‘You already admitted that was a lie,’ I remarked.
‘I did? I’m really getting old,’ Arina sighed.
CHAPTER 8
WHEN I FOUND my swimming trunks in among the clean underclothes in the suitcase, I examined them thoughtfully for a while.
I’d never really thought of Taiwan as a seaside resort. But it was an island, after all. And it was in the south.
Could Sveta really have sensed that I would end up by the sea? I wondered what it was called here – Yellow Sea, Sea of China, Sea of Japan … So far the only ones I had swum in were the Black Sea and the Mediterranean.
But somehow I doubted that fate would hand me such a pleasant surprise. The only amusements for me would be the hotel and the museum …
The hotel! But of course. It was a five-star hotel, and that meant—
A couple of minutes later I was standing in the lift, wearing the bathrobe over my trunks and a pair of hotel slippers. And a couple of minutes after that I was lying in cool water and looking up at the sky.
The hotel swimming pool was on the roof. Huge, deep and almost completely deserted – either because it was so early or because all the other guests were busy with other things. Apart from me, the only person there was a fat man of European appearance, lounging in the round bowl of the jacuzzi that projected into one corner of the pool and gazing at me benignly. Probably the right thing to do would have been to start dashing across the smooth surface of the water, tearing it open with a lively crawl, a stubborn breaststroke or an energetic butterfly. Maybe my example would have inspired the chubby hotel guest to take up sport and develop a wonderful physique – and could eventually have led to him changing his life completely.
But I myself could only swim in one style, the one that we used to call ‘frog paddling’ when I was a kid, which is basically the most primitive possible variety of breaststroke, known to mankind ever since Neolithic times.
And, apart from that, I felt too lazy.
I splashed about in the pool for a while, gazing at the clear blue sky. Early September in Taiwan is quite a hot period, and it rains frequently too. But this morning it was remarkably cool and sunny at the same time.
It would be good to stay on here for a few days … No, it would be better to come here with my wife and daughter. To take a look at a different natural setting and culture, try the local cuisine and really go swimming in the sea. It was a shame Svetlana didn’t want to come back to the Watch. With her abilities …
I sighed and climbed out of the water. It was time to have breakfast and look for Arina – the Witch wasn’t likely to be in the mood to sleep until midday.
We set out for the museum in a taxi, although I had suggested getting to know the Taiwan underground system. The museum was located outside the city, and we drove past new and old neighbourhoods along a rapid-transit highway. I gazed out of the window curiously.
‘You should travel more, Gorodetsky,’ Arina said, glancing round at me. ‘Otherwise when you’re away on business external appearances will distract you from the essence of things.’
‘Everything just doesn’t add up, somehow,’ I admitted.
‘Take your example from your bosses,’ Arina continued. ‘Gesar, for example. Born in Tibet. Worked in territory that is now modern China and India. And then in Europe – in Holland.’
‘Really?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Of course. Although that was a long time ago. Then he moved to Russia. St Petersburg, Moscow … Settled in Central Asia. And now he’s back in Moscow again. I wonder where he’ll end up next?’
‘I think at this stage Gesar’s lost interest in shifting about.’
Arina laughed.
‘Oh, come on Anton. As long as the work’s still interesting, Gesar stays put. But after that – he leaves.’
‘He has no time to get bored in Moscow,’ I muttered. The very idea that Gesar could leave Moscow and go to France or China, call himself Antoine Guésare or Ge Sa-ro seemed like total and absolute balderdash.
‘Maybe so,’ Arina agreed easily. ‘Maybe so …’
Our taxi, driven by a taciturn Taiwanese who kept turning round constantly to give us a friendly smile, went through some kind of tunnel and turned right. We drove up to the museum or, rather, a parking lot, beyond which a park began, and further off, against a background of hills, we could see buildings – modern buildings, but in the traditional Chinese style, yellow and turquoise, with pagoda roofs.
Arina settled up with the driver and spoke to him briefly, provoking approving laughter. We bought two tickets and set off along the broad avenue through the park. There were plenty of visitors: European and Asian tourists, Taiwanese as well – represented primarily by school excursions.
‘I hope Mr Fan is working today,’ I said. ‘And that we won’t have to walk round the whole museum looking for him … although I really wouldn’t mind taking a look at the precious exhibits. Do you know if there are many magical artefacts among them?’
‘Not many,’ said Arina, shaking her head. ‘The Chinese have traditionally kept the applied arts and magic separate. Their most interesting magical artefacts look entirely banaclass="underline" a pair of chopsticks, for example, a plain-looking fan or a scroll made of strips of bamboo …’
I suddenly noticed a young Chinese moving purposefully towards us. The main stream of people was flowing into the museum, but there were some people coming out, and this guy was definitely heading towards us.
‘Is that Fan?’ I asked.
Arina didn’t get a chance to reply. The young guy stopped in front of us and bowed his head slightly.
‘Mr Anton, Miss Arina. Mr Fan Wen-yan asks you to wait for him in the Zhishan Garden, in the Orchid Pavilion. Mr Fan Wen-yan believes that the beauty of that spot is salutary and inspiring for a meeting that flatters him so greatly. Mr Fan Wen-yan asks you to follow me.’
The young man was speaking Chinese, and he was not an Other. Bowing once again, he set off along the avenue, without even looking to see if we were following him.
Arina and I exchanged glances.
‘And Mr Fan Wen-yan also believes that if any unforeseen situations should arise, it is better for this to happen in the park, and not in the building among the precious exhibits,’ Arina laughed. ‘Well, anyway, it would be impolite to reject his invitation …’
Turning off the avenue to the right, we walked into the park, which, in fact, was every bit as interesting as the buildings – it was laid out around a number of pools according to all the rules of art (I don’t know if that hackneyed term ‘Feng Shui’ is appropriate here, but there was clearly a definite structure to the layout). The ponds were covered with flowers, which I recognised (although I was doubtful at first) as lotuses. The pastoral setting was so idyllic that it seemed unnatural, like some picture that had come to life or the virtual reality of fantasy novels.
About twenty metres from a beautiful pavilion, which really was smothered in orchids and built, naturally, in the traditional Chinese style, the young man stopped. He looked at us and said seriously: ‘I cannot go any further. I am sorry.’
I realised why he could not continue to accompany us. Hanging over the pavilion was a Sphere of Inattention – one of the simplest of spells, but absolutely effective as far as humans are concerned. In principle, the small building was still visible to people strolling in the park, but no one kept his eyes fixed on it or tried to go any closer. An unpretentious but efficient means of keeping away prying eyes and ears.
‘Thank you,’ I said and Arina and I walked to the pavilion.