"I thought Fuaran was here too," I admitted.

Edgar just laughed.

"What are we going to do about the hut?" I asked.

"There, see-you're still thinking like my ally!" Edgar promptly remarked. "I'll put spells of protection and watchfulness on it, what else… The experts will be here in two or three hours. They'll give everything a thorough going-over. Shall we go?"

"Don't you feel like rummaging around a bit yourself?" I asked.

Edgar looked around carefully and said he didn't. That the little house could be hiding lots of nasty surprises left by the cunning witch. And that digging through the belongings of a witch beyond classification was a job that could be dangerous for your health… better leave it to those who had it in their job description.

I waited while Edgar put up several spells of watchfulness around the hut-he didn't need any help. And we set off for the village.

The way back turned out to be a lot longer, as if some elusive magic that had helped us find our way to the witch's house had disappeared. But then Edgar was far more garrulous now-maybe my help had inclined him to talk frankly?

He told me about his training-how he had been taught to use Light Power as well as Dark. And about the other Inquisition trainees-they had included two Ukrainian Light Enchantresses, a Hungarian werewolf, a Dutch magician, and all different sorts of Others. He said the rumors about the Inquisition's special vaults overflowing with magical artifacts were greatly exaggerated: there were plenty of artifacts, but most of them had lost their magical power long ago and were no good for anything any more. And he told me about the parties the trainees had organized in their free time…

It was all very entertaining, but I knew perfectly well where Edgar was headed. So I started recalling the years of my own training with exaggerated enthusiasm, bringing up various amusing incidents from the history of the Night Watch, Semyon's historical tall tales…

Edgar sighed and dropped the subject. In any case, we'd already reached the edge of the forest near the village. Edgar stopped.

"I'll wait for my colleagues," he said. "They should be here any minute now. Even Witezslav postponed his departure and promised to call over."

I wasn't in any great hurry to invite the Inquisitor back to my place. Especially not in the company of a Higher Vampire. I nodded, but I couldn't help asking: "How would you guess everything's going to turn out?"

"I raised the alarm in time, the witch can't get out of this district," Edgar said guardedly. "The trackers move in now, we'll check everything and arrest Arina. Put her on trial. If you're needed, you'll be called as a witness."

I didn't completely share Edgar's optimism, but I nodded. He should know better what the Inquisition was capable of.

"And the werewolves?"

"That's the Night Watch's prerogative, right?" Edgar said, answering a question with a question. "If we come across them, we'll let you know, but we won't make a special point of going chasing through the forest. And what makes you think they're still here anyway? Typical city types, out in the countryside for a spot of hunting. You should keep a closer eye on your clients, Anton."

"Somehow I have the feeling they're still here," I muttered. I really did think so, although I couldn't explain why I was so sure. There was no trace of them in the village… and werewolves rarely spend more than twenty-four hours in their wolves' bodies.

"Check the nearby villages," Edgar advised me. "At least the one the witch used to go to for her groceries. But really it's a waste of time. After an unsuccessful hunt they also just tuck their tails between their legs and go into hiding… I know what their type's like."

I nodded-it was good advice, even though it was pretty basic. I should have gone around the outlying areas right away and not tried to catch the toothless old witch. Some detective I was-I'd gotten too interested in that book, Fuaran… What I ought to do was pay more attention to the routine, boring work. Preventive measures were best, as they used to proclaim so correctly in Soviet times.

"Good luck, Edgar," I said.

"And good luck to you, Anton." Edgar thought for a moment and added, "Yes, by the way. It's a strange situation that's come up-both Watches are mixed up in this business with the witch. You pretty much represent the interests of the Night Watch. But I think that Zabulon will send someone too… before the situation is resolved."

I sighed. Things were going from bad to worse.

"And I think I can guess who he'll send," I said. "Zabulon takes pleasure in causing me petty aggravation."

"You ought to be glad he hasn't set his mind to major aggravation," Edgar said dourly. "But you'll have to put up with the petty stuff. Nobody has the power to change another person's nature. Your friend was a Dark One and he'll die a Dark One."

"Kostya's already dead. And he's not a person, he's a vampire."

"What's the difference?" Edgar asked gloomily. He stuck his hands into the pockets of those expensive trousers that he knew how to wear so well and hunched up his shoulders as he watched the red sun sinking down behind the horizon. "It's all the same in this world, watchman…"

Yes, serving in the Inquisition definitely had a strange effect on Others. It made them take a nihilistic view of life. And mouth empty phrases…

"Good luck," I repeated, and started off down the hill. And Edgar creased his suit mercilessly by lying down on the grass and gazing up at the sky.

Chapter 6

Halfway back to the house I met Ksyusha and Romka. The children were striding briskly along the dusty street, holding hands. I waved to them and Ksyusha immediately shouted out: "Your Nadiushka's gone for a walk to the river with her granny!"

I laughed. Ludmila Ivanovna didn't very often hear herself called "granny"-and like any other fifty-year-old Moscow woman, she hated the very sound of it.

"Okay, I hope they enjoy it," I said.

"Have you found the wolves yet?" Romka shouted.

"No, your wolves have run away," I answered.

Maybe, for strictly psychotherapeutic purposes, I ought to have said that I'd caught the wolves and handed them over to the zoo? But then, the little boy didn't seem to be suffering from any lingering fear after his encounter with the werewolves. Arina had done a good job there.

Greeting the small number of village inhabitants I met along the way, I reached our house. Svetlana had occupied my hammock with a bottle of beer and the book Fuaran-Fantasy or Fact? open at the final pages already.

"Interesting?" I asked.

"Uh huh," Svetlana said with a nod. She was drinking the beer rustic fashion, straight from the bottle. "It's more fun than Tove Jansson's Moominpapps at Sea. Now I understand why they didn't print all the stories about the moomintrolls before. The last ones aren't for children at all. Tove Jansson was obviously suffering from depression when he wrote them."

"An author has the right to get depressed too," I said.

"Not if he writes children's books, he doesn't!" Svetlana exclaimed sternly. "Children's books should be heartwarming. Otherwise it's just like a tractor driver ploughing a field crookedly and then saying, 'Ah, I was feeling depressed, it was more interesting to drive around in circles.' Or a doctor who prescribes a patient a combined laxative and sleeping draft and then explains, 'I'm feeling a bit low. I thought it would cheer me up.'"

She reached out to the table and put down the false Fuaran.

"Why, you're very strict, mother," I said with a shake of my head.

"That's why I'm strict-because I'm a mother," Svetlana replied in the same tone. "I was only joking. The books are still wonderful anyway. Only the last ones are very sad."