iger Cub's motorcycle was really good, if that vague word can ever be applied to a Harley, even the simplest model. After all, there are motorcycles, and then there are Harley-Davidsons.

Why Tiger Cub needed it, I couldn't tell. As far as I could see, she only rode it once or twice a year. Probably for the same reason she needed a huge house on the weekends. In any case, we arrived back in town before it was even two in the afternoon.

Semyon handled the heavy two-wheeled vehicle like a master. I could never have done it, not even if I'd activated the "extreme skills" implanted in my memory and reviewed the reality lines. I could have got there almost as fast by expending a considerable portion of my reserves of Power. But Semyon simply drove¡ªand his superiority over an ordinary human driver was because of nothing but his great experience.

Even riding at a hundred kilometers an hour the air still felt hot. The wind lashed at my cheeks like a hot, rough towel. It felt like we were riding through a furnace, an endless asphalt furnace full of vehicles that had already been roasted in the sun and were slowly crawling along. At least three times I was sure we were going to crash into a car or an inconveniently sited pillar.

It wasn't likely that we'd be killed outright. The other guys would sense what had happened and come and put us back together, piece by piece, but it wouldn't exactly be fun.

We arrived without any mishaps. After the Ring Road Semyon used his magic about five times, but only to make the highway patrolmen look the other way.

Semyon didn't ask my address, even though he'd never been to my place. He stopped outside the door of the building and switched off the engine. The young teens swilling cheap beer in the little kids' playground stopped talking and stared at the bike. How great it must be to have such clear and simple dreams: beer, ecstasy at the discotheque, a hot girlfriend, and a Harley to ride.

"How long have you been having premonitions?" Semyon asked.

I started. I hadn't really told anyone that I'd been having them.

"Quite a long time now."

Semyon nodded. He looked up at my windows. He didn't tell me why he'd asked the question.

"Maybe I ought to go up with you?"

"Listen, I'm not your date who needs to be seen to her door."

The magician smiled.

"Hey, don't get me confused with Ignat. Okay, it's not such a big deal. Be careful."

"Of what?"

"Of everything, I suppose."

The bike's engine howled. The magician shook his head.

"There's something coming, Anton. Coming this way. Be careful."

He zoomed off to roars of approval from the adolescents, and slipped neatly through the gap between a parked Volga and a slow-moving Zhiguli. I watched him go and shook my head. I didn't need any premonitions to know that Semyon would spend the whole day zooming round Moscow. Then he'd attach himself to some group of bikers, and a quarter of an hour later he'd be a fully fledged member, already creating legends about a crazy old biker.

Be careful...

Of what?

And more important, what for?

I tapped the code into the lock, walked into the entrance, and called the elevator. That morning I'd been on vacation with my friends, and everything had been fine.

Nothing had changed now, except that I wasn't there any longer.

They say that when Light Magicians go off the rails, the first sign is always flashes of insight, like the ones epileptics have before a fit. Then the pointless use of power, like killing flies with fireballs and chopping firewood with combat spells. Quarrels with the people they love. Sudden disagreements with some friends and equally unexpected warm relations with others. Everyone knows that, and everyone knows what happens after a Light Magician goes off the rails.

Be careful...

I walked up to the door and reached for my keys.

But the door was already unlocked.

My parents had a set of keys. But they would never have come all the way from Saratov without giving me any warning. And I would have sensed that they were coming.

No ordinary human thief would ever break into my apartment; the simple sign on the threshold would have stopped him. And there were barriers against Others too. Of course, they could be overcome with sufficient Power. But the sentry systems ought to have been triggered!

I stood there, looking at the narrow crack between the door and the doorjamb, the crack that shouldn't have been there. I looked through the Twilight, but I didn't see anything.

I didn't have a weapon with me. The pistol was in the apartment. So were the ten combat amulets.

I could have followed instructions. A member of the Night Watch who discovers that a home secured by magical means has been penetrated by strangers must first inform the duty operations officer and his supervisor, and then...

But the moment I imagined appealing to Gesar, after he'd casually scattered the entire Day Watch only two days earlier, I lost any desire to follow instructions. I folded my fingers into the sign for a rapid "freeze" spell, probably because I remembered how well it had worked for Semyon.

Be careful?

I pushed open the door and walked into the apartment that had suddenly stopped being mine.

And as I walked in, I realized who had enough power, authority, and sheer effrontery to come calling without an invitation.

"Good afternoon, boss!" I said, glancing into the study.

I wasn't entirely mistaken.

Zabulon was sitting in a chair by the window, reading. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and put down the newspaper Arguments and Facts. Then he carefully took off his spectacles with the slim gold frames.

"Good afternoon, Anton. You know, I'd be very glad to be your boss."

He smiled. A Dark Magician beyond classification, the head of the Moscow Day Watch. As usual, he was wearing an immaculately tailored black suit and a light-gray shirt. An Other of indeterminate age with a lean frame and close-cropped hair.

"My mistake," I said. "What are you doing here?"

Zabulon shrugged:

"Take your amulet. It's in the desk somewhere, I can sense it."

I walked over to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out the ivory medallion on a copper chain. I squeezed the amulet in my fist and felt it growing warm.

"Zabulon, you no longer have any power over me."

The Dark Magician nodded:

"Good. I don't want you to feel any doubts about your own safety."

"What are you doing in a Light One's home, Zabulon? I would be within my rights to report you to the Tribunal."

"I know," Zabulon said with a shrug. "I know all that. I'm in the wrong. This is stupid. I'm exposing myself to reprisals and exposing the Day Watch too. But I haven't come to you as an enemy."

I didn't say anything.

"And you don't need to worry about any observation devices," Zabulon added casually. "Either your own, or the ones that the Inquisition installs. I took the liberty of, shall we say, putting them to sleep. Everything we say to each other will remain just between the two of us forever."

"Believe half of what a human says, a quarter of what a Light One says, and not a word of what a Dark One says," I muttered.

"Of course, you have every right not to trust me. It's your duty not to! But please hear me out." Zabulon suddenly smiled in a remarkably open and reassuring fashion. "You're a Light One. You are obliged to help everyone who asks for help, even me. And now I'm asking."

I hesitated, then went across to the couch and sat down. Without taking my shoes off, without canceling the suspended "freeze," as if it weren't totally absurd to imagine myself doing combat with Zabulon.

There was an outsider in my apartment. So much for "my home is my castle"¡ªand I'd almost started to believe it during the years I'd been working in the Watch.

"First of all, how did you get in?" I asked.

"First of all, I took a perfectly ordinary lock pick, but..."

"Zabulon, you know what I mean. The sentry systems can be destroyed, but they can't be tricked. They should have been triggered by any unauthorized entry."

The Dark Magician sighed.

"Kostya helped me to get in. You gave him access."

"I hoped he was my friend. Even if he is a vampire."

"He is your friend," Zabulon said with a smile. "And he wants to help you."

"In his own way."

"In our own way, Anton. I've entered your home, but I have no intention of causing any harm. I haven't looked at any of the official documents you keep here. I haven't left any monitoring signs. I came to talk."

"Then talk."

"You and I have a problem, Anton. The same one. And today it reached critical proportions."

The moment I saw Zabulon, I'd known what we'd be talking about, so I just nodded.

"Good, you understand." The Dark Magician leaned forward in his chair and sighed. "Anton, I'm not under any illusions here. We see the world differently. And we understand our duty in different ways. But even under those conditions our interests sometimes coincide. From your point of view, we Dark Ones have our failings. Sometimes our actions seem rather ambiguous. And we are obliged by our very nature to be rather less caring with people. That's all true. But note that nobody has ever accused us of attempting to change the entire destiny of humanity. Since the Treaty was concluded we have simply lived our own lives and we'd like you to do the same."

"Nobody has ever accused you," I agreed. "Because whichever way you look at it, time is on your side."

Zabulon nodded:

"And what does that mean? Perhaps we're more like human beings? Perhaps we're right? But let's not get into those arguments; there's no end to them. I repeat what I have said before. We honor the Treaty. And we often observe it far more closely than the forces of Light."

A standard tactic in an argument. First admit to some kind of generalized guilt. Then gently reproach your opponent with being equally guilty of the same general kind of fault. Reproach them a bit and then drop it. Let's just forget the whole thing!

And then move on to what's really important.

"But let's deal with what's really important here," said Zabulon, getting serious. "There's no point in beating about the bush. In the last hundred years the forces of Light have launched three global experiments. The revolution in Russia. The Second World War. And now this new project. Following the same scenario."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. I suddenly had this desperate, aching feeling in my chest.

"Really? Let me explain. Social models are developed that should eventually¡ªat the cost of massive upheavals and immense bloodshed¡ªcreate the ideal society. Ideal, that is, from your point of view, but I won't argue about that! Certainly not. Everyone has a right to his own dream. But your path is so very cruel..." Another sad smile. "You accuse us of cruelty, and not entirely without reason, but what's one child killed in a black mass compared with any fascist children's concentration camp? And fascism was another of your inventions. Another one that got out of control. First there was internationalism and communism¡ªthose didn't work. Then there was national socialism. Another mistake? You put your heads together and examined the result. Then you sighed, wiped the slates clean, and started experimenting all over again."

"They turned out to be mistakes thanks to your efforts."

"Of course! We do have an instinct of self-preservation, you know. We don't construct social models on the basis of our ethics. So why should we tolerate your projects?"

I didn't say anything.

Zabulon nodded, apparently satisfied.

"So you see, Anton. Maybe we're enemies. We are enemies. Last winter you caused us some inconvenience, serious inconvenience. This spring you frustrated me again. You eliminated two Day Watch agents. Yes, of course, the Inquisition declared that your actions were committed in self-defense out of absolute necessity but, believe me¡ªI was not pleased. What kind of leader is it who can't even protect his own subjects? So, we are enemies. But now we have a unique situation. Yet another experiment. And you're indirectly involved in it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Zabulon laughed and raised his hands in the air.

"Anton, I'm not trying to coax any secrets out of you. I'm not going to ask any questions. Or ask you to do anything. Just listen to what I have to say. And then I'll go."

I suddenly remembered how the young witch Alisa had used her right to intervention up on the high-rise roof the previous winter. A very minor intervention: All she did was allow me to speak the truth. And that truth had turned Egor to the side of the Dark Ones.

Why did things happen that way?

Why was it that the Light acted through lies, and the Darkness acted through the truth? Why was it that our truth proved powerless, but lies were effective? And why was the Darkness able to manage perfectly well with truth in order to do Evil? Whose nature was responsible, humankind's or ours?

"Svetlana's a wonderful sorceress," said Zabulon. "But her future is not to lead the Night Watch. They intend to use her for just one single purpose. For the mission that Olga failed to complete. You know, don't you, that a courier from Samarkand entered the city illegally this morning?"

"Yes, I know," I admitted, without really knowing why.

"And I can tell you what he brought with him. Would you like to know?"

I gritted my teeth.

"You would," said Zabulon, with a nod. "The courier brought a piece of chalk."

Never believe what the Dark Ones say. But somehow I got the feeling he wasn't lying.

"A little piece of chalk." The Dark Magician smiled. "You could write on a school blackboard with it. Or draw hopscotch squares on the sidewalk. Or chalk your pool cue with it. You could do all that, just as easily as you could use a large royal seal to crack nuts. But things change if a Great Sorceress picks up that piece of chalk¡ªit has to be a Great one, an ordinary sorceress wouldn't be strong enough; and it has to be a sorceress; in male hands the chalk will remain nothing but chalk. And in addition to that the sorceress has to be a Light One. This artifact is useless for Dark Ones."

Did I imagine it, or had he just sighed? I said nothing.

"A small piece of chalk." Zabulon leaned back in his armchair. "It's already worn down; beautiful young women with bright fire in their eyes have picked it up in their slim fingers several times already. It has been put to use, and the earth has trembled, the boundaries of states have melted away, empires have risen, shepherds have become prophets and carpenters have become gods, foundlings have been recognized as kings, sergeants have risen to become emperors, seminarians who failed to graduate and talentless artists have grown into tyrants. A little stub of chalk. Nothing more than that."

Zabulon stood and spread his hands in a conclusive gesture.

"And that's all I wanted to tell you, my dear enemy. You'll understand the rest for yourself¡ªif you really want to, that is."

"Zabulon." I unclenched my fist and looked at the amulet. "You're a creature of the Darkness."

"Of course. But only of the darkness that was in me. The darkness that I chose myself."

"Even your truth works evil."

"To whom? The Night Watch? Of course. But to human beings? There I must beg to differ."

He walked toward the door.

"Zabulon," I said, calling him by name again. "I've seen your true appearance. I know who you are and what you are."

The Dark Magician stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned around and passed his hand over his face¡ªfor a moment it was distorted; the skin was replaced by dull scales and the eyes became narrow slits.

Then the illusion disappeared.

"Yes. Of course you've seen it," said Zabulon, in his human form once again. "And I have seen you. And permit me to state that you were no white angel with a gleaming sword. Everything depends on your point of view. Goodbye, Anton. Believe me, I shall be glad to eliminate you at some later time. But for now I wish you good luck. From the depths of the soul that I don't have."

The door slammed behind him.

And immediately, as if it had just woken up, the sentry system howled out of the Twilight. The mask of Chkhoen on the wall twisted into a ferocious scowl, with fury glinting in the wooden slits of its eyes.

My security guards...

I silenced the system with two passes and hurled the "freeze" that I'd prepared at the mask. The spell had come in useful after all.

"A little piece of chalk," I said.

I'd heard something like that before. But it was a very long time ago, and I hadn't really been paying attention. It could have been a few phrases thrown out by one of my tutors at a lecture, or idle social gossip, or a student myth. But there definitely was something about a piece of chalk...

I got up off the couch, raised my hand in the air, and threw the amulet onto the floor.

"Gesar!" I called through the twilight. "Gesar, answer me!"

My shadow shot up toward me from the floor, grabbed hold of my body, and sucked me into itself. The light dimmed, the room swayed, the outlines of the furniture blurred. It was suddenly unbearably quiet. The heat had receded. I stood there with my arms thrown out wide as the greedy Twilight drank my power.

"Gesar, by your name I summon you!"

Threads of gray mist drifted through the room. I didn't give a damn who else might be able to hear me shouting.

"Gesar, my mentor, I call on you¡ªwill you answer?"

Far away in the distance an invisible shadow sighed.

"I hear you, Anton."

"Answer me!"

"What question do you want answered?"

"Zabulon¡ªdid he lie to me?"

"No."

"Gesar, stop!"

"It's too late, Anton. Everything's going the way it's supposed to go. Trust me."

"Gesar, stop!"

"You have no right to make any demands."

"No right! If we are part of the Light, if we do Good, then I have every right!"

The boss didn't answer right away. I even thought he'd decided not to say anything else to me.

"All right. I'll be waiting for you in an hour at the Para Bar."

"Where?"

"The Parachutists' Bar. Near the Turgenevskaya metro station, behind the old central post office."

Then there was silence.

I took a step backward, out of the Twilight. It was an odd sort of place to meet. Was that where Gesar had had his showdown with the Day Watch? No, that was in some restaurant or other.

Oh, well, what did it matter¡ªthe Para Bar, Rosie O'Grady's, even the Chance Club. It wasn't important. Who cared?

But there was one other thing I had to find out before I met Gesar.

I took out my cell phone and dialed Svetlana's number. She answered immediately.

"Hi," I said simply. "Are you at the summerhouse?"

"No." She seemed startled by my brisk, businesslike tone. "I'm on my way into town."

"Who with?"

She paused.

"With Ignat."

"Good," I said, quite sincerely. "Listen, do you know anything about chalk?"

"About what?"

This time the puzzlement was obvious.

"About the magical properties of chalk. Have they taught you anything about its uses in magic?"

"No, Anton. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm better than that."

"Has something happened?"

The eternal female habit of asking every question in two or three different ways.

"Nothing special."

"Do you want me..." She hesitated. "Do you want me to ask Olya?"

"Is she there with you as well?"

"Yes, the three of us are coming back to town together."

"I don't think so. Thanks."

"Anton..."

"What, Sveta?"

I walked over to the desk and opened the drawer with all my magical junk. I looked at the dull crystals, at the clumsily carved magic wand from the time when I still wanted to be a combat magician. I pushed the drawer back in.

"Forgive me."

"There's nothing you need to be forgiven for."

"Can I come around to your place?"

"How far away are you?"

"Halfway there."

I shook my head and answered:

"It won't fit. I've got an important meeting. I'll call you back later."

I cut off the call and smiled. Very often the truth can be malicious and false. For instance, when you tell only half the truth. Like telling someone you don't want to talk without explaining why.

Permit me to do Good through Evil. I don't have any other way right now.

Just to be sure I walked around the apartment, looking into the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. As far as I was able to tell, Zabulon really hadn't left any "presents" behind him.

I went back into the study, switched on my computer, and inserted the disk with the general database on magic. Typed in the password. Typed in the word "chalk."

I hadn't been expecting anything special to come up. What I wanted to know could easily require such a high security clearance that it had never been included in any databases.

There were three entries for the word "chalk."

The first was a reference to a chalk quarry where a first-grade Light Magician and a first-grade Dark Magician fought a duel in the fifteenth century. Both of them died of simple exhaustion of their powers¡ªthey didn't have enough strength left to emerge from the Twilight at the end of the duel. During the following five hundred years almost three thousand people had died at the site of the duel.

The second entry referred to the use of chalk for drawing magical symbols and protective circles. There was a lot more information here, and I read through it all quickly. There was nothing of interest. Using chalk had no particular advantages over charcoal, pencil, blood, or oil paint. Except maybe that it was easier to erase.

The third reference came in the section "Myths and Unconfirmed Data." Of course, this section was full of rubbish like the use of silver and garlic in fighting vampires and descriptions of non-existent ceremonies and rituals.

But I'd come across cases before when genuine information had been completely forgotten and hidden away among the myths.

And then chalk was mentioned in the article "The Books of Fate."

I read halfway through it and realized I'd hit the bull's-eye. The information was just lying there in full view, accessible to any novice magician¡ªit might even be available in sources that were open to ordinary people.

The Books of Fate. Chalk.

It all fit.

I closed the file and switched off the laptop. Then I sat there for a while, chewing things over. Then I looked at the clock.

It was almost time for me to set out for my strange rendezvous with Gesar.

I took a shower and changed my clothes. I took three amulets with me¡ªZabulon's medallion, the Night Watch badge, and a combat disc Ilya had given to me¡ªan ancient round piece of bronze a bit bigger than a five-ruble coin. I'd never used the disc before. Ilya had told me the amulet had only one charge left¡ªmaybe two at most.

I took my pistol out of its hiding place and checked the clip. Explosive silver bullets. Good against werewolves, of doubtful use against vampires, totally effective against Dark Magicians.

As if I were going off to war, not for a talk with my boss.

The cell phone rang in my pocket when I was already at the door.

"Anton?"

"Sveta?"

"Olga wants to talk to you; I'll give her the phone."

"Okay," I agreed, unlocking the door.

"Anton, I love you very much. Please don't do anything stupid."

I couldn't think of anything to say. Olga took the phone.

"Anton. I want you to know that everything's already been decided. And it's all going to happen very soon."

"Tonight," I said.

"How do you know that?"

"I can just feel it. That was why the Watch was sent out of town, wasn't it? And why Svetlana was put into the right mood."

"What do you know?"

"The Book of Destiny. Chalk. I understand everything now."

"That's bad," Olga said curtly. "Anton, you have to..."

"I don't have to do anything for anyone. Except for the Light inside me."

I cut off the call and switched off the cell phone. I'd had enough. Gesar could easily contact me without any technical devices. Olga would only keep trying to change my mind. And Svetlana wouldn't understand what I was doing and why in any case.

I decided to see things through just as I was, all on my own.

"Sit down, Anton," said Gesar.

The bar turned out to be absolutely tiny. Six or seven tables separated off by partitions, plus the bar itself. The air was filled with smoke. A television with the sound switched off, showing free-fall jumps. A photograph of the same thing on the wall¡ªbodies in bright-colored overalls spread-eagled in flight. There weren't many people there, maybe because of the time: It was too late for lunch, and there was still a long time to go before the evening peak. I glanced around and saw Boris Ignatievich sitting in the corner.

The boss was not alone. There was a bowl of fruit on the table in front of him, and he was lazily plucking grapes off a bunch. An olive-skinned young man was sitting a short distance away from him, with his arms crossed. Our eyes met and I felt a slight but distinct pressure.

He was an Other too.

We looked at each other for about five seconds, gradually building up the pressure. He had powers, substantial powers, but he didn't have much experience. As soon as I got the chance, I relaxed my resistance, dodged the young man's probe, and scanned him before he had time to raise his defenses.

Other. Light. Grade four.

The young man grimaced as if he were in pain. He looked at Gesar with the eyes of a beaten dog.

"Let me introduce you," said Gesar. "Anton Gorodetsky, Other, member of the Moscow Night Watch. Alisher Ganiev, Other, new member of the Moscow Night Watch."

The courier.

I held out my hand and lowered my defenses.

"A Light One, grade two," said Alisher, looking into my eyes. He bowed.

I shook my head and answered:

"Grade three."

The young man glanced at Gesar again. This time he looked surprised, not guilty.

"Grade two," the boss confirmed. "You're at the top of your form, Anton. I'm delighted for you. Sit down and we'll talk. Alisher, you observe."

I took a seat opposite the boss.

"Do you know why I decided to meet here?" asked Gesar. "Try the grapes, they're very good."

"How should I know? Maybe they have the best grapes in Moscow?"

Gesar laughed.

"Bravo. However, that's not a very important thing. We bought the fruit at the market."

"The pleasant surroundings, then."

"Nothing of the kind. Just one small room, and if you go through that door, there are two more tables and a pool table."

"You're a secret parachutist, boss."

"I haven't jumped for twenty years now," Gesar countered imperturbably. "Anton, my dear boy, I came in here for a bite of potato and beef stroganoff simply in order to show you a micro-environment. A tiny little society. Just sit there for a while and relax. Alisher, a glass of beer for Anton! Take a look around, soldier. Look at the faces. Listen to the talk. Breathe in the air."

I turned away from the boss and moved to the end of the wooden bench, so that I could at least see the other people there. Alisher was already standing at the bar, waiting for my beer.

The regulars in the Para Bar had strange faces. All alike in some strange, indefinable way. Distinctive eyes, distinctive gestures. Nothing really special, just the same stamp on every one.

"A team," said the boss. "And a micro-environment. We could have had this conversation in the gay club Chance, or in the restaurant of the Central Writer's House, or in a snack bar next to some factory. That didn't matter. What did matter was that there had to be a small, close-knit team. More or less isolated from general society. It couldn't have been McDonald's or a luxurious restaurant; it had to be an official or unofficial club. And you know why? Because this is us. It's a model of our Watch."

I didn't answer. I watched a young guy on crutches hobble up to the next table, wave away an invitation to sit down, lean on the partition, and start talking about something. The music drowned out his words, but I could absorb the general meaning through the twilight. A parachute that didn't open and had to be dumped. A landing with the reserve chute. A broken leg. And now six damn months without jumping!

"The public here has a very specific profile," the boss continued calmly. "Risk. Intense thrills. Little understanding of other people. Their own slang. Problems normal people couldn't possibly understand. And also, incidentally, regular injuries and death. Do you like it here?"

I thought for a moment and said:

"No, you have to be one of the in crowd here. There's no other way you can be here."

"Of course. It's interesting to drop into any micro-environment like this¡ªonce. After that you either accept its laws and join its little society, or you're rejected. Well, we're no different. In essential terms, that is. Every Other who has been found and has accepted his own nature is faced with a choice. He either joins the Watch on his side, becomes a soldier, a warrior, who inevitably risks his life. Or he keeps living an almost human life, without developing his special magical powers, making use of some of the advantages of an Other, but suffering all the disadvantages of living like that. The most painful situation is when the initial choice is wrong. When for some reason the Other doesn't wish to accept the laws of the Watch. But it's almost impossible to leave our organization. Tell me, Anton, could you live outside the Watch?"

Of course, the boss never makes abstract conversation.

"Probably not," I admitted. "It would be hard, almost impossible in fact, for me to keep within the limits of what an ordinary Light Magician is allowed to do."

"And without joining the Watch, you wouldn't be able to justify your magical actions by citing the interests of the struggle against Darkness. Right?"

"Right."

"And that's where the difficulty lies, Antoshka, that's the whole problem." The boss sighed. "Alisher, don't just stand there."

He was really giving the young guy a hard time. But it wasn't hard to guess why: The courier had wormed his way into the Moscow Watch, and now he had to take the inevitable consequences.

"Your beer, Light One Anton." The young guy put the glass in front of me with a brief nod.

I accepted the beer without saying anything. This young, talented magician wasn't to blame for anything. I was sure we could be friends. But just then I was actually feeling angry with him: The delivery Alisher had brought to Moscow would separate me from Svetlana forever.

"Anton, what are we going to do?" the boss asked.

"Just what, exactly, is the problem?" I answered, looking at him with the eyes of a devoted Saint Bernard.

"Svetlana. You're opposing her mission."

"Of course."

"Anton. There are basic principles involved here. Axioms. You have no right to object to the policy of the Watch on the basis of your own personal interests."

"What have my own personal interests got to do with it?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I regard the entire operation that's being planned as immoral. It won't be of any benefit to ordinary human beings. Like it or not, every attempt to bring about a fundamental change in human society has been a failure."

"Sooner or later we shall succeed. Note that I don't even claim that this attempt will bring success. But the chances are better now than ever before."

"I don't believe it."

"You can lodge an appeal at the highest level."

"Will they have time to consider it before the day Svetlana picks up the chalk and opens the Book of Destiny?"

The boss closed his eyes and sighed.

"No, they won't. It's all happening tonight, just as soon as our time begins. Are you happy now that you know when exactly it's all going to happen?"

"Boris Ignatievich," I said, deliberately using the name by which I'd first known him. "Listen to me, please. You once left your homeland and came to Russia. Not to serve the interests of the Light, not for the sake of your career. Because of Olga. I don't know very much about your past history, how much hate and love, how much betrayal and nobility there is in it. But you have to understand me. Because you can."

I don't know what kind of answer I'd expected. Maybe I thought he'd look away, or promise to cancel the project.

"I understand you very well, Anton," the boss said with a nod. "In fact, you can't even imagine how well. That's exactly why the plan will go ahead."

"But why?"

"Because, my boy, there's such a thing as destiny. And there's nothing stronger than destiny. Some are destined to change the world. Some are not. Some are destined to bring entire states to their knees, and some to stand in the wings holding the puppets' strings, with their hands covered in chalk dust. Anton, I know what I'm doing. Believe me."

"I don't believe you."

I got up, leaving my untouched beer with its wilting cap of foam. Alisher gave the boss an inquiring look, as if he were prepared to stop me.

"You have the right to do whatever you want," said the boss. "The Light is in you, but the Twilight is always waiting behind you. You know where any false step will lead. And you know that I am willing to help you; I am obliged to help you."

"Gesar, my mentor, thank you for everything that you have taught me," I said with a bow, and the parachutists cast curious glances in my direction. "I believe I no longer have the right to expect your help. Please accept my gratitude."

"You are free of all obligations to me," Gesar replied calmly. "Act as your destiny requires of you."

That was all. He cast off his former pupil as simply as that. I wondered how many pupils he'd had who failed to acknowledge his supreme goals and sacred ideals?

Hundreds, thousands.

"Goodbye, Gesar," I said. I glanced at Alisher. "I wish you luck, new watchman."

The young man looked at me reproachfully:

"If I may be allowed to say something..."

"Say it," I told him.

"In your place, I would not be in any hurry, Light One Anton."

"I've already lost too much time, Light One Alisher," I said with a smile. I was used to thinking of myself as one of the most junior magicians in the Watch, but everything passes. And for this novice I was an authority. For the time being at least. "One day you will hear the sound of time rustling as it slips through your fingers like sand. Remember me then. I wish you luck."