Three things contributed to the early awakening.
First, the mechanical monstrosity known as an alarm clock, which Petunia had set for six in the morning out of old habit.
Second, the morning cold that had seeped through the several blankets and coats on top, driving away her sweet sleep and making Petunia squirm irritably in her attempts to warm up.
And third… when Petunia realized the third reason, she paid no attention to the bitter cold in the little house and shot out from under the blankets like a bullet, quickly settling herself on the magnificent throne in the tiny room.
She had been holding it in for over a day, since the day before yesterday when she got on the stagecoach, and her bladder had had enough of this torment.
Amidst a vigorous stream, Petunia tried to figure out where she was supposed to empty the chamber pot.
Especially when nature called in a bigger way.
And what if she got an upset stomach?
And how was she supposed to deal with the smells that would inevitably seep into the house?
Lily had once told her, laughing, that until recently witches and wizards hadn’t had sewers.
They supposedly did their business in the nearest secluded corner and then just magicked away all traces.
Back then Petunia had just been embarrassed and, pursing her lips, said she hoped her sister wouldn’t sink to such filth.
But right now, she could only dream of a toilet that got rid of everything that went into it all by itself.
And that also cleared the air of unpleasant odors.
Ah, maybe the idea of moving out to this backwater hadn’t been such a good one after all.
After all, she was a decent girl — she had a right to proper plumbing!
And yet… rising from the seat, she felt a light breeze waft over her backside, and suddenly the room smelled of ozone.
Petunia flinched, yanked her panties up, and jumped back from the toilet at the same time.
Only then did she peer inside, wrinkling her nose in advance.
But no.
The snow-white porcelain of the night vase was virginal, as if she hadn’t just defiled it with her bodily waste.
Not a single trace, not a spot, not a drop.
An involuntary “whoa” of respect escaped her, and she even applauded the wizard who had seen to her needs.
It was probably Mr.
Cory.
She would need to thank him, but somehow indirectly, so as not to put herself in an awkward position.
Encouraged, Petunia grabbed the bucket and hurried to the pond.
The heavy bolt slid out of its slots slowly and reluctantly, but Petunia managed it and swung the door open.
The sun shone bright and cheerful; snow-white clouds floated across the blue sky.
In the cold, crisp air, the greenery surrounding the house looked especially distinct, and if she looked into the distance, she could make out the tops of distant hills, covered in forest.
The grass was wet with dew, individual droplets sparkling like gems in the sun’s rays.
Petunia soaked her feet as she pushed through the undergrowth toward the pond.
Every now and then, she noticed strange bare patches in the grass, almost perfectly round, arranged one after another in a chain.
In the middle of the nearest track, something glistened wetly.
Petunia bent down to look, but didn’t understand what it was and gave up.
While scooping water, she spotted a couple of fish in the pond.
Their flexible silver bodies flashed in the depths and vanished from sight.
When Petunia was a little girl, her parents had taken them to the countryside a couple of times.
And her grandfather, whom she remembered only vaguely, had taught her and her sister to fish.
Although it was quite a while ago, Petunia still remembered how to bait a hook and how to set the hook.
Maybe if she looked more carefully through the pantry, she might find a fishing rod, too?
Back in the house, Petunia winced and shivered as she wiped herself down with the cold water.
The fireplace still hadn’t yielded to her, and there was nowhere to heat the water.
For breakfast, she had a lonely apple she’d found in her carpetbag and the leftover bread.
Washing down the meager breakfast with the last of the tea from her thermos, Petunia rifled through the carpetbag one more time but found nothing else useful.
She counted her meager funds and decided to go into town a bit later.
There must be a shop there.
But later.
The alarm clock’s hands showed only half past seven — too early for any shops.
Especially in the sticks.
To pass the time, Petunia sorted through her things and repacked them into the carpetbag.
There was nowhere to store them yet.
Then she made the bed and tidied up her meager remaining supplies.
She glanced at the fireplace but remembered there was only half a box of matches left, and let the idea go for now.
Maybe she’d find some kind of firestarter at the shop.
There was nothing else to do — it was an extremely tiny and very sparsely furnished house — and her interest naturally settled on the television.
She hadn’t had a chance to examine it yesterday, but today she suddenly wondered — where was it plugged in?
Maybe there was an outlet somewhere?
The television was big and bulky.
It sat directly on the floor.
When Petunia tried to move it, no matter how hard she pushed, it didn’t budge an inch.
As if its legs had grown into the floor.
A thorough inspection fifteen minutes later showed that not only was the television not plugged into anything, it didn’t even have a power cord or an outlet it was supposed to plug into.
“What are you doing here, then?” Petunia straightened up and gave the device a critical look.
It certainly looked real.
The black convex screen was made of real glass — she’d checked by tapping on it — and below it was a row of buttons.
On a whim, she clicked the biggest button, figuring it was probably the power button.
And she was right.
The television hummed quietly, and the edges of its screen lit up, while the rest stayed dark.
Petunia looked at it in puzzlement and noticed that some of the other, smaller buttons were also lit, and she pressed the very first one.
An image of a map with unfamiliar outlines and a human figure appeared on the screen.
“This is KCZU 5,” the announcer on the screen said, “your number-one source for weather forecasts, news, and entertainment.
And now — tomorrow’s weather forecast.” The image flickered and changed, and Petunia saw a schematic map.
In its upper part, a railroad was drawn, leading into mountains in the upper right corner.
At the foot of the mountains, a lake gleamed blue, and from it flowed a river that wound and branched.
It framed a small town on the right and bottom, flowing into the sea at the bottom of the map.
To the left of the town, Petunia recognized the bus stop and even the farmhouse.
She blinked.
The announcer smiled and said, “Tomorrow will be a beautiful, sunny day!” Having said his piece, the announcer vanished, leaving only the map on the screen.
Petunia grunted and clicked the next channel button.
An image of a woman in a wizard’s robe, sitting by a glowing crystal ball, appeared on the screen.
“Ah…” the fortune teller sighed.
“I sense that a new viewer has joined us.
A girl from… the Lone Lands?” Petunia felt someone’s gaze boring into her back between her shoulder blades.
She shrugged her shoulders, and the sensation vanished.
“Welcome, welcome!” The fortune teller waved her hands over the ball, making a few mysterious passes.
The ball flashed, and a shadow appeared inside it, which coalesced into the image of a bat.
“The spirits are a bit agitated today.
Luck will not be on your side.” Having finished her prediction, the fortune teller, like the announcer before her, vanished from the screen.
One more button remained lit on the television, and Petunia pressed it immediately.
This channel was broadcasting an educational show called “Gifts of the Earth.” The host, dressed like a typical farmer in denim overalls and a hat, informed Petunia that for her first earnings, she needed to chop down trees and gather wild gifts of nature, whatever those gifts might be.
As soon as the very short program ended, the TV screen went dark.
Petunia clicked the other buttons but only managed to get repeats of the weather forecast and the prediction.
Finally, she turned off the television, since there was no more use for it.
At least it had helped her pass the time.
It was nearly nine o’clock, and Petunia, after some thought, decided that this was a reasonable time to expect the shop to be open.
She changed clothes — she couldn’t go out in public in sweatpants and a T-shirt!
— combed her hair, trying to judge her appearance in the small pocket mirror, threw on a light spring coat, and stepped out of the house.
The lock, with the key still sticking out of it, lay on the porch where she had dropped it yesterday.
Petunia tried to put it back on to lock the door, but the lock seemed to be jammed.
She looked around for a suitable stick to wedge into the door hinges and noticed the red flag raised on the mailbox.
In Cokeworth, that flag meant there was a letter or newspaper in the box.
But in Cokeworth, the postman rode past the house every morning.
It was impossible not to hear him, and Petunia sometimes went out to meet him and collect the mail.
Especially if she was expecting one of the magazines she subscribed to.
But here… Petunia walked over to the box and cautiously pulled the lid open.
There really was something inside.
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out a thick paper envelope and a small canvas bag tied with a ribbon.
Setting the bag aside for now, Petunia turned her attention to the envelope.
On its front was written: Petunia Evans, the Farm, from Merle Cory, the Helping Hand Pub.
From the envelope, she pulled out a sheet covered in large handwriting with flourishes and squiggles that made reading a bit difficult.
Once she got used to it, she stopped getting distracted by them.
“Dear Petunia,” the letter read.
“I am sure you have already arrived at your destination.
It has suddenly become perfectly clear to me that the farm, to which I so hastily invited you, is in a very sorry state.
Alas, for some time now I have not had the time to keep it in proper order.
I assure you, I regret this.
As an apology, I am sending you seeds.
It will be easier for you to start your new life if you have something to grow.
I also ask you to accept a few pieces of advice: 1.
Watch the television every day.
From time to time, it broadcasts information that will be very useful to you.
2.
The pantry is enchanted (as you have probably already guessed).
In it, you will be able to find everything you need, but nothing beyond that.
3.
Some of my notes, which may be useful to you, are in the bedside table, but I have lost the key.
If you look, you will probably be able to find it.
Search in the area around the ruined greenhouse.
4.
If anyone comes to the farm, try to help them, whatever the request may be.
For my part, I undertake to write to you periodically.
You may do whatever you wish with the harvest.
You can place any surplus in the chest near the house.
I undertake to give you a fair price for every pound.
With that, I take my leave.
Yours, I hope, a devoted friend, Merle Cory.” Just below, in a slightly smaller hand, as if scribbled in a hurry, was a postscript: “P.S.: I quite forgot to tell you to be careful after sunset.
And never stay overnight outside the house.
Good luck.” “Careful after sunset?
Hmm.” Petunia read the letter again, but found nothing else useful in it.
The seeds mentioned in the letter were in the little bag.
Opening it, Petunia found several small envelopes made of tissue paper inside.
Each was labeled.
There were radishes and turnips, carrots and parsnips, and a bit of parsley and dill.
Only, until now, Petunia had encountered all of the above only among the purchases brought from the greengrocer’s shop.
Her mother grew flowers in the front garden, and only a few herbs like basil and anise had their own separate bed.
But she could handle this.
After all, wasn’t the technique the same?
Stick it in the ground, then water it.
Then water it again.
Pull the weeds.
Fertilize.
And water it again.
And so on until the result.
There was another problem that seemed more serious.
Petunia had a rough idea of the ripening times for vegetables and had every reason to suspect that her first harvest would appear in at best a couple of months, no sooner.
And what was she supposed to do with all this?