he young man walked into the restaurant as confidently as if he came there every day for breakfast. But that wasn't the case.

He went straight over to the table where the short, swarthy man was sitting, as if they'd known each other for a long time. But that wasn't true either. With his last step he sank smoothly to his knees. He didn't slump; he lowered himself calmly, without losing his dignity or bending his back.

The waiter who was walking past gulped and turned away. He'd seen all sorts of things in his time, let alone petty incidents like a mafia underling kowtowing to his boss. Only the young man didn't look much like a minion, and the swarthy man didn't look much like a mafia boss.

The trouble he could smell in the air threatened to be far more serious than a mobsters' shoot-out. He didn't know what exactly was going to happen, but he could feel it coming, because he was an Other himself, although he wasn't initiated.

But only a moment later he had completely forgotten what he'd seen. He had nothing but a vague sense of unease somewhere in the region of his heart, but he couldn't remember why.

"Get up, Alisher," Gesar said in a low voice. "Get up. We don't do that around here."

The young man got up off his knees and sat down facing the head of the Night Watch. He nodded.

"We don't either. Not any longer. But my father instructed me to bow on my knees to you, Gesar. He followed the old rules. He would have knelt. But now he will never be able to."

"Do you know how he died?"

"Yes. I saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, suffered his pain."

"Give me also his pain, Alisher, son of a devona and a human woman."

"Take what you ask, Gesar, Exterminator of Evil, equal of the gods, who do not exist."

They looked into each other's eyes. Then Gesar nodded.

"I know the killers. Your father will be avenged."

"I must be the one to do it."

"No, you will not be able to do it, and you have no right. You have come to Moscow illegally."

"Take me into your Watch, Gesar."

The head of the Night Watch shook his head.

"I was the best in Samarkand, Gesar," the young man said, staring hard at him. "Don't smile; I know that here I would be the lowest of the low. Take me into the Watch. As a pupil of your pupils. As a guard dog. I ask this in honor of my father's memory¡ªtake me into the Watch."

"You are asking too much, Alisher. You are asking me to give you your death."

"I have already died, Gesar. When they drank my father's soul, I died with him. I walked along with a smile while he distracted the Dark Ones. I walked down into the metro while they were trampling his ashes underfoot. Gesar, I have a right to ask this."

Gesar nodded.

"Let it be so. You are a member of my Watch, Alisher."

Not a trace of emotion showed in the young man's face, but he nodded and pressed his hand to his heart for an instant.

"Where is the thing that you have brought, Alisher?"

"I have it, my lord."

Gesar reached his hand out across the table without speaking.

Alisher opened the little bag on his belt and took out an oblong bundle of coarse fabric, handling it with great care.

"Take it, Gesar, and relieve me of my duty."

Gesar covered the young man's open palm with his hand and closed his fingers. When the young man withdrew his hand a moment later, it was empty.

"Your service is completed, Alisher. Now let us simply relax. Let us eat, drink, and remember your father. I will tell you all that I can remember."

Alisher nodded. It was impossible to tell if he was pleased by what Gesar had said or simply willing to accept whatever the older man suggested.

"We will have half an hour," Gesar stated simply. "Then the Dark Ones will arrive. They must have picked up your trail, even if they did so too late."

"Will there be a battle, my lord?"

"I do not know," said Gesar with a shrug. "What does it matter? Zabulon is far away. I have no reason to fear the others."

"There will be a battle," Alisher said thoughtfully. He looked around the restaurant.

"Drive all the customers away," Gesar advised him. "Gently, unobtrusively. I wish to observe your technique. And we will relax while we wait for our guests."

About eleven everyone started waking up.

I was waiting on the terrace, lazing in a beach chair with my legs stretched out, taking occasional sips from a tall gin and tonic and savoring the sweet pain of a masochist. Every time someone came out through the doors, I greeted them with a friendly wave and a little rainbow that sprang from my spread fingers and went soaring up into the sky. It was a bit of childish fun, and everybody smiled. When Yulia saw my greeting, she stopped yawning, squealed, and replied with a rainbow of her own. We competed with each other for a couple of minutes, and then made a rainbow together, a big one that stretched away into the forest. Yulia told me she was going to go and look for the pot of gold, and she strode off proudly under the multi-colored arch, with one of the terriers running obediently by her feet.

I was waiting for certain people.

The first to come out was Lena. Bright and cheerful, wearing just her swimsuit. When she saw me she was embarrassed for a moment, but then she nodded and ran toward the gates. I enjoyed watching the way she moved: slim and graceful, full of life. Now she'd plunge into the cool water, frisk about on her own for a while, and come back for breakfast with a keen appetite.

Next to appear was Ignat. In his swimming shorts and rubber sandals.

"Hi, Anton!" he shouted happily. He came over, opened up the next chair, and flopped down into it. "How are you doing?"

"I'm in a fighting mood!" I told him, raising my glass.

"Good man." Ignat looked around for a bottle and didn't see one. He reached out for my drink and took a sip. "Too weak, too much mixer."

"I got plastered yesterday."

"In that case you're right; better watch yourself," Ignat advised me. "We were guzzling champagne all evening. Then we threw in some cognac later. I was afraid I'd get a headache, but it's okay. I got away with it."

It was impossible to be offended by him.

"Ignat, what did you want to be when you were a kid?" I asked.

"A hospital attendant."

"What?"

"Well, they told me boys didn't work as nurses, and I wanted to help sick people. So I decided that when I grew up I was going to be a medical attendant."

"Great," I said. "But why not a doctor?"

"Too much responsibility for me," Ignat admitted. "And you had to study for too long."

"So did you get to be a medical attendant?"

"Yes. I used to ride around in an ambulance, with the psychiatric team. All the doctors loved working with me."

"Why?"

"First, because I'm extremely charming," Ignat explained, praising himself ingenuously. "I can talk with a man or a woman in a way that calms them down and makes them agree to go to a hospital. And second, I could see when someone was really ill and when he was just seeing something invisible. Sometimes I I was able to whisper in the doctor's ear, explain that everything was okay and no injections would be required."

"Medicine has suffered a great loss."

"True," Ignat said with a sigh, "but the boss persuaded me that I'd be more useful in the Watch. And that's right, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"I'm bored already," Ignat drawled thoughtfully. "Aren't you bored? I want to go back to work."

"I think I do too. Ignat, have you got a hobby? Outside of work?"

"What are you interrogating me for?" he asked in surprise.

"I'm curious. Or is it a secret?"

"What secrets do we have?" Ignat asked with a shrug. "I collect butterflies. I've got one of the best collections in the world, It fills two entire rooms."

"Very laudable," I agreed.

"Come around sometime and take a look," Ignat suggested. "Bring Sveta; she tells me she likes butterflies too."

I laughed so long even Ignat got the point. He got up, smiling uncertainly, and muttered:

"I think I'll go help get breakfast ready."

"Good luck," was all I said. But I just couldn't help myself, and when our handsome Casanova reached the door, I called to him, "Listen, is the boss right to be worried about Svetka?"

Ignat propped his chin on his hand, striking a dashing pose, and thought for a moment.

"You know, I think he is. She's all tensed up somehow, just can't let go and relax. And she's got big things ahead of her, not like you and me."

"You tried your best, did you?"

"What kind of question's that!" said Ignat, offended. "Come around, honest, I'd be glad to see you!"

The gin had turned warm, the ice in the glass had melted. There was a slight trace of lipstick left on the plastic. I shook my head and put the glass down.

Gesar, you can't foresee everything.

But to fight you, not in a duel of magic¡ªthat would be just plain ridiculous¡ªto fight you in the only arena where I have a chance, in words and actions, I have to know what you want. I have to know how the cards lie in the pack. And what you're holding in your hand.

Who were the players?

Gesar, the originator and organizer. Olga, his lover and consultant, a sorceress who had been punished for some crime. Svetlana, who had to complete the project and was being prepared with great care. Me¡ªone of the instruments of her education. Ignat, Tiger Cub, Semyon, and all the other Light Ones could be left out of my calculations. They were instruments too, but only secondary ones. And I couldn't count on them for support.

The Dark Ones?

Naturally, they were involved, but not in any obvious way. Zabulon and his henchmen were concerned about Svetlana's appearance in our camp. They couldn't do anything openly right now. But they could try to sabotage things on the sly or prepare a crushing blow that would bring the Watches to the brink of war.

What else?

The Inquisition?

I drummed my fingers on the armrest of the lounger.

The Inquisition. The structure that stood above the Watches. It reviewed disputes and punished those who had violated the Treaty¡ªfrom either side. It was vigilant. It collected data on every one of us. But it intervened only in extremely rare cases, and its strength lay more in secrecy than in fighting power. When the Inquisition considered a case involving a powerful magician, it drafted fighters from the Watches.

But the Inquisition was involved somehow. I knew the boss. He squeezed the last drop out of every opportunity. And the recent business with Maxim, the maverick Other, the Light One who had gone to work in the Inquisition, was a good example. The boss had exploited the affair to train Svetlana and teach her the lessons of self-control and intrigue, but at the same time he'd discovered a new Inquisitor.

I wished I knew what they were preparing Svetlana for!

So far I was groping in the dark. And the worst thing of all was that the gap between me and Sveta was getting wider and wider. I put on the headphones and closed my eyes.

Tonight the fern will unfold its miraculous flower,

Tonight the spirits will come back home,

Clouds from the north, wind from the west,

Soon the enchantress will wave her hand to me.

I live waiting for a miracle, like a Mauser in its holster,

Like a spider in its web,

Like a tree in the desert,

Like a black fox in its hole.

I was taking a risk. I was taking a great risk. Great Magicians became great by trampling over their own kind, but even they didn't dare go against their own. Isolated individuals didn't survive.

I was running through the telescopes, away from the frightened eyes of children,

I wanted to sleep with a mermaid, but I didn't know how to act with her,

I wanted to turn into a streetcar and drive into your window.

The wind blows from the borderlands, we don't care anymore,

The wind blows from the borderlands, we don't care anymore.

Be my shadow, my squeaking stair, my bright-colored Sunday, my sunshine with rain,

Be my god, my birch-tree juice my electric current, my bent rifle.

I can bear witness that you are the wind, you blow in my face and I laugh,

I do not wish to leave you without a battle, since you dream of me.

Be my shadow...

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Good morning, Sveta," I said and opened my eyes.

She was wearing shorts and a swimsuit. Her hair was wet and neatly arranged. She must have taken a shower. While I, being a filthy swine, hadn't even thought of taking one.

"How are you after yesterday?" she asked me.

"Okay. And you?"

"All right," she said and turned away.

I waited. With Spleen playing in my earphones.

"What were you expecting from me?" Sveta asked sharply. "I'm a normal, healthy young woman. I haven't had a man since last winter. I realize you've got it into your head that Gesar threw us together, like coupling horses, so you're just being stubborn."

"I wasn't expecting anything."

"Then I'm sorry you got a surprise!"

"Did you sense my trail in the room? When you woke up?"

"Yes." Svetlana pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket with a struggle and lit one. "I'm tired. Maybe I am still only learning, and not working yet, but I'm tired. And I came here to relax."

"You were the one who started talking about everyone faking a good time..."

"And you were only too happy to back me up!"

"True," I agreed.

"And then you went off to guzzle vodka and organize conspiracies."

"What conspiracies?"

"Against Gesar. And against me, by the way. How absurd! Even I sensed it! Don't get the idea you're some great magician who can..."

She stopped short. But too late.

"I'm not a great magician," I said. "I'm third grade. Maybe second, but no higher than that. We all have limits of our own that we can't go beyond, not even if we live for a thousand years."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," Svetlana said, embarrassed. She lowered the hand holding the cigarette.

"Forget it. I'm not offended. Do you know why the Dark Ones form families of their own so often, and we prefer to choose our wives and husbands from among ordinary people? The Dark Ones find it easier to bear inequality and constant competition."

"A human being and an Other¡ªthat's even more unequal."

"That doesn't count. We're two different species. That means nothing counts."

"I want you to know," said Svetlana, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, "that I wasn't intending to let things go so far. I was waiting for you to come down and see us and get jealous."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to get jealous," I said repentantly.

"And then everything just got crazy and I got carried away."

"I understand everything, Sveta. It's okay."

She looked at me in confusion.

"Okay?"

"Of course, it happens to everyone. The Watch is one big, tight-knit family. With all the consequences that follow from that."

"What a bastard you are," Svetlana exclaimed. "Anton, if only you could see yourself now from the outside! How did you ever end up on our side?"

"Sveta, you came to make up, didn't you?" I asked in surprise. "So I'm making up. It's all okay. Nothing counts. That's life; all sorts of things happen."

She jumped up and glared icily at me for a second. I started blinking rapidly.

"You idiot," Svetlana blurted out and went back into the house.

So what had I been expecting? Hurt feelings, accusations, sadness?

But more important, what had Gesar been expecting? What would change if I stopped playing the role of Sveta's ill-starred lover? Would someone else take on the role? Or was it already time for her to be left alone¡ªall alone with her great destiny?

The goal. I had to know what Gesar's goal was.

I sprang up off the beach chair and walked into the house. I immediately spotted Olga, alone in the living room. Standing in front of the open display case, holding a sword with a long, narrow blade out in front of her. She wasn't looking at it the way you look at an antique toy. Tiger Cub probably looked at her swords in the same kind of way. But her love of old weapons was abstract and Olga's wasn't.

When Gesar came to live and work in Russia¡ªbecause of her, by the way¡ªswords like that might still have been in use.

But eighty years ago, when Olga had been deprived of all her rights, wars were already fought differently.

A former Great Sorceress. A former Great Goal. Eighty years.

"It's all so well planned, isn't it?" I said.

Olga started and swung round.

"We can't defeat the Darkness ourselves. The little people have to be enlightened first. Become kind and loving, industrious and intelligent. So that every Other can see nothing but the Light. What a great goal it was; how long the ripples lasted when it was drowned in blood."

"You figured it out after all," said Olga. "Or did you just guess?"

"I guessed."

"Good. Now what?"

"How did you slip up, Olga?"

"I accepted a compromise. A little compromise with the Darkness. And because of that we lost."

"We did? We'll always survive. Adapt, fit in, find our place. And we'll continue the old struggle. It's only people who lose."

"Retreats are inevitable sometimes," said Olga, gripping the double-handed sword easily in one hand and swinging it above her head. "Do I look like a helicopter with its engines idling?"

"You look like a woman waving a sword around. Do we really never learn anything, Olga?"

"Sure we do. This time everything's going to be different, Anton."

"A new revolution?"

"We didn't want the last one. It was all supposed to happen almost completely without bloodshed. You understand: We can win only through ordinary people. When they become enlightened, when their spirit is uplifted. Communism was a wonderfully well-calculated system, and it's all my fault that it wasn't realized."

"Oho! Why aren't you in the Twilight already, if it's all your fault?"

"Because everything had been agreed. Every step of the way approved. Even that ill-fated compromise, even that seemed acceptable."

"And now¡ªa new attempt to change people?"

"One more in the series."

"Why here?" I asked. "Why in Russia again?"

"Why not?"

"How much more of this does our country have to put up with?"

"As much as it takes."

"Come on¡ªwhy here again?"

Olga sighed, deftly slipped the sword back into its scabbard, and put it back on its stand.

"Because, my dear boy, in this arena it's still possible to achieve something. The potential of Europe and North America has already been exhausted. Everything that was possible has already been tried there. There are a few things being developed right now. But all those countries are already half asleep. A healthy retiree in shorts with a digital camera¡ªthat's the prosperous countries of the West. We need to experiment with the young ones. Russia, Asia, the Arab world¡ªthese are where the battles of the present day are fought. And don't look so offended, I love my country as much as you do! I've spilled more blood for it than you have flowing in your veins. What you've got to understand, Antoshka, is that the battlefield is the entire world. You know that just as well as I do."

"Our war's with the Darkness, not with human beings!"

"Yes, with the Darkness. But we can only win by creating an ideal society. A world that will be ruled by goodness, love, and justice. The Watches don't exist to capture psychopathic magicians on the streets and issue licenses to vampires! All those little things take up time and energy, but they're by-products, like the heat from an electric light bulb. Light bulbs are meant to produce light, not heat. We have to change the human world, not just neutralize Darkness's minor outbursts. That's the goal. That's the path to victory!"

"Olga, I understand that."

"Wonderful. Then you have to understand something that's never said in so many words. We've been fighting for thousands of years. And all that time we've been trying to change the course of history. To create a new world."

"A brave new world."

"Don't be so cynical. We have achieved something, after all. Through all the blood and suffering the world is becoming a more humane place. But we need a real, genuine revolution."

"Communism was our idea, then?"

"No, not ours, but we supported it. It seemed quite attractive."

"So now what?"

"You'll see." Olga smiled. A friendly, sincere smile. "Anton, everything will be fine. Trust me."

"I need to know."

"No. That's exactly what you don't need. And you don't need to worry, we're not planning any revolutions. No prison camps, execution squads, or military tribunals. We're not going to repeat our old mistakes."

"We're going to make new ones instead."

"Anton!" she said, raising her voice. "Think about it, will you; what are you doing? We have a really good chance of winning. Our country has a chance of living in peace and flourishing. It could become the vanguard of humanity. Defeat the Darkness. It's been twelve years in the making, Anton. And it's not just Gesar's project; the whole top level's been working on it."

"What?"

"Yes. Did you think it was all being done off the cuff?"

"You were keeping tabs on Svetlana for twelve years?"

"Of course not! A new social model has been developed. Various elements of the plan have already been put into action. Not even I know all the details. Since then Gesar's been waiting for the key players in the plan to come together in space and time."

"Who exactly? Svetlana and the Inquisitor?"

The pupils of her eyes contracted, and I knew I'd guessed it. Or part of it.

"And what else. What part am I supposed to play in all this?"

"You'll find out when the time comes."

"Olga, so far magical intervention in human life has never led to anything good."

"Don't give me those old childhood maxims," she said, getting really worked up now. "Don't think you're any wiser than anyone else. We've no intention of using magic. Calm down and relax."

I nodded.

"Okay. You've explained your position. I don't agree with it."

"Officially?"

"No. In a private capacity. And as a private individual I believe I have the right of opposition."

"Opposition? To Gesar?" Olga's eyes opened wide, and the corners of her lips curved up in a smile. "Anton!"

I turned on my heel and went out.

Yes, it was laughable.

Yes, it was absurd.

It wasn't just a crazy project dreamed up by Gesar and Olga. It wasn't just an attempt to repeat a failed experiment. It was a meticulously prepared operation, planned over a long period of time, and it had been my bad luck to get caught up in it.

An operation approved at the highest level.

Approved by the Light.

Why was I getting so involved? I had no right to be. None at all. And I had no chance either. Absolutely none. I could console myself with the wise parable about the grain of sand that stopped the clock, but right now I was a grain of sand caught between mill wheels.

And the saddest thing of all was that these were friendly and caring mill wheels. Nobody would persecute me. Nobody would fight against me. They'd simply stop me doing all those stupid things that wouldn't do any good in any case.

Then why did I feel this pain, this unendurable pain in my chest?

I was standing on the terrace, clenching my fists in impotent fury, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Looks like you've managed to figure something out, Anton?"

I glanced at Semyon and nodded.

"Hard to take?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Then just remember one thing, please. You're not just a grain of sand. Nobody's just a grain of sand. Especially if he's an Other."

"How long do you have to live to be able to guess what someone else is thinking like that?"

"A hundred years, Anton."

"So Gesar can read any of us like an open book?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll have to learn how not to think," I said.

"For that you have to learn how to think first. Did you know there's been a ruckus in town?"

"When?"

"A quarter of an hour ago. It's all over already."

"And what happened?"

"A courier arrived to see the boss, from somewhere in the East. The Dark Ones tracked him and tried to eliminate him. Right there in front of the boss." Semyon laughed.

"That means war!"

"No, they were within their rights. The courier entered the city illegally."

I looked around. Nobody was in any hurry to go anywhere. They weren't starting up their cars or packing their things. Ignat and Ilya were heating up the barbecue again.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"No. The boss handled things his own way. There was a small fight, without any casualties. The courier's been made a member of our Watch, and the Dark Ones had to leave empty-handed. The restaurant suffered a bit, that's all."

"What restaurant?"

"The restaurant where the boss met the courier," Semyon explained patiently. "We've been told we can continue with our vacation."

I looked up at the blindingly blue sky, swelling with the heat.

"You know, somehow I'm not in the mood for a vacation. I think I'll go back to Moscow. I don't suppose anyone will mind too much?"

"Of course not."

Semyon took out his cigarettes and lit up. Then he said casually:

"In your place, I'd find out exactly what the courier brought with him from the East. Maybe that's your chance."

I laughed bitterly.

"The Dark Ones couldn't find out. Are you suggesting I should start rummaging in the boss's safe?"

"The Dark Ones couldn't take it. Whatever it was. You have no right to take what the courier brought or even touch it, of course. But just finding out..."

"Thanks. I really mean that."

Semyon nodded, accepting my gratitude without any false modesty.

"We'll settle up in the Twilight. You know, I've had enough of vacation too. After lunch I'm going to borrow Tiger Cub's motorcycle and go back to town. Can I give you a lift?"

"Uh-huh."

I felt ashamed. It was the kind of shame probably only Others can feel. We can always tell whenever someone's helping us out, when they're giving us something we don't deserve but can't possibly refuse.

I couldn't stay there any longer. Stay there and see Svetlana, Olga, and Ignat. Listen to their truth.

I would always have my own truth.

"Can you handle a motorcycle?" I asked, trying clumsily to change the subject.

"I rode one in the first Paris-Dakar rally. Let's go give the guys a hand."

I glanced sullenly at Ignat. He was chopping wood, handling the axe like a real virtuoso. After every blow he froze for a moment and looked around quickly at everyone, flexing his biceps.

He really loved himself. Sure, he loved the rest of the world too. But he came first.

"Let's do that," I agreed. I swung my arm back and hurled the sign of the triple blade through the Twilight. Several blocks of wood flew apart into neat sticks of firewood just as Ignat had raised his axe for the next blow. He lost his balance and almost fell. Then he started looking around.

Naturally, my blow had left a spatial trace. The twilight was vibrating, greedily drawing in energy.

"Antosha, what did you do that for?" Ignat asked in an offended voice. "What for? That's not the sporting way!"

"But it is efficient," I said, walking down from the terrace. "Shall I chop some more?"

"Don't bother," said Ignat, bending down to collect up the firewood. "Carry on like that and we'll end up grilling the kebabs with fireballs."

I didn't feel at all guilty, but I started helping anyway. The firewood had been chopped cleanly and the cuts glittered a rich amber yellow. It seemed a shame to put something so beautiful on the fire.

Then I looked at the house and saw Olga standing in the ground-floor window.

She'd been following my little escapade very seriously. Far too seriously.

I waved to her.