The Day Watch (39 page)

Until only recently Yukha, Yari, Raivo, and their friend who had been killed, Pasi Ollikainen, had regarded their involvement in the sect as a kind of curious, even amusing game. Their grandfathers and great-grandfathers had spent their entire lives as members of the sect, and their children would be Regin Brothers too… Their adopted children, that is. An Other is rarely fortunate enough to have a child who is also born with the abilities of an Other.

That’s only the norm for the lower Dark Ones, the vampires and shape-shifters…

It wasn’t at all easy for the magicians of the small Finnish sect. They had to scout around the world, searching for Other children they could adopt, educate, and introduce to the great cause of service to Fafnir. As a rule, these children were found in the more underdeveloped and exotic countries.

Raivo, for instance, came from Burkina Faso. The little boy with the bulging eyes, legs bandy from rickets, and a swollen, flabby stomach had been bought from his poor parents for fourteen dollars. He had been cured of his illness, educated, and taught Finnish. And now, no one looking at this handsome, well-built young black guy ever could have guessed how strange his destiny was.

Yari had been found in the slums of Macao. At the age of four, with the help of his magical abilities, he was already a remarkably successful thief, which was how he was discovered by his future adoptive parents. They hadn’t even had to pay anything for him. Yari hadn’t grown very tall, but the Regin Brothers had been delighted with his sharp, tenacious mind and natural talent for magic.

Then there was Yukha, from Russia. Or rather, from somewhere in the south of Ukraine. He had suffered from wanderlust since he was a child, and at the age of seven he had traveled right across the country by jumping freight trains and hitchhiking, then crossed the border on foot, and one day he’d knocked on the door of the small townhouse owned by the Mustajokis, devoted members of the sect. There was no way that could be explained except by magical predestination.

By a wicked irony of fate, only the deceased Ollikainen had been a genuine Finnish boy.

The driver had never had such a strange group of passengers before-a young white guy with Ukrainian facial features, a tall guy with skin as black as pitch, and a short Asiatic with slanting eyes. And all three of them were speaking Finnish, or maybe Swedish, absolutely fluently. But then, you saw all sorts of things nowadays…

The first thing the Brothers did at the airport was study the timetable, but even here Russia’s muddleheaded cunning had a little snag in store for them: The flight to Prague turned out to have been postponed for the fourth time. True, there was another flight to Duisburg with a stopover in Prague. But the transit flight wasn’t in the timetable, of course, while the plane to Madrid, also with a stopover in Prague, left at a very inconvenient time, and they had to redraw their plans right there at the ticket office. This reduced a burly young guy in a track suit, wearing a gold chain as thick as a finger and clutching a cell phone in his massive hairy hand, to a state of inexplicable fury. He was on the point of pushing little Yari out of the way, but Raivo concocted a hasty spell of respect, and after that the line that had gathered behind them stopped complaining about the leisurely manner in which the Finns were consulting.

“We’ll take the Duisburg plane,” Yukha decided at last. “It’s more convenient. And we won’t have to wait so long.

They’ll postpone the Prague flight another three times at least, won’t they?”

Of course they would. The reality lines were woven into a tight knot, and the illfated flight wouldn’t leave until late that evening.

The almost forgotten sensation of freedom was as intoxicating as their favorite Lapin Kulta beer. While Yukha was talking to the pretty girl at the ticket desk (who was already hassled out of her mind), Yari and Raivo enjoyed themselves staring around the large hall, looking at the passengers walking by, the sales assistants in the brightly lit aquariums of their little shops, the international airline offices that are always there in any major airport…

It was Yari who spotted the Other.

“Look!”

There was a Light magician standing at a counter near the exit to the boarding gates, drinking coffee from a small, dark green cup. And there was a half-empty travel bag lying beside his tall stool.

Yari and Raivo studied the Light One’s aura for a while-he was perfectly composed and completely in control of his emotions. He must have noticed them, but he didn’t give any sign.

“When are they ever going to leave us in peace?” Raivo sighed.

“Do you think he’s following us?”

“Of course,” Raivo said with conviction. “We have to present ourselves at a session of the Tribunal. And the Moscow Night Watch has to be certain that the witnesses they released have left for Prague. You’ll see, he’ll follow us all the way to the boarding ramp.”

“But there’s almost five hours left until our flight.”

“The Other’s in no hurry. He’s working.”

Yukha joined them with the tickets. There was a faint breath of magic coming from him-of course there hadn’t been any tickets left for today’s flight, so he’d had some taken from the special reserve by influencing the girl at the desk and the airport manager.

“Here, take them…” he began, but suddenly broke off. He looked closely at the other Brothers and asked,

“What’s wrong?”

“A spy. Over there at the counter, drinking coffee.”

Yukha looked and saw the Light Other.

And just at that moment a murky red stripe cut across the even azure tone of the spy’s aura.

“Something’s upset him,” Yari said

“Another One!” said Raivo. “Over there, by the way out!”

There was a dark-haired, stocky man aged thirty-something standing right beside the glass doors, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief with one hand, and holding a cell phone to his ear with the other. He wasn’t saying anything, either, but obviously listening to lengthy instructions from someone. There was a small black briefcase standing beside him.

This Other was a Dark magician.

“And they’re following us too,” muttered Raivo.

“Why would anyone be interested in us?” Yukha asked doubtfully. “Any number of Others could have business at Moscow’s international airport!”

“Remain vigilant, brother!” Yari reminded him. “Fafnir is saddened and alarmed by carelessness.”

Yukha thought gloomily that after the hopeless failure of the operation to deliver the Talon to Moscow, the resurrected Fafnir ought to incinerate all four of them. Or at least the three survivors. But, as usual, he didn’t say anything out loud.

Meanwhile the Light One finished his coffee, cast a glance of displeasure at the Dark One, and set off in the general direction of the restaurant. His aura had returned to its even azure color, with a barely visible hint of cherry-red where the stripe had been.

The Dark One was still talking on his cell phone. Or rather, listening.

“They want to make sure we leave!” said the shrewd Raivo. “As if we weren’t delighted to go-what have we got to do here?”

But Raivo was wrong.

The Light magician wandered around the airport for a while and then settled at the counter again, reading some book and sipping coffee. The Dark magician finished his conversation and walked across to the ticket desk, and the Brothers sensed a trace of magic. Quite strong magic, too-about fourth level.

“What’s he doing there?” Raivo asked, getting worried. “Is he getting a ticket too? Eh? Yukha, he’s not going to bother us, is he?”

“Why would he?” Yukha asked. “Look!”

The Dark magician walked away from the window in the counter with a ticket in his hand.

“They’ve canceled a ticket someone had already paid for,” Raivo guessed. “Would you believe it? There’ll be an uproar…”

And there was an uproar, when the passengers were registering for the flight four hours later, when they all found themselves in the same line, including the Light magician. One of the passengers was politely informed that his ticket had been sold to him by mistake, that the airline apologized to him and offered him a seat in business class on the next flight…

The Dark magician watched the outraged passenger’s complaints as if nothing unusual was happening. He actually seemed to be smiling. But the Regin Brothers had no reason to smile-the Dark magician and the Light magician were flying on the same plane as them.

“They’ve decided to see us all the way to Prague,” Raivo eventually announced. “They’re taking this business seriously.”

Yukha shook his head. “No, brother. No. Something’s not right here. You’ll see-they’ll come up and want to talk to us…”

Chapter one

-«?»—

Gesar had summoned Anton in the evening, when the analysts and the technical staff had already gone home, and the field operatives who happened to be on duty that night had only just begun arriving at headquarters. The corridors on the second floor smelled of freshly brewed coffee, hot cinnamon buns, and mild, fragrant tobacco-that year a fashion for smoking pipes had swept through almost the entire Night Watch staff. Even the women hadn’t escaped it.

It was about a year already since Anton had worked in the IT department; Tolik had replaced him as boss of the computers and the girls who operated them. A second-level magician-Anton had been classed as second level at the beginning of the year-was too important a figure to be spending his time stuck in a chair, tapping away at a keyboard and debugging programs.

“Like some coffee?” Semyon asked. Anton nodded, and just at that moment the phone rang. Silence fell instantly in the little room where the four field operatives-Anton, Semyon, Garik, and Bear-were sitting. They could all sense a call from the boss.

And who it was for.

Anton’s colleagues watched closely as he picked up the receiver.

“Come in to see me as soon as you’re free,” Gesar ordered him without saying hello. “Finish your coffee and then come in.”

“Very well,” Anton replied in a steady voice. “As you wish, Boris Ignatievich.”

He thought for a moment and then lit his pipe. If Gesar hadn’t warned him time was short, it meant there was no great hurry.

“You in line for a dressing-down?” Garik inquired. Anton just shrugged. He could be in line for anything, from a charge of betraying the cause of the Night Watch to a promotion, from being told to stay in the office and not stick his nose outside to being ordered to storm the Dark Ones’ headquarters. When a magician of the highest level got some
i.e.
into his head, it was pointless trying to guess his plans. Especially if that magician was in the kind of bad mood that Gesar had been in for the last few months.

Basically they were all feeling pretty lousy. This year had been just one failure after another. It had all started in the summer, when the workaday, humdrum arrest of a witch practicing magic illegally had spilled over into conflict with the Dark Ones. Then the fine young magician Igor Teplov, who had drained his powers in that conflict, had been sent to the Artek children’s camp to recover and run foul of a deliberate provocation by the Dark Ones. A witch called Alisa Donnikova had managed to enchant him and make him fall in love with her. She was Zabulon’s girlfriend, the same Dark bitch who had interfered time and again in the Night Watch’s most complicated intrigues. This time Alisa hadn’t gone unpunished-Igor had killed her. But in the process he had exceeded the limits of force permissible in self-defense, and now his fate hung by a thread.

About a month later Vitaly Rogoza had turned up, and that had proved to be a real disaster. At first they’d taken him for an ordinary Dark One, then they’d begun to suspect the visiting Ukrainian was an emissary, sent to assist the Day Watch. But Rogoza had turned out to be a Mirror-that very rarest of phenomena, which has been recorded less than ten times in the entire history of the Watches. He was a direct creation of the Twilight, a monstrous fighting machine molded out of a quite unexceptional individual, who might not even have been an Other. If only they’d realized that straightaway… but they hadn’t. And in the struggle with the Mirror, Tiger Cub had been killed, Svetlana had lost her powers, and several other magicians had suffered to a greater or lesser degree.

Things were very, very bad…

Anton had cursed himself over and over again for not realizing the need to conduct a detailed analysis of the circumstances in which the Mirror had appeared. After all, there were similar cases in the secret archives-the appearance of a magician who evaded classification, a rapid increase in his powers, a decisive skirmish-and then he disappeared. Everything fit. Right down to the final moment, when Vitaly Rogoza had melted into thin air, dematerialized, and vanished into the depths of the Twilight that had given birth to him.

But never mind Anton, never mind even Garik or Semyon. For them a Mirror was one of those numerous exotic occurrences they’d only heard about in lectures or read about in the archives. Why hadn’t Gesar or Olga, with all their experience, realized the truth immediately? They’d run into Mirrors before, after all…

Things were bad. Nothing was going right. As if the Darkness had been infuriated by the Night Watch’s recent successes and was striking blow after blow. And very successfully too, it had to be admitted.

Anton shook his head to refuse the second cup of coffee that Semyon offered him. He carefully cleaned out his pipe, casting an involuntary sideways glance at Bear.

He was cleaning out his pipe too. The little pipe with a long, thin stem that had belonged to Tiger Cub. The girl had only smoked it occasionally, mostly to keep her friends company. But now that Tiger Cub was gone, Bear smoked his own pipe and hers by turns. It was probably the only way he had expressed his feelings since Tiger Cub’s death-the gentle way he handled that pipe… and perhaps that fixed stare when Vitaly Rogoza had begun to dematerialize. A gaze full of regret: Bear hadn’t had a chance to get his hands on Rogoza, he hadn’t been able to satisfy his thirst for vengeance…