The campaign came to a sudden end when Gesar, after listening benevolently to Igor speaking on his proposal, remarked: ‘That’s right, everyone should smoke pipes or hookahs, not stinking cigarettes …’ Igor should have stopped short there and then, but in the heat of the moment he blurted out that hookahs, pipes and cigars were even worse than cigarettes: ‘The stench is really horrible!’ Gesar’s face darkened and he asked whether from now on, when he wanted to focus on thinking through important problems, he would have to run out into the street with his hookah. And then he asked if there was no difference between the climate in Europe, where you could go outside in your shirtsleeves in December, and the climate in Russia, where even in Moscow minus twenty Celsius was a common occurrence.
After that the subject somehow just folded of its own accord. For a while Igor walked around looking offended and ostentatiously withdrew from any areas where anyone was smoking. But then his enthusiastic endorsement of the healthy lifestyle was replaced by the struggle against the discrimination suffered by Others with low levels of magical Power.
Since I wasn’t expecting a visit from Igor, I smoked unashamedly as I looked through the accumulation of papers.
A schedule of classes for novice Others. That could wait.
A plan for the advanced training of Fourth- and Fifth-Level Others in order to identify the more powerful magicians among them. That was a bit more interesting. Peering attentively at the sheet of paper, I read this remarkable phrase: ‘The goal of holding this advanced training programme is advanced training for the purposes of determining …’ After that I suddenly started feeling bored, signed the papers and dropped them into the ‘Approved’ file. The sheets faded and disappeared, teleported off to their authors.
So, what next?
A schedule of classes for patrol members on the subject of ‘Certain aspects of interaction with members of the Day Watch in situations where “wild” Others have been discovered and apprehended.’ I glanced through the lesson summaries with great interest. Olga was intending to teach the classes, which was already interesting in itself. And the subject was a burning issue of perennial interest – by no means all Others were found and initiated by members of the Watches, quite often people discovered their own magical powers independently … and then things could get really messy, regardless of whether they were Dark Ones or Light Ones.
So I actually marked the first class in my diary, in order to attend it myself. Not as an inspector, simply as one of the students. It was always useful to learn something new.
And what was this?
Olga again?
Amusing. She must have been bitten by the teaching bug. A lecture for Watch members on the subject of ‘The Watches’ response in cases of technological and social catastrophe. Specific aspects of interaction with the human agencies of law enforcement.’ And two remarks. The first was ‘attendance desirable’ – so it was only nominally an open lecture with optional attendance: in fact, everyone was recommended to attend. The second was ‘invited guest – a non-Other’.
That was really interesting!
And the lecture had begun half an hour ago … I wondered why neither Olga nor Gesar had said a word to me about it.
I decided that my desk work was over for the day and stood up. I could consider this as attendance at a recommended lecture and an inspection at the same time. That note – ‘attendance desirable’ – had freed my hands. Simply turning up at Olga’s lecture would have been awkward, it would have looked like an official visit. But this way it was all fine and dandy – I’d just come to learn something.
The lecture hall was absolutely crammed and I felt like a total idiot. Everybody must have been there, apart from Gesar (he had nothing to learn, even from Olga) and the guys in the duty office.
As I walked in, the crowd burst into laughter. I even hesitated in the doorway. But fortunately they weren’t laughing at me. It was quite dark by the door and no one had even noticed me.
Olga was standing on a small dais beside a lectern, looking out into the hall with a smile on her face. When the laughter died away, she said: ‘And then I said: “Franz, why have you got both gloves on the right hand?” He looked at Willem, blushed and shouted: “Well, damn me, so that was your hand!” ’
The audience laughed until it groaned. It guffawed, chuckled, grunted and squealed. It had obviously been a very funny story – but I’d only caught the very end.
There’s nothing more pathetic than a man who has heard the end of a joke and starts asking plaintively: ‘What was that about, what was it? What happened at the beginning?’
‘And what did Willem say?’ someone shouted out from the hall.
Olga was apparently expecting this question and she had the answer ready.
‘Willem lowered his eyes sheepishly and replied: “Yes, Herr Franz, but it wasn’t my hand.” ’
The audience collapsed in paroxysms of laughter, even louder than before. I sighed, slumped against the wall and waited.
It took a couple of minutes for order to be restored. After that Olga, evidently considering that she had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, announced: ‘And now meet our guest, Senior Police Sergeant Dmitry Pastukhov!’
This was getting more and more interesting! Mentally congratulating myself on taking up the strategically correct position by the door, I squatted down on my haunches. And when Olga stepped down off the dais, clapping her hands, my old, if rather superficial, acquaintance Dmitry Pastukhov mounted it with an embarrassed expression on his face.
‘Hello,’ Dmitry said, with a smile that was awkward but basically friendly and sincere. ‘I am very pleased, I really am, to have been invited here.’
The audience suddenly burst into applause.
‘Of course, I’m not Franz, and I’m not Willem,’ Pastukhov continued, encouraged by this approval. ‘But a job’s a job, in any country at any time. Right? So ask what you like, and I’ll answer – only don’t forget, I’m a senior sergeant, not some high-up …’
‘Why have you been stuck as a sergeant for so long?’ a young girl from the research department piped up from the audience.
‘If I’d known you were going to invite me to speak, I’d have become a general!’ said Pastukhov, laughing the question off. He didn’t seem very keen to discuss the leisurely progress of his career.
But the audience was in a friendly mood. Alisher was the first to get up and ask a question.
‘Dima – may I call you Dima?’
‘Of course!’
‘Let’s discuss the following situation. There’s some kind of disturbance taking place in a city. The police are trying to restore order. They haven’t got enough men. The crowd is setting fire to cars, looting shops, beating up peaceful passers-by. And then two men approach you, an ordinary sergeant on patrol duty. One says he can pacify the crowd, the people will feel ashamed and all go home. The other says he can frighten the crowd, make the people feel pain and they will go running home. Whose help would you accept?’
‘The first to approach me!’ Pastukhov replied without a moment’s thought.
‘But if they both approach you at once?’ Alisher persisted. ‘And you can only accept help from one of them?’
Pastukhov pondered for literally a second. Then he said confidently: ‘The one who will frighten them and cause them pain. Would you like to know why?’
Well, would you believe it! There was a pretty decent speaker hiding away inside my police acquaintance! Or had Olga somehow, before his appearance, stimulated his ability to communicate with the audience?