The note that had been soaked in the shower yesterday was found when I went to the bathroom in the morning. With the mosquito ringing in my ears, I washed my face, put on my sweater (it was chilly) and came out.

Robin was already in the kitchen, as if he'd never left.

"Ready to go out on the town?" he asked.

I wanted to wonder where Jay was, but it seemed that besides sensing his mood, a sense of his whereabouts had sprouted in me. He was in the house, but I hadn't seen anything besides the ground floor yet, so I couldn't figure out exactly where.

"It would be better if you showed me the house," I muttered. I'm not the most pleasant person to be around in the morning.

"Do you have any kind of sweatshirt with wide sleeves? This is what people wear nowadays. Trousers are fine," smiled Robin.

"Those are jeans," I corrected him glumly and went back to my room.

I found a white blouse in my backpack, wide on the cuff. It didn't look like mine. Alina, an avid shopper, occasionally emptied her wardrobe for new items, so something other than T-shirts only appeared in my wardrobe because of her.

I changed, stuffed the things I had taken out back into the backpack. Somehow not everything did fit.

Robin was satisfied. He was in the same black pants and light-blue shirt.

"Don't policemen have uniforms?" it suddenly occurred to me.

"'I'm on an emergency leave," said the sorcerer.

"Shouldn't we tell, well...?" I nodded upwards.

"He knows," Robin replied. "So, to business: I won't be able to be here as much soon, so I'll show you the food market for starters."

I immediately got upset. First of all, I don't want or know how to buy food because, secondly, I don't know what to do with it if it's not cooked. When it' s cooked, it goes without saying - you ieat it! Besides, what am I going to do when I'm alone with Jay and there's no one to protect me?

We walked down the curving street to the cobbled street, crossed it, and turned onto a narrow lane between houses. The hill was left behind, the relief leveled out.

The houses, one or two stories high, were crowded together and could not boast the lavish gardens comparing to the area where the sorcerer's house stood. It was not the first time I'd wondered how out of place the house was, but I didn't ask Robin yet. I had plenty of questions to ask beside that one.

"Robin, how is it that you two went to school together?" I asked on the way. " I mean, you're about ten years older than him."

"Actually Jay is a year older than me."

"How so?" I almost stopped in surprise.

"In the mirror everything slows down, almost stops. There's no need to eat, drink, sleep. He will probably now gradually approach his real age. I've only read about it in books, and no one knows about it from practice at all. That kind of punishment hasn't been used in centuries," Robin lowered his voice: "Ancient magic is dangerous, that's why it's forbidden. Three hundred years ago our world was destroyed, then with struggle to be rebuilt. The Magical Council was created and banned certain kinds of magic."

"Like what?" I asked, but listened without much interest.

It felt like talking to an IT guy and asking out of politeness what kinds of processors there are. Doubtful that I would ever need to know the classification of magic. Especially since I'm going to be back home soon, somehow, anyhow.

Robin enumerated:

"First, mirror magic - any use of mirrors and reflective surfaces."

"And the Council is permitted to do it, aren't they? Since they've locked..." I hesitated. For some reason I didn't feel like calling Jay by his name. "Since they are locking people in there."

"Only by unanimous decision of all twelve members of the Council. Secondly, time magic, but with exceptions. And third, any manipulation of other people's will and memory."

"But what about the frozen house? And Alina and my parents, who now think I work in the hotel!"

Robin didn't answer at first, and we walked in silence for a while.

"Jay, he... He didn't care about the prohibition before. I hope he'll be more careful now."

Oh, didn't care! Served him right. I wanted to ask who in this world I was supposed to complain to about breaking magic rules, but there was a policeman walking beside me who already knew, but didn't do anything about it. It would have been so easy to go to the police and report that I had been tricked into coming here and being held hostage. I asked differently:

"Who's making sure this magic isn't used, then?"

"The Council does - mostly by informants. Jay was, so to speak, tracked, so the Councilors knew right away that he was back."

"And they didn't do anything? I mean, he came back prematurely, right?"

"Right. But ancient magic doesn't serve to anyone's advantage. They locked Jay up for forty years, but there are loopholes in the ritual for the prisoner though: for example, no one can be locked in one mirror, only in the mirror chamber, and also if there's someone willing to take the prisoner's place, he can leave the mirrors sooner."

Unwittingly I was carried away by his story. Such an interesting TV series! I was bladdered with a million questions, from "what is the mirror chamber" to "what will happen to the nervous guy from my world", but we had already climbed the stairs, whose railings were covered with roses that were just beginning to bloom, and entered the market square.

The number of people in all sorts of clothes made my eyes widen. Lilya Sergeevna had never shown us anything like this on her excursions! The colours, sounds and smells filled the space and absorbed my attention.

The square was surrounded by small houses with red roofs. The window frames were also red, and the balconies were covered with orange, yellow and purple flowers with black middles and rounded leaves pointing up at the edges.

The whole area was lined with light awnings to protect from the sun. On the tables the sellers laid out their wares - fruits and vegetables, bread and curd, herbs, spices, cooking utensils, fresh flowers, wreaths with colourful ribbons. I paused at the hay figures with glass beads woven into them. There were cats, mice, deer, little people, and balloons hanging from the awning, from small, palm-sized ones to huge ones that I wouldn't be able to wrap my hands around.

I wanted to stay there for longer, to see and touch everything, but I was afraid of losing Robin in the crowd. I hadn't really kept my eyes on the road, and now I would hardly be able to make it home on my own.

Robin was buying apples from an elderly woman with short gray hair curled into frivolous curls and high, charcoal-drawn eyebrows that gave her face a surprised expression.

"Robin," I whispered, "is it that apples are ripening in the spring here?"

"No," he laughed, "they are being transferred from other countries, which is why they are expensive at the moment. In autumn there will be local ones."

"So anything can be transferred, even from other worlds?"

" One can, within reasonable limits. However, not many people can afford such things from other worlds, and when it comes to food, it's mostly the same everywhere you go. The Old Market by the castle sells exotics, and the New Market - it's here - and the Southern Market sells ordinary stuff."

I left Robin alone for a while, digesting the information. I thought there would be some pixie wings, Mandragora root and glowing petals. But Robin was throwing potatoes and carrots, courgettes and aubergines into the bag. I could never remember which was which, one green, the other purple. I got a little stressed, because it all has to be cooked in some inventive way, not just thrown into a pot, poured with water and waited for it to cook.

In the very centre of the square, surrounded by counters, a stone fountain in the shape of a bowl was situated. Four small statues, two women and two men in cloaks, were standing on a pedestal, their backs to each other. Robin stopped at the egg-seller, with a big red hen stomping on his desk, and I strolled between the tables until I was able to make my way around the fountain. The men were bearded and wore round hats. One woman covered her head with a brimmed hat; the other was not wearing one. Each character held something in his hand. The first man held a house, the second a bowl, the woman in the hat a corn, and the last character held a feather to her chest. I sat on the edge of the fountain and wiggled my hand in the cold water.

"The founders of the city," Robin's voice came over my shoulder. "Not specific people, but rather representations: the builder with the house, the diplomat with the bowl of water - it symbolizes conversation, the farmer and the sorcerer. The feather here is both a writing instrument and a sign of journeys."

"You threw the eggs right in with the vegetables," looking at the bag, I informed Robin, already suspecting that there was some kind of spell in there.

"They won't break unless you tap them with a knife or bang them on the edge of a frying pan."

Well, that's the ultimate chef's trick. My scrambled eggs are usually topped with bits of shell anyway, and if I smash an egg into the frying pan it's me literally smashing it, with consequences all over the cooker, if not the floor.

We headed for the exit, slowly making our way through the noisy crowd. Many people were buying buns and tea and eating right on the spot, but Robin wanted to go into the bakery, which was on the cobbled street. I tried to remember some of the landmarks this time, but one narrow street between houses turned into another, twisting and ending at a crossroads. We must have been going the other way. It would come in handy for me to learn the streets in case I had to run. Of course Jay would know right away where I was, but I had no doubt that there was a way to break my oath, especially since I'd been tricked. I even felt a little sympathy for the nervous guy, who was now going to sit in the mirror for twenty-seven years. But at least he has a time limit!

Along the broad street leading to the bridge, higher houses lined the street. There were shops and boutiques on the ground floors and trees in front of them, separating the pedestrian area from the road. The shade of the trees welcomed the customers of the tearooms. Waiters were busy scurrying between the tables.

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We approached a shop with a sign in the shape of a bun in a hat. The ornate inscription was so illegible that I couldn't even distinguish the letters from the words. The smell of fresh bread was enticing. My eyes darted around the counter full of bread, loaves, buns, pretzels, biscuits, muffins and cakes. How could people walk by so indifferently!

In addition to the round buns, sweet and spiced, Robin bought plain ones, three of each, and for me he got that pizza-like bun he'd been talking about. He must have heard the call of my stomach, too, which reminded me loudly that it hadn't been fed in a while. I ate the bun immediately, remembering to strain against Robin's intrusive care. I'm not twelve years old, after all, and I've lived alone for a long time. The bun was buttery, spicy, and reminded only remotely of pizza. On the way back, I wished I'd saved it for later. I felt terribly thirsty, as I struggled up the hill.

Robin made me stand beside him and memorize his actions while he was making an omelet. What good would it do to memorize them if I was going to end up burning everything...? But I obediently stood next to him because he said he wouldn't be here until the afternoon tomorrow.

"No way!" suddenly exclaimed Robin. "The shadow of the world?"

I had to distract myself from watching the hills grow on the surface of the omelette under the glass lid. Today the green bits of onion were not pirates but trees growing in the middle of the desert, and the tomatoes... I was just contemplating what tomatoes could represent.

Robin was looking behind me, and I didn't even turn around. Clearly, the master of the house had arrived. To test my newfound sense, I mentally probed his mood. Wow, this guy was able be happy about something! Jay sat down at the table, and I glanced over at him. He smiled faintly, pushed the apple that Robin had carefully placed in the middle of the table away from him, took a bun and began to tear off one piece at a time carefully.

"I ate there," the sorcerer finally said.

"And what exactly did you eat there, would you kindly tell me?" inquired Robin, with his hands at his sides like an untrusting mother to whom her son tells how he enjoys broccoli and cauliflower for lunch and would gladly trade all the chocolate bars in the world for them.

"Their standard menu: moss salad, moss chops and chips. Also from moss. And moss for dessert," Jay replied wryly.

I perked my ears, remembering my mossy nightmares.

"Don't get too carried away with the sleeping there," Robin said admonishingly.

"I know," Jay brushed him off, "but better there than no sleep at all.

Even though Jay said he could feel hungry now, he didn't eat much at all. He waited for me to wash the dishes before he made us go back to the garden.

Robin didn't resist; he liked handling the plants, even if they were prickly and dry and wanted to scratch or trip him up. I tried to raise the garden shears to my chest level, but my muscles were sore from yesterday's drudgery.

Jay watched my futile attempts to tackle the branches at the back of the garden and sent me off to wash the lions again. I didn't even argue, since I hadn't worked very hard yesterday, scrubbing the dirt off the statues. I wasn't going to bother working today, either. Not just because of the aching muscles I'd never known existed, but also out of principle.

I poured a little water into the bucket, because I couldn't carry much, and strode to the wicket, cursing the sorcerers for not inventing a garden hose and suspecting that there was a way to fill the bucket without carrying it into the house. Maybe there were notes too, no specificity required here.

I paused at the lions for a while, wondering if it was something wrong with me, or if it was the house that was turning the drawings into tattoos, also changing the lions in places. I was sure that yesterday the sitting lion was to the left of the entrance, and the bush with white flowers was practically on top of his head. Also, today it seemed much dirtier than the one lying down, and I had washed them with equal enthusiasm, that is to say, with minimal.

Robin continued his cooking classes in the afternoon, chopping vegetables into a pan of boiling oil, making me memorize the sequence as to what would take longer to cook, what would be faster, and repeating that everything was done by eye, one just had to start. I had no desire to start, but Robin repeated that he wasn't coming tomorrow morning, and I had to make breakfast.

I picked at the pieces of vegetable on my plate while the sorcerers discussed nonsense about the lives of old acquaintances. Who even invented vegetables? They' re impossible to eat! Unless, of course, it's popcorn. I made a sad face out of the pieces. It was like looking in a mirror, I swear!

Robin murmured to Jay, then made a face at him and poked him on the shoulder. Jay sighed.

- Rina, p... - He cleared his throat and then continued: - Please make some coffee.

Anything is better than laying out vegetable appliqués. Besides, it put off getting back to work a bit.

Surprisingly, we were almost done with tidying up the garden. Branches no longer clung to my clothes as I walked past, tumbling through the fallen leaves of the years before. Some of the bushes only just sprouted leaves, though it was almost summer here. They had lacked sunshine. Now it was possible to see exactly what was growing. There were mostly rose hips in the garden, and wild grass and feral tulips were making their way along the edge of the path.

In the evening my room got considerably brighter, and from the window I could see the lions guarding the wicket. They were still huddled by a messy sprawling hedge that bore little resemblance to the right-angled green bushes of the neighbours. One of the lions had a branch with large white flowers resting on its head.

In the morning I was awakened again by a mosquito alarm clock. I had thoughtfully taken some of the blue and orange notes from the box into my room, and left the rest in the kitchen. The blue ones for water, which I used most often, had faded in a couple of days. I only sighed. What's the point of having all that magic that's causing so much bother? It would have been so much easier to invent electricity and running water.

A new cause for distress was discovered just after I showered. My shirt was in bad shape from the prickly branches, and now it was stale, so I tossed it in the corner and rummaged through my backpack. I could wash my shirt with soap in the sink, but somehow they clean clothes here without washing machines. Not in the river, right?

I pulled out a grey Mickey Mouse T-shirt from my backpack. I hadn't seen it in ages! Where on Earth had Alina dug it up? It smelled like dried lavender. It must have been lying somewhere in the back shelves of the wardrobe.

I didn't unpack the backpack, as a matter of principle. I didn't have the energy for it, for one thing, and for another, Jay would have to let me go sooner or later. Sooner rather than later. Why should he need a clueless maid, who had to be taught how to turn on lights and water, and who was little more capable in this world than a baby...? Wait a minute, Katherina, that's an idea! Of course, when I imagined myself as a TV series heroine, I was brave and noble, though somewhat clumsy. But what if it wasn't my role? What if my role is a stupid maid who does more harm than good, and creates an incredible amount of irritation? She drops everything, makes a fuss, wastes time, doesn't understand elementary things, makes mistakes as if on purpose, and in the end the master can't stand it and sends her home.

What a brilliant plan! And given how easy it is to annoy Jay, I stand a good chance of getting home before the end of spring. Besides, I won't even have to pretend, which I immediately proved at breakfast.

Robin didn't show up, just as he'd warned. Jay was sitting on the veranda, chewing on an apple. When he heard my footsteps, he turned around.

" Why so long?"

Because that mosquito peep could well be ignored. Good morning to you too, fairy wizard. How did you sleep, or did you sleep at all?

It's easy to be sarcastic in thought, but in reality I mumbled:

"I was looking for some clothes."

"Found any?" the sorcerer asked dryly.

I adjusted my shirt, folded my arms across my chest, and didn't answer.

"Would you be so kind as to make some breakfast?" Jay made a theatrical gesture toward the cooker and turned away. That' the one who had the sarcasm coming naturally and effortlessly!

I pulled out the frying pan, which I had shoved into the unknown depths of the shelf yesterday. The bowl was at the sink. There I was supposed to mix the ingredients I'd found in the fridge. It seemed simple when Robin showed me.

So. Crack the eggs. Not on the edge of the frying pan - I'd have to clean the cooker. Not with a knife, I can hit my fingers and Robin's not here to fix me. I'll try the edge of the bowl. The bowl disagreed by sliding to the floor and breaking into three large shards. I glanced warily toward the veranda and pushed them toward the wall with my foot. I'll clean them up later. The sorcerer didn't even look back. Fine, let's get on with it. Finding another bowl, I grabbed it tightly with one hand and hit the egg against the edge with the other. The result was beyond expectation - half went into the bowl with the shell, some ended up on the tabletop, and the rest dripped off my hand. I took out the most visible shells and let the smaller ones float around. I know I'll have to eat it too, but I'm willing to sacrifice my well-being to mess with the sorcerer.

Speaking of salt! It can be ignored. Having dealt with the eggs and generously poured milk over them, I whipped the mixture with a fork. The liquid with transparent and yellow flecks formed a nice foam, and I poured the fruits of my labours into the pan. Oh yes, it was supposed to be oiled, but whatever. I wasn't sure about preheating it either. Everything would heat up and get cooked anyway, who cares? I waved a note over the cooker. Some sliced tomatoes and wilted onions were thrown into the pan next. Shouldn't the oil be added now...?

The liquid smelled of scrambled eggs and then began to char around the edges, but was unwilling to take on the desired consistency. I poked the rumbling slurry with a spatula doubtfully and tried to flip it over. Fascinated, I forgot for a while that I didn't want to cook at all.

It was even interesting, reminding me of a restaurant game I used to play in lectures, with my phone hidden under the table.

Another thing was that the game didn't stink of burning, or I would have been kicked out of the classroom immediately. I gave up trying to help the omelette cook and dumped it on the plates as is. It turned out to be picturesque and varied - it included burnt, dried, and liquid parts. A crust of blackened layer was left in the frying pan.

The sorcerer sat with his back to the kitchen, staring into his private patch of wilderness in the backyard. There were birds chirping in the tall grass growing alongside the young trees. I suppose I should call Jay, but I still didn't feel like addressing him by his first name. On the street, people addressed each other as " Master Baker," "Master Salesman"... Master Sorcerer? First of all, for that matter, I haven't seen him do any witchcraft since we traveled between worlds. And secondly, master? No way!

"Done," I muttered after a moment's hesitation and sat down to pick at the contents of my plate without waiting for the sorcerer.

He tossed an apple into the grass, scaring away the red-breasted brown birds.

"Smells disgusting," he said as he sat down at the table, "and looks even worse."

You haven't tasted it yet, dear.

I had to put a slice of yesterday's dried bread in the plate - there was no way to collect the slop otherwise. Jay separated the pale part of the omelet with a slice of tomato from the burnt crust, chewed, and pushed the plate away. I focused on chewing on the shells and pretended not to notice his gaze, which was like he was trying to burn a hole in me. See, I'm eating, so it's edible! But my sacrifice was in vain.

"Do you eat such things at home?" asked Jay quietly.

I nervously swallowed another bite and didn't respond. In the silence, I could feel the irritation filling the sorcerer like water filling a glass, and soon it would overflow.

"Let's make a deal," he said slowly.

He likes to negotiate, but for some reason it's always a one-sided deal. Rule number four was sure to follow.

"...I ask, and you answer, and don't make me repeat it twice."

I got goosebumps running down my spine. So quickly the memory of how intimidating he could be wiped away. At least this time I didn't cry. Deciding not to test the sorcerer's patience, I put my fork away and stared at the table:

"No. We don't eat that sort of thing."

"Try better tomorrow," he said and added: "And don't pester Robin, he's doing too much already."

I don't pester anyone, Master Sorcerer! It is you who pester me. I pursed my lips together instead.

"Is there anything else besides that?" Jay nodded at his plate. My sullen silence didn't seem to bother him at all.

There were tomatoes and a couple of branches of grapes left in the fridge. Yesterday's vegetables and a few eggs were lying on the bottom shelf, but I didn't even want to look at them. Even if I tried to cook something now, it would just turn out a different kind of slop. Jay picked up the grapes, a dried-up bun, and headed out to the veranda to hypnotize the grass.

I searched the omelet for something edible, but quickly gave up on the hopeless pursuit. I was desperate for coffee, but then I'd have to make it for the sorcerer, too, and it would look like I was apologizing. I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't make a disgusting breakfast on purpose, you could even say I made a good effort. He's the one who should be apologizing! If not for dragging me into his world, then at least for making me do terrible housekeeping chores.

I wish he'd taken Alina. She loves cleanliness and comfort, adores cooking and can't live without travelling. She would even enjoy it. I imagined Alina going through the house like a hurricane, leaving not a speck of dust behind. In the city she buys the most fashionable fuchsia-coloured pants and a blouse with giant roses... She chats charmingly with the market vendors and is adored by everyone... She makes porridge in the morning, soup for lunch and bakes her own bread, cakes and buns.

Soon Jay grows a belly, three chins, and his cheeks almost hang down to his shoulders. Of course, Alina forces him to get a haircut and change his black and brown wardrobe for something more fresh. She learns to see silver sparks, excels at magic and later opens a shop of witchcraft supplies and notes from Mistress Alina.

In the meantime, I'm looking for a new, compliant roommate, or even moving back in with my parents. Someone has to feed me and clean the flat.

A sad face stared up at me from the plate again. I tossed the culinary experiment into the trash and started scrubbing the frying pan.