“Yes, of course,” says Oz. “But this will be our secret.”

I wander the buffet. I pick my way through the things I should eat and the things I want to eat. As a diabetic, I’m supposed to embrace protein and avoid carbohydrates. At least, that’s the theory.

Oz is waiting for me when I return. “A Greek god and a bloodthirsty savage?”

“Absolutely.”

“You must tell me how this could happen.”

Oz’s ears come to a point. His long nose reminds me of a fox. His English is good, with only the trace of a dancing accent.

I try the cheese. “Are you French?”

“Right now, I am Czech.” Oz points to an item on the hot menu. “This you will like.”

“What is it?”

“You and your wife are in Prague on vacation?”

“Apparently.”

“Ah,” says Oz. “Also business?”

I try to imagine how I would explain a lost relative and a medicine bundle to a wizard in Prague. “We’re looking for something.”

“Something. Yes.” Oz leans forward on the table. When he does, I can see that he has a watch on each wrist. “That is for what we are all looking.”

There are three choices on the hot menu. When the woman comes by with coffee, I point to the second item.

“There is much in Prague to find,” says Oz. “Do you know about windows?”

“Windows?”

“In Prague, they throw politicians out windows,” says Oz. “Defenestrations. This is the word, yes? 1419, 1618, and 1948.”

I look at the clock on the wall and wonder if Mimi is still in bed.

“In the first defenestration, seven members of council are thrown out the windows of the town hall. They land on pikes. Most unfortunate.”

If she’s not careful, she’ll miss breakfast.

“In the second defenestration, government officials are thrown out windows into a moat.” Oz pauses and sips at his coffee. “They land on piles of manure and survive.”

I could call the room and remind her of the time constraints regarding morning meals at the hotel.

“In the third defenestration,” Oz continues, “Jan Masaryk, the foreign minister of Czechoslovakia, is thrown out a window to his death by Soviet Communists, who claim it is suicide.”

Or I could just do nothing. Missing a meal might be an effective object lesson in punctuality.

“Of course, tossing politicians out windows is reasonable, yes?” Oz holds out his wrists. The two watches are about the same size. “Compared to carpet bombings and drone strikes? Sarin gas and napalm? Nuclear missiles and the World Bank?”

One watch has a cream face with numbers the colour of winter ice. The other has a brilliant green face with gold hands.

“Both of these are watches.” Oz crosses his wrists back and forth, as though he’s running a shell game. “But one is also a state of mind.”