The Twilight Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko Page B

That it was
impossible. No way. And I'd be right, and there wouldn't be any
reason for me to dematerialise. And my human master would have
to accept that. Ask for something else . . . Money, health, incredible
sex appeal, good luck playing the stock market and a keen
nose for danger. In general, the usual human pleasures that a
powerful Other can provide.
    But the renegade Other had panicked. He'd panicked badly
enough to set both Watches and the Inquisition on his 'master' at
the same time. He was backed into a corner, he was afraid of
disappearing into the Twilight forever.
    That meant that he really could turn a human being into an
Other!
    That meant the impossible was possible. The means existed. Not
known to many, but they did exist . . .
    I suddenly felt uneasy.
    The traitor was one of our oldest and most knowledgeable
magicians. Not necessarily a magician beyond classification, not
necessarily someone who held a really important position. But an
old hand with access to the greatest secrets . . .
    For some reason I immediately thought of Semyon.
    Semyon, the Light Magician who sometimes knew things that
required the seal of the Avenging Fire to be applied to his body,
to prevent him talking about them.
    'I'm well into my second century . . .'
    Maybe.
    He knew a lot of things.
    Who else did?
    There was a whole bunch of old, experienced magicians who
didn't work in the Watch. Just got on with living in Moscow,
watched TV, drank beer, went to football matches.
    I didn't know them, that was the problem. Those wise old birds
who had quit working didn't want to get involved in the endless
war between the Watches.
    And who could I turn to for Advice? Who could I expound
my terrifying conjectures to? Gesar? Olga? Potentially they were
on the suspect list themselves.
    No, I didn't believe they could have blundered. After the rough
deal she'd had from life, Olga – not to mention the arch-cunning
Gesar – would never make a gaffe like that, they wouldn't make
impossible promises to a human being. And Semyon couldn't do
it either. Semyon was wise, in the primordial, folk meaning of the
word. I couldn't believe he would slip up like this . . .
    That meant it was another of our senior colleagues who had
blundered.
    And anyway, how would I look putting forward an accusation
like that? 'I think the guilty party is one of us. A Light One. Most
likely Semyon. Or Olga. Or even you, Gesar . . .'
    How could I carry on going to work after that? How would
I be able to look my colleagues in the face?
    No, I couldn't come out with suspicions like that. I had to
know for sure.
    Somehow it felt awkward to call the waitress over. I walked to
the counter and asked her to make me a fresh cup of coffee. Then
I leaned against the railings and looked down.
    Below me I spotted my acquaintance from the night before.
The guitarist, collector of amusing T-shirts and happy owner of a
large English toilet, was standing beside a small open pool full of
live lobsters. Las's face reflected the intense workings of his thought.
Finally he laughed and pushed his trolley towards the checkout.
    I pricked up my ears.
    Las unhurriedly set out his modest purchases on the moving
belt, with a bottle of Czech absinthe towering over everything
else. As he was paying, he said:
    'You know, that pool of lobsters you have over there . . .'
    The girl at the checkout smiled, every element of her posture
confirming that there was a pool and there were live lobsters
paddling in it, and a couple of arthropods would go remarkably
well with absinthe, kefir and frozen pelmeni.
    'Well,' Las continued imperturbably, 'I just saw one lobster climb
on another's back, crawl out onto the edge and hide under those
fridges over there.'
    The girl started blinking rapidly. A minute later two security
men and a sturdy female cleaner appeared at the checkout. After
listening to the terrible tale of the escape, they rushed over to the
fridges.
    Las finished paying, glancing back into the hall