The Night Watch (Watch 1)

And for me he'd become a personal failure – after all, I had been the first to discover he was an Other – and a good person, at least so far, and a future enemy in the eternal struggle between Good and Evil. The memory of his undecided destiny had remained buried somewhere deep under all the rest.

He could still become absolutely anyone. His future potential was indeterminate. An open book. A Book of Destiny.

He was the one who would stand in front of Svetlana when she picked up the piece of chalk. And he would do it gladly, once Gesar had explained what it was all about. A serious, logical explanation. The boss of the Night Watch, the leader of the Light Ones of Moscow, a great and ancient magician – he'd be able to explain everything clearly. Gesar would talk about correcting mistakes. And it would be the truth. Gesar would talk about the great future that would open up for Egor. And even that would be true! The Dark Ones could lodge a thousand protests, but the Inquisition would certainly take into account that the boy had initially suffered from their actions.

Svetlana would certainly be told that I was depressed by my failure with Egor. And that the main reason the boy had suffered was because the Watch had been busy saving her.

She wouldn't even hesitate.

She'd accept everything she was told to do.

She'd pick up the piece of ordinary chalk that could be used to draw squares for hopscotch in the street or to write '2 + 2 = 4' on a school blackboard.

And she'd start shaping a destiny that hadn't been defined yet.

What were they planning to make him into?

Who?

A chief, a leader of new parties and revolutions?

A prophet of religions that hadn't been created yet?

A thinker who would found a new school of social thought? A musician, a poet, a writer, whose work would change the consciousness of millions?

Just how many years into the future did the plan of the powers of the Light extend?

The original essential nature of an Other could not be changed. Egor would always be a very weak magician, but thanks to the intervention of the Night Watch, he would be a Light Magician.

And in order to alter the destiny of the human world, you didn't have to be an Other. It could even get in the way. It would be much better to have the support of the Watch while you led the human crowd, so much in need of the happiness we had invented for it.

And he would lead them. I didn't know how, and I didn't know where, but he would lead them. But that was when the Dark Ones would make their move. An assassin can be found for every president. And for every prophet there are a thousand interpreters to distort the essence of the religion, to replace the bright flame with the heat of the inquisitors' pyres. The time came when every book was cast into the fire, when every symphony was reduced to a popular tune and played in all the bars.

No, we hadn't learned a thing. Probably because we didn't want to.

But at least I still had a bit of time. And the right to make my move. My only move.

If only I knew what it was.

Should I appeal to Svetlana not to accept what Gesar said, not to get involved in higher magic, not to change anyone else's destiny?

But why should she agree? Everything was being done correctly. Mistakes that had been made were being put right, a positive future was being created both for a single individual and for humanity as a whole. I was being relieved of the burden of the mistake I'd made. Svetlana was being relieved of the knowledge that her good fortune had been paid for by someone else's tragedy. She was entering the ranks of the Great Sorceresses. What did my vague doubts mean compared to all that? And what were they really? How much was genuine concern, and how much petty self-interest? Where was the Light, where was the Dark?

'Hey, friend!'

The street trader who owned the stall I was standing in front of was staring at me. Not really angry, just rather annoyed.

'You buying anything?'

'Do I look like an idiot?' I asked him.

'Sure you do. If you're not buying, move on.'

From where he stood he was right. But I was in the mood to talk back.

'You don't realise how lucky you are. I'm collecting a crowd for you, attracting customers.'

He was a colourful character. Stocky, red-faced, with huge thick arms, rippling masses of fat and muscle. He sized me up, obviously didn't see anything threatening and got ready to make some caustic remark.

Then suddenly he smiled.

'Okay, if you're collecting a crowd, put a bit more effort into it. Pretend to buy something. You can even pretend to pay me some money.'

This was a pleasant surprise.

I smiled back at him:

'Would you like me to buy something for real?'

'What would you do that for? This is rubbish for the tourists.' The trader stopped smiling, but there was no tension or aggression left in his face. 'This damn heat, it's driving me crazy. I wish it would rain.'

I looked up at the sky and shrugged. Something seemed to be changing. Something had shifted in the transparent blue dome of the heavenly oven.

'I think it's going to,' I told him.

'Great.'

We nodded at each other and I walked away, slipping into the stream of people.

I didn't know what to do, but I already knew where to go. And that was a start.

CHAPTER 7

TO A LARGE extent our powers are borrowed.

The Dark Ones draw theirs from the suffering of humans. Things are a lot simpler for them. They don't even have to cause people any pain. They can just wait. Just keep their eyes open and keep absorbing people's suffering, like drinking a cocktail through a straw.

We can do the same, only with one small difference. We draw strength from people who are feeling good, when they're happy. But there's one little difficulty that makes the process easy for the Dark Ones and almost forbidden to us. Happiness and sorrow are not just two levels on a single scale of human emotions. If they were, there'd be no such thing as radiant sorrow or malicious joy. They're two parallel processes, two equal currents of power that Others can feel and use.

When a Dark Magician drinks in someone's pain, it only increases.

When a Light Magician takes someone's joy, it decreases.

We can absorb power at any moment. But we very rarely allow ourselves to.

That day I decided that I was entitled.

I took a little bit from a couple locked in each other's arms at the entrance to the metro. They were happy, very happy just then. But I could tell that the lovers were parting, and for a long time, and sadness would inevitably come to them anyway. I decided I had the right. Their joy was bright and rich, like a bouquet of scarlet roses, proud and delicate.

I touched a child as he ran past – he was happy, he didn't feel the oppressive heat, he was running to buy an ice cream. He would soon restore his power. It was as simple and pure as wild flowers. A posy of daisies that I gathered without hesitation.

I saw an old woman in a window. The shadow of death was already hovering over her, she could probably sense it herself. But she was still smiling. Her grandson had called round to see her that day. Probably only to check if his grandmother was still alive, or if the valuable apartment in the centre of Moscow was free now. She understood that too, but she was still happy. I felt ashamed, unbearably ashamed, but I touched her and took a little power. A fading orange and yellow bunch of asters and autumn leaves . . .

I walked along just as I used to in my nightmares, when I handed out happiness to everyone on all sides, making sure no one went away without his share. But the trail I left behind me now was quite different. Slightly faded smiles, wrinkled foreheads, lips pressed together in doubt.

It was pretty easy to see where I'd been.

If I met a Day Watch patrol, they wouldn't stop me.

And even if any Light Ones saw what was happening, they wouldn't say anything.

I was doing what I thought was necessary. What I believed I had a right to do. Borrowing. Stealing. And the way I used the power I'd taken would seal my destiny.

Either I'd pay back all my debts in full.

Or the Twilight would open its arms to embrace me.

When a Light Magician starts drawing power from humans, he's gambling everything on a single throw of the dice. And the usual balancing of accounts between the actions of the two Watches didn't apply.

Not only did the amount of Good that was done have to exceed the amount of Evil I had caused, I would have to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd paid everything back in full.

The lovers, the children, the old people. The group drinking beer by the statue. I'd been afraid their happiness might turn out to be a sham, but it was genuine, and I took their power.

Forgive me.

I could apologise to every one of them three times over. I could pay for what I'd taken. But I wouldn't really mean it.

I was simply fighting for love. In the first place. And only after that for you, the humans for whom this new happiness was being prepared.

But what if I were really doing that as well?

What if, every time you fought for love, you were fighting for the whole world?

For the whole world – not against the whole world.

Power!

Power.

Power?

I gathered it in crumbs, sometimes gently, sometimes in crude haste, to prevent my hand from trembling and my eyes from looking away in shame, as I took almost all there was.

Maybe happiness was a rare experience anyway for this young man.

I didn't know.

Power!

Maybe without this smile, this woman would lose someone's love.

Power.

Maybe tomorrow this strong man with the ironic smile would die.

Power.

The amulets in my pockets wouldn't be any use. There wasn't going be a fight. The 'top form' the boss had mentioned wouldn't help me either. That wouldn't be enough. And the right to carry out a second-degree intervention that Zabulon had granted me so generously was a trap. There wasn't any doubt about that. He'd framed his own girlfriend, drawn the lines of probability together so that we'd meet and then handed me his deadly gift with a mournful expression on his face. I couldn't see far enough into the future to be sure the Good I did would never become Evil.

But if you have no weapon, accept one even from the hands of your enemy.

Power!

Power.

Power?

If I'd still been connected to Gesar by the narrow thread that maintains contact between a young magician and his mentor, he would long ago have sensed what was happening. Sensed the energy building up inside me, the massive energy I'd gathered for some unknown purpose.

What would he have done?