‘Did you recognise me, Dmitry?’ I asked. There was no point in putting a truth spell on him – he was being quite honest with me.
‘Well, at first I just realised that you were one of those …’ The policeman waved his hand vaguely through the air. ‘And then I recognised you, yes …’
‘How did you realise?’
Pastukhov looked at me in amazement. ‘Why … I recognise your kind at a glance.’
‘How?’
It suddenly dawned on him. ‘What, is that so unusual?’ he asked, obviously pondering something.
‘More than unusual,’ I said, deciding not to hide anything from him. ‘Usually it’s only Others like ourselves who can see us. They recognise us from the aura.’
‘An aura – that’s like a kind of glow round the head, right?’ asked Pastukhov, wrinkling up his forehead. ‘I thought all kinds of psychos saw it. And villains.’
‘Not just round the head, and not just psychos and villains. But what do you see?’
‘Why, I recognise you from your eyes! Ever since the first time we met,’ Pastukhov said abruptly. ‘You’ve got eyes like a guard dog’s.’
If I hadn’t just scanned his aura, I would have felt certain that I was dealing with some strange kind of weak Other who perceived auras in a highly original way. After all, the aura is strongest round the head and the eyes radiate the brightest glow on the face, so maybe that was how he spotted Others?
But no, he wasn’t an Other, he was a human being …
‘That’s curious,’ I admitted. ‘Like a dog’s eyes, you say?’
‘No offence intended,’ Pastukhov said, shrugging. He was gradually recovering his wits.
‘None taken. I’m very fond of dogs.’
‘And then there are the others, with eyes like a wolf’s,’ said Pastukhov.
I nodded. It was clear enough. That was how he saw Dark Ones.
‘Please, go on.’
‘This morning you walked past,’ said Pastukhov. ‘Well … I got the shakes, of course. Like a fool, I thought you’d remember me too, like I did you. But then, why would you? You probably play tricks like that with people every day.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not allowed. That was a critical situation. And I … I was young and inexperienced. I just did the first thing that came into my head. Go on.’
Pastukhov wiped the sweat off his forehead and shrugged. ‘Then a wolf walked past … well … that’s nothing unusual. I see dogs and wolves at the airport every day. And then this other one came out … that was when I really freaked.’
‘Another “wolf”?’ I asked.
‘No …’ Pastukhov hesitated and started shuffling his feet. ‘I’ve never come across any like him before. To myself I called him a “tiger”. That look in his eyes – as if he could gobble up anyone he wanted on the spot … And I … somehow I thought he’d see right through me, realise I could see who he was and kill me on the spot. That very second. So I decided to beat it. I told my partner I had stomach cramps and I was going to the toilet. I thought, what could happen to Bisat? He can’t see your kind! But as I was walking away I saw Bisat … stopping that tiger!’
‘Can you describe him? The tiger?’
Pastukhov shook his head.
‘I only saw him from a distance. Male, middle-aged, average height, dark hair …’
‘I really hate people who fit that description,’ I said, frowning. ‘How could you make out the look in his eyes from so far away?’
‘I can see the eyes from any distance,’ Pastukhov replied seriously. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Nationality?’
Dmitry thought about that. ‘Standard, probably. Native European Russian.’
‘So not from the Caucasus, or Asia or Scandinavia …’
‘No, and not black, either.’
‘Anything else?’
Pastukhov closed his eyes and frowned. He was making a genuine effort. ‘He didn’t have any luggage. When he was standing beside Bisat, I noticed his hands were empty. He probably wouldn’t have flown in like that, would he?’
‘Thank you, that’s interesting,’ I said. Of course, the luggage could actually have been invisible. I once lugged an invisible suitcase onto a plane to avoid the excess-baggage charge …
The policeman sighed and said: ‘Probably I should have gone back, only my stomach really did cramp up. It was so bad, I was afraid I wouldn’t reach the toilet in time, even at a run—’ He broke off and then went on: ‘And I didn’t make it. But you probably know that already.’
‘Yes,’ I said and nodded.
‘I shat myself,’ Pastukhov said miserably. ‘Well, if it had been some kind of digestive trouble, dysentery – anyone can get that, right? But this came straight out of the blue. Anyway, I cleaned myself up as best I could, and then called in to the duty office – I took a change of trousers from an old uniform there. The duty sergeant was roaring with laughter, naturally – by evening everyone will know about it … Then I came back to my post.’
‘And then?’ I was much more interested in this than in Pastukhov’s health problems and concern about his good name.
‘Well, nothing – or that’s how it seemed at first. Bisat just stood there, smiling. I asked him what happened with the guy he stopped. Bisat just waved his hand and said: “Everything’s in order, there was no point in detaining him.” Well, I thought, the danger’s over … And then Bisat suddenly takes off his tunic and tears the shoulder straps off, really careful-like! And he tears off his badge! Then he takes out his documents. And his pistol and his walkie-talkie … And he hands it all to me! I ask what’s wrong with him. And he answers: “None of this makes any sense, there’s no need for the job I do.” And he walks off to the train! I shouted after him, but he just waved and carried on anyway! He’s probably home by now.’
‘I heard that he went to the duty office himself,’ I remarked.
‘Roman told you that, I suppose?’ Pastukhov asked me. ‘I asked him to say that, when I took the things in. After all, it’s one thing if a man just dumps everything in the street, but it’s a different matter if he hands it in at the duty office. Maybe he’ll change his mind and come back. In any case, he’s in for a whole heap of trouble – although they’ll probably run him through the funny farm and discharge him on health grounds …’
‘Do you really think he’ll come back?’ I asked.
Pastukhov shook his head.
‘No, I don’t. It’s the tiger. He did something to him. Maybe he ordered him to do it – the way you ordered me to get drunk that time … Or maybe something else. Bisat won’t come back.’
‘Thank you,’ I said sincerely. ‘You seem like a good man to me. I’m sorry about what happened that other time.’
Pastukhov hesitated, then went ahead and asked anyway: ‘So what’s going to happen to me now? Will you order me to forget everything?’
I looked at him thoughtfully. I didn’t want to use even the very simplest of spells on Pastukhov. He was a rather strange man, but a good one.
‘Do you swear on your word of honour not to tell anyone anything about our conversation?’ I asked. ‘Or to mention us at all?’
‘What kind of fool do you take me for?’ the policeman asked indignantly. ‘Who’d ever believe me? I won’t tell anyone!’
‘Then just one last question. When you’re alone and there’s no one else there, do you pick your nose with your finger?’
Pastukhov opened his mouth and closed it again, blushed unexpectedly and said: ‘Well … if I need to … occasionally.’
‘I’ll drop round to see you sometime – we’ll need to chat again,’ I said. ‘But don’t you worry about it. It’s just a little heart-to-heart talk, that’s all.’