That was my cover story for the Night Watch – in the highly unlikely event that we had one of the other side's agents among us. As far as I know, that's something that's only happened once or twice in the entire history of the Watch, but you can never tell. . . Might as well let everyone think Boris Ignatievich had fallen out with his old girlfriend.
There was a plausible reason, a good one. A hundred years of imprisonment in his office, without any chance to assume human form, partial rehabilitation, but with the loss of most of her magical powers. That was more than enough reason to take offence . . . And at least the story relieved me of the need to play the part of the boss's girlfriend, which would have been going just too far.
I walked down to the third floor, thinking things through as I went. I had to admit that Olga had made things as easy for me as she could. She'd put on jeans today, instead of her usual matching skirt and jacket or dress, and trainers instead of high heels. Even the light perfume she'd used wasn't overpowering.
I knew what I was supposed to do now, I knew how I was supposed to behave. But even so, it was still hard. Hard to turn into the modest, quiet side corridor instead of going toward the door.
And into the past.
They say hospitals have their own unforgettable smell. And of course they do. It would be strange if the mixture of bleach and pain, sterilising unit and wounds, standard-issue sheets and tasteless food didn't have some kind of smell.
But where do schools and colleges get their smell from?
Not all subjects are taught on the Watch's own premises. Some are easier to teach in the morgue, at night – we have our contacts there. Some are taught out in the field, some abroad. During my training, I spent time in Haiti, Angola, the USA and Spain.
But there are still some lectures that can only be given in the Watch's own building, securely sealed off from its foundations to its roof by magic and protective spells. Thirty years ago, when the Watch first moved into this building, they set up three small rooms, each for fifteen trainees. I still don't know what most influenced that decision – the optimism of my colleagues or the fact that the space was available. Even when I was in training – and that was a very good year – one room was enough for all of us, and even then it was always half-empty.
Right now the Watch was training four Others. And Svetlana was the only one we could be certain would join us and not prefer an ordinary human life.
It was deserted here, deserted and quiet. I walked slowly along the corridor, glancing into the empty teaching rooms, which would have been the envy of even the best-equipped and most prosperous university. A laptop on every desk, a huge TV projector in each room, shelves of books . . . If only a historian could have seen those books.
But historians never would see them.
Some of the books contained too much truth. Others contained too many lies. Humans couldn't be allowed to read them, for the sake of their peace of mind. Let them carry on living with the history they were used to.
The corridor terminated in a huge mirror that covered the entire end wall. When I casually glanced into it I saw a beautiful young woman swaying her hips as she strode along the corridor.
I staggered and almost fell: Olga had done everything possible to make things easy for me, but even she couldn't change her own centre of gravity. As long as I forgot the way I looked, everything was more or less normal, the motor reflexes took over. But the moment I saw myself from the outside, things slipped out of sync. Even my breathing changed, and the air felt different as it entered my lungs.
I walked up to the last door, a glass one, and peered through it cautiously.
The class was just finishing.
Today they'd been studying everyday magic, I knew that the moment I saw Polina Vasilievna standing by the demonstration stand. She's one of the oldest members of the Watch – to look at, that is, not by her actual age. She'd been discovered and initiated when she was already sixty-three. Who could have guessed that an old woman who earned her living by telling fortunes with cards during those wild years after the war actually possessed genuine powers? Quite considerable powers too, although only in a narrow field.
'And now, if you need to smarten up your clothes in a hurry, you can do it in a moment. Only don't forget to check first how much strength you have. Otherwise the result might be embarrassing.'
'And when the clock strikes twelve, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin,' the young guy sitting beside Svetlana said loudly. I didn't know him, this was only his second or third day of training, but already I didn't like him.
'Precisely,' Polina exclaimed delightedly, even though she heard the same witticism from every group of trainees. 'Fairy tales lie just as much as statistics do, but sometimes you can find truth in them.'
She took a neatly ironed tuxedo off the desk. It was dapper and elegant, a little old-fashioned. James Bond must have worn one like it.
'When will it turn back to rags again?' Svetlana asked in a practical tone.
'In two hours,' Polina told her briskly. She put the jacket on a hanger and hung it on the stand. 'I didn't put much into it.'
'And what's the longest you can keep it looking good?'
'About twenty-four hours.'
Svetlana nodded and suddenly looked in my direction – she'd sensed my presence. She smiled and waved. Now everyone had noticed me.
'Please come in,' said Polina, bowing her head. 'This is a great honour for us.'
Yes, she knew something about Olga that I didn't. All of us knew no more than one part of the truth about her; probably only the boss knew everything.
I went in, trying desperately to make my walk a little less provocative. It did no good. The young guy sitting next to Svetlana, and the fifteen-year-old youth who'd been stuck in the preliminary class for six months, and the tall, skinny Korean, who could have been thirty or forty – they all watched me.
With very definite interest. The atmosphere of mystery that surrounded Olga, all the rumours, and above all the fact that she was the boss's lover from way back – all provoked a distinctly noticeable response from the male section of the Watch.
'Hello,' I said. 'I hope I'm not interrupting?'