human being into an Other!'

'Boris Ignatievich,' I began, not knowing myself why I used his Russian name, 'forgive me if I'm talking nonsense. But I can't understand how you could have failed to find Timur earlier. He was your son and Olga's! Wouldn't you have been able to sense him? Even from a distance?'

At this point Gesar suddenly wilted. A strange expression, simultaneously guiltly and confused, appeared on his face.

'Anton, I may be an old plotter . . .' He paused. 'But do you really think I would allow my own son to grow up in a state orphanage, in poverty and suffering? Do you think I don't long for a little warmth and affection? To feel human? To play with my baby, to go to a football match with my little boy, to teach my teenager how to shave, to accept my young man into the Watch? Tell me one reason why I would have allowed my son to live and grow old so far away from me. Am I a bad father, a heartless old scoundrel? Maybe so. But then why did I decide to make him into an Other? Why would I want all that hassle?'

'But why didn't you find him sooner?' I exclaimed.

'Because when he was born he was a perfectly ordinary child. Not a trace of any Other potential.'

'It happens,' I said doubtfully.

Gesar nodded.

'You have doubts? Even I have doubts . . . I ought to have been able to sense even rudimentary traces of Power in Timur. But there weren't any . . .'

He spread his arms hopelessly. Then he sat down and muttered:

'So don't go attributing any imaginary miracles to me. I can't make Others out of ordinary people.' He paused, then suddenly added in a passionate voice: 'But you're right. I ought to have sensed him sooner. Okay, sometimes we only realise a stranger is an Other when he's already old. But my own son? The little boy I dandled in my arms, the boy I dreamed of seeing as an Other? I don't know. The initial signs must have been too weak . . . or else I must have gone crazy . . .'

'There is another possibility,' I said uncertainly.

Gesar looked at me suspiciously and shrugged.

'There's always more than one. What do you mean?'

'Someone knows how to transform ordinary people into Others. That someone found Timur and turned him into a potential Other. And then you sensed him . . .'

'Olga sensed him,' Gesar growled.

'All right, Olga sensed him. And you swung into action. You thought you were duping the Inquisition and the Dark Ones. But it was you being duped.'

Gesar snorted.

'Just try to accept, for one moment, that a human being can be turned into an Other!' I pleaded with him.

'But why was it done?' Gesar asked. 'I'm willing to believe the whole thing, but just explain why. To set Olga and me up for a fall? It doesn't look like it. Everything went without a hitch.'

'I don't know,' I admitted. As I stood up, I added vindictively: 'But if I were you I wouldn't let my guard down, boss. You're used to your own plots being the subtlest. But there's always more than one possibility.'

'Smart ass . . .' Gesar said, frowning. 'You get on back to Sveta . . . Hang on.'

He put his hand into the pocket of his dressing-gown and took out his mobile phone. It wasn't ringing, just vibrating nervously.

'Just a moment . . .' Gesar said, with a nod to me. And then he spoke into the phone, in a different voice: 'Yes!'

I tactfully moved away towards the cupboards and started studying the magical trinkets. Okay, so little models of monsters might serve to summon up the real thing. But what did he need a Tatar whip for? Something like Shahab's Lash?

'We'll be right there,' Gesar said curtly. His phone clicked shut. 'Anton!'

When I turned back to face Gesar, he was just finishing getting changed: as he ran his hands over his body, the dressing-gown and pyjamas changed their colour and texture and were transformed into a formal grey suit. With a final flourish of his hand, Gesar put a grey tie round his neck. Already tied in a neat Windsor knot. None of this was an illusion – Gesar really had created a suit out of his pyjamas.

'Anton, we have to take a little journey . . . to the wicked witch's house.'

'Have they caught her?' I asked, trying to make sense