I took him by the elbow without saying a word and dragged him up to the first level. I’d put so much Power into destroying the deva that even I was finding it hard to stay in the Twilight.

THE CHAIKHANA, OR TEA HOUSE, WAS GLOOMY AND DIRTY. FAT BLUE-BOTTLES buzzed as they circled around the weak lightbulbs in fly-spotted shades hanging from the ceiling. We were sitting on greasy, bright-colored cushions around a low table, only about fifteen centimeters high. The table was covered with a brightly patterned tablecloth, and it was dirty too.

In Russia a cafe like this would have been closed down in a moment. In Europe they would have put the owner in prison. In the USA the proprietor would have been hit with an absolutely massive fine. And in Japan the boss of an establishment like this would have committed seppuku out of a sense of shame.

But never before had I come across smells as delicious as those in this little chaikhana that was absolutely unfit for tourists.

Once we got away from our pursuers, we had split up. The Dark One had gone to find his colleagues and report on what had happened. Valentina Ilinichna and Nodir had set out to gather the Light Ones who were reserve members of the Watch and to call Tashkent and request reinforcements. Alisher, Afandi, and I had caught a taxi and made our way to this chaikhana beside a small market on the outskirts of Samarkand. I had already begun to suspect that there were at least a dozen markets in Samarkand, and certainly more than all the museums and movie theaters taken together.

On the way I cast a masking spell on myself and became Timur’s double. For some reason young magicians think it’s a bad omen to assume the appearance of a dead man. There are all sorts of beliefs attached to this superstition, from “you’ll die soon” to “you’ll pick up someone else’s habits.” Anybody would think that habits were fleas that scatter after their host dies and look for someone who resembled him as closely as possible… I have never been superstitious, so I didn’t hesitate to adopt Timur’s appearance. I had to disguise myself as a local in any case. Even in this chaikhana a visitor with a European appearance would have looked as much out of place as a Papuan at the haymaking in a Russian village.

“The food here is very good,” Alisher explained in a low voice after he had ordered. Since I didn’t know a word of Uzbek, I had kept quiet while the young boy waiter was with us. Fortunately, so had Afandi: He only croaked every now and then as he rubbed his bald patch and glanced proudly at me. The meaning of that glance was quite clear: “We showed that deva what for, eh?” I nodded amiably in reply.

“I believe you,” I said. There was a massive Chinese stereo system standing by the wall, with huge, hissing speakers and blinking colored lights. The cassette that was playing was some Uzbek folk music that originally would have been very interesting, but was hopelessly spoiled by the pop-music rhythms that had been introduced into it and the quality of the stereo. But at least the volume was set so high that I could speak Russian with no worries about attracting glances of surprise from the people nearby. “It certainly smells delicious. Only, I’m sorry, but it is rather dirty in here.”

“That’s not dirt,” Alisher replied. “At least, it’s not that kind of dirt. You know, when people come to Russia from Western Europe, they frown too at how dirty it is everywhere! But it’s not dirty because no one ever cleans anywhere! In Russia the soil is different and there’s more ground erosion. That fills the air with dust and it settles everywhere. Wash the sidewalk with soap in Europe, and it will stay clean for three days. But in Russia you can lick it clean with your tongue, and the dust will settle again in an hour. In Asia, there’s even more dust, so the Europeans and the Russians think, ‘Dirt, ignorance, savagery!’ But that’s not true! It’s just the way the land is. But when you find good smells in Asia, that’s not the dirt. In Asia you have to trust your nose, not your eyes!”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “I never thought about it like that before. That must be why people in the East have narrow eyes and big noses, then?”

Alisher gave me a bleak look. Then he forced a laugh. “OK, that’s one to you. It’s funny. But that really is what I think, Anton. In the East, everything’s different.”

“Even the Others,” I said with a nod. “Alisher, I didn’t believe in the deva. I’m sorry.”

“You know, from your description, it wasn’t the same one who followed me,” Alisher said in a serious voice. “He wasn’t so tall, but he was very agile. He had legs. More like a monkey with horns.”

“Curses on them, foul belches of creation, creatures of feckless magicians!” Afandi put in. “Anton and I defeated that licentious, depraved deva! You should have seen the battle, Alisher! Although a young boy shouldn’t really watch pornography…”

“Granddad Afandi,” I said. “Please!”

“Just call me Bobo!” said Afandi.

“What does it mean?” I asked warily.

“It means ‘granddad,’” said the old man, slapping me on the shoulder. “You and I defeated those devas, and now you’re my grandson!”

“Afandi-Bobo,” I said. “Please, don’t remind me of that fight. I feel very embarrassed that I couldn’t overcome the deva straightaway.”

“Devas!” Afandi repeated firmly.

“Deva?” I suggested naively.

“Devas! There were two of them. The big one was holding the little one in his hand and waving him about, left and right, left and right!”

Afandi got halfway to his feet and gave a very graphic demonstration of the behavior of the “devas.”

“Hai, great warrior Afandi,” Alisher said quickly. “There were two of them. Anton was so afraid, he didn’t notice the second one. Sit down, they’re bringing our tea.”

We spent ten minutes drinking our tea with sweet pastries. I recognized halva, Turkish delight, and something like baklava. All the other sweet miracles of the East were new to me. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying the way they tasted. There were different colored sugar crystals (I preferred not to think about what they had been colored with); skeins of very fine, very sweet threads; something that looked like halva, only it was white; and dried fruit. They were all delicious. And they were all very sweet, which was particularly important for us. A serious loss of Power always leaves you with a yearning for something sweet. Even though we operate with Power that isn’t our own and simply redistribute it in space, it’s not easy by any means. Your blood-sugar level falls so low that you can easily slip into a hypoglycemic coma. And if that happens in the Twilight, it will take a miracle to save you.

“Next there’ll be shurpa broth and pilaf,” Alisher said, pouring himself a fifth bowl of green tea. “The food here is simple. But it’s the real thing.”

He paused, and I realized what he was thinking.

“They died in battle. The way watchmen are supposed to die,” I said.

“It was our battle,” Alisher declared in a low voice.

“It is our common battle. Even for the Dark Ones. We have to find Rustam, and no one is going to stop us. But I feel sorry for Murat… He killed those men, and then he couldn’t live anymore.”

“I could have,” Alisher said morosely.

“And so could I,” I admitted. We looked at each other with understanding.

“Humans against Others.” Alisher sighed. “I can’t believe it! It’s a nightmare! They were all enchanted; that’s a job for a Higher One.”

“At least three Higher Ones,” I said. “A Dark One, a Light One, and an Inquisitor. A vampire, a healer, and a Battle Magician.”

“The end of time has arrived,” said Afandi, shaking his head. “I never thought the Light, the Dark, and the Fear would all join together…”