The area around Luzhniki Stadium was quiet. I got out of the car first and looked round. Yes—this was bad. Judging from the amount of litter on the approaches to the stadium, quite a lot of people had passed this way. And the number of polizei at the entrances suggested the same. What a lot of fine puns we sacrificed when we took up that German term and dropped the good old Russian “filth.”

But it was quiet.

“What’s going on here?” I asked Alisher. “It’s a bit early for any kind of sports events.”

“A concert,” Las said curtly.

“Thank God it’s not football,” I murmured. “But what band is it? And why are they playing in the morning—is it a special children’s performance?”

“Almost. The All-Russian Youth Competition for New Performers, the final. All sorts of rock bands from Perm and Yekaterinburg, original genre artistes from Kaluga and Syktyvkar, folk-rhyme declaimers from the Urals . . .”

“Well, then, there can’t be many spectators here,” I said dismissively. “Although maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical—Yekaterinburg has produced heaps of tremendous groups . . .”

“Someone had the bright idea of providing the performers with an audience. They’ve bused in schoolkids, twenty thousand of them. And soldiers too, as part of their cultural program—at least ten thousand.”

“Dammit!” I said, lengthening my stride. “Alisher, I’ll make contact. You brief me and handle liaison with the Day Watch. Las, you take up position among the schoolkids. If necessary, put them all out with Morpheus. Semyon, you back me up, okay?”

“There isn’t really much to brief you on . . .” Alisher said, frowning. “Valentin Loktev, twenty-five years old, Fourth-Level, not specialized, studied in our school five years ago, didn’t join the Watch . . .”

The image that Alisher had sent took shape in my memory: a young guy with a nose twisted slightly to one side, sharp but rather coarse facial features, without any breeding or inner strength.

“A sportsman, is he?” I asked. “I seem to remember him. I saw him at the school a couple of times, when I was giving lectures.”

“A sportsman,” Alisher chuckled. “A chess player! And his nose is flattened like that from fighting when he was a little kid and a teenager. He’s from the outskirts, a district well known for the direct approach to settling disagreements.”

“I get it,” I said.

As we reached the entrance I picked out a member of the Day Watch in the crowd—a young vampire, dressed in a deliberately bright, challenging style. To look at he was the same age as our Schuchart, about twenty-five. The vampire was standing there, slouching against the metal barriers near the entrance.

“Hi there, Gorodetsky!” he exclaimed, identifying me instantly. I have a certain reputation among the vampires. And you couldn’t even really say that it’s a bad one. It’s kind of complicated.

But at least they all know me.