Kostya chortled again.

"There's nothing funny about it," Edgar said angrily. "And nothing terrible either. It's the least harmful way of manipulating the human psyche. Half the stories about how someone gave Yakubovich a lift in his car or let Gorbachev through to the front of the line are the result of suggestions just like this."

"That's not what I was laughing at," Kostya explained. "I imagined you in a white army officer's uniform… chief. You look impressive."

"Go on, laugh…" said Edgar, pouring himself some coffee. "How's the compass doing?"

I put the note on the table without speaking. A Twilight image appeared in the air above it-the round casing of a compass, a lazily spinning pointer.

I poured myself some tea and took a sip. It tasted good. Brewed to perfection, just as it should be for "his honor."

"He's on the train, the scum…" Edgar sighed. "Gentlemen, I'm not going to conceal the alternatives from you. Either we catch the perpetrator, or the train will be destroyed. Together with all the passengers."

"How?" Kostya asked laconically.

"There are various possibilities. A gas main explodes beside the train, a fighter plane accidentally launches an air-to-ground missile… if absolutely necessary, the rocket will have a nuclear warhead."

"Edgar!" I really wanted to believe he was over-dramatizing the situation. "There are at least five hundred passengers on this train!"

"Rather more than that," the Inquisitor corrected me.

"We can't do that."

"We can't let the book go. We can't allow an unprincipled Other to create his own private guard and start restyling the world to suit himself."

"But we don't know what he wants."

"We know he killed an Inquisitor without hesitation. We know he is very powerful and is pursuing some goal unknown to us. What's he after in Central Asia, Gorodetsky?"

I shrugged.

"There are several ancient centers of power there," Edgar muttered. "A certain number of artifacts that disappeared without trace, a certain number of regions with weak political control… And what else?"

"A billion Chinese," Kostya suddenly put in.

The Dark Ones stared at each other.

"You're out of your mind…" Edgar said hesitantly.

"More than a billion," Kostya said derisively. "What if he's planning to make a dash through Kazakhstan to China? Now that would be an army! A billion Others! And then there's India…"

"Don't be crazy," Edgar said dismissively. "Not even an idiot would try that. Where are we going to get Power from, when a third of the population is turned into Others?"

"But maybe he is an idiot?" Kostya persisted.

"That's why we're prepared to take extreme measures," Edgar snapped.

He was being serious. Without the slightest doubt about whether we really could kill these spellbound conductors, chubby-cheeked businessmen, and poor people traveling in the cars with open seating. If we had to, we had to. Farmers who destroyed animals with foot-and-mouth disease suffered too.

I didn't feel like drinking tea any more. I got up and walked out of the compartment. Edgar watched me go with an understanding, but by no means sympathetic, glance.

The car was settling down as it prepared for sleep. The doors of some compartments were still open. There were people still loitering in the corridor, waiting for the washroom to be free. I heard glasses clinking somewhere, but most of the passengers were too exhausted after Moscow.

I thought languidly that what the laws of melodrama required now was for little children with the innocent faces of angels to come dashing along the corridor-just to drive home the true monstrosity of Edgar's plan…

There weren't any little children. Instead a fat man in faded tracksuit bottoms and a baggy T-shirt stuck his face out of one of the compartments. A red, steaming face that was already comfortably bloated by strong drink. The man looked listlessly straight through me, hiccupped, and disappeared again.

My hands automatically reached for my disk player. I stuck the little headphones in my ears, put in a disk at random and pressed my face against the window. I see nothing, I hear nothing. And obviously I'm not going to say anything.

I heard a gentle, lyrical melody, and a voice started singing delicately:

You'll have no time to dash for the bushes

When the sawn-off mows you down

There is no beauty more beautiful

Than the visions of morphine withdrawal…

Yes, it was Las, my acquaintance from the Assol complex. The disc he'd given me as a present. I laughed and turned the volume up. It was just what I needed right then.

The devil-kids will return to the stars,

And they'll smelt our blood into iron,

There is no beauty more beautiful

Than the visions of morphine withdrawal…

Godammit!… It was more punk than any of the punks. Not even Shnur and his jolly obscenities… A hand slapped me on the shoulder.

"Edgar, everyone has his own way of relaxing," I muttered. Someone poked me lightly under the ribs. I turned around. And froze. There, standing in front of me, was Las. Smiling happily, jigging in time to the music-I must have turned the volume up too high.

"Gee, but that's great!" he exclaimed enthusiastically the moment I pulled out the earphones. "You're walking through the car, not bothering anyone, and there's someone listening to your songs! What are you doing here, Anton?"

"Traveling…" It was the only word I could get out as I switched off the player.

"Oh, really?" Las exclaimed in delight. "I'd never have guessed! Where are you traveling to?"

"Alma-Ata."

"You ought to call it 'Almaty!'" Las admonished me. "Okay, let's continue the conversation. Why aren't you flying?"

"Why aren't you?" I asked, finally realizing that all this was like an interrogation.

"Because I'm aerophobic," Las said proudly. "Well, if I really have to, a quart of whisky gives me some faith in the laws of aerodynamics. But that's for emergencies only, for getting to Japan, or the States… the trains don't go there, you know."

"You traveling on business?"

"On vacation," Las said with a grin. "Couldn't go to Turkey or the Canaries, now, could I? Are you on a business trip?"

"Uh huh." I nodded. "I'm planning to start selling kumis and shubat in Moscow."

"What's shubat?" Las enquired.

"You know… kefir made from camel's milk."

"Neat," Las said approvingly. "You traveling alone?"

"With friends."

"Let's go to my place. The compartment's empty. I haven't got any shubat, but I can offer you kumis."

Was it a trap?

I looked at Las through the Twilight. Stared as hard as I could.

Not the slightest indication of an Other.

He was either a human being… or an Other of absolutely unimaginable power. Capable of disguising himself at every level of the Twilight.

Or could this be a stroke of luck? Was this really him, standing there in front of me, the mysterious thief of the Fuaran?

"Okay, I'll just go and get something," I said and smiled.

"I've got everything we need!" Las protested. "Bring your friends along too. I'm in the next car down, compartment two."

"They've already gone to bed," I lied clumsily. "Hang on, just a moment…"

It was a good thing Las was standing on one side and couldn't see who was in the compartment. I opened the door slightly and slipped inside-no doubt giving Las the idea that there was a half-naked girl in the compartment.

"What's happened?" Edgar asked, looking at me intently.

"There's a guy from Assol here on the train," I said quickly. "You remember, the musician, we had him under suspicion, but he didn't seem like an Other… He's inviting us to his compartment for a drink."

An excited expression appeared on Edgar's face. Kostya even jumped to his feet and exclaimed: "Let's take him now. While he's here…"