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Svetlana, drained and shattered, had been crushed by grief only a moment earlier, but now she cried out, unable to conceal her joy: "Anton!"
He was standing by the door. Anton Gorodetsky. Light magician. Alive and unharmed. He had followed me up.
"Thank you, Anton!" Zabulon said to him in a tone of immense satisfaction. "You carried out my assignment perfectly. I hope you're pleased with your reward?"
"Assignment?" Gesar exclaimed. "Anton?"
Zabulon laughed quietly as he stood up. The head of the Night Watch only gave his triumphant enemy a swift glance and then looked back at Anton.
But Anton walked up to Svetlana, who was so happy she couldn't understand a thing, put his arms around her, whispered, "Just a moment," and moved toward me.
For a few seconds we looked each other in the eye. Enemy to enemy. Other and non-Other. I don't even know how to put it so that it sounds right. There are always at least two truths, after all.
"Take this," said Anton.
And he handed me his disk player to replace the broken one.
"Thank you," I whispered. I took the remains of mine off my belt, took out my disk without speaking, and stuck it into the player he had given me, as if that were the most important thing of all now. And I thought: Now the Inquisitor will get up and say that I can go.
I was right, of course. Magicians of that level don't make mistakes, even if they are non-Others.
"In the name of the Treaty," Maxim declared as dryly and dispassionately as ever, "since it has been demonstrated beyond any doubt that Vitaly Rogoza is not an Other in the ordinary meaning of that word, the actions of the Night Watch relative to Vitaly Rogoza are not a matter for investigation by the Inquisition. Likewise, Vitaly Rogoza does not come under the terms of the Treaty. He is free to pursue his own destiny."
As if I'd ever really had one. Me and the other Mirrors who had come before me, and the young boy Egor, whose time had not yet come…
"The Inquisition has concluded its consideration of all the cases," said Maxim, glancing around at the magicians present. "Do the Watches have any comments or suggestions?"
I pressed Play and walked away. In my tattered jacket I looked like a cross between a street bum and a weird scarecrow. But who cared?
The disk player I'd been given was working in random mode. And yet again it picked out just what was needed from the dozens of tracks. Kipelov and Mavrin. "Troubled Times." All I had to do now was sing along.
So I did.
Troubled times!
The specter of freedom on a horse.
Blood up to your knees,
Like in some crazy dream.
The people amuse themselves
Killing the Old Gods,
The people pray,
Waiting for Righteous Words!
A comet in the sky,
A sure sign of imminent disaster.
Fallen Warriors of the Light
Are burned on bonfires.
Warriors of the Darkness
Have encircled the world.
Thousands of birds
Tumble down like rain.
Troubled times for the one who no longer has the right to call himself Vitaly Rogoza. For the one who rose, only to fall. For the fallen angel… the dark angel. Troubled times for you and for the Others. The end of the mille
We don't know who we are-
Children of the red star,
Children of the black star,
Or of the fresh graves…
The dance of Death is simple and terrible,
But until the hour strikes,
The sins of all our lives
Are punished by these troubled times!
I don't know whose child I am either. I only know one thing: The troubled times usually punish those who have not committed any sins for the sins of others. Or if they have committed any sins, they're not the ones they're punished for. But I wasn't allowed any choice. I wasn't given any destiny.
We're still alive.
Some will be saved, some will not
On a wild impulse
They put the lights out in our fortress,
The flag torn down
Is the sign
Of surrender to our enemies,
But you will not take it,
It's a lie-
For now we're still alive!
I am alive for now. And I'm singing. I'm singing, even though I know that Kipelov and Mavrin's next song contains the following lines:
Don't ask-I won't take you with me.
Don't look-I don't know the meaning of life.
Don't wish to learn another's secret
That's all-I am only a spirit, I am vanishing!
I'm only a spirit. I'm only a Mirror. A Mirror that has reflected everything it was made to reflect. But I can't help asking and believing. I am leaving now, only to vanish, but I ask, I hope, I want to believe-take me with you! Take me!
I believe.
I hope.
I believe.
I…
Story Three
–«¦»-
Prologue
–«¦»-
YUKHA MUSTAJOKI FLAGGED DOWN THE CAR-HE WAS THE SENIOR MEMber of their little group now. Yari Kuusinen and Raivo Nikkilya squeezed into the backseat of the old Zhiguli without speaking as Yukha took the seat in front.
"Take us to She-re-me-tie-vo," he said, speaking with emphatic clarity. Strangely enough, Russian had been the language of Mustajoki's childhood, although he'd managed to forget most of it afterward. But then he'd always had a talent for languages, and now he lived near the Russian border and made regular drinking trips to St. Petersburg. The others preferred the ferry to Sweden-on the overnight trip you could get really drunk on hard liquor bought in the duty-free shop, sleep it off during the day (who needed Stockholm, anyway?), and then indulge your expensive pleasure again on the way back. But Mustajoki had stubbornly kept on traveling to St. Petersburg. "Drive quick-ly and care-ful-ly," he said.
The driver drove. Quickly and carefully. Taking foreigners to the airport was a sheer delight for him. An out-of-work engineer making a living as a freelance taxi driver didn't often land a plum job like this. Especially at a time like this, just before the New Year, when the year 2000 was coming up and everybody was out working away, trying to make sure there'd be food for the festive table and good presents for the family.
The three Others sitting silently in the car weren't listening to the driver's thoughts, although they could have, of course.
After they'd already passed the Ring Road, Yukha turned to his comrades and said, "Are we really leaving then, brothers?"
Yari and Raivo nodded sympathetically. It really was hard to believe that it was all over-all the interrogations by the Night Watch, the visits by somber members of the Inquisition staff, the vigorous efforts of the Day Watch's adroit female vampire advocate, who was as well known among human beings as she was among Others.
They'd broken free. Broken free, been released from this terrible, cold, inhospitable city of Moscow, although they couldn't go home just yet: They were on their way to Prague, to where the Inquisition's European office had just relocated. But they had been released. With their rights restricted, with the obligation to register when they arrived anywhere, but even so…
"Poor Ollikainen…" Raivo sighed. "He was so fond of Czech beer. He used to say Lapin Kulta was the best beer in the world. He'll never drink beer again…"