Chapter 17 Chapter 3

The one thing that cannot be taken away from the Darkbringer - that is the quality of life.Anton had no doubts about it.Just look at Edgar.He gorged himself on a very tasty pig's trotter, which a dietitian would probably disapprove of, and he added a generous handful of wasabi to it.This mustard is a little sweet for Russian tastes, but it is sharp and strong, and there is quite a lot of good beer. This always surprised Anton.Even his vampire neighbor, who used to be very good friends with him, sometimes seems more lively and optimistic than Lightbringer.Bright high-level magicians, of course, refer to those whose power is comparable to that of Anton, "I haven't played to my heart's content as a human being."

It's a little disconcerting - the Darkbringers' love of life generally only concerns themselves. Anton held up a glass of heavy "Boutwazel" white beer and muttered: "Dry." Fortunately, there is no custom of clinking glasses in the Czech Republic, and Anton is not happy to clink glasses with the Dark Messenger. "Dry it." Edgar responded, drank half a glass of beer in two very comfortable gulps, sucked up the foam, and said, "Okay." "Okay." Anton agreed, though he was still nervous.No, of course there is nothing to blame in this one beer-drinking process.The rules of the Night's Watch patrol do not prohibit contact with the Darkbringer, on the contrary - such contact is encouraged if the team is sure of their safety.Maybe they can understand something because of this, who knows, the darkness is open to jokes, and maybe this kind of contact can affect the dark messenger.Of course they won't look for the light... But it would be nice to stop their next activities.Anton said unexpectedly: "It is very pleasant even if we have reasons to agree with each other on some things."

"Yes." Edgar said as kindly and politely as he could, lest the Lightbringer get angry at imaginary grievances or fabricated suspicions. “Czech beer served in Moscow and Czech beer served in Prague—these are two very different things.” Gorodecki nodded. "Yeah. Especially if you're comparing bottled beer. Bottled Czech beer—the zombies of real beer in little coffins." Edgar sneered, approving the metaphor.He pointed out: "For some reason elsewhere in Eastern Europe, the talents of brewers are at rest." "Even in Estonia?" Anton asked. Edgar shrugged regretfully.These Lightbringers never miss an opportunity to be sarcastic.

"Our beer is good. But—not great. But so is the Russian one." Anton frowned, as if recalling the taste of domestic beer, but what he said was something else entirely: "I went to Hungary this summer and drank the Hungarian 'Drecher' beer... pretty much the only variety they have." "how?" "I'd rather have a sour 'Baltic' beer." Edgar smiled coldly.He concentrated his thoughts a bit, but still couldn't think of the only type of Hungarian beer.However, since Anton reacted to it in this way, it was best not to think about it.The interlocutor was quite adept at beer.The Lightbringer still likes physical gratification on the whole - it has to be admitted.

"And these...brave soldiers...drink the hogwash of their hometown," Anton nodded in the direction of the Americans, "Peacekeepers...Greek combat experts..." The "special pork liver" that Edgar and Anton wanted had been eaten long ago, and they drank a lot of beer, so both sides' eyes glowed, their voices were raised, and they became more casual. "Why Grinker?" Edgar asked in surprise, "It's not a German, it's an American." Anton explained patiently like a child: "BBC American Fighter is not that good. Have you ever heard the name of the short but nice BBC America?"

"never heard of that." "Okay. Let's call Clinton the Fighter. The Germans at least know it's the same fighter pilots against them, and these American GIs dropped bombs on villages where all defenses were WWII anti-aircraft guns . . . They are rewarded for this. Ask—is there anything sacred in their lives? They still think they liberated Prague in four or five years." "Sacred things?" Edgar sneered. "What do they want sacred things for? They are fighters." "You know, the other, I think even a soldier should be a human first, and there must be something sacred in the human soul."

"You have to have a soul first, and then something divine. Good! Let's ask now, then!" Just then a flushed pilot from the other side of the ocean squeezed past the small table, the collar pins and other gold and silver trim on his uniform gleaming, rosy, Texan pride.Most likely the pilot who just came out of the toilet. "Excuse me, officer! May I ask a question?" Edgar asked him in perfect English. "Is there anything sacred in your life? Something precious?" The American stands up, as if tripping over something.Instinct told him that the military of the best nation on earth had an obligation to maintain their credibility and give well-deserved answers.There was an expression of painful mental struggle on his face, and suddenly—a spark!It dawned on him.The American understood that there was something sacred to him, and he smiled haughtily.

"Holy stuff? Of course there is! 'Chicago Bulls'..." Even the magician couldn't figure out whether he was joking or serious. "It's like playing chess, understand?" Edgar explained. "Command simply moves an inhuman piece on the board—us." The waiter's face was elongated in proportion to the row of beer bottles Anton and Edgar had finished drinking.The waiters had delivered to their tables so many large-capacity glasses, enough to feed the entire American flight regiment plus the "Chicago Bulls."And it was obvious that the two Russians were still sitting there, sitting there, even though it was getting more and more difficult to spin their tongues.

"Take us," Edgar said, "you'll be the defenders in the process. I'm the—the accusers. But we're not important anyway. We're still just pawns on the chessboard. If need be — just throw us to hell. If need be — put aside and wait for a good time. If you will — trade us. You know, in essence, what is the process? It’s a dance around vulgar exchange. You Igor for our Alyssa. That's it. Like people who are against each other, push and be swept off the chessboard. For a noble purpose that is beyond our reach." "You're not right," Anton threatened him sternly with his fingers, "Gesar didn't expect Igor to meet Alyssa. This is Zaburon's conspiracy!"

"Where did you get this confidence?" Edgar asked sarcastically, "You are so powerful that you can read Gesar's mind like an open book? As far as I know, the leaders of the Lightbringer also I don't like to let the team members know the in-depth plan. This is the upper-level policy of the upper-level power!" He solemnly said loudly in a lecture tone. Anton was tempted to object, but unfortunately he didn't have any convincing arguments. "Or let's just say the last contact at Moscow State University. Zaburon used you - I'm sorry, this may sound uncomfortable to you, but just opening this... means that Zaburon used you .Zawulong! Your sworn enemy!"

"He's not using me," Anton hesitated, but went on. "He's trying to use me, and I'm trying to take advantage of the situation to our advantage. You know—this is war." "Assumption, it's just an attempt," Edgar appreciated his statement, but said with some contempt, "assumption... and Gesar did nothing to protect you. Why would he take risks for pawns? It's not It’s cost-effective, and it doesn’t make sense.” "You have a better attitude towards your own pawns," Anton retorted gloomily. "You treat the lower-level others—vampires, shapeshifters—even as meat on the muzzle. There is no equality at all." "They're just meat on the gun, Anton. Cheaper and less valuable than us magicians. And on the whole—our attempts and words are meaningless. We're puppets. Puppets at best, And trying to be a puppeteer - is a very bleak prospect, because it requires the same ability as Gesar and Zaburon, and such ability is very rare. Besides - the position at the game table has been No player will give up space to a piece—not even to queens and kings." Anton gloomily drank the beer in the glass and gently placed the glass on the tray with the restaurant logo. He was far from the young wizard who for the first time in his life followed a female vampire poacher out into the fields, though not much time had passed.Since then, he has had too many opportunities to prove how much darkness there is in the world.There's even something he likes about Edgar the Dark Magician's negative views - he says we're grits on the millstones chosen by grown men anyway, so the best way to go is - drink beer, don't squeak Call.Anton thought countless times that the Darkbringer, in its apparent simplicity, is sometimes more human than the Lightbringer, a fighter for a noble ideal. "You're still wrong, Edgar," he said finally. "There is a fundamental difference between us. We live for others. We serve others, not rule over them." "That's what all human leaders say," Edgar said, ready to release the mousetrap. "The party—is the public servant of the people. Do you remember?" "But we are different from humans," Anton said, looking into Edgar's eyes, "to cease existence. Do you understand? The Lightbringer cannot walk the path of evil. If he understands that he has enlarged the number of evils in the world, he It will go to the Twilight. Disappear. This has happened more than once, whenever the Lightbringer makes a mistake or succumbs to the darkness even a little." Edgar began to snicker slightly. "Anton...you gave the answer yourself. 'If he understands...' And what if he doesn't? Remember the case of the psychosis? Twelve years ago, it seemed to be..." Anton remembered.He hadn't been developed at the time, but every patrol member, every lightbringer knew this unheard of event. An ordinary Lightbringer who can heal diseases and has a strong ability to predict. He lives in the outskirts of Moscow. He is not very active in participating in the night watch patrol team, but he is included in the active reserve force.He is a doctor and uses his magic in practice.The patients liked him very much - because he really did miracles... But he also killed many of his young female patients.Not using any magic, but directly poisoning to death.Sometimes killed with acupuncture - he knew all about the energy points on the human body. A patrol of the Night's Watch caught him almost by accident.One analyst was interested in the sudden rise in the death rate among young people in small towns outside Moscow, especially because most of the victims were pregnant, which raised alarms.A staggering number of abandoned babies, abortions, and stillbirths were discovered.Everyone suspected dark emissaries, vampires and shapeshifters, demons, witches...everything was checked. Later, Gesar personally intervened in this matter, and the murderer was caught.The murderer is a light magician. This burly and charming man who could heal had foreseen the future all too clearly.Sometimes with a female patient he saw the future of her unborn child--the child who would almost grow into a killer, a fanatic, a criminal, and sometimes he saw the female patient herself committing some terrible crime Or lead to the deaths of many people by accident.So he decided to fight it - by all means. The healer explained emotionally in court that the magic of light conferred nothing—because at the same time darkness was given the right to act in response, so that the amount of evil in the world would not decrease.And he's just "uprooting the weeds."He firmly believes that he brings far more good to the world than evil.This belief is very effective in preventing him from falling into the Twilight Plane. In the end Gesar had to terminate his existence himself. "It's a psychopath," Anton explained, "literally a psychopath. A classic thought disorder . . . unfortunately, it happens from time to time." "Like the weapon bearer, Joan of Arc, the Marquis Curie de Rey," Edgar replied defensively, "also the Lightbringer, isn't he? To obtain in their bodies the elixir of youth, to conquer death and make all mankind happy." "Edgar, no one can guarantee not to go crazy, even others. But if we take the most common witch..." Anton said excitedly. "I'm not arguing with you," Edgar spread his hands in compromise, "but what we're talking about isn't an extreme situation! It's just that it's possible, and the defense mechanism you can boast will cease to exist... we just Call it conscience, it can be rejected. And now you think about it - what if Anton Gorodecki is on one side of the scale and tens of millions of human lives are on the other side?" "He doesn't need to lie to me," Anton said firmly. "There's no reason. If that happens, I'm ready to sacrifice myself. And any of us is ready!" "Then if it is to keep the enemy from knowing, to make you behave more naturally, so that you will not be sad for no reason...can you not tell you anything?...Know how to maintain the peace of the soul - this is also Gesar's Obligation." Edgar sneered in satisfaction. Satisfied, he held up the next glass of beer, and sucked the foam out of the beer with a few chugs. "You are—Darkbringer," said Anton. "You see only evil, treachery, and meanness in everything." "I just don't turn a blind eye to them," retorted Edgar, "so I don't trust Zaburon. Almost as much as I don't trust Gesar. I might even trust you more—you too, by accident Aren't the black pawns afraid of the white pawns if I have an unfortunate pawn of a different color than mine? No. Not to mention if the pawns support each other and drink beer together in harmony." "Do you know?" Anton asked slightly surprised, "I don't understand why you live with such a view of the world so cleverly? If I were me, I would immediately run to hang myself." "So you have nothing to refute?" Anton also took a sip of beer.The surprising thing about Czech draft beer is that it leaves neither a heavy feeling on the body nor the mind... or seems to do so, even when drunk in considerable quantities. "There's nothing to disprove," Anton admitted, "and indeed now—nothing. But I believe, you're wrong. It's hard to argue with a blind man about the colors of the rainbow. You lack... I don't know, what exactly you lack .but something very important without which you are hopelessly blind." "Why is it hopeless?" Edgar was a little annoyed. "It's better to say that you Lightbringers are hopeless. You are bound by your own ethical dogma, and those who have reached an advanced stage of development are like Greg Shel, for example—holds you." "I'll try to answer you," Anton said, "but not now. We'll meet again." "You avoid answering?" Edgar sneered. "No. It's just that we decided not to talk about work, didn't we?" Edgar fell silent.Indeed, the Lightbringer changed him, albeit only a little, but changed!Why should he join in the pointless debate?As the Sun Watchers used to say, a white dog cannot be painted black. "Yes," he agreed, "my fault, I admit it. It's just..." "It's just hard not to agree with something," Anton nodded, "I understand. It's not a fault...it's fate." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.Edgar found out mechanically that they were very cheap cigarettes, the "21st Century" brand produced in Russia.As for?A dark mage of his class allows himself any pleasure in life.And Anton still smokes domestic cigarettes... Did he walk into this cozy but inexpensive little restaurant by chance? "Can you tell me where you live?" he asked. "The 'Kafka' hotel," answered Anton, "at Zishkov on Kerzementsov Street." Everything is right, cheap and no famous hotel.Edgar nodded, watching how Lightbringer lit his cigarette.Not very flexible, like he just started smoking a while ago or very rarely. "And you're at the 'Hilton'," Anton said suddenly, "isn't it? You're still at the 'Le Gisson-CAC', and that's where it should be at worst." "Are you following me?" Edgar involuntarily became alert. "Oh no. It's just that all the dark emissaries are after magnificent titles and expensive places. You can imagine it." "So what?" Edgar said defiantly. "Then you are a supporter of asceticism and a beggar's way of life?" Anton sneered at the restaurant, at the pig's knuckles that had been cut with a knife and almost wiped out on the table, and how many glasses of beer... It seemed that there was no need to answer, but he still answered: "Of course not, I don't argue with you. But the number of hotel rooms and servants is not the main thing. Like the prices on the menu. I could also stay at the 'Hilton' and go to the most expensive tavern in Prague for a beer. Just Why? Then you—why come here? Isn't it the most arrogant place?" "It's comfortable here," Edgar admitted, "and the food is delicious." "That's what it's about." Edgar exclaimed, under the sudden impulse of some drink: "By the way! I seem to understand! What is the difference between us. You try to limit your natural needs, maybe out of modesty... and we are more profligate... squandering power, money, human and material resources..." "People are not resources!" Anton's eyes suddenly became sharp and fierce, "Do you understand? They are not resources!" Always like this...once mutual contact is made...Edgar sighs.Confused them lightbringers.Oops confused... "Okay. Let's stop talking and get to the bottom of it," he said after finishing his beer. "There's an American pilot over there...and a Lightbringer...by the way, a very stupid Sloppy man, he didn't even see me. Let's argue, does he treat people like a resource? Or like a stupid unreasonable low-level race, which can be cultivated and taught. That is, we treat them Same." "It's our misfortune that we are—products of human society," said Anton sullenly, "with all the flaws of a human being, even the Lightbringers. If they don't live for hundreds of years, they will always have The formulas and myths of one's own country, Russia's, America's or Burkina Faso's — it makes no difference. What's wrong? Why is Burkina Faso always in my head?" "One of these fools, Brother Leggin, is from Burkina Faso," Edgar reminded him, "and that's a ridiculous name." "Brother Legin..." Anton nodded, "Then why are you being smart about them? Someone from the Moscow Sun Watch patrol team recruited them! He promised to help activate Kokchi Favnir... why?" "I don't mean the kind of information that should be officially announced!" Edgar quickly replied, "These Lightbringers will catch that kind of formal destruction..." "Hey, don't assert, it's not necessary!" Anton waved his hand, "I'm not a child. But we—surely don't need the terrifying power of the crazy dark magician." "We don't need either," Edgar declared. "You see, this is war. War in its entirety. It's the Apocalypse." "Then Brother Leggin lied," Anton agreed. "They were persuaded to attack the Berne branch, steal the 'Spirit Claw', and fly to Moscow...but why? To feed the mirror?" He understood quickly—thought Edgar's head.But he shook his head, and kept looking for a high-sounding rebuttal: "What a mess! The 'Spirit Claw' has been stolen, and when the four surviving fighters are on their way to Moscow, we will know who Vidari Rogoza is." "Yes!" Anton exclaimed suddenly, "you are right, Dark Emissary! The appearance of the mirror cannot be foreseen, it is naturally produced by the twilight world. And the Inquisition publicly recognized the small sect in the two weeks after the document was discovered. At that time, there was no Rogoza in nature... To be more precise, there was not him, but an ordinary person who later changed his appearance in the Twilight..." Edgar bit his lip.Things acted as if he had hinted at something to the Lightbringer... exchanging information or just leading to the right train of thought.Oh, not good...but what's wrong?Nor is he averse to figuring out the situation, which is just as crucial to him.Edgar spoke his mind: "But someone wants to drive the Inquisition out of Berne?" "Or want to move it to Prague..." They rested their eyes on each other thoughtfully - the two magicians - the Lightbringer and the Darkbringer were equally interested in figuring out what was going on.The waiter wanted to come over, but seeing that the beer was not finished, he went to serve the Americans. "It can be used as a solution," Edgar agreed, "but the act of stealing the 'Spirit Claw' itself is unnecessary! There is no way to blame us for such a mess!" "But maybe," said Anton suddenly, "you need to interrupt some kind of operation...our operation? And Kokchi Favnir is perfectly capable of doing it?" Edgar cursed himself for being talkative.The curse is of course a symbolic curse.No dark magician would wear a triangular magician's high hat on his head to reveal his identity. "Nonsense, what action..." he said.Then he immediately realized that he had unexpectedly started to protect the Night's Watch patrol, which actually confirmed Anton's speculation. "Thank you, the other." The Messenger of Light said sincerely and touchingly. Edgar kept slapping himself in the face while holding the hand that was extended.He dropped a five-hundred-crown note on the table and hurried out. Anton smiled behind him.It's cool to scare the dark magician, and he's one of the top ten magicians in the Sun Watchers patrol team.The chubby inspector evidently thought he had revealed a terrible secret to him... though he revealed nothing, and Anton made a foolish statement, even if it happened to be right—Anton Didn't know any reason either... He glanced sideways at the waiter, as if making a gesture of writing with his fingers on his palm.He was given the invoice a minute later. Including the payable tip, the total cost was 1,020 crowns. Hey, these dark emissaries are really... Although it is a small amount of money, it is still saved.And after all the taunting and secret finger counting directed at the less-than-rich Night's Watch... After paying the bill, Anton stood up and walked out of the "Black Hawk" beer hall.The beer still worked—it was relaxing, comforting, and worrying at the same time.He barely made it to the place where he had been appointed to meet with the staff of the European Chamber of the Inquisition: the old local square. There are always many tourists here. Especially when the ancient astronomical clock on the clock tower strikes every hour.Rows of small windows opened, and figures of saints appeared inside, moving forward, as if observing the square, and then reversing, returning to the interior of the machine.It is the tireless patrol of the old local square... Anton stood among the tourists, his fingers were freezing cold even though his hands were in his pockets, for some reason he always disliked wearing gloves.Surrounded by the slight hum of cameras, the sound of camera shutters, and the crowd of people speaking different languages ​​exchanging their impressions of the must-see places.He even thought he heard the squeak of a human brain ticking off a check mark on a Prague tourist map: "Visiting the Belfry—done." Why does he walk involuntarily among this group of impersonal people, and write down the tourist spots in his mind like them? Thinking inertia?Lazy?Or drifting with the tide irresistibly?For example, the Dark Messenger probably wouldn't walk among ordinary people... "No, I don't understand you," said someone a step or two away, "I'm on vacation, do you hear that? Can't you decide for yourself?" Anton glanced sideways at the compatriot.This did not give him particular excitement.The fellow was strong, with broad shoulders, and his whole body was shining with gold.He has learned to wear expensive suits, but how to tie a Hermès tie - he has not yet learned.No, of course not, it is legalized according to the "collective farm" style, which is embarrassing to look at.A crumpled scarf peeked out from under the open crimson cashmere coat. The Russian upstart caught his eye, frowned, hid his phone, and stared at the clock again.Anton looked away. The third generation, as analysts say, will wait until the third generation.The grandson of the nouveau riche who managed to survive deftly would be a respectable man.Just need to wait.Unlike ordinary people, others can wait from generation to generation.Their work has been passed on from century to century... at least that of the Lightbringers. The Darkbringer can easily bring about the necessary changes in people's consciousness.The dark path is always shorter than the light path.Shorter, easier and more comfortable. "Anton Gorodecki," said someone behind him.Russian is obviously not a native language for the speaker, but he is fluent in Russian. As for the tone of voice, it was impossible to confuse it with anyone.It was the relieved, slightly lonely tone of an Inquisitor. Anton turned around, nodded, and stretched out his hand. The Inquisitor appeared to be a Czech, a tall man of indeterminate age.He's wearing a gray trench coat and a wool beret with a funny hunting horn shaped shotgun and a deer's head hair pin pinned to it.For some reason it was easy to spot him in the park in Autumn in the Dusk.He walked slowly along the thick brown leaves, preoccupied and sad like a spy in deep thought. "Videslav," said the Inquisitor introducing himself, "Videslav Grubin. Let us go." They walked out of the crowd with ease—someone somehow got out of the way before the Inquisitor, even though he was not exercising the psychic powers of the Other.They wandered in the narrow alleys, gradually moving away from the tourists who came here for the festival. "Did it go well when you came, Anton?" Videslav asked with interest. "Have you had lunch and rested for a while?" "Thanks, everything is fine." The politeness on the part of the Inquisition judges, though formal, was unexpected and comforting. "You need some kind of help with the branch?" Anton shook his head. He was sure that Videslav, who was walking a little ahead, could feel his movements. "That's fine," said the Inquisitor, still cold but sincere, "so much work... The move of the European branch to Prague was a big event for us. We're proud... very proud. But our division The department is small, but the work is many." "As far as I know, the intervention of the Inquisition is not often required in Prague?" asked Anton. "Yes. Our patrols are law-abiding. They don't often violate the peace." All right, Anton thought.The cases of the Inquisition were always those disputes between the patrols, and the crimes of individual others were settled by the patrols themselves.The not-so-normal peaceful atmosphere of European countries had an effect on Prague's dark emissaries.But they did learn to respect the regulations within their purview. Or even less obvious violations of regulations. "Court deliberations on the issue of Igor Deplov, Second Class Magician, staff member of the Night's Watch Patrol will begin tomorrow night," Videslav said.Anton noticed that he addressed Igor by his full title and with all due status, and that deliberation "began," not "held."That is to say, the Inquisition has not reached any conclusions yet, and is preparing for a long investigation... "Do you wish to see him?" "Yes, of course," Anton nodded, "I have some letters from my companions and some small gifts for him." Anton fell silent—sadly about the letter and the little present.As if what they brought was really a prison visit item, or something brought to the bedside of a critically ill patient... "I have a car," said the Inquisition judge, "and we can go to your hotel to pick up what was handed over, and then go to the arrested person." "Igor...is he somewhere in the Inquisition?" "No, why?" Videslav asked in reply.He parked the car next to the imported car on the side of the road. "The dark messenger who was arrested may be placed under our surveillance. But your team members are arranged in ordinary hotels. He is required to sign a guarantee not to leave the residential area." Anton nodded, admitting the absurdity of his question.Indeed, why throw the Magician of Light into prison? "I'm sorry, Videslav..." he said, "I understand that this doesn't make any sense in our present work, but I'd like to know... just to know, without any intention... maybe, can I feel You, but it seems a bit off-putting..." "Want to know what I used to do?" asked Videslav. "right." The judge of the Inquisition took out the key, clicked the small button on the watch pendant, cut off the signaling system, and closed the car door. "I'm a vampire. Or rather, I was a vampire." "A high-level vampire?" Anton asked for some reason. "yes." Anton sat in the front seat and put on his seat belt.The vampire Videslav started the motor, but in no hurry to start the car, he wanted the engine to warm up. "Sorry, it's really an idiot's question." Anton admitted. "A question of absolute idiocy, of course," said the Inquisitor without too much sympathy. "As far as I know, Anton, you are very young..." He steered the car smoothly and carefully out of the street.He didn't even ask which hotel Anton was staying at—it wasn't necessary.He said: "You probably have some misconceptions about what an Inquisition is and what kind of Others work there. Well... let me explain to you what you need to know. The Inquisition is not what many ordinary members of the Patrol Team think The third power of the world, we also do not become a special class of others that are not of darkness or light, we are the judges of the Inquisition. The dark and the light chosen for various reasons, we understand The cruel necessity of a temporary truce between the peace treaty and the patrols. Yes, we have information about your patrols... except perhaps the greatest magician. Believe me, Anton Gorodetsky, we There's no fun in knowledge. We have to defend the Patrol. Understand?" "I'm trying to understand," Anton said. "I am—a vampire," whispered Vijslav, "the most authentic high vampire, who murdered young girls more than once... This is the most energetically correct..." "Don't give me a lesson in vampire physiology," Anton said. "Believe me, it makes me uncomfortable." Videslav nodded, watching the road intently.It suddenly occurred to Anton that the car was new and well maintained, and the Inquisitor obviously loved it and was proud of it... "Well, I have a soul, or even a life, in the sense that the Lightbringers understand it," Vijslav said. "The cause of the Light, I think, is childish, threatening, and sometimes even sinful." Doctrine. The cause of the dark realm, on the contrary, I like. But..." He stopped suddenly, as if constructing some complex thought structure. "But I am well aware of the inevitability of the present situation. That is why I serve the Inquisition. Therefore I punish those who break the peace. Please note, Anton. Not those who are wrong—for there are at least two truths. No. Not those who stand out, there are times when the light gains more power, and there are times when the dark wins. The Inquisition just protects the peace." “我明白，”安东说，“这不言而喻。但是我总是想知道，宗教法庭支持这一方或那一方的情形可不可能出现？不是以和约字面意义为基础，而是根据事实真相……” “事实真相至少有两种，”宗教法庭法官重复道，“情形是……” 他沉思了片刻。 “我还没有遇见过身为光明使者的宗教法庭法官支持自己巡查队的情况，”安东强调，“但是难道黑暗使者宗教法庭的法官情形也是如此吗？不管怎么说，你们有自己的力量，自己的秘密知识。我暂且不去讲存积在储存处所没收的生物赝象。” “一切都有可能，”吸血鬼突然说，“是的……我假设。如果开始一场黑暗与光明的公开之战，而不仅仅是巡查队之间的交锋，而是黑暗与光明的直接战争，如果每一个他者站在自己的阵线……那时还需要什么宗教法庭吗？那时我们也成了仅仅是他者……” 他点头补充道： “不过到那时宗教法庭多半已经死亡了。要想办法及时防止这种情形的出现。我们他者可是为数不多啊。几个曾经穿着宗教法庭法官斗篷的幸存的他者的行为，什么也改变不了。” “我明白，是什么迫使守夜人巡查队遵守和约，”安东说，“那就是我们替别人担心。我知道，是什么驱使守日人前进——那就是担心自己。但是是什么迫使你们，宗教法庭法官走这条反对本质之路呢？” 维杰斯拉夫转过头来，悄声说道： “惟有担心支撑着你们，安东·戈罗杰茨基。替自己还是替他人——这不重要。而支撑我们的是——恐惧。所以我们遵守和约。你可以对调查的结果放心——不会做任何手脚。如果你的同行没有违反和约，他会活着，健健康康地离开布拉格。” 傍晚时分埃德加尔稍微消除了几分沮丧。或许是昂贵餐馆那配有捷克珍藏啤酒的美妙晚餐起了作用（当然，不是法国的，也不是西班牙的，但相当不错）。但也可能是圣诞前夕布拉格本身的气氛起了平静安抚的作用。埃德加尔自然不信仰上帝——他者，更何况是黑暗使者当中少有人接受这种偏见。但圣诞节本身他认为很可爱，令人愉快，而且总是尽力好好庆祝它。 也许这是童年回忆的影响？当时他还是一个叫埃德加尔的普通农家孩子，在村里帮助父亲，在教堂如饥似渴地等待着每一个节日到来。二十至三十年代不请自来地出现在他脑海里，那时他已经成为他者，但还未在巡查队积极工作。他住在塔林，有一份不错的法律业务，优秀的妻子和四个孩子……父母早已过世，他埋葬了妻子，留下的两个儿子，一个住在加拿大，而另一个住在爱沙尼亚的派尔努，他们已经四十年没见面了。老人们很难相信这位显得很年轻的健壮男人是他们出生于十九世纪末的父亲…… 是啊，也许，回忆，埃德加尔一边想，一边点着了烟。在普通的人类生活中还是有许多美好的东西。也许，重新做回人玩一把？结婚，成家……向巡查队请三十年假…… 他低头一笑。这一切都是空虚的。不可能两次跨入同一条河。他已经作为人生活过，作为普通的他者生活过，而现在他的位置——在守日人巡查队。满怀用之不尽的热情，充满生机勃勃的情感的小男孩安东非常开心，而埃德加尔已经不适合折腾了。 埃德加尔捕捉到一位百无聊赖的姑娘的目光，她孤独地坐在邻座，他微微一笑，轻轻地、轻轻地触动了一下她的意识。 她不是妓女，只是一位年轻的寻求冒险者。这也不错。他没爱过职业妓女，反正她们没什么可以让他感到惊讶的。 他把服务生叫过来，点了一杯香槟。