his fingers and cupping his hand.

“Damn you…” Igor groaned in a choking voice and went dashing for his suite. Anton followed him slowly. He looked at Igor’s hunched-over back through the open door of the toilet and reached out to him through the Twilight.

Igor began groaning.

The sobering-up spell isn’t very complicated, but it’s not very pleasant for the person it’s cast on.

Two minutes later Igor came out of the bathroom. With his hair wet, his eyes sunk into his head and looking as pale as death.

“A pale horse…” Anton muttered. “Okay… Now you do it to me.”

Igor eagerly made the passes, and then Anton leaned down over the toilet bowl. A few minutes later, after he’d washed his face and drunk some nasty-tasting water from the tap (the thirst had hit him immediately), he walked back into the room. Igor was already clearing away the remains of their drinking session. He looked at Anton and said mockingly, “A black horse…”

Anton went over to the refrigerator, took out several bottles of mineral water, pulled the top off one, and collapsed into a chair.

Igor took a second bottle from him. They drank water for a while in blissful silence. Then Igor admitted guiltily,

“Yes… we got plastered.”

“Toy horses!” said Anton. He smashed his fist down on the table and swore. “No, it’s shameful, the nonsense we thought up.”

“It all seemed very logical somehow,” Igor said in an embarrassed voice. “Those damned Brothers… so the fourth one’s alive too.”

“He must be,” Anton said with a shrug. “All I knew was that Gesar went after him in the Twilight and caught up with him…”

“Well, of course… why would he want to kill a suspect? He handed him over to the Inquisition. Probably right there in the Twilight. Anton, maybe we were right after all?”

“Are you still a bit tipsy?” Anton asked.

“No, I’m totally sober now… damn, I can’t even get drunk properly! Yes, it’s all nonsense. Zabulon wouldn’t try to drag some ancient magician back out of the Twilight. What good would that do him? And as for staging the end of the world, creating an Antichrist…”

“And anyway, Fafnir wouldn’t do for the job,” Anton said. “He’s not up to it. Wouldn’t even come close.”