«Nothing. We had a bit of an argument.» I turned away without saying goodbye and walked to the staircase.
That was my cover story for the Night Watch—in the highly unlikely event that we had one of the other side's agents among us. As far as I know, that's something that's only happened once or twice in the entire history of the Watch, but you can never tell… Might as well let everyone think Boris Ignatievich had a falling out with his old girlfriend.
There was a plausible reason, a good one. A hundred years of imprisonment in his office, without any chance to assume human form, partial rehabilitation, but with the loss of most of her magical powers. That was more than enough reason to take offense… And at least the story relieved me of the need to play the part of the boss's girlfriend, which would have been going just too far.
I walked down to the third floor, thinking things through as I went. I had to admit that Olga had made things as easy for me as she could. She'd put on jeans today, instead of her usual matching skirt and jacket or dress, and sneakers instead of high-heeled shoes. Even the light perfume she'd used wasn't overpowering.
I knew what I was supposed to do now; I knew how I was supposed to behave. But even so, it was still hard. I had to turn into the modest, quiet side corridor instead of going toward the door.
And take a plunge into the past.
They say hospitals have their own unforgettable smell. And of course they do. It would be strange if the mixture of bleach and pain, sterilizing unit and wounds, standard issue bed sheets and tasteless food didn't have some kind of smell.
But tell me, if you can—where do schools and colleges get their smell?
Not all our subjects are taught on the Watch's own premises. Some things are easier to teach in the morgue, at night—we have our contacts there. Some things are taught out in the field; some things are taught abroad, on tourist trips paid for by the Watch. During my training, I spent time in Haiti, Angola, the USA, and Spain.
But there are still some lectures that can be given only in the Watch's own building, securely sealed off from its foundations to its roof by magic and protective spells. Thirty years ago, when the first Watch moved into this building, they set up three small halls, each for fifteen trainees. I still don't know what was most important in that decision—the optimism of my colleagues or the fact that the space was available. Even when I was in training—and that was a very good year—one hall was enough for all of us, and even then it was always half empty.
Right now the Watch was training four Others. And Svetlana was the only one we could be certain would join us and not prefer an ordinary human life.
It was deserted here, deserted and quiet. I walked slowly along the corridor, glancing into the empty teaching rooms, which would have been the envy of even the best-equipped and most prosperous university. A laptop computer on every desk, a huge TV projector in each room, shelves crammed with books… If only a historian could have seen those books—a real historian, that is, not some historical pimp.
But historians never would see them.
Some of the books contained too much truth. Other contained too many lies. People couldn't be allowed to read them, for the sake of their own peace of mind. Let them keep living with the history they were used to.
The corridor terminated in a huge mirror that covered the entire end wall. When I glanced into it casually I saw a beautiful young woman swaying her hips as she strode along the corridor.
I staggered and almost fell over: Olga had done everything possible to make things easy for me, but even she couldn't change her own center of gravity. As long as I forgot the way I looked, everything was more or less normal; the motor reflexes took over. But the moment I took a look at myself from the outside, things slipped out of sync. Even my breathing changed, and the air felt different as it entered my lungs.
I walked up to the last door, a glass one, and glanced through it cautiously.
The class was just finishing.
Today they'd been studying everyday magic, I knew that the moment I saw Polina Vasilievna standing by the demonstration stand. She's one of the oldest members of the Watch—to look at, that is, not by her actual age. She'd been discovered and initiated when she was already sixty-three years old. Who could have guessed than an old woman who earned her living by telling fortunes with cards during those wild years after the war actually possessed genuine powers? Quite strong powers too, although only in a narrow field.
«And now, if you need to spruce up your clothes in a hurry, you can do it in a moment. Only don't forget to check first how much strength you have. Otherwise the result might be embarrassing.»
«And when the clock strikes twelve, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin,» the young guy sitting beside Svetlana said in a loud voice. I didn't know him; this was only his second or third day of training, but already I didn't like him.
«Precisely,» Polina exclaimed delightedly, even though she heard the same witticism from every group of trainees. «Fairy tales lie just as much as statistics do, but sometimes you can find a grain of truth in them.»
She picked a neatly ironed tuxedo up off the desk. It was spruce and elegant, a little old-fashioned. James Bond must have worn one like it.
«When will it turn back to rags again?» Svetlana asked in a practical tone of voice.
«After two hours,» Polina told her briskly. She put the jacket on a hanger and hung it on the stand. «I didn't make a great effort.»
«And what's the longest you can you keep it looking good?»
«About twenty-four hours.»
Svetlana nodded and suddenly looked in my direction—she'd sensed my presence. She smiled and waved. Now everyone had noticed me.
«Please come in,» said Polina, bowing her head. «This is a great honor for us.»
Yes, she knew something about Olga that I didn't. All of us knew no more than one part of the truth about her; probably only the boss knew everything.
I went in, trying desperately to make my walk a bit less provocative. It did no good. The young guy sitting next to Svetlana, and the fifteen-year-old kid who'd been stuck in the preliminary class for six months, and the tall, skinny Korean, who could have been thirty or forty—they all watched me.
With very definite interest. The atmosphere of mystery that surrounded Olga, all the rumors and unspoken reservations, and above all the fact that she was the boss's lover from way far back—it all provoked a very noticeable response from the male section of the Watch.
«Hello,» I said. «I hope I'm not interrupting?»
I was trying so hard to get my phrasing right, I forgot to control my tone of voice, and my banal question came out sounding languidly mysterious, addressed to every single person there. The spotty-faced kid couldn't take his eyes off me, the young guy gulped, and only the Korean maintained some semblance of composure.
«Olga, did you have some announcement to make to the students?» Polina inquired.
«I need to have a word with Sveta.»
«Then class dismissed,» the old woman declared. «Olga, please do come in sometime during class! My lectures can't take the place of your experience.»
«Certainly,» I promised generously. «In three or four days.»
Olga could make good on my promises. I had to take the hits for her carefully cultivated sex appeal.
Svetlana and I walked toward the door. I could feel three pairs of greedy eyes drilling into my back—well, not exactly my back.
I knew that Olga and Svetlana were on close terms. I'd known since that night when Olga and I had explained to her the truth about the world and the Others, the Light Ones and the Dark Ones, about the Watches and the Twilight, since that dawn when she had held our hands and walked through the closed door into the field headquarters of the Night Watch. Sure, Svetlana and I were closely linked by a mystical thread. Destiny held us together in its firm grip, but only for the time being. Svetlana and Olga were just friends. It wasn't destiny that had brought them together. They were free.