“I saw that in some old American movie,” I explained. “I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“Our great modernizer Peter brought this lousy herb to Russia. I asked him not to,” Arina muttered.

“Don’t lie—you were born after Peter was already dead,” I protested.

“Better get used to it, we’ve got nothing to do now except tell tall tales,” Arina retorted, and took a drag. “Although, of course, there will be other amusements. After all, it’s eternity, you understand.”

I took the cigarette out of my mouth and stubbed it out on the floor, looking over Arina’s head—at the gap opening up in the wall of the impenetrable Sarcophagus.

The Tiger stood there in the gap, with a seething gray haze behind him. I even thought I could see the “bubbles” that Nadya had talked about.

“Impressive,” said the Tiger, walking into the Sarcophagus. “Did you know that in the entire history of the Inquisition this spell has only been used three times?”

I shook my head. Arina was already on her feet—she seemed to be preparing to fight.

“In principle, it’s perfectly convincing,” the Tiger continued, walking unhurriedly towards me. He ignored Arina. “But didn’t it strike you that your daughter might draw an unexpected conclusion?”

“What kind of conclusion?” I asked.

The Tiger grabbed me by the collar and hauled me up into the air without the slightest effort.

“For instance, that if the Twilight dies, her beloved daddy will come back from the Sarcophagus.”

“Is that true?” I wheezed, clutching at my throat and trying to loosen my collar.

“No! But is she really going to believe me?”

The next moment the Tiger lunged forward—and we passed through the wall.

Arina’s scream broke off behind me, as if it had been chopped off with a knife.

Once again we were standing in the little house lost in the depths of the forest outside Moscow.

“Daddy!” shouted Nadya, dashing towards me. The Tiger let go of my collar and moved a few steps away. I hugged my daughter and looked at him. The Tiger looked morosely at Kesha, standing beside him. The boy seemed to have turned to stone.

“Don’t even think about it!” I said.

“But what guarantees do I have?” he asked in a low voice.

“None. We get by without guarantees all our lives—you’ll just have to get used to doing the same.”

The Tiger fixed Kesha with a piercing stare. Then he said: “Boy-Prophet—for my own safety, I ought to kill you . . .”

“I don’t want you to!” Kesha exclaimed, terrified, and started backing away awkwardly in my direction.

“All right. That’s what we’ll write: Innokentii Tolkov refused,” said the Tiger. And he disappeared.

The three of us were left alone together.

“Has he really gone?” asked Nadya. “What do you think, Daddy?”