Inquisition said that 'for purposes of an official investigation we hereby command the employee of the Moscow Night Watch, Anton Gorodetsky, Light Magician of the second rank, to afford every possible assistance to Edgar, Inquisitor of the second rank'. It was the first time I'd ever seen an actual warrant from the Inquisition, and so a few petty details stuck in my mind: the Inquisitors continued to define power in the old-style 'ranks', they weren't ashamed to use a phrase like 'hereby command', and they called each other only by their first names even in official documents.

And then I noticed the most important part, at the bottom. The seal of the Night Watch and a flourish in Gesar's handwriting: 'I have been informed and consent'.

How about that!

'What if I refuse?' I asked. 'I don't much like being 'hereby commanded'.

Edgar frowned and peered at the document. He said:

'Our secretary's just turned three hundred. Don't take offence, Anton. It's nothing but archaic terminology. Like "rank".'

'And is doing without surnames another part of old tradition?' I asked. 'I'm just curious.'

Edgar glanced at the piece of paper, perplexed. He frowned again. Then he said irritably, beginning to draw out his vowels in the Baltic style:

'Why-y that old hag . . . She forgot my surname and she was too proud to ask.'

'Then I have good grounds for throwing this warrant on the compost heap.' I looked round the plot of land for a compost heap, but didn't find one. 'Or down the toilet. The instruction doesn't have your surname on it, so it has no force, right?'

Edgar didn't answer.

'And what's in store for me if I refuse to co-operate?' I asked.

'Nothing too serious,' Edgar said glumly. 'Even if I bring a new warrant. A complaint to your immediate superior, punishment at his discretion . . .'

'So your intimidating document comes down to a request for help?'

'Yes,' said Edgar and nodded.

I was relishing the situation. The terrible Inquisition that green novices used for frightening each other with, had turned out to be a toothless old crone!

'What's happened?' I asked. 'I'm on holiday, do you realise that? With my wife and daughter. And my mother-in-law too. I'm not working.'

'That didn't stop you going to see Arina,' said Edgar, without batting an eyelid.

It served me right. Never, ever, let your guard down.

'That relates to my direct professional responsibilities,' I retorted. 'Protecting people and monitoring the activities of Dark Ones. Always and everywhere. By the way, how do you know about Arina?'

Now it was Edgar's turn to smile and take his time.

'Gesar informed us,' he said eventually. 'You called him yesterday and reported in, didn't you? Since this is an unusual situation, Gesar felt it was his duty to warn the Inquisition. As a token of our unfailing friendly relations.'

I didn't understand a thing.

Was the witch somehow mixed up in that business with Gesar's son?

'I have to call him,' I said, walking demonstratively towards the house. Edgar remained standing docilely beside the hammock. He even peered briefly at a plastic chair, but decided it wasn't clean enough.

I waited with the mobile phone pressed against my ear.

'Yes, what is it, Anton?'

'Edgar's come to see me . . .'

'Yes, yes, yes,' Gesar said absent-mindedly. 'Yesterday, after your report, I decided I ought to inform the Inquisition about the witch. If you feel like it, help him out. If you don't, just send him you know where. His warrant is drawn up incorrectly, did you notice?'

'Yes, I did,' I said, glancing sideways in Edgar's direction. 'Boss, what about those werewolves?'

'We're checking,' Gesar replied after a brief hesitation. 'A dead end so far.'

'And something else, about that witch . . .' I glanced down at the 'book about the book'. 'I requisitioned a rather amusing book from her . . . Fuaran: fantasy or fact?.'

'Yes, yes, I've read it,' Gesar said amiably. 'Now if you'd found the genuine Fuaran, then you'd really deserve a medal. Is that all, Anton?'

'Yes,' I said. Gesar hung up.

Edgar was waiting patiently.

I walked up to him, paused theatrically for a moment and asked:

'What is the purpose of your investigation? And what do you want from me?'

'You are going to co-operate, Anton?' Edgar exclaimed, genuinely delighted. 'My investigation concerns the witch Arina, whom you discovered. I need you to show me how to get to her.'

'What business does the Inquisition have with that old bag of bones?' I enquired. 'I don't see the slightest indication of any crime here. Not even from the Night Watch's point of view.'

Edgar