The Last Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko

name is Anton Gorodetsky – I’m a colleague of yours from Moscow. Gesar asked me to give you his warmest greetings.’
    It all sounded very much like a bad spy story. I pulled a wry face at the thought …
    â€˜Hello, Anton, I’ve been waiting for your call. How was your flight?’
    â€˜Great. I’m staying in a very nice little hotel. It’s a bit dark, but it is right in the centre. I’ve had a stroll round the old town and some of the surroundings.’ I was getting carried away – it seemed highly amusing to speak in Aesopian language. ‘Could we get together?’
    â€˜Of course, Anton, I’ll just come across. Or perhaps you might join me? I have a nice cosy spot here.’
    I raised my eyes and looked at the elderly gentleman sitting by the window. A high forehead, pointed chin, intelligent and ironic eyes. The gentleman put a mobile phone away in his pocket and gestured towards his table.
    Yes, he and Gesar had a lot in common, all right. Not in the way they looked, but in the way they behaved. Thomas Lermont was probably just as good as Gesar at putting his subordinates in their place.
    I picked up my glass and joined the head of Edinburgh’s Night Watch at his table.
    â€˜Call me Foma,’ he said. ‘I’ll enjoy remembering Gesar.’
    â€˜Have you known him for long?’
    â€˜Yes. Gesar has older friends, but I don’t … I’ve heard a lot about you, Anton.’
    I let that pass. There was nothing I could say. I hadn’t heard of the head of the Edinburgh Night Watch before yesterday.
    â€˜You’ve been talking to Bruce. What do you make of our vampire Master?’
    I paused to formulate my impression precisely:
    â€˜Spiteful, unhappy, ironic. But they’re all spiteful, unhappy and ironic. Of course, he didn’t kill Victor.’
    â€˜You put pressure on him,’ Lermont said, not asking but stating.
    â€˜Yes, that was just the way it worked out. He doesn’t know anything.’
    â€˜No need to make excuses,’ said Lermont, taking a sip of his beer. ‘It worked out just fine. His own vanity will make sure that he keeps quiet, and we have the information … All right, what did you see in the Dungeons of Scotland?’
    â€˜Scary stories for children. The show’s closed, but I managed to speak to one of the actors. And take a look at the crime scene.’
    â€˜Well?’ Lermont asked keenly. ‘So what did you find out, Anton?’
    I’d learned a lot from all those years dealing with Gesar. Nowadays I could tell when the boss’s hand was poised to swat down a young magician who had overreached himself.
    â€˜That River of Blood where Victor’s throat was cut …’ I glanced at the impassive Lermont and corrected myself: ‘Where Victor was killed. There’s blood in the water. A lot of human blood. It doesn’t look as if it was a vampire who sucked the boy’s blood out. Someone opened his artery and held him while his blood spilled out into the trench. But we need an analysis of the water. We could bring in the police, they could do a DNA analysis …’
    â€˜Oh, what great faith you have in technology,’ Foma said with a frown. ‘It’s Victor’s blood in the trench. We checked the very first day. Simple similitude magic, no more than fifth-level Power required.’
    But I wasn’t about to give in. Dealing with Gesar had also taught me the art of wriggling out of things.
    â€˜It’s no help to us, but the police ought to be given the idea too. Let them know that the blood was drained into the trench, and that will put an end to any rumours about vampires.’
    â€˜The police here are good,’ Foma said calmly. ‘They checked everything too, and they’re conducting an investigation. But putting an end to stupid rumours is none of their business. Who takes any notice of the yellow