The Last Watch (6 page)

Even if he's wearing the most beautiful crown, a king also needs
worthy
robes. The naked king in Andersen's fairy tale was not saved by the glittering diamonds on his head.

The taxi stopped at a four-storey stone house with a narrow frontage that was squeezed between two shops crowded with customers. The shop windows were hung with colourful kilts and scarves, and there were the inevitable bottles of whisky. What else would you take away from here? From Russia it's vodka and
matryoshka
dolls, from Greece it's ouzo and embroidered tablecloths, from Scotland it's whisky and scarves.

I climbed out of the taxi, took my suitcase from the driver and paid him. Then I looked at the building. The sign above the entrance to the hotel said ‘Highlander Blood'.

Right. An impertinent vampire.

I walked up to the door, blinking against the bright sunshine. It was getting hot. The legend that vampires can't tolerate sunlight is just that, a legend. They can tolerate it, they just don't find it pleasant. And on a hot summer day like this I could almost understand them.

The door didn't swing open in front of me – obviously they weren't fond of automatic devices in this hotel. So I pushed it with my hand and walked in.

Well, at least there was an air-conditioner here. The coolness that I felt could hardly have been left over from the night, despite these thick stone walls.

The small entrance hall was rather dark, and perhaps that was why it felt a bit cosy. I saw an elderly, highly respectable-looking gentleman standing behind a counter. A good suit, a tie with a pin, a shirt with silver cufflinks in the form of thistle heads. A plump face with a moustache and red cheeks, a strawberries-and-cream complexion … But his aura left no doubt at all – he was human.

‘Good afternoon,' I said, approaching the counter. ‘Your hotel
was
recommended to me … I would like to take a single room.'

‘A single?' the gentleman asked, with an extremely pleasant smile.

‘A single,' I repeated.

‘We're very short of rooms, it's the festival …' the gentleman said, with a sigh. ‘You didn't book, then?'

‘No.'

He sighed again and started leafing through some papers – as if this little family hotel had so many rooms that he couldn't remember if any were free. Without looking up, he asked:

‘Who was it that recommended us?'

‘The Dark One at Heathrow customs.'

‘I think we should be able to help you,' the man replied, without any sign of surprise. ‘Which room would you prefer, light or dark? If you have – er – a dog with you, there is a very comfortable room that even the very largest dog can leave – and come back to – on its own … without disturbing anyone.'

‘I want a light room,' I said.

‘Give him the suite on the fourth floor, Andrew,' said a voice behind me. ‘He is a distinguished guest. Very distinguished.'

I took the key that had appeared as if by magic in the receptionist's hand (no, no magic involved, it was simply his dexterity) and turned round.

‘I will show you the way,' said the light-haired youth standing in front of the cigarette machine beside the door that led into the small hotel restaurant. Hotels like this one very often do not have a restaurant and they serve breakfast in the rooms, but the guests here had rather exotic tastes.

‘Anton,' I said, introducing myself as I examined the owner of the hotel. ‘Anton Gorodetsky, Moscow Night Watch.'

‘Bruce,' said the youth. ‘Bruce Ramsey, Edinburgh. Owner of this establishment.'

He looked just perfect to play Dorian Grey in a film version of Oscar Wilde's novel. Young, graceful and indecently fresh and handsome, he could easily have worn a badge that said ‘Ready for debauchery!'

Except only that his eyes were old. Grey and faded, with the uniformly pink whites of eyes that belong to a two-hundred-year-old vampire.

The youth picked up my suitcase – I didn't object – and started walking up the narrow wooden stairs, talking as he went:

‘Unfortunately we don't have a lift. It's an old building and too narrow to fit a shaft in. And besides, I am not used to lifts. It seems to me that a mechanical monster would disfigure this wonderful house. I hate those reconstructed houses, old façades hiding boring standard-plan apartments. And we don't often have guests who find it hard to climb the stairs … except that werewolves don't like steep steps, but we try to accommodate them on the first floor – there's a special room there – or on the second … what wind has blown you into our quiet town, Higher Light One?'

He was not so ordinary himself. A vampire at the first level of Power – not exactly magical Power, not the same as my own, it was vampire Power. But he could definitely be called a first-level Other.

‘The incident in the Dungeons,' I said.

‘Just as I thought.' The youth walked on in front of me, striding easily up two steps at a time. ‘A most unpleasant incident. I appreciate the humour of the situation, of course … But it is not good. These are not times when you can simply walk up to someone you like the look of and drink him dry. Not at all!'

‘Do you miss the good old days?' I couldn't resist asking.

‘Sometimes,' said the youth. He laughed. ‘But each age and each time has its own advantages, doesn't it? People become civilised, they stop hunting witches and believing in vampires. And we become civilised. We can't regard human beings as cattle who have
no
rights. People deserve the right to be respected, if only as our own ancestors. You should respect your ancestors, surely?'

Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything to argue with in all this.

‘It's a good room – you'll like it,' the vampire continued as he reached the fourth-floor landing. There were only two doors there and the staircase went on up into the attic. ‘On the right is the suite for Dark Ones, also very pleasant. I furnished it to my own taste and am quite proud of the design. And this is your suite.'

He did not need a key – he patted the lock gently with his hand and the door opened. A bit of petty showing-off that seemed rather strange for such an old vampire.

‘We have a very good self-taught designer, a Light Other. He is only sixth level, but no magic is needed for this work,' Bruce went on. ‘I asked him to decorate three rooms to the taste of Light Ones. Most of the rest of the interior is rather more original, you understand …'

I walked into the suite and froze on the spot in astonishment.

I'd never realised that my taste was like this.

Everything around me was white, beige and pink. The parquet flooring was light, bleached wood, the walls were covered with beige wallpaper with pale pink flowers, the furniture was old-fashioned, but also made of light-coloured wood and snow-white satin. The large sofa by the wall was leather. And what colour? White, of course. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The windows were draped with transparent tulle and the curtains were bright pink.

The sun must really have made this place sizzle in the mornings

One door led into a small bedroom. Cosy, with a double bed. The bed sheets were pink silk. There was a little vase on the dressing table with a fresh scarlet rose in it – the only spot of bright colour in the entire suite. The washroom and toilet were
behind
another door. The space was tiny, but it was equipped with some kind of hybrid cross between a hydro-massage unit and a shower cabinet.

‘Rather vulgar and it doesn't suit the style.' Bruce sighed behind me. ‘But many guests like it.'

His face, reflected in the mirror, looked rather pained. Evidently he had not really liked the idea of installing this miracle of modern plumbing in the hotel.

I nodded to the vampire, without turning round. The idea that vampires are not reflected in mirrors is just as false as the tales that they absolutely cannot tolerate sunlight and are afraid of garlic, silver and aspen stakes. They
are
reflected in mirrors, even when they deflect a person's attention.

But if you don't look at them when you're talking to them or, even worse, if you turn your back on them, it really unnerves them. Vampires have a very large number of techniques for which they need to look their opponent straight in the eye.

‘I shall be glad to take a wash,' I said. ‘But a little later. Do you have ten minutes you could spare me, Bruce?'

‘Are you on an official visit to Edinburgh, Light One?'

‘No.'

‘Then of course I do.' The vampire's face lit up in a broad smile. He sat down in one of the armchairs.

I took a seat facing the youth and forced out a smile in response to his, all the time looking at his chin.

‘So what do you think of the suite?' Bruce enquired.

‘I think an innocent girl of seventeen would like it,' I replied honestly. ‘Only it needs a white kitten.'

‘If you wish, we can arrange for both of those,' the vampire suggested politely.

Well, now I could consider the social part of the conversation over.

‘I have come to Edinburgh unofficially,' I repeated. ‘But at the same time, at the request of the head of the Night Watch – and the head of the Day Watch – of Moscow.'

‘How unusual …' the youth said quietly. ‘The esteemed Gesar and the most worthy Zabulon sending the same messenger … and a Higher Magician as well – and for such a minor incident. Well, I shall be glad to be of assistance.'

‘Does what happened upset you personally?' I asked bluntly.

‘Of course. I have already told you my opinion,' Bruce said. He frowned. ‘We're not living in the Middle Ages – this is the twenty-first century. We have to break the old patterns of behaviour …' He sighed and squinted at the door of the bathroom. ‘You can't wash in a basin and go to a wooden privy when water mains and sewers have been invented. Even if you are used to a basin and find it rather more agreeable … You know, in recent times there has been a movement growing among us to take a humane attitude towards human beings. No one drinks blood without a licence. And even with a licence they try not to kill … Hardly anyone drinks children under the age of twelve, even if they are chosen by the lottery.'

‘And why twelve?'

Bruce shrugged.

‘It's just a matter of history. Do you know, for instance, what the most terrible crime is in Germany? The murder of a child under the age of twelve. If the child is already twelve, it is a completely different crime with different penalties … Well, already we don't touch the young growth. And now we are trying to push through a law to exclude children from the lottery altogether.'

‘Very touching,' I muttered. ‘But why did someone dine on the young man without a licence?'

Bruce thought about it.

‘You know, I can only offer hypotheses … ‘

‘That's exactly what I'm interested in.'

Bruce paused for a bit longer, then smiled broadly.

‘What is there really to discuss? One of the young ones lost control. Most likely a young girl who only became a vampire recently, and she liked the look of the young man. And then there's the setting, so arousing, in the style of the old legends … she got carried away.'

‘You think it was a woman?'

‘It could be a young man. If he's gay. There isn't actually a direct connection.' Bruce turned his eyes away in embarrassment. ‘But it's always more pleasant … more natural, somehow …'

‘And the second option?' I asked, struggling to stop myself commenting on what he had said.

‘Someone from out of town. Perhaps a tourist. You know, after the Second World War, everything got so jumbled up, everyone started travelling all over the place …' He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Certain irresponsible individuals started taking advantage of that.'

‘Bruce, I wouldn't like to trouble your Watches,' I said. ‘They might get the idea that their Moscow colleagues have doubts about their professionalism Perhaps you could tell me who's the senior vampire in your city? The Elder, the Great … what do you call him?'

‘I don't call him anything,' Bruce said with a broad smile. And he slowly moved his fangs to demonstrate his status, lowering the two long sharp teeth out of his upper jaw and then drawing them back in again. ‘But they call me Master. I don't really like the word, it comes from those stupid books and films. But if that's what they want, let them call me that.'

‘You're rather young for a Master,' I said, slightly surprised. ‘Only two hundred years old.'

‘Two hundred and eight years, three months and eleven days,' Bruce specified. ‘Yes, I am young. But this is Scotland. If only you
knew
what suspicious, stubborn people the highlanders are, absolutely hidebound in their superstitions! In the time of my youth not a year went by without one of us having aspen stakes hammered through his heart.'

Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought I detected a hint of pride in his fellow countrymen in Bruce's voice.

‘Will you help me, Master?'

Bruce shook his head.

‘No, of course not! If we find out who killed the Russian boy, we will punish him. Ourselves. We won't destroy him, but we will punish him severely. No one will hand him over to the Watches.'

Well, naturally. I should never have expected anything else.

‘Is it pointless to ask: “What if you have already found him and punished him?”'

‘It is,' Bruce replied, with a sigh.

‘Well then, should I go bustling about trying to find the criminal?' I asked in a deliberately rueful voice. ‘Or should I simply take a holiday in your wonderful city?'

A harsh note of irony appeared in Bruce's voice:

‘As a Dark One the only thing I can say to you is, “Take a holiday!” Relax, look round the museums, have fun. Who cares about this dead student now?'