shame.
But never before had I come across smells as delicious as those in this little chaikhana that was absolutely unfit for tourists.
Once we'd got away from our pursuers we had split up. The Dark One had gone to find his colleagues and report on what had happened. Valentina Ilinichna and Nodir had set out to gather together the Light Ones who were reserve members of the Watch and to call Tashkent and request reinforcements. Alisher, Afandi and I had caught a taxi and made our way to this chaikhana beside a small market on the outskirts of Samarkand. I had already begun to suspect that there were at least a dozen markets in Samarkand, and there were certainly more than all the museums and movie theatres taken together.
On the way I cast a masking spell on myself and became Timur's double. For some reason young magicians think it's a bad sign to assume the appearance of a dead man. There are all sorts of beliefs attached to this superstition, from 'You'll die soon' to 'You'll pick up someone else's habits.' Anybody would think that habits were fleas that scatter after their host dies and look for someone who resembled him as closely as possible ... I have never been superç’¼titious, so I didn't hesitate to adopt Timur's appearance. I had to disguise myself as a local in any case. Even in this chaikhana a visitor with a European appearance would have looked as much out of place as a Papuan at the haymaking in a Russian village.
'The food here is very good,' Alisher explained in a low voice after he had ordered. Since I didn't know a word of Uzbek, I had kept quiet while the young waiter was with us. Fortunately, so had Afandi: he only croaked every now and then as he rubbed his bald patch and glanced proudly at me. The meaning of that glance was quite clear:'We showed that deva what-for, eh?' I nodded amiably in reply.
'I believe you,' I said. There was a massive Chinese music centre standing by the wall, with huge hissing speakers and blinking coloured lights. The cassette that was playing featured some Uzbek folk music that had originally been very interesting but had been hopelessly spoiled by the pop-music rhythms introduced into it and by the quality of the music centre. But at least the volume was set so high that I could speak Russian with no worries about attracting glances of surprise from the people nearby. 'It certainly smells delicious. Only, I'm sorry, but it is rather dirty in here.'
'That's not dirt,' Alisher replied. 'At least, it's not that kind of dirt. You know, when people come to Russia from Western Europe they frown too, at how dirty it is everywhere! But it's not dirty because no one ever cleans anywhere! In Russia the soil is different and there's more ground erosion. That fills the air with dust and it settles everywhere. Wash the sidewalk with soap, and in Europe it will stay clean for three days. But in Russia you can lick it clean with your tongue, and the dust will settle again in an hour. In Asia, there's even more dust, so the Europeans and the Russians say: "Dirt, ignorance, savagery!" But that's not true! It's just the way the land is. But when you find good smells in Asia, that's not the dirt. In Asia you have to trust your nose, not your eyes!'
'That's interesting,' I said. 'I never thought about it like that before. That must be why people in the East have narrow eyes and big noses, then?'
Alisher gave me a bleak look. Then he forced a laugh.
'Okay, that's one to you. It's funny. But that really is what I think, Anton. In the East, everything's different.'
'Even the Others,' I said, with a nod. 'Alisher, I didn't believe in the deva. I'm sorry'
'You know, from your description, it wasn't the same one who followed me,' Alisher said in a serious voice. 'He wasn't so tall, but he was very agile. He had legs. More like a monkey with horns.'
'Curses on them, foul belches of creation, creatures of feckless magicians!' Afandi put in. 'Anton and I defeated that licentious, depraved deva! You should have seen the battle, Alisher! Although a young boy shouldn't really watch pornography . .'
'Grandad Afandi... ' I said. 'Please!'
'Just call me Bobo!' said Afandi.
'What does it mean?' I asked warily.
'It means 'grandad',' said the old man, slapping me on the shoulder. 'You