Finally Granny Morkie's temper, which was never particularly long, shortened to vanishing point. She grabbed the nearest monk by his black robe and held him up inches in front of her nose. His eyes crossed frantically with the effort of not seeing her. She poked him violently in the chest.

'Do you feel my finger?' she demanded. 'Do you feel it? Not here, am I?' 'Indigenous!' said Torrit.

The monk solved his immediate problem by giving a little whimper and fainting.

'Let's get away from here,' said Dorcas hur­riedly. 'I suspect it's only a small step between not seeing people and making sure they don't exist.' 'I don't understand,' said Grimma. 'How can people not see us?' 'Because they know we're from Outside,' said Masklin.

'But other nomes can see us!' said Grimma, her voice rising. Masklin didn't blame her. He was beginning to feel a bit unsure too.

'I think that's because they don't know,' he said, 'or don't believe we really are Outsiders!' 'I ain't an Outsider!' said Torrit. 'They're all Insiders!' 'But that means that the Abbot really does think we're from Outside!' said Grimma. 'That means he believes we're here and he can't see us! Where's the sense in that?' 'That's nomish nature for you,' said Dorcas.

'Don't see that it matters much,' said Granny, grimly. 'Come three weeks and they'll all be Out­siders. Serve them right. They'll have to go around not looking at themselves. See how they like that, eh?' She stuck her nose in the air. 'Ho, hexcuse me, Mr Abbot, went and tripped over hyou there, didn't see hyou hi'am sure...' 'I'm sure they'd understand if only they'd listen,' said Masklin.

'Shouldn't think so,' said Dorcas, kicking at the dust. 'Silly of me to think they would, really. The Stationeri never listen to new ideas.' 'Excuse me,' said a quiet voice behind them.

They turned, and saw one of the Stationeri standing there. He was young, and quite plump, with curly hair and a worried expression. In fact he was nervously twisting the corner of his robe.

'You want me?' said Dorcas.

'Er. I was, er, I wanted to talk to the, er, Outsiders,' said the little man carefully. He bobbed a curtsey in the direction of Torrit and Granny Morkie.

'You've got better eyesight than most, then,' said Masklin.

'Er, yes,' said the Stationeri. He looked back down the corridor. 'Er, I'd like to talk to you. Somewhere private.' They shuffled around a floor joist.

'Well?' said Masklin.

'That, er, thing that spoke,' said the Stationeri. 'Do you believe it?' 'I think it can't actually tell lies,' said Masklin.

'What is it, exactly? Some kind of radio?' Masklin gave Dorcas a hopeful look.

That's a thing for making noise,' Dorcas explained loftily.

'Is it?' said Masklin, and shrugged. 'I don't know. We've just had it a longtime. It says it came with nomes from a long way away, a long time ago. We've looked after it for generations, haven't we, Torrit.' The old man nodded violently. 'My dad had it before me, and his father before him, and his father before him, and his brother at the same time as him, and their uncle before them-' he began.

The Stationeri scratched his head.

'It's very worrying,' he said. 'The humans are acting very strangely. Things aren't being replaced in the Store. There's signs we've never seen before. Even the Abbot's worried, he can't work out what Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects us to do. So, er...' He bunched up his robe, untwisted it hurriedly, and went on. 'I'm the Abbot's assistant, you see. My name is Gurder. I have to do the things he can't do himself. So, er...' Well, what?' said Masklin.

'Could you come with me? Please?' 'Is there food?' said Granny Morkie, who could always put her finger on the important points.

'We'll certainly have some sent up,' said Gurder hurriedly. He backed off through the maze of joists and wiring. Please, follow me. Please.'

i. Yet there were some who said, We have seen Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s new Signs in the Store, and we are Troubled for we Understand them not.

ii. For this is the Season that should be Christmas Fayre, and yet the Signs are not the Signs of Christmas Fayre; iii. Nor are they January Sales, or Back to School Week, or Spring lnto Spring Fashions, or Summer Bar­gains, or other Signs we know in their Season; iv. For the Signs say Clearance Sale. We are sorely Troubled.

From The Book of Nome, Complaints v.I-IV Gurder, bobbing and curtseying, led them deeper into Stationeri territory. It had a musty smell. Here and there were stacks of what Masklin was told were books. He didn't fully understand what they were for,, but Dorcas obviously thought they were important.

'Look at 'em,' he said. 'Powerful lot of stuff in there that we could find useful, and the Stationeri guard it like, like-' 'Like something well guarded?' said Masklin.

'Right. Right. That's exactly right. They keep looking hard at 'em. Reading, they call it. But they don't understand any of it.' There was a whirr from the Thing in Torrit's arms, and a few lights lit up.

'Books are repositories of knowledge?' it said.

'There's said to be a lot in them,' said Dorcas.

'It is vital that you obtain books,' said the Thing. 'Stationeri hold on to 'em,' said Dorcas. 'Unless you know how to read books properly they inflame the brain, they say.' 'In here, please,' said Gurder, shifting a card­board barrier.

Someone was waiting for them, sitting stiffly on a pile of cushions with his back to them.

'Ah. Gurder,' he said. 'Come in. Good.' It was the Abbot. He didn't turn around.

Masklin prodded Gurder. 'It was bad enough just now,' he said. 'Why are we doing this again?' Gurder gave him a look which seemed to say: Trust me, this is the only way.

'Have you arranged for some food, Gurder?' said the Abbot.

'My lord, I was just-' 'Go and do it now.' 'Yes, my lord.' Gurder gave Masklin another desperate look and scurried away.

The nomes stood sheepishly, wondering what was going to happen next.

The Abbot spoke.

'I am nearly fifteen years old,' he said. 'I am older even than some departments in the Store. I have seen many strange things, and soon I am going to meet Arnold Bros (est. 1905) in the hope that I have been a good and dutiful nome. I am so old that there are nomes who think that in some way I am the Store, and fear that when I am gone the Store will end. Now you tell me this is so. Who is in charge?' Masklin looked at Torrit. But everyone else looked at him.

'Well, er,' he said. 'Me. I suppose. Just for the moment.' 'That's right,' said Torrit, relieved. 'Just for the moment I'm puttin' him in charge, see. Because I'm the leader.' The Abbot nodded.

'A very wise decision,' he said. Torrit beamed.

'Stay here with the talking box,' said the Abbot to Masklin. 'The rest of you, please go. There will be food brought to you. Please go and wait.' 'Urn,' said Masklin, 'no.' There was a pause.

Then the Abbot said, quite softly, 'Why not?' 'Because, you see, urn, we're all together,' said Masklin. 'We've never been split up.' 'A very commendable sentiment. You'll find, however, that life doesn't work like that. Come, now. I can hardly harm you, can I?' 'You talk to him, Masklin,' said Grimma. We won't be far away. It's not important.' He nodded reluctantly.

When they had left, the Abbot turned around. Close to, he was even older than he had looked before. His face wasn't just wrinlded, it was one big wrinlde. He was middle-aged when old Torrit was born, Masklin told himself. He's old enough to be Granny Morkie's grandfather! The Abbot smiled. It was a difficult smile. It was as if he'd had smiling explained to him but had never had chance to practice.

'Your name, I believe, is Masklin,' he said.