Day Watch

"All right. Let's change the subject." He took another mouthful of beer and couldn't help remarking, "There was an American airman sitting in here… and he was a Light magician… an absolute oaf, by the way; he didn't even notice me. I'll bet you he regards people as a resource. Or maybe as a stupid, dull-witted inferior race that can be nurtured and punished. The same way we regard them."

"Our trouble is that we're a product of human society," Anton replied gloomily. "With all its shortcomings. And until they've lived many centuries, even Light Ones still carry around the stereotypes and myths of their own country: Russia, America, or Burkina Faso -it makes no difference. What the hell, why can't I get Burkina Faso out of my head?"

"One of those idiots, the Regin Brothers, is from Burkina Faso," Edgar suggested. "And it's a fu

"The Regin Brothers…" Anton said with a nod. "What cu

"I am not in possession of any such information, and that is an official statement of my position!" Edgar replied quickly. You couldn't afford to give these Light Ones the slightest hint of a formal violation to clutch at…

"Don't bother admitting it, there's no need!" Anton said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm not a little child. But the last thing we need is the appearance of an insane Dark magician of immense Power."

"Us too," Edgar declared. "That would mean all-out war. No holds barred. In other words, the Apocalypse."

"Then that means the Regin Brothers were lied to," Anton said. "They were persuaded to attack the Berne office, steal the Talon, and fly to Moscow… but what for? To feed Power to the Mirror?"

He's quick-witted, Edgar noted to himself. But he shook his head as he formulated a superb denial: "That's nonsense! We only found out who Vitaly Rogoza was after the Talon had already been stolen and the four survivors from the battle were on their way to Moscow."

"That's right!" Anton suddenly exclaimed. "You're right, Dark One! The appearance of a Mirror ca

Edgar chewed on his lip. Now it looked as if he'd given the Light One an idea… passed on some information to him or simply pointed him in the right direction. Oh, that was bad… But then, why was it? He wouldn't mind being able to understand the situation better himself. It was a matter of vital importance to him too. Edgar mused out loud: "Maybe someone wanted the Inquisition office moved out of Berne?"

"Or decided it ought to be moved to Prague…"

They gazed at each other thoughtfully-a Light magician and a Dark magician, both equally interested in understanding what was going on. The waiter was about to approach them, but he saw they hadn't finished their beer yet and went to serve the Americans.

"That's one possibility," Edgar agreed. "But we didn't need the actual operation with the Talon. Don't even think of blaming us for that kind of nonsense!"

"But maybe," Anton exclaimed, "you needed to ruin some other operation… one of our operations? And Fafnir's Talon was a very good way to do that?"

Edgar cursed himself for being so talkative. Only in the figurative sense, of course. No Dark magician would ever set an Inferno vortex spi

"Nonsense, what other operation…" he began. And then he suddenly realized that by starting to defend the Day Watch so abruptly, he had effectively confirmed Anton's guess.

"Thank you, Other," the Light One said with sincere feeling.

Still mentally lashing himself, Edgar stood up. It was true what they said: Before you sit down with a Light One, cut out your tongue and wire your mouth shut!

"It's time I was going," he said. "I really enjoyed… our little talk."

"Me too," Anton agreed. And he even held out his hand.

It would have been stupid to refuse to take the hand that was proffered, so Edgar shook it. Then he tossed a five-hundred-crown bill onto the table and hurried out.

Anton smiled as he watched him go. It was fun to give a Dark magician a fright, especially one of the Day Watch's top ten. The fat watchman obviously thought he'd given away some terrible secret… but he hadn't given anything away: The explanation Anton had suggested was stupid, and even if it happened by chance to be the right one, Anton still hadn't learned anything worth knowing…

He squinted at the waiter and gestured, as if he were writing on his palm with his finger. A minute later he was handed the check.

Including the usual tip, it came to one thousand and twenty crowns.

Oh, those Dark Ones…

It was only a trifle, but Edgar had still saved money. After all those gibes about the poor Night Watch and that invisible counting on fingers…

Anton paid, stood up (the beer had had an effect after all- his body felt relaxed in a way that was pleasant and alarming at the same time), and walked out of the Black Eagle, toward Staromestka Square, where he had an appointment with a representative of the Inquisition. He was only just in time.

There were always a lot of tourists here.

Especially at the begi

Anton stood among the tourists with his hands stuck in his pockets-his hands were feeling cold after all, and he'd never liked wearing gloves. All around him video cameras hummed quietly, camera shutters clicked, and the members of the multilingual crowd exchanged impressions on their visit to the latest obligatory attraction. He even thought he could hear their brains squeaking as they ticked off one more spot on the tourist map of Prague: Watch the clock chime-done.

Why was he walking along in this faceless crowd, as if he were also ticking off the points of a tourist program in his mind?

Mental inertia? Laziness? Or an incurable herd instinct? The Dark Ones probably never walked around in the common crowd…

"No, I don't understand you," someone in the crowd said in Russian, a couple of steps away from him. "I'm on vacation, do you hear? Can't you decide for yourself?"

Anton squinted quickly at his fellow countryman, but the sight wasn't a very pleasant one. His compatriot was sturdily built, with broad shoulders, and was draped in gold. He'd already learned how to wear expensive suits, but not how to knot a tie from Hermes. The tie was knotted, of course, but with a "collective farm" knot that was awful to look at. There was a crumpled scarf dangling from under the unbuttoned coat of maroon cashmere wool.

The New Russian caught his glance and frowned as he put away his cell phone. He turned to gaze at the clock again. Anton looked away.

The third generation, that was what the analysts said. You had to wait until the third generation. The grandson of this bandit who had got rich and somehow managed to stay alive would be a thoroughly decent man. You just had to wait. And unlike people, Others could afford to wait for generations. Their work went on for centuries… at least the work of the Light Ones did.

It was easy for the Dark Ones to make the changes they wanted to peoples' minds. The path of Darkness was always shorter than the path of Light. Shorter, easier, more fun.