'And you, do you see it?' Artyom asked blissfully, not wanting to open his eyes.

'No,' Khan said darkly. 'Almost everyone sees it but I don't. I only see thick, bright darkness around the tunnel, if you know what I mean. Blackness above, below, and on all sides, and only a small thread of light extends into the tunnel, and we follow it when we're in the labyrinth. Maybe I'm blind. Or maybe everyone else is blind. OK, open your eyes, I'm not a guide dog and I don't intend to take you by the hand to Kitai Gorod.' He let go of Artyom's wrist.

Artyom tried to walk on with his eyes squeezed shut but he stumbled on a cross-tie and almost fell to the ground along with his whole load. After that, he reluctantly lifted his eyelids and stayed silent for a long while afterwards, smiling stupidly.

'What was it?' he asked finally.

'Fantasies. Dreams. A mood. Everything together,' Khan replied. 'But it's very changeable. It's not your mood or your dreams. There are a lot of us here and so far nothing has happened, but the mood can change totally, and you will feel it. Look there, we are already coming out at Turgenevskaya! We got here fast. But we can't stop here at any cost, not even for a break. People will probably ask to take a break but not everyone feels the tunnel. The majority of them don't even feel what is accessible to you. We need to go on, even though now it will be harder.'

They stepped into the station. The light marble that coated the walls was barely distinguishable from that which covered the walls at Prospect Mir and Sukharevskaya, but there the walls and ceilings were so smoke-stained and greasy that the stone was almost invisible. Here it was untainted and it was hard not to admire it. People had left this place so long ago that there was no trace of their presence. The station was in surprisingly good condition, as though it had never been flooded, never seen a fire, and if it weren't for the pitch darkness and the layer of dust on the floor, benches and walls, you could have thought that in a minute a stream of pa.s.sengers would start flowing into it or, after emitting its melodious signal, a train would arrive. It had hardly changed after all these years. His stepfather had described all this with bewilderment and awe.

There weren't any columns in Turgenevskaya. Low arches were cut in thick marble at wide intervals. The flashlights of the caravan didn't have enough power to disperse the dusk of the hall and to light the opposite wall so it looked as though there was absolutely nothing beyond the arches, as though there was the end of the universe.

They pa.s.sed through the station rather quickly and, contrary to Khan's fears, no one expressed the desire to stop for a break. People looked perturbed and they started talking more and more about the fact that they needed to go as fast as they could, and get to an inhabited place.

'Do you feel it, the mood is changing . . .' Khan observed quietly, raising a finger as though trying to feel the direction of the wind. 'We do indeed have to go faster, they'll feel this on their skin no less than I will with my mysticism. But there's something preventing me from continuing on our route. Wait here for a little while . . .'

He took the map that he called the Guide out of his pocket carefully and, having told everyone to stay still, he extinguished his flashlight and took a few long and soft steps and disappeared into the dark.

When he stepped away, one guy came out from among the group and slowly, as though with effort, made his way over to Artyom. He spoke so timidly that at first Artyom didn't recognize the thickset bearded man who had threatened him at Sukharevskaya.

'Listen . . . it isn't good that we've stopped here. Tell him, we're afraid. There are a lot of us but anything can happen . . . d.a.m.n this tunnel, and d.a.m.n this station. Tell him we have to go. You hear? Tell him . . . please.' And he looked away and hurried back into the crowd.

This last 'please' made Artyom shudder. He was unpleasantly surprised by it. Taking a few steps forward so that he would be closer to the group and could hear the general conversation, he immediately realized that there was nothing left of his previous good mood.

In his head where a small orchestra had just been playing a bravura march, it was now empty and quiet and he could only hear windy echoes despondently sounding in the tunnels that lay before them. Artyom went quiet. His whole being had frozen, tensely waiting for something, sensing an inevitable change in plans. And he was right. After a fraction of an instant it was as if an invisible shadow swooped in above them and it became cold and very uncomfortable, wiping away all the feelings of peace and confidence which had settled upon them when they were walking through the tunnel. Now Artyom remembered Khan's words about the fact that this wasn't his mood, not his joy, and that a change in circ.u.mstances did not depend on him. He nervously turned his flashlight in a circle around him: an oppressive sensation of premonition had piled on top of him. The dusty white marble flared before him dimly, and the dense black curtain under the arches wouldn't be pushed backwards in spite of the panicky flashings of his light. This strengthened the illusion that the world ended beyond the arches. Unable to control himself, Artyom almost ran back to the others.

'Come to us, come, brother,' someone whose face he'd never seen before said to him. They, apparently, were also trying to save the batteries of their flashlights. 'Don't be afraid. You're a person and we're people too. When things like this go on, people have to stick together. Don't you think?'

Artyom willingly acknowledged that there was something in the air. Because he was scared he was unusually chatty, and he started to discuss with the people of the caravan his worries, but his thoughts kept returning to Khan's whereabouts. The man had disappeared over ten minutes before and there was no sign of him. Indeed he knew himself that you shouldn't go into this tunnel alone, you should only go together. How could he have gone off like that, how could he have dared to defy the unwritten law of this place? He couldn't have simply forgotten it, or just decided to trust his wolf's sense of smell. Artyom couldn't believe that. After all Khan had spent three years of his life studying this tunnel. And it didn't take that long to learn the basic rule: never go into the tunnel alone . . .

But Artyom didn't have time to consider what might have happened to his protector up ahead before the man himself appeared noiselessly at his side, and the people were reanimated.

'They don't want to stop here any longer. They're scared. Let's go on, quickly,' Artyom proposed. 'I also feel something's not right here . . .'

'They're not scared yet,' Khan a.s.sured him, looking behind him, and Artyom suddenly realized that his hard, husky voice was quivering. Khan continued, 'And you also don't know fear yet so let's not waste breath. I am scared. And remember I don't use words lightly. I am scared because I dipped into the station's gloom. The Guide wouldn't let me take another step, otherwise I would have undoubtedly disappeared. We can't go any further. Something lies ahead . . . But it's dark there and my vision doesn't penetrate and I don't know what exactly is awaiting us there. Look!' He lifted the map up to their eyes with a quick motion. 'Do you see? Shine your flashlight on it! Look at the pa.s.sage from here to Kitai Gorod! Don't tell me you don't notice anything?'

Artyom scrutinized the tiny section of the diagram with such urgency that his eyes hurt. He couldn't make out anything unusual, but he didn't have the courage to admit it to Khan.

'Are you blind? You really don't see anything? It's all black! It's death!' Khan whispered and jerked back the map.

Artyom stared at him cautiously. Khan again seemed like a madman to him. He was remembering the stuff Zhenya had told him about going into the tunnel alone, about the fact that whoever survived the tunnel would go crazy from fright. Could this have happened to Khan?

'And we can't turn back either!' Khan whispered. 'We managed to get through while there was a benevolent mood in there. But now the darkness is unfurling and a storm is brewing. The only thing we can do now is to go forward but not through this tunnel, but through the parallel one. Maybe it's clear right now. Hey!' he shouted at the others. 'You're right! We need to move on. But we can't go along this route. There's destruction and death that way.'

'So how are we going to move on?' asked one of them in puzzlement.

'We'll cross the station and go through the parallel tunnel - that's what we have to do. And as soon as possible!'

'Oh no!' someone in the group burst out. 'Everyone knows that you don't take the reverse direction tunnel if the one you're facing is clear - it's a bad sign, certain death! We won't go in the left-hand tunnel.'

Several voices agreed. The group shuffled their feet.

'What's he talking about?' Artyom asked Khan.

'Apparently it's native folklore,' he said and frowned. 'The devil! There is absolutely no time to convince them and I don't have the strength to either . . . Listen!' he addressed them. 'I'm going into the parallel tunnel. Whoever trusts me can come with me. The rest of you, goodbye. Forever . . . Let's go!' He nodded at Artyom and picked up his rucksack, which was heavy in his hands, and climbed up onto the edge of the platform.

Artyom was frozen with indecision. On the one hand, Khan knew things about these tunnels and the metro in general that far exceeded human understanding, and you could rely on that. On the other, there was the immutable law of these accursed tunnels that you could only go through them with a certain number of people because that was your only hope for success . . .

'What's up there? Too heavy? Give me your hand!' Khan extended his palm down to him and got onto his knees.

Artyom really didn't want to meet his gaze at that moment. He was afraid to see that spark of madness he had been so frightened to see flashing in the man's eyes a few times before. Did Khan understand that he was rejecting the warning calls of not just the people here but of the tunnel itself? Was it enough just to feel the nature of the tunnel? The place on the map, the Guide, at which he'd pointed wasn't black. Artyom was ready to swear that it was a faded orange colour, like all the other lines. So here was the question: which of them was actually blind?

'So? What're you waiting for? You what, don't understand that a delay will kill us? Your hand! For the devil's sake give me your hand!' Khan was yelling but Artyom slowly, with small strides, stepped away from Khan, still staring at the floor, and moved closer to the grumbling group.

'Come on, brother, come with us, no need to hobn.o.b with that jerk, you'll be safer here!' he heard from the crowd.

'Fool! You'll perish with them all! If you don't give a s.h.i.t about your life then at least think of your mission!'

Artyom summoned the courage to finally lift his head and set his gaze on Khan's dilated pupils, but there wasn't the fire of madness in them, only desperation and fatigue.

He started to doubt himself and he paused - and at that moment someone's hand came lightly down onto his shoulder and it softly pulled him.

'Let's go! Let him die alone, he only wants to drag you along into the grave!' Artyom heard the person say. The meaning of the words made their way to him heavily, he slowly grasped them, and in a moment of resistance he let the man lead him off after the others.

The group set off and moved forward into the darkness of the southern tunnel. They were moving surprisingly slowly, as though affected by the friction of some kind of dense medium - like they were walking in water.

And then Khan, with unexpected lightness, sprang off the platform and onto the path, and in two swift bounds he was at their side. And in one fell swoop he brought down the man who was leading Artyom along, and gripped Artyom and jerked his body backwards. It all seemed to go in slow motion for Artyom. He watched Khan's leap from over his shoulder with mute surprise, Khan's flight seemed to have lasted several seconds. And with the same dull reasoning, he saw how the moustached man in the tarpaulin jacket who was softly gripping him his shoulder, fell hard to the ground.

But from the moment when Khan intercepted him, time started to speed up and the reactions of the others upon hearing the sound of impact, seemed to him to be lightning quick. They were making their first steps toward Khan with their guns fixed on him, and Khan retreated softly to the side, squeezing Artyom to himself with one arm, holding him up, shielding his own body. His other hand was stretched forward and in it he held Artyom's dimly shining new machine gun.

'Go on,' Khan p.r.o.nounced hoa.r.s.ely. 'I don't see the point in killing you, you'll die anyway in an hour's time. Leave us. Go on,' he was saying, moving towards the centre of the station, step by step while the frozen figures of the undecided people were starting to turn into vague silhouettes and merged with the darkness.

Some sort of fuss was heard, they were probably helping the moustached man who'd been knocked down by Khan, and the group started to move toward the entrance to the southern tunnel. They'd decided not to join Khan. Only then did Khan lower the gun and sharply ordered Artyom to get up onto the platform.

'Any more of this and I'll get sick of rescuing you, my young friend,' he said with unconcealed irritation.

Artyom obediently climbed up and Khan followed him. Picking up his stuff, he walked into the black aperture, with Artyom trailing behind.

The hall in Turgenevskaya was quite short. On the left, there was a blind alley, a marble wall, and on the other side, there was a piece of corrugated iron over a break in the wall, and that was as far as you could see by the light of a flashlight. Marble, slightly yellowed with age, covered the whole station, which had only three arches. These led to the stairway which connected this station to Chistyie Prudi whose name had been changed to Kirovskaya by the Reds and which was now walled up with rough grey concrete blocks. The station was completely empty, there wasn't an object on the floor, there were no traces of human activity, not a rat, not a c.o.c.kroach. While Artyom looked around, he remembered his conversation with Bourbon, which confirmed that rats were afraid of nothing and if there were no rats in a place then there was something wrong there.

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Khan crossed the hall with a quick step, and Artyom could feel, even through his jacket, that Khan was trembling, as though he'd caught a chill. When they put down their bags at the edge of the platform, getting ready to jump onto the path, a weak light suddenly hit them from behind, and Artyom was again surprised by the speed with which his companion reacted to the danger. Within a short moment, Khan was on the ground, spread out and looking at the source of the light.

The light wasn't very strong but it was shining straight into their eyes and it was hard to make out who was in pursuit of them. A moment's delay and Artyom too dropped to the floor. He crawled to his rucksacks and got out the old weapon he was carrying. It was bulky and inconvenient but it made flawless holes of 7.62 calibre and whoever was on the receiving end of it would have a hard time functioning with holes like that in them.

'What's your business?' Khan's voice growled, and Artyom managed to figure out that if the person had wanted to kill them then they would have done so already.

He could see how it probably looked from the outside: helplessly crouched on the floor, in the light of a flashlight and in his crosshairs too. Yes, if he'd wanted to kill them, they would be lying in a pool of blood already.

'Don't shoot!' a voice called out. 'No need . . .'

'Turn off your flashlight!' Khan said, and he moved over to the column to get his own flashlight.

Artyom finally got hold of his weapon and, holding it fast, he rolled over to the side, out of the line of fire and hid in one of the arches. Now he was ready to emerge on the other side and cut off whoever it was, if the person chose to shoot.

But the stranger followed Khan's orders as soon as they were given.

'Good! Now put your weapon on the ground!' Khan said in a less tense voice.

Metal clinked on the granite floor, and Artyom, aiming his weapon forward, crawled sideways and appeared in the hall. He had calculated correctly - fifteen paces in front of him, lit up by the reflections of the flashlight on the arches, with hands up, was that same bearded man who had initiated the skirmish at Sukharevskaya.

'Don't shoot,' he said again with a trembling voice. 'I wasn't planning on attacking you. I decided to come with you. You did say that anyone who wanted could come. I . . . I trust you,' he said to Khan. 'I also feel that there's something going on over there, in the right-hand tunnel. They've already left, they all went. But I stayed behind, I want to go with you.'

'Good sense,' Khan said, studiously examining the guy. 'But my friend, you don't inspire trust in me. Who knows why that is,' he added mockingly. 'Basically, we'll examine your proposal. On condition that you hand over your entire a.r.s.enal to me. You'll walk in front of us in the tunnel. If you want to play the fool then it won't end well for you.'

The bearded guy pushed his pistol across the floor to Khan with his foot, and carefully put several spare cartridges next to it. Artyom picked them up from the floor and approached him, not lowering his gun.

'I've got him!' he shouted.

'Keep your hands up!' Khan thundered. 'And jump onto the path, quickly. Stand there with your back to us!'

After about two minutes into the tunnel, as they walked in a tight triangle - the bearded guy called Ace, walked five paces ahead of Khan and Artyom - they heard a muted howl. It stopped almost as soon as it had started . . .

Ace looked back at them frightened, forgetting even to shine his flashlight to the side of them. The flashlight was shaking in his hands, and his face, lit from underneath, was forced into a grimace of horror, and that had a greater effect on Artyom than the howl had.

'Yes,' Khan nodded, silently answering the question. 'They made a mistake. But I guess time will still tell whether we have too.'

They hurried on. Casting looks over to his protector from time to time, Artyom noted in him more and more signs of fatigue. His hands were lightly trembling, his stride was uneven, and sweat had gathered in huge droplets on his face. But they hadn't been walking for long at all . . . This path was obviously considerably more tiring for him that it was for Artyom. Thinking about what was draining the strength from his companion, the young man couldn't stop returning to the thought that Khan had seemed to be right in this situation, that he'd saved Artyom again. Had Artyom followed the caravan into the right-hand tunnel, then he would undoubtedly already be dead, he'd have disappeared without a trace.

But there were a lot of them - at least six of them. Had the iron rule not held? Khan had known - he'd known! Whether it really was premonition or if indeed it was thanks to the magic of the Guide . . . It was almost funny that a bit of paper with ink on it could do that. Could that piece of rubbish really help them? Well, the pa.s.sage between Turgenevskaya and Kitai Gorod had been orange, definitely orange. Or had it really been black?

'What's this?' Ace asked, suddenly stopping and uneasily looking at Khan.

'Do you feel that? From behind . . .'

Artyom stared in puzzlement at him and wanted to let out a sarcastic comment about jangled nerves because he didn't feel anything in the slightest. The claws of the heavy sensation of depression and danger had even seemed to unclench since they'd left Turgenevskaya. But Khan, to his surprise, froze in place, gestured to him to keep quiet, and turned to face the direction from which they'd just come.

'What a keen sense!' he said after a half minute. 'We're in admiration. The queen of admiration,' he added for some reason. 'We must definitely discuss this in more detail if we get out of here. You don't hear anything?' he inquired of Artyom.

'No, everything seems quiet,' Artyom listened and responded. At that moment he was filled with something . . . jealousy? Offence? Vexation, that his protector had said such things about the rough bearded sc.u.mbag who had only two hours ago threatened their lives? Please . . .

'That's strange. I think you have the rudiments of the skill to hear tunnels . . . Maybe it hasn't developed itself totally in you yet. Later, later. That will all come later.' Khan shook his head. 'You're right,' he addressed Ace, confirming the man's suspicions. 'Something's coming this way. We have to move and fast.' He listened again and sniffed the air in a very wolf-like manner. 'It's coming from behind like a wave. We have to run! If it covers us, then the game is over,' he concluded, tearing off.

Artyom had to rush after him and break into a run so he wasn't left behind. The bearded guy was now keeping pace with them quickly, moving his short legs and breathing heavily.

They went along like that for ten minutes, and all that time Artyom couldn't understand why they were rushing so much, getting so out of breath, stumbling on the cross-ties if the tunnel behind them was empty and quiet, and there was no evidence that they were being chased. Ten minutes pa.s.sed before they felt IT. It was definitely rushing after them, hard at their heels, chasing them step after step - something black. It wasn't a wave, but more like a whirlwind, a black whirlwind, cutting through the emptiness . . . And if it overtook them, then the same fate awaited them as had met the other six and all the other daredevils and fools who entered the tunnel alone or at a fatal time, when fiendish hurricanes raged, sweeping up any living thing. Such suppositions and a vague understanding of what was going on, were rushing through Artyom's mind, and he looked at Khan with anxiety. Khan returned his look and everything was clear.

'What, have you got it now?' He exhaled. 'It's a bad business! That means, it's already very close.'

'We have to go faster!' Artyom wheezed as he ran. 'Before it's too late!'

Khan picked up his pace and now he was trotting along with wide paces, saying nothing, not answering Artyom's questions anymore. Even the traces of exhaustion that Artyom had seen in the man seemed to have disappeared and something beast-like had emerged in him again. Artyom had to run to keep up but, when it seemed that they had broken away from the thing that was pursuing them inexorably, Ace tripped on a cross-tie and fell head over heels onto the ground. His face and hands were covered in blood.

Out of inertia, they ran another dozen paces before they took in that Ace had fallen and Artyom thought quickly that he didn't really feel like stopping and going back for the guy - he wanted to leave him to the dogs, the short-a.r.s.e bootlicker with his amazing intuition. He wanted to keep going before the thing got to them.

It was a disgusting thought but Artyom was seized by such a compulsion to flee and leave the fallen man that his conscience had gone silent. Therefore he felt a certain disappointment when Khan rushed back and, with a powerful jerk, lifted the bearded man to his feet. Artyom had secretly hoped that Khan with his more than disdainful att.i.tude towards others' lives, and indeed their deaths, wouldn't hesitate to forget the guy and leave him in the tunnel like the burden he was, and rush on.

Having ordered Artyom to take one of the injured Ace's arms, he took the other and pulled them along. This made running considerably more difficult. Ace was moaning and grinding his teeth from pain with each step, but Artyom didn't feel anything for him, apart from growing irritation. The long, heavy machine gun was painfully knocking against his legs, and he didn't have a free hand to hold onto it.

But death was very near. If they stopped and waited for half a minute, the ominous vortex would overtake then, whip and tear them into the smallest particles. In the course of a second they would no longer be of this universe and death cries would burst from them with unnatural speed . . . These thoughts didn't paralyse Artyom but, mixed with malice and irritation, they gave him strength and he gained more and more with each step.

And suddenly it disappeared, vanished entirely. The feeling of danger was released so suddenly that one's consciousness was left unusually empty, like the gap after a pulled tooth, and it was as though Artyom was now feeling around with the tip of his tongue for the pit. There was nothing behind them. Just tunnel - clean, dry, clear and completely safe. All that running from fear and paranoid fantasies, the unnecessary belief in some sort of special feelings and intuition, seemed so funny to Artyom now, so silly and absurd, that he burst out laughing. Ace, who had stopped next to him, looked at him with surprise at first and then also started to laugh. Khan looked at them, annoyed and finally spat at them: 'Well, what's so funny? It's nice here right? So quiet, so clean, right?' And he walked on alone. Then Artyom realized that they were altogether only about fifty paces from the station, and that light was clearly visible at the end of the tunnel.

Khan waited at the entrance, standing on the iron stairs. He had had time to smoke some kind of home-made cigarette, while they, laughing away, completely relaxed, made the fifty paces.

Artyom was penetrated by a feeling of sympathy and compa.s.sion for the limping Ace who was moaning through his laughter. He was ashamed at the thoughts that had flashed through his mind back there when Ace had fallen. His mood was dramatically improved, and therefore the sight of Khan, tired, emaciated, scrutinizing them with a strange look of suspicion, seemed a little unpleasant to Artyom.

'Thanks!' Boots rumbled on the stairs and Ace climbed up onto the platform saying to Khan, 'If it weren't for you . . . You . . . Well, it would have all been over. But you . . . didn't leave me there. Thank you! I don't forget things like that.'

'Don't worry,' Khan responded without any enthusiasm.

'Why did you come back for me?'

'You're interesting to me as someone to talk to.' Khan flung his cigarette b.u.t.t on the ground and shrugged his shoulders. 'That's all.'

After climbing a little higher, Artyom understood why Khan had gone up the stairs to the platform and not continued along the path. In front of the actual entrance to Kitai Gorod, the path was heaped with sandbags as high as a man. Behind the sandbags was a group of people sitting on wooden stools with a very serious look about them. Buzz cuts and wide shoulders under beaten-up leather jackets, shabby sports trousers - all this looked rather amusing but, for some reason, it hadn't produced any merriment. Three of them sat there and on a fourth stool there was a deck of cards, which the thugs had strewn carelessly about. There was such abusive language being used that listening to it, Artyom couldn't make out even one normal word in the conversation.

To get through the station you could only pa.s.s along a narrow path and up the little stairway, which ended with a gate. But diagonally across from the path, there was an even more imposing pack of four guards. Artyom threw them a look: shaved heads, watery-grey eyes, slightly bent noses, cauliflower ears, wearing training pants with a heavy 'TT' imprinted on the stripe. And there was an unbearable smell of fumes, which was making it hard to think.

'So what do we have here?' the fourth guard said hoa.r.s.ely, examining Khan and Artyom behind him from head to foot. 'Are you tourists or what? Or traders?'

'No, we're not traders, we're travellers and we have no goods with us,' Khan explained.

'Travellers - grovellers!' the thug rhymed and guffawed loudly. 'Hear that Kolya? Travellers - grovellers!' he repeated, turning to the card players.

They responded enthusiastically. Khan smiled patiently.

The bull of a man leant one hand against the wall blocking their way.

'We have here, a kind of a . . . customs operation, you know what I mean?' he explained. 'Cash is the currency. You want to go through - you pay. You don't want to then you can get lost . . . !'

'Whose prerogative?' Artyom protested indignantly.

That was a mistake.

The bull didn't probably quite get what he'd meant but he'd understood the intonation and he didn't like it. Pushing Khan to the side, he took a heavy step and got right up into Artyom's face. He lowered his chin and gave the young man a severe look. His eyes were completely empty and seemed almost transparent, and they lacked any sign of a reasonable mind. Stupidity and malice, that's what they emitted, and though it was hard to hold his gaze and Artyom was blinking from the tension, he felt how fear and hatred was growing in those eyes as they sat there at the tunnel entrance watching people come past.

'What the f.u.c.k?' the guard said threateningly.