“I don’t think it’s over, either . . .” Svetlana froze over the suitcase for a moment, with a pile of clean shorts in her hands. “Anton, is there anything you’re hiding from me?”

“How do you mean?”

“Anything to do with the Tiger and the prophecy?”

“I told you everything I knew,” I said, prevaricating slightly. I really didn’t know what had been dictated into the toy telephone. I wasn’t even sure that anything had been dictated into it at all . . . “Sveta, how many days are you packing my suitcase for?”

“Three . . . five . . . seven. For a week.”

“What for? I’ve got a return ticket after just two days.”

“Obviously for some reason I felt it was right to put in seven sets of underclothes for you,” Svetlana said thoughtfully. “And I’ve put in five shirts . . . and two warm sweaters as well . . .”

“London’s sweltering, just like Moscow,” I remarked.

“I know,” Svetlana sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m an intuitive clairvoyant.”

I nodded. Most Others, even when they feel a need to act in one particular way and not any other, can’t explain the reason why. And Svetlana didn’t know why she was packing me a bag for a week. That boy Innokentii would be able to explain it—when he learned to manage his gift.

“And I’ll put in a raincoat for you,” Svetlana said unexpectedly. “And an umbrella.”

“Will it fit?” I asked doubtfully, looking at the suitcase.

“I’ll stretch it on the inside.”

The funny thing was that the spell which made it possible to pack a whole heap of junk into a small volume had only appeared fairly recently. It had simply never occurred to a single Other that it could be done—until people started describing magical bags and suitcases in books of fantasy and fairy tales. Naturally, the path from concept to realization was not long. But even at that time not every magician was capable of casting the “handbag”—aka “nosebag”—spell.

Svetlana could, of course.

“I’ll expand your suitcase for two weeks,” said Svetlana. “You never know . . . if you really did get delayed, there’d be shorts and shirts spraying out in the middle of the airport.”

“Thanks,” I said. “What can I bring you from London?”

Svetlana brushed that aside.

“Don’t you try choosing any clothes for me . . . London has the oldest toyshop in the world: Hamleys. Drop in there and buy something for Nadya.”

“Clothes?” I asked.

“Toys.”

I harrumphed. I reckoned our daughter was pretty much indifferent to toys already. If I’d had a son, everything would have been simple enough. Buy him some radio-controlled helicopter, or some fancy kind of construction set.

“Barbie?” I asked, straining my imagination.

Svetlana sighed, smiled, and explained. “Look what girls her age are buying and get that.”

“I’ll do that,” I said happily. “Still, what shall I bring you?”