flame. The ground under our feet trembled slightly. Only slightly ?but it trembled!
'Where's Semyon?' I shouted.
Lermont merely shrugged. We waited a few more seconds for the splinters to stop flying, the flame to die away and the smoking fragments of the arbour to stop falling in the real world.
And then we went back out.
Lermont's neat and tidy cottage had lost all the glass in its windows and was covered with a fine sprinkling of debris. A hefty branch torn off the nearest tree by the explosion was protruding from a window on the second floor.
The small van was lying where it had been tossed on to its side. There were two motionless bodies beside it. A third man, the machine-gunner or perhaps the driver, who had prudently stayed put in his cabin, was slowly crawling away towards the fence, drag ging his useless legs behind him.
I didn't feel any particular pity for him. He was an ordinary bandit who had been used to distract our attention from the rocket attack. He'd known what he was getting into.
Where the arbour had stood there was a small crater, strewn with white scraps of wood. The playing cards were soaring and circling above our heads - a capricious chance had tossed them up into the air instead of incinerating them.
We found Semyon right beside the van. He was inside a trans parent glowing sphere that looked as if it had been carved in crystal. The sphere was slowly rolling along and Semyon, with his arms and legs held out, was turning over and over with it. His pose was such a hilarious parody of the picture The Golden Section that I giggled stupidly. Squat and short-legged, Semyon looked nothing like the muscular athlete drawn by Leonardo da Vinci.
'A very uncomfortable spell,' Lermont said in relief. 'But then, it is reliable.'
The crystal sphere cracked all over and disintegrated in a cloud of steam. Semyon, who was upside down at that moment, nimbly swung round and landed on his feet. He stuck a finger in his ear and asked:
'Do they always do that round here on Saturdays, Mr Lermont? Or is it just in honour of our arrival?'
'Follow me, gentlemen. I am afraid all this was merely a diversion.'
I didn't get time to ask what he intended to do about the over turned van, the demolished arbour and the crawling bandit who was already out in the street, where the neighbours could see him. A second portal opened beside the first, and Others began jumping out of it, one after another.
They weren't simply Light Ones from the Night Watch ?they were dressed in police uniforms, with bulletproof vests and helmets, and they were holding their machine pistols at the ready!
Well now, Thomas the Rhymer, aren't you a fine one for the blather! We have underestimated technology! I can see just how badly you underestimate it ...
Lermont stepped into the first portal. I hung back for a moment, waiting for Semyon, but he suddenly stopped, with his stare fixed on a gaunt man with red hair.
'Kevin! You old fogey!'
'Simon, you old blockhead!' the redhead shouted in delight. 'Where are you going? Hang on!'
They put their arms round each other and started hammering each other on the back with all the enthusiasm of those crazy rabbits in the advert for electric batteries.
'Later, we'll catch up on everything later,' Semyon muttered, freeing himself from Kevin's embraces. 'Look, the portal's getting cold. I brought you some wine from Sebastopol ?remember it? Sparkling muscat, here!'
I spat and shook my head. What sort of thing was that to say ?'later, later...' In the movies any character who said that to an old friend was irrevocably doomed to die soon.
I could only be glad that we weren't characters in an action movie.
I stepped in through the frame of the portal.
Lermont took no notice of this simple piece of wit. He inclined his head to one side, as if he were listening to someone's voice, and frowned. And his frown became deeper and deeper.
Then, with just a couple of gestures, he created the glowing frame of a portal in front of himself, and said:
A dense white glow all around. A feeling of lightness that could only be compared with what cosmonauts experience. Mysterious paths inaccessible to human beings.
What were those others in police uniforms going to do there? Wipe clean the memories of any chance witnesses, remove all traces of the explosion, interrogate the attackers if they survived? The basic day-to-day routine work