The Night Watch (21 page)

'It's very strange the Day Watch haven't been able to find the killer after all this time.'

'Yes. Do you remember Krakow?'

'I do, unfortunately. You think we're being set up?'

'It's possible . . .' The boss moved away from the window. 'Anton, do you think that could be it?'

'I don't entirely understand,' I mumbled.

'Anton, let's assume that we really do have a Maverick wandering round the city, a solitary killer. He's uninitiated. From time to time his powers suddenly surface ... he locates one of the Dark Ones and eliminates them. Wouldn't the Day Watch be able to find him? Unfortunately, believe me, they would. So the question is: why haven't they caught him and exposed him, when Dark Ones are dying?'

'Only insignificant ones?' I suggested.

'True. Sacrificing pawns is in the tradition . . .' the boss caught my eye and paused, '. . . in the tradition of the Watch.'

'The Watches,' I said sharply.

'The Watches,' the boss echoed wearily. 'You haven't forgotten . . . Let's think where a manoeuvre like this could be leading. An accusation of incompetence against the whole of the Night Watch? No. We're supposed to keep tabs on the activities of the Dark Ones and the observance of the Treaty by known Light Ones, not go hunting for mysterious psychos. In this case it's the Day Watch who is in the wrong.'

'Which means it must be a provocation aimed at someone in particular?'

'Exactly, Anton. Remember what Yulia said? There's only a small handful of us who could have done this. That can be proved conclusively. Let's suppose the Day Watch has decided to accuse someone of violating the Treaty. To claim that one of us – someone who knows the terms of the Treaty – is meting out summary justice on his own account.'

'But that's easy to disprove. Just find the Maverick . . .'

'And if the Dark Ones find him first, but don't bother to announce the fact?'

'What about alibis?'

'And what if the killings took place at times when someone has no alibi?'

'A tribunal, with a full-scale interrogation,' I said sombrely – having your mind turned inside out isn't a pleasant experience . . .

'A powerful magician – and these killings were committed by a powerful magician – can close off his mind even against a tribunal. Not deceive the tribunal, just close himself off from it. In any case, Anton, with a tribunal that included Dark Ones, he would have to. Otherwise our enemies would learn far too much about us. And if a magician conceals himself against investigation, it's automatically regarded as a confession of guilt. With all the consequences that would follow from such a confession – both for him and for the Watch.'

'You paint a dark picture, Boris Ignatievich,' I said. 'Very dark. Almost as dark as the one you painted for me last winter, when you briefed me in my sleep. A young boy with extraordinary Other powers, an Inferno eruption that would flatten the whole of Moscow . . .'

'I understand. But I'm not lying to you, Anton.'

'What do you expect from me?' I asked bluntly. 'This isn't really my field. Am I going to give the analysts a hand? We'll be handling everything they bring in anyway.'

'Anton, I want you to work out which one of us is under threat. Who has an alibi for all the known incidents and who doesn't.'

The boss slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a disk.

'Take this . . . it's a complete record for the entire three-year period. For four of us, including me.'

I swallowed hard as I took it.

'The security codes have been removed. But you understand that no one else must see this. You have no right to copy the information. Encrypt all your calculations and procedures . . . and make the key as complex as you can.'

'I could really do with some help,' I suggested hesitantly, with a glance at Olga. But then, what kind of help could she give me? Everything she knew about computers, she'd learned from playing games like Heretic and Hexen.

'You can check my database yourself,' the boss said, after a pause. 'Use Tolik for the others. All right?'

'Then what's my assignment?' asked Olga.

'You'll cover the same ground, only by asking direct questions. Interrogating people, not to put too fine a point on it. And you'll start with me. Then the other three.'

'All right, Boris.'

'Get on to it, Anton,' the boss said with a nod. 'Start immediately. You can pass everything else on to your staff, they'll cope.'

'Maybe I could fiddle about a bit with the data?' I asked. 'If someone doesn't happen to have an alibi, I could arrange one.'

The boss shook his head.

'No. You don't understand. I don't want to set up any false alibis. I want to be absolutely sure that none of us is involved in these killings.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes. Because nothing's impossible in this world. Anton, the good thing about our work is that I can give you an assignment like this. And you'll carry it out. Regardless of who's involved.'

There was still something bothering me, but I nodded and walked towards the door, clutching the disk. My question only took shape as I was leaving. I turned back and asked:

'Boris Ignatievich . . .'

The boss and Olga instantly moved apart.

'Boris Ignatievich, you say there are four sets of data here?'

'Yes.'

'For you, Ilya, Semyon . . .'

'And you, Anton.'

'Why?' I asked dumbly.

'During that stand-off on the roof you stayed down in the second level of the Twilight for three minutes, Anton . . . that's a third-grade power.'

'Impossible,' I said.

'It happened.'

'Boris Ignatievich, you always told me I was just an average magician!'

'Well, let's just say I need an excellent programmer more than one more field operative.'

At any other moment I would have felt proud. Offended at the same time, of course, but still proud. I'd always thought that fourth-grade magic was my ceiling, and it would be a long time before I reached it. But just at that moment everything was clouded by a clammy, repellent feeling – fear. Even though in five years of working in a quiet staff position in the Watch I'd learned not to be afraid of anything: the authorities, thugs, diseases . . .

'This was a second-degree intervention . . .'

'The boundary here's very subtle, Anton. You might be capable of more.'

'But we have more than ten third-grade magicians. Why am I a suspect?'

'Because you offended Zabulon personally. And he's quite capable of setting a trap just for Anton Gorodetsky. Or rather, adapting an old trap that was being kept in reserve.'

I left without asking any more questions.

Our lab's on the fourth floor too, but in the other wing of the building. I set off hurriedly along the corridor, nodding to people I met, but remained focused, clutching that disk tighter than a romantic young man clutches the hand of the girl he loves.

Was the boss telling the truth?

Could this really be aimed at me?

Probably he was. I'd asked a straight question and been given a straight answer. Of course, as the years go by, even the most Light of magicians acquire a certain degree of cynicism and learn to play tricks with words. But the consequences of a direct lie would be too serious even for Boris Ignatievich.

I reached the entry lobby and its electronic security systems. Magicians tend to regard technology with disdain, and Semyon had once shown me how easy it was to fool the voice analyser and the iris scanner. But I'd gone ahead and bought these expensive toys anyway. Maybe they were no protection against an Other, but it seemed entirely possible that one day the guys from the Federal Security Service or the mafia would decide to check us out.

'One, two, three, four, five . . .' I muttered into the microphone, gazing into the camera lens at the same time. The electronic circuits pondered for a few seconds, then a green light came on above the door.

There was no one in the first room, where the server's cooling fans were humming gently. The air conditioners built into the wall were huffing and puffing, but it was still hot in there. And spring had only just begun . . .

I didn't go into the system analysts' lab, just walked straight through into my own office. It wasn't all mine. Tolik, my deputy, worked here too. Sometimes he lived here, spending the nights on an old leather sofa.

He was sitting at his desk, thoughtfully inspecting an old motherboard.

'Hi,' I said, sitting down on the sofa. The disk was burning my hands.

'It's a goner,' Tolik said gloomily.

'Bin it then.'

'Let me just take its brain out first.' Tolik was thrifty, a habit acquired from years of working in state-financed institutions. We had no financial problems, but he carefully stockpiled all the old hardware anyway, even if it was of no use to anyone. 'Would you believe it, I've been fiddling around with this for half an hour, and it's still dead.'

'It's a prehistoric antique, why waste time fiddling around with it? Even the technology in accounts is more up to date.'

'I could give it to someone . . . Maybe I should take the cache out too . . .'

'Tolik, we've got an urgent job to do,' I said.

'Uh?'

'Look . . .' I held up the disk. 'This is a dossier ... a complete dossier on four members of the Watch. Including the boss.'

Tolik opened the drawer of his desk, put the motherboard in it and stared at the disk.

'Exactly. I'm going to go through three of them. And you're going to go through the fourth . . . mine.'

'So what are we looking for?'

'This,' I said, holding up the briefing notes. 'It's possible that one of the suspects may be carrying out sporadic killings of Dark Ones. Unauthorised killings. All the known incidents are listed here. We have to either eliminate this possibility, or . . .'

'Ah, so it really is you who's killing them, then?' Tolik asked. 'Pardon my irony.'

'No. But don't take my word for it. Let's get on with it.'

I didn't even look at the information about me, just downloaded all eight hundred megabytes on to Tolik's computer and took out the disk.

'Shall I tell you if I come across anything really interesting?' Tolik asked. I glanced across at him as he started looking through the text files, tugging on his left ear and clicking regularly with his mouse.

'That's up to you.'

'Okay.'

I started with the materials on the boss. First there was an introductory section – background information. Every line I read brought me out in a sweat.

Of course, even this dossier didn't give the boss's real name and origins. Facts like that weren't kept on file anywhere for Others of his rank. But even so there was so much that I didn't know. Starting with the fact that the boss was older than I'd thought. At least a hundred and fifty years older. And that meant he'd been personally involved in drawing up the Treaty between Light and Dark. I was intrigued by the thought that all the other magicians still surviving from that time held positions in the central office and weren't stuck in the exhausting and tedious post of regional director.

Apart from that, I recognised a few of the names under which the boss had figured in the history of the Watch, and learnt where he was born. We'd wondered about that sometimes, and even placed bets on it, always pointing to 'indisputable' proof. But somehow no one had ever suspected that Boris Ignatievich was born in Tibet.

And even in my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined whose mentor he had been.

The boss had been working in Europe since the fifteenth century. From indirect references, I inferred that the reason for this move was a woman. I could even guess who it was.

I closed the introductory window and looked over at Tolik. He was watching some video footage. Of course, my biographical details were less fascinating than the boss's. I glanced at the small moving picture and blushed.

'For the first incident you have a solid alibi,' Tolik said without turning round.

'Listen . . .' I was lost for words.

'Okay, okay. I'll fast-forward it, to check the entire night. . .'

I imagined what the recording would look like at high speed and turned away. I'd always suspected the boss kept tabs on his colleagues, especially the young ones. But not that cynically!

'The alibi won't be that solid,' I said. 'I'll get dressed and go out any moment now.'

'I can see that,' Tolik confirmed.

'And I'll be gone for almost an hour and a half. I was looking for champagne . . . and while I was looking, I sobered up a bit in the fresh air. Started wondering if it was worth going back.'

'Don't worry about it,' said Tolik. 'You watch the boss's private life.'

Half an hour later, I realised Tolik was right. Maybe I had good reason to feel offended by the observers' invasion of my privacy. But Boris Ignatievich had as much reason as I did.

'The boss has an alibi,' I said. 'Indisputable. For two incidents he has four witnesses. And for one – almost the entire Watch.'

'Was that the hunt for that Dark One who went crazy?'

'Yes.'

'Well, in theory, you could have killed the Dark Ones. Quite easily. And I'm sorry, Anton, but every one of the killings happens when you're in an excited state. As if you weren't completely in control of yourself.'

'I didn't do it.'

'I believe you. What shall I do with the file?'

'Delete it.'

Tolik thought for a moment.

'I don't have anything valuable on here. I think I'll run a low-level format. The disk's long overdue for a clean-out.'

'Thanks.' I closed the dossier on the boss. 'That's it, I'll deal with the others myself.'

'Sure,' said Tolik as he overcame the computer's righteous indignation and it began digesting itself.

'Go check on the girls,' I suggested. 'And look disapproving for a change. I'm sure they're playing cards in there.'

'All in a day's work, I suppose,' Tolik agreed. 'When will you be through here?'

'In a couple of hours.'

'I'll call in.'

He went off to our 'girls', two young programmers who dealt with the Watch's official activity. I carried on working. Semyon was next.