'Who was it she put the hex on?' I asked, unable to resist.
They all laughed.
'It's a name ?Nazgul. Not those nazguls in the American movie,' Nodir explained, and his white teeth flashed as he smiled. 'He's a man. That is, he was - he died last year. He took a long time to die, and he had a young wife. So she asked a witch to sap her husband's strength. We spotted the hex, arrested the witch, repri manded the wife, did everything the way it's supposed to be done. Valentina Ilinichna removed the hex, everything worked out very well. Although he was an obnoxious old man, a very bad char acter. Malicious, greedy and a womaniser, even though he was old. Everybody was glad when he died. But we removed the hex, just like we're supposed to do.'
I thought for a moment and sat down on a squeaky Viennese chair. Yes, knowledge of the Uzbek language wouldn't have been much help to me. It wasn't a matter of language. It was a matter of a different mentality.
The rational explanation had calmed me down a bit. But then I spotted Valentina Ilinichna's glance ?kindly, but condescendingly sympathetic.
'But even so, it's not right,' I said. 'Please understand, I don't want to criticise, it's your city, you're responsible for maintaining order here... But it's a bit unusual.'
'That's because you're closer to Europe,' Nodir explained. He obviously didn't think that Uzbekistan had nothing at all to do with Europe. 'But it's all right here: when there's peace we can live beside each other.'
'Uh-huh,' I said and paused before I went on: 'Thank you for the explanation.'
'Have a seat at the desk, 'Valentina Ilinichna said amicably. 'Why are you sitting over in the corner like a stranger?'
I actually wasn't sitting in the corner at all. Timur was finishing setting the table in the corner. The bright-coloured tablecloth that had instantly transformed two office desks into one large dining table was already covered with plates of fruit: bright red and luscious green apples; black, green, yellow and red grapes; huge pomegranates the size of a small melon. And there was very appetising-looking home-made salami, meat cut into slices and hot bread cakes that must have been heated using magic. I remem bered how in one rare moment of nostalgia Geser had started singing the praises of the bread cakes in Samarkand - how deliç’«ious they were, how they didn't turn stale even after a week, all you had to do was warm them up, and you just kept on and on eating them, you couldn't stop ... At the time I had taken what he said as the standard old man's reminiscences of the sort 'the trees were bigger then, and the salami tasted better'. But now I began drooling at the mouth and I suddenly suspected that Geser hadn't been exaggerating all that much.
And there were also two bottles of cognac on the table. The local kind ?which frightened me a bit.
'Forgive us for laying such a simple table,' Nodir said imper-turbably. 'Our junior member will be back from the market soon, and we'll dine properly. Meanwhile we can make a light start.'
I realised there was no way I was going to escape a gala dinner with abundant alcohol. And I suspected it was not only Alisher's entirely understandable interest in his old girlfriend from school that had made him dodge an immediate visit to the Watch. It was many years since a visit by someone from Moscow had also been a visit from a superior, but even so, Moscow was still a very import ant centre for the members of the Samarkand Watch.
'I've actually come here at Geser's request... ' I said.
I saw from their faces that my status had soared from simply important guest to quite unimaginable heights. Somewhere way out in space, where Others could not go.
'Geser asked me to find a friend of his,' I went on. 'He lives somewhere in Uzbekistan...'
There was an awkward pause.
'Anton, are you talking about the devona? 'Valentin Ilinichna asked. 'He went to Moscow ?in 1998. And he was killed there. We thought that Geser knew about it.'
'No, no, I'm not talking about the devona!' I protested. 'Geser asked me to find Rustam.'
The young Uzbeks exchanged glances Valentina Ilinichna knitted her brows.
'Rustam ... I've heard something about him. But that's a very, very old story. Thousands of years old, Anton.'
'He doesn't work in the Watch,' I admitted. 'And, of course, he