rush to let the boss know that.

'Yes, Boris Ignatievich.'

'Are you alone?'

An unnecessary question. I was certain Gesar knew perfectly well where Svetlana was just then.

'Yes. The girls are at the dacha.'

'Good for them,' the boss sighed at the other end of the line, and an entirely human note appeared in his voice. 'Olga flew off on holiday this morning too . . . half the Watch staff are relaxing in southern climes . . . Do you think you could call round to the office straight away?'

Before I had time to answer, Gesar went on cheerily.

'Well, that's excellent! See you in forty minutes then.'

I really felt like calling Gesar a cheap poser – after I hung up, of course. But I kept my mouth shut. In the first place, the boss could hear what I said without any need of a telephone. And in the second – whatever else he might be, he was no cheap poser. He just didn't like wasting time. If I was about to say I'd be there in forty minutes, what was the point in listening to me say it?

And anyway, I was really glad I'd got the call. The day was already shot to hell in any case. It was still too early to tidy up the apartment – like any self-respecting man whose family is away, I only do that once, on the final day of bachelor life. And I definitely didn't feel like going round to see anyone or inviting anyone back to my place. So by far the most useful thing would be to go back to work a day early – that way, I could ask for time off with a clear conscience when I needed to.

Even though it wasn't the done thing for us to ask for time off.

'Thanks, boss,' I said with real feeling. I detached myself from the armchair, put down the book I hadn't finished, and stretched.

And then the phone rang again.

Of course, it would have been just like Gesar to ring and say: 'You're welcome!' But that definitely would have been cheap clowning.

'Hello!' I said in a very businesslike tone.

'Anton, it's me.'

'Sveta,' I said, sitting back down again. And suddenly I tensed up – Svetlana's voice sounded uneasy. Anxious. 'Sveta, has something happened to Nadya?'

'Everything's fine,' she replied quickly. 'Don't worry. Why don't you tell me how you've been getting on?'

I thought for a few seconds. I hadn't had any drinking parties, I hadn't brought any women back home, I wasn't drowning in refuse, I'd even been washing the dishes . . .

And then I realised.

'Gesar called. Just a moment ago.'

'What does he want?' Svetlana asked quickly.

'Nothing special. He asked me to turn up for work today.'

'Anton, I sensed something. Something bad. Did you agree? Are you going to work?'

'Why not? I've got nothing else to do.'

Svetlana was silent. Then she said reluctantly:

'You know, I felt a sort of pricking in my heart. Do you believe I can sense trouble?'

I laughed:

'Yes, Great One.'

'Anton, be serious, will you!' Svetlana was instantly uptight, the way she always got when I called her Great One. 'Listen to me . . . if Gesar asks you to do something, say no.'

'Sveta, if Gesar called me in, it means he wants to ask me to do something. It means he needs help. He says everyone's on holiday . . .'

'He needs more cannon fodder,' Svetlana snapped. 'Anton . . . never mind, you won't listen to me anyway. Just be careful.'

'Sveta, you don't seriously think that Gesar's going to put me in any danger, do you?' I said cautiously. 'I understand the way you feel about him . . .'

'Be careful,' said Svetlana. 'For our sake. All right?'

'All right,' I promised. 'I'm always very careful.'

'I'll call if I sense anything else,' said Svetlana. She seemed to have calmed down a bit. 'And you call, all right? If anything at all unusual happens, call. Okay?'

'Okay, I'll call.'

Svetlana paused for a few seconds, then before she hung up, she said:

'You ought to leave the Watch, third-grade Light Magician . . .'

It all ended on a suspiciously cheerful note, with a cheap jibe . . . Although we had agreed a long time ago not to discuss that subject – three years earlier, when Svetlana left the Night Watch. And we hadn't broken our promise once. Of course. I used to tell my wife about my work . . . at least, about the jobs that I wanted to remember. And she always