And of course, lots of passengers were drinking. No matter how often we’re told that alcohol is particularly harmful when flying at altitude, some people are always keen to give their flight above the clouds a little extra lift.
I walked all the way back to the tail section. The toilets there were occupied too, and while I stood and waited for a few minutes, I examined the backs of the passengers’ heads. Bouffant hairstyles, girlish braids, short crew cuts, gleaming bald patches, amusing kids’ punk cuts. Hundreds of heads thinking about their business in London.
The door of the toilet opened and a young guy slipped out and squeezed past me. I stepped toward the lavatory.
Then I stopped.
And turned around.
The guy was about twenty years old. Broad in the shoulders, a little bit taller than me. Some young men start to grow rapidly and broaden out after the age of eighteen. This used to be attributed to the beneficial influence of the army, which “made men out of boys.” But in reality, it’s simply a matter of the way the hormones work in any particular organism.
Garden-variety physiology.
“Egor?” I said uncertainly.
Then I took a hasty glimpse through the Twilight.
Yes, of course. Even if he had been wearing an iron mask, I would still have recognized him. Egor, Zabulon’s decoy, who was intercepted and cunningly exploited by Gesar. Once he had been a unique boy with an indeterminate aura.
Now he had grown into a young man. With that same indeterminate aura-a luminous glow that was usually colorless, but was sometimes tinted red, blue, green, or yellow. Like the sand on the fourth level of the Twilight…look closer and you’ll see all the colors in the world. A potential Other, still capable, even as an adult, of becoming either kind. Light or Dark.
I hadn’t seen him for six years!
What a coincidence!
“Anton?” He was as bewildered as I was.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Flying,” he replied stupidly.
But I was up to the challenge, and I asked an even more idiotic question. “Where to?”
“ London,” said Egor.
Then suddenly, as if he had just realized how funny our conversation was, he laughed. As nonchalantly and light-heartedly as if he held no grudges against the Night Watch, Gesar, me, and all the Others in the world…
A second later we were slapping each other on the shoulder and muttering nonsense like “Well, would you believe it…” “I was thinking just recently…” “What a surprise!” Pretty much the standard conversation for two guys who have been through something pretty important and rather unpleasant together, quarreled with each other, and then, after years have passed and life has changed, discovered that their memories are basically pretty interesting. But at the same time, two guys who don’t feel warmly enough about each other to embrace and shed an emotional tear at their meeting.
The passengers nearby looked at us, but with obvious goodwill. A chance meeting of old friends in such an unexpected place as a plane always arouses sympathy in everyone who witnesses it.
“Is there some special reason why you’re here?” Egor asked anyway, with a note of his old suspicion.
“Did you fall out of your tree?” I said indignantly. “I’m on an assignment!”
“Really?” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you still working in the same place?”
“Of course.”
Nobody was taking any notice of us anymore. And we were left hovering uncertainly, not knowing what to talk about next.
“I see you still haven’t been initiated?” I said awkwardly.
Egor became tense for a moment, but he answered with a smile. “Ah, damn the lot of you! Why would I bother with that…you know yourself that I’m barely even seventh-level. That’s pointless, whichever way I go, Light or Dark. So I just sent both sides to hell.”
I felt a sudden tightness in my chest.
Coincidences like this definitely didn’t happen!
“Where are you flying to?” I repeated, making Egor burst into laughter again. He was probably regarded as the life and soul of any party-he laughed so easily and infectiously. “No, I know you’re going to London, but what for. To study? A holiday?”
“A summer holiday in London?” Egor snorted. “Why not in Moscow? One stone jungle is the same as any other… I’m going to the Festival.”
“In Edinburgh?” I asked, knowing what the answer would be.
“Yes, I graduated from the circus college.”
“What?” Now it was my turn to gape in surprise.
“I’m a conjurer,” Egor chuckled.
Well, would you believe it!
But then, it was an excellent disguise for an Other. Even for an uninitiated one-they still have minor powers that exceed normal human abilities. They’re natural stage magicians and conjurers!
“That’s just great!” I said sincerely.
“It’s a shame you’re going to London,” Egor said with a sigh. “I would have got you into the show.”
And then I did something stupid. I said, “I’m not going to London, Egor. I’m going to Edinburgh too.”
It’s not often that I’ve seen joy disappear from a face so fast, to be replaced by unfriendliness and even contempt.
“I see. So what do you want from me this time?”
“Egor, you…” I hesitated.
Could I honestly say that he had nothing to do with it?
No.
Because I didn’t believe it myself.
“I see,” Egor repeated. He turned around and walked to the middle of the cabin. There was nothing left for me to do but step into the lavatory and close the door behind me.
There was a smell of tobacco. Even though it was strictly forbidden, passengers who smoked still fugged up the toilets. I looked in the mirror and saw the crumpled face of a man who is short of sleep. Even though I am a lot more and a lot less than just a man, I felt like banging my forehead against the mirror, and I did, whispering silently to myself, “Idiot, idiot, idiot…”
I had relaxed. I had believed that I was starting a straightforward work assignment.
But how could that possibly be, when Gesar himself had sent me on my way?
I splashed cold water on my face and stood there for a while, staring angrily at my own reflection. Then I took a leak, pressed the pedal to release the blue liquid disinfectant into the steel toilet bowl, washed my hands, and splashed water on my face again.
Whose operation was this? Gesar’s or Zabulon’s?
Who had sent Egor, who never became an Other, on the same route as me? What for?
Whose game was it, whose rules, and-most important of all-how many figures would there be on the board?
I took Zabulon’s present out of my pocket. The bone was a dull yellow, but somehow I knew that the carver had depicted a black wolf. A large, mature black wolf with its head thrown back in a long, dreary howl.
Contact, help, advice…
The figure looked perfectly ordinary, you could find hundreds and thousands like it in souvenir kiosks. But I could feel the magic that permeated it. I only had to take it in my hand…and wish. That was all.
Did I want help from the Dark Ones?
I resisted the desire to flush the little figure down the toilet, and I put it back in my pocket.
There were no observers to appreciate the pathetic gesture.
I rummaged in my pocket and found a pack of cigarettes. I don’t smoke so much that I suffer during a four-hour flight, but right then I felt like indulging some simple human weaknesses. All Others are like that: The older we get, the more petty bad habits we acquire, as if we are clinging to the slightest manifestation of our natural being-and there is no anchor more reliable than vice.