The bar turned out to be tiny. Six or seven tables separated by partitions, plus the bar itself. A television with the sound switched off, showing free-fall jumps. A photograph of the same thing on the wall – bodies in bright-coloured overalls spreadeagled in flight. The air was filled with smoke. There weren’t many people in there, maybe because of the time: it was too late for lunch and there was still a long time to go before the evening rush. I glanced round the tables and saw Gesar sitting at the one 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. A swarthy-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 defences.
Other. Light. Grade four.
The young man grimaced as if he was 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 defences.
‘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, rather than 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 the 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.’
‘I haven’t jumped for twenty years now,’ Gesar countered smoothly. ‘Anton, my dear boy, I came in here for a bite of potato and beef Stroganoff simply in order to show you a microenvironment. 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. 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 odd, indefinable way. Distinctive eyes, distinctive gestures. Nothing really special, just the same stamp on every one.
‘A team,’ said the boss. ‘And a microenvironment. We could have had this conversation in Chance, the gay club, or in the restaurant of the Central Writers’ House, or in a snack bar next to some factory. It doesn’t matter. What does 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 luxury 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. 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. There’s no other way you can be here.’
‘Of course. It’s interesting to drop into any microenvironment 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 carries on 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 organisation. Tell me, Anton, could you live outside the Watch?’
Of course, the boss never makes abstract conversation.
‘Probably not,’ I admitted. ‘It would be hard, almost impossible, in fact, for me to keep within the limits of what an ordinary Light Magician is allowed to do.’
‘And without joining the Watch, you wouldn’t be able to justify your magical actions by the interests of the struggle against the Dark. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘And that’s where the difficulty lies, Antosha, that’s the whole problem.’ The boss sighed. ‘Alisher, don’t just stand there.’
He was really giving the young man a hard time. But it wasn’t difficult to guess why: the courier had wormed his way into the Moscow Watch, and now he had to take the inevitable consequences.
‘Your beer, Light One Anton.’ The new Watch member put the glass in front of me with a brief nod.
I accepted the beer without saying anything. This young, talented magician wasn’t to blame for anything. I was sure we could be friends. But just then I was feeling angry with him: the delivery Alisher had brought to Moscow would separate me from Svetlana for ever.
‘Anton, what are we going to do?’ the boss asked.
‘Just what, exactly, is the problem?’ I answered, looking at him with the eyes of a devoted St Bernard.
‘Svetlana. You’re opposing her mission.’
‘Of course.’
‘Anton. There are basic principles involved here. Axioms. You have no right to object to the policy of the Watch on the basis of your own personal interests.’
‘What have my own personal interests got to do with it?’ I asked, genuinely surprised. ‘I regard the entire operation that’s being planned as immoral. It won’t be of any benefit to ordinary humans. Like it or not, every attempt to bring about a fundamental change in human society has been a failure.’
‘Sooner or later we shall succeed. Note that I don’t even claim that this attempt will bring success. But the chances are better now than ever before.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You can lodge an appeal at the highest level.’
‘Will they have time to consider it before Svetlana picks up the chalk and opens the Book of Destiny?’
The boss closed his eyes and sighed.
‘No, they won’t. It’s all happening tonight, just as soon as our time begins. Are you happy now you know when it’s all going to happen?’
‘Boris Ignatievich,’ I said, deliberately using the name by which I’d first known him. ‘Listen to me, please. You once left your homeland and came to Russia. Not to serve the interests of the Light, not for the sake of your career. But because of Olga. I don’t know very much about your past history, how much hate and love, how much betrayal and nobility there is in it. But you have to understand me. Because you can.’