"That…" the night began wearily.

"It's your problem," the man replied. "I'm giving you one week. And then I want an answer to my request."

"Request?" the night queried.

The man on the embankment smiled. "Yes. So far I'm only asking."

He turned and walked toward his car-a Russian Volga, the model that would be back in fashion again in about six months.

Even if you love your job, the last day of vacation always makes you feel depressed. Just one week earlier I'd been roasting on a nice clean Spanish beach, eating paella (to be quite honest, Uzbek pilaf is better), drinking cold sangria in a little Chinese restaurant (how come the Chinese make the Spanish national drink better than the natives do?) and buying all sorts of rubbishy resort souvenirs in the little shops.

But now it was summer in Moscow again-not exactly hot, but stifling and oppressive-and it was that final day of vacation, when you can't get your head to relax anymore, but it flatly refuses to work.

Maybe that was why I felt glad when I got the call from Gesar.

"Good morning, Anton," the boss began, without introducing himself. "Welcome back. Did you know it was me?"

I'd been able to sense Gesar's calls for some time already. It was as if the trilling of the phone changed subtly, becoming more demanding and authoritative.

But I was in no 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 vacation this morning too… half the Watch staff are sunning themselves in southern climes… Think you could come around to the office right 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 telephone. And in the second, whatever else he might be, he was no cheap poser. He simply didn't like wasting time. If I was about to say I'd be there in forty minutes, what point was there in listening to me say it?

Anyway, I was really glad I'd gotten the call. The day was already shot to hell. 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 around to see anyone or inviting anyone back to my place either. 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 asking for time off wasn't something we did.

"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."

"Svetka," I said, sitting back down again. And suddenly I tensed up-Svetlana's voice sounded uneasy, anxious. "Svetka, 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 held any drinking parties, I hadn't brought any women back home, I wasn't drowning in garbage, I'd even been washing the dishes…

And then I realized.

"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 say yes? Are you going to work?"

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

Svetlana said nothing on the other end of the line (although, what lines are there with cell phones?). 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 more help. He says everyone's on vacation…"

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

"Svetka, 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 said, "You ought to leave the Watch, third-class Light Magician…"

It all ended on a suspiciously light note, with a cheap jibe… Although we had agreed not to discuss that subject a long time ago-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 listened with interest. But now she had come right out with it.

Could she really have sensed something bad?

The result was that I got ready to go slowly and reluctantly. I put on a suit, then changed into jeans and a checked shirt, then thought "to hell with it" and got into my shorts and a black t-shirt with an inscription that said: "My friend was in a state of clinical death, and all he brought me from the next world was this T-shirt!" I might look like a jolly German tourist, but at least I would retain the semblance of a holiday mood in front of Gesar…

Eventually I left the building with just twenty minutes to go before the time set by the boss was up. I had to flag down a car and feel out the probability lines, and then tell the driver which streets to take so we wouldn't hit any traffic jams.

The driver accepted my instructions reluctantly-he obviously had serious doubts.

But we got there on time.

The elevators weren't working-there were guys in blue overalls loading paper sacks of cement into them. I set off up the stairs on foot, and discovered that the second floor of our office was being refurbished. There were workmen lining the walls with sheets of plasterboard, and plasterers bustling about beside them, filling in the seams. At the same time they were installing a false ceiling, which already covered the air-conditioning pipes.

So our office manager Vitaly Markovich had gotten his own way after all. He'd managed to get the boss to shell out for a full-scale renovation, and even worked out where to get the money from.

I stopped for a moment and took a look at the workmen through the Twilight. Ordinary people, not Others, as I ought to have expected. There was only one plasterer, who wasn't much to look at, whose aura seemed suspicious. But after a second I realized he was simply in love. With his own wife! Well, would you ever… there were still a few good people left in the world.

The third and fourth floors had already been refurbished and that assured my good mood. At long last it would be cool in the IT department too. Not that I was in there every day now, but even so… As I ran past I greeted the security guards who had clearly been posted here for the duration of the renovation. Just as I got to Gesar's office, I ran into Semyon. He was impressing something on Yulia in a serious, didactic tone of voice.