I paused and then nodded: “Thank you, dear colleagues. I had not dared to hope for or expect such a cordial reception and magnanimous conditions. Naturally, it is not our intention either to violate your customs and traditions or to inconvenience in any way the Others and ordinary citizens of Taiwan.”

Pasha smiled.

“We are all citizens of Taiwan, Mr Gorodetsky, including the Others, both Light and Dark. Allow me once again to welcome you to our island and . . . I can sense several artifacts in your bag, and I find one of them especially interesting. May I take a look at it?”

Especially interesting?

There was nothing magical in my suitcase, apart from the suitcase itself being enchanted. And in my bag . . . there was the comb that Svetlana had given me for my birthday, nothing special, simply so that my hair would grow well and the style would hold . . . a few small bottles of healing potions, also from her—the magical equivalent of painkillers and antacids . . . a perfectly ordinary silver ring with a piece of amber in which a small amount of Power had been accumulated, also a present, but Olga had given it to me after a certain Watch operation—nothing unusual, every second Other wears a ring like that . . .

“What artifact do you mean?” I asked.

“It has the form of a chalice,” Petya clarified politely.

So that was it . . .

I walked over to the bag, took out Erasmus’s chalice, and held it out to Petya. He hid his hands behind his back.

The chalice was taken by Pasha, who politely pretended not to have noticed my gaffe. Or perhaps it wasn’t a gaffe? Who was I supposed to hand the artifact to—the most powerful of them, as a sign of respect, or the weakest, so that he could check to see if it was dangerous before handing it on to his boss?

These Chinese rules of courtesy are so complicated!

Pasha took the chalice and turned it round in his hands. Then he looked at me.

“Do you know how to use this, Gorodetsky?”

“No.”

“And are you sure you want to find out?”

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

But Pasha didn’t explain anything to me. He looked at the chalice, stroking it with his dry, tenacious fingers as if he was making conversation. Perhaps he was a tale-ender—a rare specialization that involved the use of objects to extract information from the past . . .

Pasha looked at Lena. She shrugged. Then he looked at Petya. He nodded.

“This vessel contains grief and sadness, Gorodetsky,” said Pasha. “You should know that if you wish to drink from it.”

“We know how to awaken the prophecy,” Lena confirmed. “It is simple.”

“But we will not tell you that,” Petya said in conclusion. “We do not wish to be responsible for the possible consequences.”