The Night Watch Read Online Free

vodka. Not gut-rot, of course, it's Dorokhov, but, you know…"
    "Got to look after my health, anyway," I rapped. The vodka was obviously fake, but right now that was okay by me. With one hand I tore off the cap with the wire ring attached to it, and with the other I took out my cell phone and switched it to repeat dial. The young salesman's eyes popped out of his head; not many people who can afford a cellular would buy a cheap surrogate vodka. I took a swallow as I walked along—the vodka stank like kerosene and tasted even worse; it was obviously boot-leg liquor, bottled in the back of someone's garage—and ran to the underpass.
    "Hello."
    Larissa wasn't there anymore. Pavel's usually on duty at night.
    "This is Anton. It's somewhere near the Cosmos hotel, in the back alleys. I'm in pursuit."
    "You want the team?" The voice was beginning to sound interested.
    "Yes. I've already discharged the amulet."
    "What happened?"
    A streetbum bedded down halfway along the underpass reached out a hand as if he were hoping I'd gave him the bottle I'd just started. I ran on past.
    "Something else came up… Make it quick, Pavel."
    "The guys are already on their way."
    I suddenly felt as if a red-hot wire had been stuck through my jaws. Ah, hell and damnation…
    Page 14
    "Pasha, I can't answer for myself," I said quickly and broke off contact. I pulled up short, facing a police patrol.
    Isn't that always the way? Why do the human guardians of law and order always turn up at the most inappropriate moment?
    "Sergeant Kampinsky," a young policeman announced briskly. "Your papers…" I wondered what they were planning to pin on me. Being drunk in a public place? That was probably it. I put my hand into my pocket and touched the amulet. Just barely warm. But this wouldn't take a lot.
    "I'm not here," I said.
    The four eyes that had been probing me in anticipation of easy pickings went blank as the last spark of reason in them died.
    "You're not here," both of them echoed in chorus.
    There was no time to program them. I blurted out the first thing that came into my head:
    "Buy some vodka and take a break. Immediately. Quick march!"
    The order clearly fell on fertile ground. The policemen linked arms like kids out looking for fun and dashed off along the underpass toward the vending kiosks. I felt vaguely uncomfortable, picturing the consequences of my instructions, but there was no time to put things right. I bounded up out of the underpass, certain I was already too late. But oddly enough, the boy still hadn't got very far. He was just standing there, swaying slightly, about a hundred meters away. That was serious resistance. The Call was so loud now, it seemed strange to me that the occasional passersby walking down the street didn't launch into a dance, that the trolleys didn't swing off the main avenue, forcing their way down along the alley toward their sweet fate…
    The boy glanced around. I thought he looked at me. Then he set off, walking quickly. That was it, he'd broken.
    I followed him, frantically trying to decide what I was going to do. I ought to wait for the team—it would take them only ten minutes to get here, at most.
    But that might not turn out so good—for the boy.
    Pity's a dangerous thing. I gave way to it twice that day. The first time in the metro, when I spent the charge of the amulet in a fruitless attempt to displace the black vortex. And now the second time, when I set out after the boy.
    Many years ago someone told me something that I flatly refused to accept. And I still don't accept it now, despite all the times I've seen it proved right.
    "The common good and the individual good rarely coincide…"
    Page 15
    Sure, I know. It's true.
    But some truths are probably worse than lies.
    I started running toward the Call. What I heard was probably not what the boy did. For him the Call was an alluring, enchanting melody, sapping his will and his strength. For me it was just the opposite, an alarm call stirring my