Little People (11 page)

For some reason that seemed to annoy her a lot. ‘Oh yes,' she said, ‘wonderful attitude. That's really going to help, if you keep it up.' She grabbed hold of a book, dragged it three inches across the desktop (remarkably strong, for her size; it must've been the equivalent of a full-sized human hauling a dead cow), and sat down on it as though it were a park bench. ‘Serves me right for imagining you'd be different,' she went on. ‘But that's me, hopelessly naive, as usual.'

Before I could call her on that, I noticed a shadow falling across the desk, suggesting that someone was standing between me and the light, directly behind me. I froze; no time to do anything.

‘Here,' said a voice, ‘have you seen my German grammar?'

Neil Fuller – his desk was two down from mine. In fact, the elf had just sat down on the book he was looking for.

‘Sorry,' I answered, keeping my eyes fixed on a crack in the plaster on the opposite wall, ‘no idea where it could have got to.'

A tongue clicked, and a hand appeared at the extreme edge of my peripheral vision. ‘Are you blind or something?' Neil said, and I closed my eyes, so as not to see what was going to happen next. ‘It's right here. Look,' he went on, ‘under your stupid nose.'

I glanced down, to see a highly vexed female elf sprawling on the desktop where the book had been. But of course it wasn't what I could see that mattered. ‘Oh,' I mumbled, ‘
that
book.'

‘Idiot.' Neil sighed and he walked away. I waited till the door swung shut behind him before looking back.

‘He couldn't see you,' I said.

‘What?' The elf made a great show of rubbing a purportedly bruised elbow. ‘No, of course he couldn't, you fool. He's human.'

I ignored that one, too. Sooner or later I was going to have to deal with this issue, whatever it turned out to be. Later, for choice. ‘So,' I said, ‘is this anything to do with nobody else being able to read your writing?'

She grinned. ‘No magic in that,' she said. ‘I don't suppose many of them can read
your
writing, either. Talk about your inky-footed spiders.'

‘I'll rephrase that.
See
your writing.'

‘Ah.' She nodded. ‘Yes, pretty much. There's a whole lot of physics that explains it, but I've had a quick flick through your physics notes, and there isn't a chance in hell that you'd be able to understand any of it. Same goes for whoever dictated those notes, if that's any consolation. I don't know,' she sighed. ‘And they call themselves a dominant species.'

‘They' in this context presumably being humans. It was getting harder and harder to ignore, but I managed it. Amazing what you can do if you try.

‘So only I can see you,' I said. ‘Well, that's something, I suppose.'

She lifted her head. ‘You sound pleased.'

‘You bet I'm pleased. God only knows how we'd keep you hidden if you were visible.'

A tiny eyebrow twitched upwards. ‘You want to keep me hidden,' she said. ‘Interesting. Why?'

I blinked twice before answering. ‘Oh, because there's a school rule against keeping pets. And because if anybody saw you, they'd whisk you off to a government research lab so fast you'd be younger when you arrived than when you left. And before you ask, no, you wouldn't like it in a research lab. Trust me.'

That made her look thoughtful. ‘Why should you care?' she said.

‘What? Because - well, I just would. It's called compassion. Don't you have it where you come from?'

For some reason, she found that amusing. ‘Oh
we
've got compassion all right. If you could bottle it and sell it, we'd have a bigger GDP than California. I'm just surprised to find you've heard of it, that's all.'

I nodded. ‘I need to talk to you about that sort of stuff,' I said. ‘Only not now, if you don't mind. First priority is to find somewhere you'll be safe and out of the way. Then maybe you'll tell me what the hell you're doing here.'

She sighed. ‘Escaping,' she said. ‘All right, where do you suggest?'

Good question. Excellent question. Where
do
you stash a six-inch-tall humanoid where she won't get squashed, asphyxiated, frozen, eaten or bored to death? ‘I know,' I said. ‘Look, would you mind getting into my pocket?'

‘Yes,' she replied. ‘First because I don't entirely trust you, the same way I wouldn't entirely trust a starving hyena. Second because I'm prepared to bet money that in any pocket of any garment you own, there'll be at least one square of squished and melted chocolate impregnated with grit and lint. Third, not on a first date. If you want to give me a lift somewhere, I'll go on your shoulder. Hold still, this might tickle.'

Before I could query or object, she'd jumped onto the back of my hand, run up my arm in defiance of stuffy old gravity, like a spider, and disappeared from my field of view.

‘I'M UP HERE,' thundered a deafening voice in my ear. The way in which I winced sharply must've suggested to her that lowering her voice a tad was the polite thing to do. ‘I'm sitting on your shoulder,' she said, ‘looking straight into your earhole. To my surprise, I can't see the opposite wall, or hear the sea, but at some stage you're either going to have to get your ears syringed or start a candle factory. All right, ready when you are.'

I still think it was a good idea.

‘Are you out of your mind?' she said, a few minutes later. ‘I'm not getting in that.'

‘But it's ideal,' I protested. ‘Nobody ever uses it, and you can open the door from the inside.'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because,' she snarled. ‘Understood?'

I shook my head; a strangled scream and a sharp pain, such as might be caused by someone with sharp fingernails hanging from my earlobe, suggested that it wasn't such a good idea. ‘Sorry,' I yelped, and fished vaguely round the side of my head with my left hand. I didn't connect before the pain stopped, implying that she'd managed to get back on my shoulder without my help.

‘It's a gas chamber,' she growled.

‘No, it isn't,' I replied. ‘It's a gas
cooker
– there's a difference. And this one doesn't work, which is why it's been hauled out into this shed. Seclusion, privacy, peace and quiet. You'll soon get to like it, I bet.'

It took her a few tries to get the hang of lifting the catch on the inside of the oven door, but she managed it in the end. ‘It's horrible in here,' she called out after I'd shut the door on her for the fifth time. ‘It's dark and greasy, the floor's got holes in it, and it smells disgusting.'

‘Same goes for Manchester,' I replied, ‘and thousands of people live there quite happily. Now come out, because I want to ask you something.'

The door swung open. I looked in, but I couldn't see the elf. ‘Hello?' I called.

– Whereupon the elf suddenly appeared, out of thin air. Just like they do in
Star Trek
, only without the shimmering lights and the distinctive whoinging noise.

‘Made you look,' the elf said, smirking.

‘Oh great,' I muttered. ‘You can make yourself invisible to me, too. Hey, will you please not do that? It really pisses me off.'

She shrugged. ‘All right,' she said. ‘It's an absolute pain to do, anyhow. And before you ask, no, I can't make it so mortals can see me. I can just make myself visible to other – well, to you. What was it you wanted to ask me about?'

I took a deep breath and shifted my weight onto my other knee. ‘Let's start at the beginning, shall we? I suppose you've got a name.'

‘Yes, but—' she hesitated.

‘What's the matter?' I asked. ‘Is there some kind of taboo about people knowing your true name?'

‘No, I just don't like it very much.'

‘Really?' I smiled. ‘Come on, it can't be that bad.'

‘You reckon?' she said, with a wry grin. ‘All right, three guesses.' I thought for a moment. ‘Rumpelstiltskin, Peaseblossom. Am I warm?'

‘No, just extremely annoying. Hurry up and use your imagination. You see, unless you've had your three guesses – properly, I mean, not just saying the first thing that comes into your head – it isn't going to work.'

‘Fine,' I said. ‘All right: Thumbelina, and that's my best offer.'

‘Nope.' Her shoulders hunched and she looked the other way. ‘If you really must know, it's Melissa.'

‘Melissa? That's a nice name. Well, quite nice. Nothing wrong with it, anyhow.'

‘Nothing wrong?' She was angry now. Suited her better. ‘Melissa's a
human
name, it's downright embarrassing. God, it was bad enough when I was at school, with all the other kids teasing and chanting.
Melissa is a hu-man, Melissa is a hu-man
every single bloody playtime. And making fun of my ears.'

‘There's nothing wrong with your ears,' I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. ‘They're very, um, pointy.'

‘Well, of course they damn' well are. But the kids at school, they pretended they weren't, just to be hurtful. You get sick of that sort of thing really quickly, believe me.'

Well, she wasn't going to get any arguments from me on that score. Nevertheless, I didn't have time for angst, even if legitimately acquired. ‘Now,' I said, ‘will you please tell me – in terms I can understand - what you're doing here. Please?' I added, on the off chance that she'd respond well to abject pleading.

She sat down on the oven floor, her chin resting on her hands. ‘Like I told you,' she said, ‘only maybe you didn't hear me with all that wax in your ears. I've escaped. And,' she said quickly, ‘I'm not going back, and you can't make me.'

‘I wouldn't dream of trying,' I replied. ‘Escaped from where, exactly?'

This time she looked at me slightly differently; still the same level of contempt per kilowatt of stare, but a different sort of contempt. ‘You don't know, do you?' she said. ‘You really don't know. Well, bugger me. I wouldn't have thought anybody, not even a human – dammit, not even a small rock at the bottom of a disused mine shaft – could be that unobservant, but clearly I was wrong. Only goes to show,' she concluded, with a shrug.

‘Show what?'

‘Huh?'

‘Only goes to show what?' I repeated. ‘What is this thing I obviously don't know about?'

Long pause. ‘If you don't know,' she said, ‘I'm not sure I ought to tell you. Let me think about it for a moment, OK?'

I sighed. ‘Please yourself,' I said. ‘All right, so you've escaped from somewhere, and now you're here. So why did you do my maths questions for me?'

That provoked a tiny but ferocious scowl. ‘If that's your idea of gratitude—'

‘Oh, I'm grateful,' I interrupted. ‘Really, it was very kind of you. But why did you do it?'

She shook her head. ‘Bored, mostly. Besides, it was pretty bloody easy. Only took me five minutes.'

I managed to keep the soft growling noise down to an inaudible level. ‘You were bored.'

‘Well, yes. And,' she conceded, ‘after you made it possible for me to escape – not intentionally, I know, but who gives a damn? All that stuff about it being the thought that counts is just a load of old socks spread around by people who got really lousy Chrissy presents when they were kids. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes. You let me escape, and you gave me a lift down here, so I felt I ought to do something, just by way of saying thanks. Though I should add that it's bloody dark and horrible inside your briefcase. You ought to give it a good clean-out. There's small, nasty things living in it.'

‘Apparently so. You, for one.'

‘Not living,' she pointed out, ‘just passing through. And don't be so horrible to me. Especially after I did you maths for you.'

Well, it had to be said. ‘Thanks, anyway. It was a nice thought, and I appreciate it. Only—'

‘Only?'

‘Only it's sort of missing the point. I mean, how'll I ever learn to do that stuff if you do my problems for me? And if I get picked on in class and told to explain my workings, I'll just be sat there opening and shutting my mouth like a goldfish singing karaoke.'

There was enough concentrated venom in the look she gave me to poison a major reservoir.

‘Well, thoughtless old me,' she said. ‘Actually, it's your own fault for being too bone idle or boneheaded to learn the stuff yourself, so don't you go blaming me. Bloody hell, if you can't manage simple stuff like this, maybe you ought to consider switching special subjects and doing something a bit more on your wavelength, like media studies or woodwork.' She stopped and scowled. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

I hadn't realised I was. ‘Like what?'

‘Like you just found me in the bottom of your lunch-box and you can't decide whether to eat me or call in the Air Force. Something's on your mind, I think. Of course, it'd have to be something pretty small, or it'd overbalance and fall off, but—'

‘Ah yes,' I said. ‘Now I think I know what it is. You remind me of someone.'

Suddenly she seemed to shut down, as though I'd switched off the power. ‘Really?'

I nodded. ‘You don't look much like her,' I said. ‘And I'm not just talking about size, she's not as – well, she looks different. But you sound a lot like her – voice, and turns of phrase, that sort of thing.'

‘How fascinating. I don't believe you, of course. I mean,' she added, trying to sound bored and superior, ‘from what I can gather, you've lived most of your life among
humans
, so any resemblance'd have to be fairly superficial.'

She was lying. Well, lying's maybe the wrong word, but she was definitely trying to misdirect me in some fashion. ‘Oh, I don't know,' I said. ‘Now you're doing just what she'd do if I got onto a subject she didn't want to talk about. You're being extra-specially obnoxious, so I won't notice you change the subject.'