‘There are two things I can do,’ the Tiger declared, looking me in the eye. ‘I can destroy the Sarcophagus. Dissolve it in eternity. That probably means Arina will be killed.’
‘And the second thing?’ I asked.
‘We can try to get her out,’ said the Tiger. ‘Only it will be up to you to talk to her. I can only bring someone out of the Sarcophagus if they wish to come out. But in this case… in this case there may be unforeseen consequences.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ the Tiger said, frowning. ‘I… I can’t see the future clearly. Both situations are vague, but the one in which we bring Arina back is extremely hazy.’
‘Anton, if I understand the position correctly,’ Ernesta put in quickly, ‘we are quite happy with the first option. Arina will be laid to rest peacefully and we can choose a Grandmother of Grandmothers, who will not be your daughter! It all works out perfectly!’
‘Dad!’ Nadya exclaimed, looking at me indignantly. ‘Will you… will you agree to that?’
I sighed, and stepped towards the Tiger.
‘Just as I thought,’ he remarked sadly. ‘Gorodetsky, why don’t you like simple solutions?’
‘They usually have complicated consequences,’ I replied.
Travelling in the grip of the Tiger was no fun.
Only a moment ago we’d been in an Alpine restaurant with two hundred witches, whose combined ages probably amounted to about a hundred thousand years.
But the Tiger had simply grabbed me by the collar, and suddenly here we were, surrounded by swirling grey glop. It looked like foam made of little soap bubbles, illuminated weakly by a dim white light from some indefinite source. The bubbles parted as we moved through them, yielding springily underfoot and retreating when I reached my hand out towards them.
‘What is this?’ I asked. The Tiger was still grasping my collar, holding me out at arm’s length. ‘And would you kindly let go of me, please?’
‘This is the space between the levels of the Twilight,’ the Tiger replied. ‘These are the reverberations of emotions and echoes of feelings. This is everything that has ever existed in the world. The squeak of the first mouse as it was caught by the first cat. The purring of a cat, curled up on a woman’s knees. The shriek of a new mother who has sensed that her child will be an evil man. The weeping of a criminal on the night before he mounts the scaffold. All the sounds of the world. All the colours of the world. All the feelings of the world.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘very poetic. But—’
‘If I let go of you, you’ll disintegrate into…’ the Tiger thought for a moment. ‘Into tiny bubbles.’
‘But Zabulon told me he hid between the levels of the Twilight…’
‘Your Zabulon can do many things, Gorodetsky. Be patient. We need to talk. I don’t get any pleasure out of holding you up by the scruff of your neck.’
‘By the scruff of my neck,’ I laughed. ‘You really have got a grip on the language! Okay, let’s talk.’
‘At this very moment we are passing the point of no return, Gorodetsky,’ said the Tiger. In the feeble greyish light his face looked like a plaster mask. His lips barely even moved, and his eyes were blank gaps, openings into nothingness. ‘Are you sure you want to get Arina out of there? Perhaps we should just lay her to rest?’
‘What’s wrong, Tiger?’ I asked. ‘Do you think the old witch will totally confuse me once and for all?’
‘No, Anton. That’s not it at all.’
I caught on. I was getting smarter every day – it was frightening to think how shrewd I would be when I reached Gesar’s age.
‘So, on the contrary, she’ll explain everything?’
‘Yes, Anton, Arina knows everything. About the Sixth Watch, about the Two-in-One. She even knows a lot more about the Twilight than she lets on. Perhaps more than I know myself.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I can foresee it. If you talk to her, everything will change. Everything will be absolutely different, Anton.’
‘For instance?’
‘It’s quite possible that you will die,’ said the Tiger.
‘Well, unpleasant things like that happen to people.’
‘You’re not an ordinary person – you’re an Other. You don’t have to die.’
‘What else?’
‘I’ll die,’ the Tiger said simply. ‘In this version of the future I die.’
‘And in the other version?’ I asked after a moment’s pause.
‘I die in that one too.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Then tell me the most important thing, Tiger…’
‘Nadya dies in the reality where you decide to destroy the Sarcophagus,’ said the Tiger. ‘In the alternative reality, she doesn’t necessarily die.’
‘Then why are you even bothering to ask my opinion?’ I laughed.
‘Because the reality in which Nadya doesn’t die will bring you greater suffering,’ said the Tiger, turning his gaze away. ‘You could come to regret that we didn’t shatter the Sarcophagus in eternity.’
‘That’s impossible!’ I shouted. ‘That couldn’t happen! Why would it?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied the Tiger. ‘I’m not certain. I’m not the Twilight, after all. And I’m sick, Anton. I’m infected with humanity – that’s why I’m talking to you now. And even if I were well, reading the destinies of Great Ones and an Absolute Enchantress is fiendishly difficult…’
I groaned. I wanted to shrug the Tiger’s hand off my neck and dissolve into little bubbles.
I’d never imagined I could possibly consider such a simple, cowardly way out.
‘Take me to the witch,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’ll regret this, but there’s nothing else I can say right now. I can’t choose a future in which Nadya is killed. Let’s go to the Sarcophagus.’
‘All right,’ said the Tiger. ‘I knew that already, but I had to make sure. So let’s go, you who were begotten of the Darkness. I’ll take you to Arina…’
‘What…?’ I shouted. Then the grey gloom dissipated and I went tumbling across a cold marble floor. ‘Who…?’
The only reply I heard was the Tiger’s quiet whisper in the distance.
‘Now it’s up to you to persuade her.’
I got up and looked round. The Tiger wasn’t there. There was only a dimly lit stone hall with a high dome above it. Arina was nowhere to be seen. I took a few steps. The air was still as fresh and cool as I remembered it.
‘Arina,’ I called. ‘It’s me! Anton! Anton Gorodetsky!’
‘I already guessed it wasn’t Chekhov. He was a cultured man, who didn’t yell like that when other people were sleeping…’
The witch’s voice was coming from somewhere above me. I stopped and looked up.
There was a grey cocoon, twisted together from rags and threads, nestling crookedly against the domed ceiling about three metres above my head. The cocoon trembled and a hand appeared, tearing a gap in the skin. Then another hand emerged. Finally a head thrust out through the opening.
‘Good morning, Arina,’ I said, looking at the witch. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘You won’t get away with just apologies,’ said the witch. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes,’ I said and paused before asking: ‘What’s that… thing made of?’
‘You don’t need to know that,’ said Arina. ‘Just turn away for a moment.’
I turned away and moved towards the centre of the Sarcophagus, hearing rustling and crackling sounds behind me, as if Arina was rolling up her cocoon.
It was really disgusting.
Maybe it was very rational, ecologically sound and natural to weave a cocoon and sink into hibernation. But that’s what you expect from an insect, not from a human being.