But the reality is actually even more chilling – at that instant an Other has just walked or driven straight through you.
‘Everyone lies, Anton,’ Gesar said suddenly. ‘Everyone lies.’
So apparently he did watch TV after all.
And his conservatism wasn’t equivalent to patriotism either.
‘A really fine car,’ he admitted. ‘That’s just between the two of us, of course.’
We travelled through the second level at the same speed as in the ordinary world. Except, of course, that there weren’t any traffic jams blocking our way. But that wasn’t what interested Gesar. The important thing was that time passed far more slowly here than in the real world – we would reach Semyon literally a minute after the phone call.
But then, whoever was on his way to him could also move through the Twilight. And even go a layer or two deeper.
If there was anyone on the way to him, of course.
Suddenly Gesar swore out loud. Technically speaking, I didn’t know the language that he switched into – probably it was the one they spoke in Tibet when he was a child there. But the intonation left no doubt: the boss was swearing.
‘Shame on you, Gesar,’ said Olga, confirming my hunch.
‘Don’t you notice anything unusual?’ asked Gesar.
I looked around and said: ‘The Twilight. Blue moss. The usual.’
‘We’re on the second level,’ Olga said thoughtfully. ‘What’s blue moss doing here?’
To be quite honest, there wasn’t a lot of moss. A few patches here and there on the road. Here and there on the walls. They were barely noticeable, because there are no colours on the second level, but they were definitely there.
Blue moss on the second level of the Twilight!
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ I admitted.
‘The point is that I’ve never seen anything like it either,’ Gesar declared. ‘Except perhaps—’
He wasn’t given a chance to finish – because a fireball flared into life dead ahead of the Rolls-Royce’s windscreen.
CHAPTER 5
IF YOU WISHED to divide all known magic into two parts, the easiest way would be to divide it into battle magic and everyday magic. Despite the opinion common among novice Others, there would be two or even three times as much of the ‘everyday’ variety. This is painstakingly hammered into the heads of the beginners at the very first classes in the Night Watch – magic is not intended for doing harm, for war or killing … for every Fireball or Viper’s Kiss you can find five peaceful spells: the Crusher for breaking down refuse, the Iron for ironing clothes, the Awl and the Drill Bit for making holes in domestic conditions, Prometheus for lighting a campfire or barbecue easily and conveniently …
Fairly quickly, however, the beginners realise that almost all the domestic spells work in battle conditions too. Their only shortcomings are basically that they are slower or that they consume more Power than specialised battle magic. In the time that it takes a beginner to create and adjust a Drill Bit or apply an Iron to his adversary’s face, you can fling the Triple Blade ten times over.
That’s why, after a brief period of interest in the non-standard applications of the Crusher or the Vent Valve, most Others stop experimenting and begin using everyday magic in everyday life and battle magic in battle.
Apart, that is, from certain Others who will sooner or later earn the legitimate title of Battle Magician.
They are the ones who eventually fathom a most important truth – it’s easy enough to put on an impressive show, battering each other with fireballs or trying to crush each other with the Press. And it also carries on for a very long time. Because that’s what your adversary is expecting from you. And he protects himself with the Barrier of Will, the Sphere of Negation, the Magician’s Shield … There they stand, facing each other – a Light Other and a Dark Other, hammering at each other with spells, defending themselves against spells, sometimes even finding time to abuse each other verbally in the process. Maybe this is a good thing. After all, the majority of magical duels are not fought to the death but until one of the adversaries surrenders or withdraws from the field of battle. Otherwise we would have wiped ourselves out ages ago.
But if a genuine Battle Magician enters the fray – then everything goes very differently. He employs the good old healing spell Willow Bark or its jolly Dark variant, Aspirin. And the unsuspecting enemy suddenly finds that his body temperature has fallen to that of the ambient environment. A Battle Magician doesn’t fling the Triple Blade, he applies the simple little Grater, which Svetlana uses when she makes vitamin salads for Nadya out of apples and carrots, and I use to clean off the saucepans if something gets burnt on … And his adversary suddenly becomes a millimetre or two slimmer. Instantly, from all sides. Usually no one can continue the battle after that.
I, of course, am very far from being a genuine Battle Magician. But it was still a long time since I’d flung any fireballs.
That said, a fireball like the one hurtling towards us was worthy of the utmost respect. To adopt the jargon of commercial managers, this was a Premium-Class Fireball. Speaking in poetic terms, it was a Tsar-Fireball. A biologist would have said it was an Alpha-Fireball. As a cool, calculating mathematician might have remarked, it was a fireball with a diameter of about three metres.
It was a fireball fearsome enough to make you shit yourself!
‘Fuck your fucking mother!’ Gesar howled, twisting the wheel round. In a moment of genuine terror only the Russian language could convey the true depths of his feelings. It made me feel proud of our great Russian culture!
The Rolls-Royce jerked to the left – like any driver, Gesar automatically turned so as to place the person beside him in the line of fire instead of himself. Nothing personal, just a pure reflex response.
I produced one too – I struck the windscreen with both hands, surprising myself by knocking it out completely, and held my open palms out towards the blazing sphere flying at us. I didn’t even have time to think what I was going to use – the Sphere of Negation or the Magician’s Shield. Because it turned out that I was already instinctively using the Press – striking at the bundle of flame with pure Power.
And the instinctive response worked. Whether or not a Shield could have withstood the impact of such a prodigious fireball is open to question. Whether Gesar could have dodged out of the way in time was not clear either. A good fireball vectors in on its target, like a modern missile.
But the pure Power strike did the trick. The fireball burst, splashing in all directions like hot oil. Some small gobbets of flame even hit the car, but Olga had her wits about her too and we were covered with the semi-transparent scales of some cunning form of defence. The car itself was clearly pretty much pumped full of spells too. The flames streamed downwards, under the wheels, and we bounded straight through the roaring, raging firestorm.
Just in time to catch sight of our adversary. To me he didn’t look anything like the descriptions that the policemen had given.
Very young, a little over twenty years old.
Slim, with blond hair.
A pleasant face, very genial, almost noble-looking somehow.
Light-coloured clothes (you can’t make out more than that on the second level of the Twilight) and a cloak. Honestly, I swear, a cloak! A genuine one, fluttering behind his shoulders, as if he was some kind of comic-book Superman!
The young man stood there and gazed at the car thoughtfully. Not exactly looking disappointed, but certainly rather surprised.