“A risk,” said the Tiger. “He is a Prophet first and foremost. And then a little boy. Leave.”

“Give him time,” Gesar repeated.

Instead of answering, the Tiger started advancing again. Apparently the time for talking was over.

I didn’t understand exactly what it was the Great Ones did. The corridor was suddenly swathed in a multicolored fiery cobweb, with blue, green and orange threads strung through the air. The Tiger ran into them and his face contorted, as if in pain. But he carried on walking. Slowly, but surely.

“Anton, leave!” Gesar barked.

I looked at Nadya. Squeezed her hand tighter. Nodded.

“Do we have to go, Daddy?” she asked very calmly.

I nodded again.

“He only needs just a little bit longer,” said Nadya. “Why don’t I—”

“We’re leaving!” I shouted. “Open the portal. I order you to!”

“Daddy, you can’t order me to run away!”

“I’m not ordering you as your daddy, but as a member of the Watch!”

Nadya looked at me, and I wasn’t sure if it would work. Since she was little we had taught her to respect the Night Watch. Explained that what members of the Watch said was an order. That magic was not to be played with. But she was a little girl, for her all fairy tales had a happy ending—and I saw an energy that could engulf the whole of Moscow raging in her eyes . . . only no one knew if it would be any use against the Tiger.

“Nadya, please,” I repeated wearily.

Tears glinted in my daughter’s eyes. She pressed her lips together and nodded—and a portal opened up beside us. I glanced at the Tiger—he had already walked halfway along the corridor. He wasn’t attacking, we weren’t his enemies . . . We were no hindrance to him, he was on his way to kill the Prophet.

I took hold of Nadya’s hand and tugged her towards the portal . . .

And at that instant the Tiger stopped. He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead in a perfectly human gesture. And smiled.

The door behind our backs opened and the little Prophet Kesha came out into the corridor. He was soaking wet, like some fat man who has been forced to train in the gym. His eyes looked slightly drowsy and dopey, he gazed at us perplexedly, barely even recognizing us. His nose was bleeding.

“Everything is all right,” said the Tiger. “I am leaving.”

Apparently he was simply going to walk away—along the corridor. But the floor under his feet suddenly shattered, spraying planks and small chunks of concrete in all directions. The golem that Jermenson had set in motion during the first skirmish had caught up with its adversary after all.