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—they 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—it 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—Zabulon's medallion, the Night Watch badge, and a combat disc Ilya had given to me—an 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—maybe 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—bodies 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—once. 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?»