to have said that I'd caught the wolves and handed them over to the zoo? But then, the little boy didn't seem to be suffering from any lingering fears after his encounter with the werewolves. Arina had done a good job there.

Greeting the small number of villagers I met along the way, I walked to our house. Svetlana had occupied my hammock – with a bottle of beer and the book Fuaran: fact or fiction open at the final pages.

'Interesting?' I asked.

'Uhuh,' Svetlana said with a nod. She was drinking the beer rustic fashion, straight from the bottle. 'It's more fun that Tove Jansson's Moominpappa at Sea. Now I understand why they didn't print all the stories about the Moomintrolls before. The last ones aren't for children at all. Tove Jansson was obviously suffering from depression when she wrote them.'

'An author has the right to get depressed too,' I said.

'Not if she writes children's books, she doesn't!' Svetlana exclaimed sternly. 'Children's books should be heart-warming. Otherwise it's just like a tractor driver ploughing a field crookedly and then saying: "Ah, I was feeling depressed, it was more interesting to drive round in circles". Or a doctor who prescribes a patient a combined laxative and sleeping draft and then ex-plains: "I'm feeling a bit low, I thought it would cheer me up a bit".'

She reached out to the table and put down the fake Fuaran.

'You're very strict, Mother,' I said with a shake of my head.

'That's why I'm strict – because I'm a mother,' Svetlana replied in the same tone. 'I was only joking. The books are still wonderful anyway. Only the last ones are very sad.'

'Nadiushka and your mother have gone for a walk to the river,' I said.

'Did you see them?'

'No Ksyusha said: "Your Nadia and her granny have gone for a walk . . .".'

Svetlana tittered. But then she pulled a frightened face.

'Don't tell my mother that! She'll be upset.'

'Do you think I'm tired of living?'

'Why don't you tell me how your hike went?'

'The witch got away,' I said. 'We chased her down to the fourth level of the Twilight, but she still got away.'

'The fourth?' Svetlana's eyes flashed. 'Are you serious?'

I sat down beside her – the hammock swayed indignantly and the trees creaked, but they held. I gave her a short account of our adventures.

'And I've never been to the fourth level . . .' Svetlana said thoughtfully. 'How interesting . . . The colours come back?'

'I even thought there were some smells.'

Svetlana nodded absent-mindedly:

'Yes, I've heard rumours about that . . .Very interesting.'

I kept quiet for a few seconds. And then I said:

'Svetlana, you ought to go back to the Watch.'

She didn't object as usual. She didn't say anything at all. Encouraged, I went on:

'You can't live at half-power. Sooner or later you . . .'

'Let's not talk about it, Anton. I don't want to be a Great Enchantress,' Svetlana explained with a wry grin. 'A little bit of domestic magic, that's all I need.'

The gate slammed shut – Ludmila Ivanovna had come back. I glanced quickly at her and was about to look away – then I stared at her, puzzled.

My mother-in-law was glowing. Anybody might have thought that she'd just put some uppity salesgirl in a shop firmly in her place, found a hundred roubles in the street and shaken hands with her beloved TV host Leonid Yakubovich.

She was even walking differently – with light steps, her shoulders held straight and her chin held high. She was smiling blissfully and singing in a soft voice:

We were born to make a fairy tale come true . . .

I shook my head hard to clear it. My mother-in-law smiled sweetly at us, waved her hand and in two strides she was past us and heading for the house.

'Mum!' Svetlana shouted to her, jumping up. 'Mum!'

My mother-in-law stopped and looked at her – with that same blissful smile.

'Are you feeling all right, Mum?' Svetlana asked.

'Wonderful!' Ludmila Ivanovna replied affectionately.

'Mum, where's Nadiushka?' Svetlana asked, raising her voice slightly.

'She's gone for a walk with a friend,' she answered, unmoved.

I shuddered. Svetlana exclaimed:

'What do you mean? It's evening already . . . children can't go walking on their own . . . with what friend?'

'With a friend of mine,' my mother-in-law explained, still smiling. 'Don't worry. You don't think I'm so stupid as to let our little girl go off on her own, do you?'

'What friend of yours?' Svetlana screamed. 'Mum! What's wrong with you? Who's Nadia with?'

The smile