Sixth Watch (11 page)

“I really don't know what to say to that,” I confessed. “I think I'd better change the subject. I need classroom 7A.”

“You mean you want Innokentii Tolkov?” Las chuckled. “We didn't put the spell on him, he's one of ours, an Other. He's on the first floor, in the first-aid room.”

“What's wrong with that chump?” I asked, frowning.

Maybe I was being unfair to the lad, but I didn't like the way he'd been spending so much time with Nadya recently.

“Nothing's wrong with him. He's helping our doctor, as far as he can. It's practical experience for him, and it makes things a little bit easier for us.”

Innokentii Tolkov really was assisting our doctor. He was draped in a white coat that was too big for him and focusing very seriously on what he was doing.

Ivan was just finishing treating the little wounds on the neck of a really small kid, barely even big enough for a first-year pupil. The boy was straight out of some children's book—he had big eyes, a long neck, and tousled blond hair, and he was sitting there quietly on the doctor's couch with his head leaning to one side, to make it easier for the doctor to inspect his neck. The very essence of cute sweetness. In reality, he was probably a quarrelsome, contentious troublemaker, an absolute nightmare for his parents and a headache for his teachers. But right now, under the spell, the boy sat there quietly, hardly even blinking as he listened to the doctor.

“And then you grabbed Lena by the neck and scratched her until she bled,” Ivan was saying. “And then she grabbed you and scratched you too. And the teacher took you to the doctor's room. You made up. The teacher told you that if your parents complain, you'll both be expelled from the school, Lena and you. A plaster!”

Innokentii handed him the plaster. He saw me, started, and nodded.

Ivan deftly stuck the plaster over the boy's wounds and patted him on the back.

“Run back to class, Silvano. The teacher's waiting for you.”

“Scratches?” I asked doubtfully as I shook Ivan's hand.

“The bites are all superficial,” Ivan said with a shrug. “In fact I'd say that in most cases no arteries or veins were punctured at all, just a drop or two of capillary blood, nothing more . . . And I stretched the wounds out just a little bit; now they can be put down to a childish scuffle.”

“So they weren't bitten for their blood,” I said.

“Oh no. They were just bitten for the sake of the bite.” Ivan sighed. “It's totally crazy . . . Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I need a list of everyone who was bitten,” I said. “Name, patronymic, and surname. Preferably in the order in which they were bitten.”

“Now you're complicating things,” said Ivan, shaking his head. “Well . . . I'll try. Judging from the positions of the victims, the vampire moved in from the main door, going into classrooms every now and then and biting children. Give me half an hour or an hour.”

I nodded.

“No problem. Text the list to my cell, okay? And another thing—I'll take Innokentii with me.”

“If that's okay with him,” said Ivan, glancing at the boy. “Thanks for the help.”

“Thank you, Uncle Ivan,” Innokentii replied, taking off the white coat. “It was interesting.”

In the years since I first met Innokentii, or Kesha, Tolkov, he had changed dramatically. The first time I saw him, he was a terribly fat, astoundingly ugly, and hysterically weepy child. Well, you must admit there are some children like that.

Now Kesha was fourteen. He was almost the same age as Nadya, but he was one class behind her in school. He was still chubby, as he probably would be forever, but not so awfully fat as before—he had stretched and grown out of that. His ugliness hadn't gone away,
but in some amazing fashion, it had been recast as what women refer to in embarrassed tones as “male beauty.” That is, it was obvious he would never be handsome, but he would definitely catch any woman's eye. This is a strange thing that often happens to actors, especially Russian and French ones.

And that weepiness was long gone and forgotten. He was a very serious, composed young man, who spoke very judiciously.

A Prophet!

It was just a pity that Nadya and he had become such firm friends.

“I would,” he said, walking over to me and holding out his hand.

“Would what?” I asked as I shook it.

“Like an ice cream. You were going to ask if I'd like an ice cream. Ice cream, in winter—of course I would!”

I laughed.

“Kesha! Common predictions aren't your professional profile. You're a Prophet.”

“Yes, but a common Seer can't predict what a Higher Other is going to say,” Kesha parried. “Let's go, Uncle Anton, I know a good little café near here.”

“And why haven't you asked how Nadya's getting on?” I asked reproachfully as we walked across the schoolyard.

“What for? I know she's all right.”

I got an ice cream and a coffee for myself as well. The café was a cozy place, not part of a chain; they even made their own ice cream here in the Italian style—soft, with fruit flavors. I didn't want anything sweet, so I chose the coffee flavor. Innokentii devoured a pistachio ice cream with obvious relish—it looked like he often treated himself to calorific indulgences like that in this place.

“Do you remember the prophecy yourself?” I asked.

“No,” he said, frowning. This was clearly a sore point—Prophets rarely remember what they say. “But I listened to it afterward.” Kesha licked his spoon and started reciting: “‘It was not spilled in vain, nor burned to no purpose. The first time has come. The Two shall arise in the flesh and open the doors. Three victims, the fourth
time. Five days are left to the Others. Six days are left to people. To those who stand in the way, nothing will be left. The Sixth Watch is dead, the Fifth Power has disappeared. The Fourth has come too late. The Third Power does not believe, the Second Power is afraid, the First Power is exhausted.'”

“That's exactly right,” I said. “Will you help me decipher it?”

“Why me, Uncle Anton?” Kesha asked, genuinely surprised. “I've got absolutely no experience. I might be a High-Level Other, but I'm still only learning.”

“Because I trust you. Because you once proclaimed a very, very important prophecy indeed. Because we're friends. Because Nadya likes you.”

Kesha was slightly embarrassed. But he didn't blush, he didn't look away, even though he was uncomfortable. And he answered with dignity.

“I like Nadya a lot, Uncle Anton. And I think she likes me too. We were going to talk to you about it. In a couple of years.”

I gasped, feeling it was my turn to be embarrassed now . . . And hoping that I wouldn't blush.

“Let's say in . . . Er . . . Four or five years . . . Maybe six would be better.”

“All right . . .” The young teenager didn't try to argue. “But really, why? You can call in any Seer or Prophet. Bring in Glyba, he's a clever man, he teaches our special course.”

“Well, you see, Kesha, it seems to me that this case doesn't demand an awful lot of knowledge and cleverness. Although a solid grounding in the basics is essential. And you fit the bill perfectly, you get nothing but A's on the special course. Tell me how it all happened.”

“I was sitting in class,” Kesha replied. “And then it swept over me . . . I fell into a trance. I've got this thing now . . .” He stuck his hand in under his shirt and took out a little disk hanging on a chain, like a pendant. “It's a recording device. I came around and everyone was looking at me and giggling . . . ‘He's flipped, jabbering gobbledygook.' You know, the usual thing . . . I put them all to
sleep,” Kesha said with a smile. “And wiped the last minute from their memories. Standard procedure for Prophets, all by the book, but it was the first time I'd done it. Then I listened to the recording. I called the Watch and transmitted the file. They told me well done, I'd done everything right, but it was a mass prophecy. Well, I waited for everyone to come around and stayed in the classroom, wondering what kind of heavy shit this was. And then it was like a shudder ran through the Twilight . . .” Kesha frowned. “There was a crash out in the yard. I tried to look through the Twilight, but I couldn't see anything, only blue moss scattering in all directions. And then I went out like a light, when Nadya's spell kicked in. When I woke up there was a Dark One standing over me. He gave me this miserable look, then spoke into the headset of his phone. ‘I've got an Other here, First Level. A Light One.' Well, he helped me up. All perfectly polite and correct.”

“And have you had time to think over the prophecy?” I asked, swirling the melted ice cream around with my spoon. It was warm in the café, the numerous plants and well-directed lighting giving the impression of a summer day. Only outside it was starting to get dark and it was gray and cold. Snow was just beginning to fall.

“Uncle Anton, I'm not a magician, I'm still studying.”

“Understood. Tell me.”

“Well, all these figures—they're just embellishment. They do mean something, of course. But they're mostly there for effect. A prophecy has to sound awesome and mysterious. Our Sergei Sergeevich is always telling us that.”

“All right,” I said, and nodded. “That is, we take them into account, but we don't get hung up on all these two-times-fours . . .”

“It was not spilled in vain, nor burned to no purpose,” Kesha began. “I think it's a sacrificial offering. Blood has been spilled. Someone's been burned. Well, the beginning of a prophecy is usually fairly clear, and it usually talks about something bad . . .”

“I'd just once like to hear a prophecy about something good,” I said.

“They do happen,” Kesha said, consoling me. “What comes next? The first time has come. That's twiddle too.”

Kesha had used this word already and I couldn't resist correcting him.

“Twaddle.”

“No, twaddle is when someone just talks nonsense, but twiddle is when it's absolute gibberish and malicious too, or meant to distract your attention.”

“I'm not well up with teenage slang,” I admitted. “So it's twiddle, then?”

“Twiddle,” Kesha said confidently. “‘The first time has come'—so what, it's come. And further on: ‘The Two shall arise in the flesh and open the doors.' Well, that's twiddle as well. About those two Watchmen who flipped, right? Some valuable information that is. Then: ‘Three victims the fourth time . . .' You probably think that's about you, don't you? Nadya, Nadya's mum, you . . . But it's not necessarily that. It could be anybody at all. It's not clearly attached to anything. If it said ‘A Zero Enchantress and two Great Ones, her parents . . .'”

“It's never like that.” I sighed. “All right, you've reassured me just a little bit. But only a tiny little bit. They came to Nadya's school, they attacked her, and when they saw us, they gleefully turned on us too. Nadya's definitely in that list of victims. And we probably are too.”

“I did want to reassure you a bit,” Kesha admitted. “Well yes, it probably is about you after all.”

“Kesha, let's do without the reassurances. We're not children.”

“‘Five days are left to the Others. Six days are left to people. For those who stand in the way, nothing will be left.' That's all clear, right?”

“Just one question. Five days beginning from when?”

“From the time of the fourth attempt to kill you,” Kesha said in a quiet voice. “If they kill you.”

“And then everyone will die? First the Others, then the people?”

“Yes,” Kesha said after hesitating for a moment. “Although death isn't directly mentioned, the general tone and the use of series, especially the figures five and six . . .”

“Never mind the details, I believe you,” I said.

“‘The Sixth Watch is dead,'” Kesha said, and started pondering. “Uncle Anton, that's really what's the most important thing. Definitely the most important. The Sixth Watch.”

“Why?”

“Because here there's an asymptote at the point of inflexion, and that means—”

“I believe you!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “I believe you, Kesha.”

“The Sixth Watch—what is that?” The boy asked curiously.

“Well, the Night Watch and the Day Watch are the first and the second,” I said. “The Third Watch is the Inquisition. The Fourth Watch is the apparatus of the mass media. The Fifth Watch is like a fifth column, a secret organization within the Watches. The Sixth—oho, you're asking me about the Sixth Watch . . .”

Kesha's eyes turned big and round.

“I'm only joking,” I said. “No one has ever called the Watches by numbers. There are a couple of stupid jokes, but that's all there is. The Sixth Watch is meaningless abracadabra.”

“There has to be a meaning,” Kesha said sternly. “Really and truly! Prophecy has laws!”

“All right. I'll think about it.”

“‘The Fifth Power has disappeared, the Fourth has not come in time. The Third Power does not believe, the Second Power is afraid, the First Power is exhausted.'” Kesha spread his hands helplessly. “This part is totally incomprehensible, Uncle Anton. Perhaps there is a meaning. But it could be twaddle or twiddle. Just to make the prophecy sound mystical.”

“So all we're left with is the Sixth Watch,” I said. “One solitary little thread that we can cling to.”

Kesha nodded guiltily.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Anton . . . I'll ask Glyba in our lesson tomorrow.”

“Ask him,” I said, getting up and putting the money on the table. The waitress, who had been looking at us in annoyance for a long time (we had two ice creams and two coffees, and had sat there for a whole hour), came toward us from the counter.