HERO of a certain hoary old joke put it: 'Now life is returning to normal!'
The passengers in the chief conductor's car were sitting in their compartments, and staring vacantly out of the windows. For some reason people walking through the carriage lengthened their stride and only looked straight ahead. In one closed compartment there were two bodies packed in black plastic sacks and the wounded Inquisitor, who was lying down after a colleague had treated him with healing spells for about fifteen minutes. Another two Inquisitors were standing on guard at the door of our compartment.
'How did you guess?' Edgar asked.
He'd fixed my jaw in about three minutes, after helping his wounded comrade. I hadn't asked what the problem was – simple bruising, a crack or a break. He'd fixed it, that was all I cared about. But my two front teeth were still missing, and it was weird to feel the gap with my tongue.
'I remembered something about the Fuaran . . .' I said. In the commotion of the first few minutes after Kostya bolted, I'd had time to think of what to tell the inquisitor. 'The witch . . . you know, Arina . . . said that according to the legends, for the spells in the Fuaran to work, you had to have the blood of twelve people. Just a drop from each one would do.'
'Why didn't you tell me earlier?' Edgar asked sharply.
'I didn't think it was important. At the time I thought the whole story of the Fuaran was pure fantasy . . . And then Kostya mentioned that his cocktail was made from the blood of twelve people, and it clicked.'
'I see. Witiezslav didn't have twelve people handy,' Edgar said with a nod. 'If only you'd told me straight away . . . if only you'd told me . . .'
'You knew about the formula of the cocktail?'
'Yes, of course. The Inquisition has discussed "Saushkin's cocktail". The stuff doesn't work any miracles, it won't increase a vampire's strength beyond the natural limits. But it does allow a vampire to rise to his maximum potential without killing anyone . . .'
'Rise or sink?' I asked.
'If there's no killing involved, then rise,' Edgar replied coolly. 'And you didn't know . . . would you believe it . . .'
I said nothing.
Yes, I hadn't known. I hadn't wanted to know. What a hero. And now two Inquisitors were wearing black polythene and no one could do anything to help them . . .
'Let's drop it,' Edgar decided. 'What point is there now . . . He's flying after us.'
I glanced at the compass, and had to agree it looked that way. The distance between us and Kostya, or rather, the book, hadn't changed, although the train was travelling at seventy or eighty kilometres an hour. He had to be flying after us. He wasn't making a run for it after all.
'There has to be something he wants in Central Asia . . .' said Edgar, perplexed. 'The only thing is . . .'
'We should summon the Great Ones,' I said.
'They'll come,' Edgar said casually. 'I've informed them of everything, put up a portal . . . they're deciding what to do.'
'I know what they're deciding,' I muttered. 'Zabulon's demanding that Kostya be handed over to him. Together with the Fuaran, of course.'
'No one's going to get their hands on the book, don't you worry.'
'Apart from the Inquisition?'
Edgar ignored that.
I made myself more comfortable. Felt my jaw.
It didn't hurt.
But I was upset about the teeth. I'd have to go to a dentist or a healer. The trouble was that even the very best Light healers couldn't fix your teeth without any pain. They simply couldn't do it . . .
The pointer of the compass quivered, but maintained its direction. The distance hadn't changed – ten to twelve kilometres. So Kostya must have undressed and transformed into a bat . . . or maybe some other creature? A gigantic rat, a wolf . . .That wasn't important. He'd transformed, probably into a bat, and was flying after the train, clutching a bundle containing his clothes and the book in his claws. Where had he been hiding it, the bastard? On his body? In a secret pocket in his clothes?
He was a real bastard all right . . . but he had some nerve! The sheer insolence of it – to join in the hunt for himself, to come up with theories, give advice . . .