I nodded. Yes, it was a rare case. It’s not often that people reject all the opportunities that Others have.
“You might say that I feel guilty about Prokhorov senior,” Gesar said. “And though I can’t help his son anymore…I won’t let his killer go unpunished. You’re going to go to Edinburgh, find this crazy bloodsucker, and reduce him to dust in the wind.”
That was a direct order. But I hadn’t been about to argue in any case.
“When do I fly?” I asked.
“Call in to the international section. They should have prepared your documents, tickets, and money. And a cover story.”
“A co-ver story? Who for? Me?”
“Yes, you’ll be working unofficially.”
“Will I have co-ntacts?”
For some reason Gesar frowned again and gave me a strangely suspicious glance.
“Only Foma…Anton, stop mocking me!”
I gave Gesar a perplexed look.
“‘Co’ is the beginning of the word ‘cocksman,’” Gesar blurted out. “We were young then, you know…the free-and-easy morals of the Renaissance…All right, off you go! And try to catch the next flight out.” He paused for an instant, then added: “If Svetlana doesn’t object. And if she does, say that I’ll try to persuade her.”
“She will object,” I said confidently.
What was it that had upset Gesar like that? And why had he felt I needed the word “cocksman” explained to me?
Svetlana set a plate down in front of me, full of fried potatoes and mushrooms. Then a knife and fork appeared on the table, followed by a salt shaker, a saucer of pickled cucumbers, a little glass, and a small carafe with just a hundred grams of vodka. The carafe was straight out of the fridge and it immediately fogged up in the warm air.
Bliss!
Every man’s dream when he comes home from work. His wife fusses over the stove and puts delicious things that are bad for him on the table. Was there something she wanted to ask me? My daughter was playing quietly with her building set-at the age of five she had already lost interest in dolls. She didn’t build little cars and airplanes, though. She built houses. Maybe she was going to be an architect?
“Sveta, they’re sending me to Edinburgh,” I repeated, just to be on the safe side.
“Yes, I heard you,” Svetlana replied calmly as she made the little carafe on the table lift into the air. The round glass stopper twisted out of its neck. The cold vodka flowed into the glass in a thick, translucent stream.
“I have to get a plane today,” I said. “There’s no direct flight to Edinburgh, so I’ll fly to London and transfer there…”
“Then, don’t drink a lot,” Svetlana said anxiously.
The carafe swerved and moved away toward the fridge.
“I thought you’d be upset,” I said, disappointed.
“What’s the point?” Svetlana asked, serving herself a full plate of food as well. “Would you not go?”
“No, I would.”
“There, you see; Gesar would only start calling and explaining how important your trip is.” Svetlana frowned.
“It really is important.”
“I know,” Svetlana said, nodding. “This morning I sensed that they were going to send you somewhere far away again. I phoned Olga and asked what had happened in the last few days. Well, she told me about that young guy in Scotland.”
I nodded in relief. Svetlana knew all about it; that was great. No need for lies or half-truths.
“It’s a strange business,” she said.
I shrugged and drank the forty grams of vodka I had been allocated. I crunched happily on a pickled cucumber and then asked, with my mouth full, “What’s so strange about it? Either a wild vampire or one who went insane because he hadn’t fed for too long…that’s pretty normal stuff for them. This one seems to have a distinctive sense of humor, though. Fancy killing someone in a tourist attraction called the Castle of the Vampires!”
“Quiet.” Svetlana frowned and indicated our daughter, Nadya, with her eyes.
I started chewing energetically. I love fried potatoes, especially with a crispy crust. And they have to be fried in goose fat, with crackling, and a handful of white mushrooms, fresh ones if they’re in season, or dried ones if they’re not. Everything’s all right. Mommy and Daddy are talking about all sorts of nonsense about movies and books. Vampires don’t really exist…
Unfortunately, there’s no way our daughter can be fooled. She can see them all quite clearly. It had been a struggle to teach her not to mention it in a loud voice in the metro or on the bus. “Mommy, Daddy, look, that man there’s a vampire!” It wasn’t a big deal about the other passengers-they would just put it all down to childish foolishness-but I felt awkward for the vampires somehow. Some of them have never attacked people. They drink their donor blood honestly and lead perfectly decent lives. And then in the middle of a crowd a five-year-old kid jabs her finger at you and laughs: “That man’s not alive, but he’s walking around!” There was nothing we could do, she could hear what we were talking about, and she would draw her own conclusions.
But this time Nadya took no interest in our conversation. She was putting a red tile roof on a little house of yellow plastic bricks.
“I don’t think it’s a question of anybody’s sense of humor,” Svetlana said. “Gesar wouldn’t send you all the way across Europe for that. The Watch in Scotland isn’t full of fools. They’ll find the bloodsucker sooner or later.”
“Then what is it? I’ve found out everything about the victim. A decent guy, but no saint. Obviously not an Other. The Dark Ones have no need to kill him deliberately. The boy’s father once refused to become an Other, but he cooperated unofficially with the Night Watch. A rare case, but not unique. The Dark Ones have no reason for revenge.”
Svetlana sighed. She glanced at the fridge and made the carafe come flying back to us.
I suddenly realized that she was worried about something.
“Sveta, have you looked into the future?”
“Yes.”
It’s not possible to see the future in the way that charlatans and fortune-tellers talk about it. Not even if you’re a Great Other. But it is possible to calculate the probability of one event or another: Will you get stuck in a traffic jam on this road or not, will your plane explode in midair, will you survive or be killed in the next battle?…To put it simply, the more precise the question is, the more precise the answer will be. You can’t just ask, “What’s in store for me tomorrow?”
“Well?”
“There’s no threat to your life in this investigation.”
“That’s great,” I said sincerely. I took the carafe and poured another glass each for both of us. “Thanks. You’ve reassured me.”
We drank, then looked at each other grimly. The vodka tasted like water.
Then we looked at Nadya. Our daughter was sitting on the floor, fiddling with her building set. Sensing our eyes on her, she started trilling, “La la-la la la-la.”
It was the kind of singsong that grown-ups often use to represent little girls in jokes. Horrid little girls who are just about to blow something up, break something, or say something really nasty.
“Nadezhda!” Svetlana said in an icy voice.
“La-la-la…” Nadya sang in a slightly louder voice. “What have I done now? You said Daddy shouldn’t drink before he flies away. Drinking vodka’s bad for you, you said so! Masha’s daddy drank, he drank and he left home…”
There was a subtle weepy note in her voice.
“Nadezhda Antonovna!” Svetlana said in a genuinely stern tone. “Grown-up people have the right…sometimes…to drink a glass of vodka. Have you ever seen Daddy drunk?”
“At Uncle Tolya’s birthday,” Nadya replied instantly.
Svetlana gave me a very expressive look. I shrugged guiltily.
“Even so,” said Svetlana, “you have no right to use magic on Mommy and Daddy. I’ve never done that!”
“And Daddy?”
“Neither has Daddy. And turn around and face me immediately. Am I talking to your back?”