He really was a clairvoyant. One of those who are published regularly in the yellow press and equally yellow magazines, who appear on TV and sit among “the invited guests” in the front row at countless talk shows. He had forecast the financial crisis, when it was almost over already; the strengthening of the ruble, just before it fell; the replacement of dollars in the US by some weird kind of ameros; an asteroid shower; a landing by aliens from space; an epidemic of goat flu; unprecedented growth in the Russian economy; typhoons and earthquakes.

If it had always been the exact opposite of what he forecast that happened, his prophecies would have made some kind of sense. But it was the usual clairvoyant’s babble, a matter of random sensationalism. Sometimes he was mocked in the press, but his imposing appearance and slick tongue made him a favorite with the readers (especially the women) and he was never out of work.

“You’re a clairvoyant?” I inquired dubiously.

“Anton, surely you don’t think I would do serious forecasts for humans?” Sergei replied, smiling.

“I’ve never seen you in the Watch,” I said.

“They aren’t in the Watch,” Gesar said morosely. “You could say that Mark Emmanuilovich is retired.”

“Following injury,” Jermenson added with a jolly smile.

“And Sergei simply doesn’t want to serve,” said Gesar.

“It’s my right,” replied Glyba. “I want to live like a human being.”

Sveta emerged from the final portal, holding Nadya by the hand. The portal immediately faded away.

“Hello,” Nadya said very politely. “Hello, Uncle Gesar and Aunty Olya.”

Seeing Mark and Sergei gazing at my daughter with undisguised curiosity, I laughed.

“So everyone’s here—excellent,” said Gesar. “Let’s get down to work. You are all aware of what Anton has found out . . .”

Oho—he’d moved really fast. Not only summoned them, but briefed them too.

“We have an emergency situation,” Gesar went on.

“An extreme emergency, is it?” Mark Emmanuilovich inquired.

“Quite extreme,” Glyba said unexpectedly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Gesar . . . thank you for getting everyone together.”

“What do you see?” Gesar asked, without looking at the clairvoyant.

“Nothing.”

“Then why such a panic?”

“I don’t see anything, Gesar.” Sergei mopped his forehead and gave a crooked smile. “That’s why the panic. You know that I can always see something . . .”

“Usually foul abominations of some kind,” Gesar muttered.

“Well, that’s the way life is. But right now—there’s nothing.”

“Are you forecasting the end of the world, then?” Jermenson asked him. “Is there really nothing afterwards?”