Little People by Tom Holt

was doing a physics exam—’
    â€˜Unlikely,’ I pointed out. ‘You told me you stopped doing physics when you were fifteen.’
    â€˜All right,’ she snapped, ‘yes. But just supposing. I’d be having to sit there, writing answers that say yes, the cosmos is just one great big machine and if you wind up the spring and press the lever, such and such will inevitably happen and such and such inevitably won’t – and it’d all be a load of old socks, because really there’s magic and elves and things that some people can see and other people can’t, for no bloody reason .’ She looked up at me, bewildered as a chameleon on a paisley scarf. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you’re supposed to be into maths and science and stuff. How the hell can you bring yourself to lie to the examiners?’
    Of course, I hadn’t thought of it in that light, maybe because I had more sense. After all, things were difficult enough as it was without making everything worse by trying to understand . ‘No idea,’ I said. ‘I guess you’d have to say that the elf stuff is all maths and physics we just haven’t got around to discovering yet. Look, no offence, but I’d rather not go into that side of it right now, if it’s all the same to you. I need to know what to do next.’
    Cru shrugged. ‘Well, I can see that,’ she said. ‘And I think that the first step should definitely be to find this elf. Agreed?’
    â€˜Er, I suppose so. But that’s easier said than done. What did you have in mind? Infra-red motion detectors? Stop-motion surveillance cameras? A very large fly-paper?’
    I’d offended her again. ‘Sarcasm isn’t going to help, now, is it?’ she said. ‘No, I was thinking of a more direct approach.’
    â€˜Really? More direct than a fly-paper?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Think about it for a moment. There’s this elf, OK, and he’s doing your maths assignments for you. Consider that action for a moment. Can you tell me what it is?’
    I shrugged. ‘Bloody useful.’
    â€˜Yes, I know. Apart from that. I believe it’s a way of getting your attention, saying “Hello, I’m here.” Does that make any sense to you?’
    â€˜Seems like a reasonable assumption under the circumstances,’ I replied. ‘So what do you suggest?’
    She steepled her fingers, ‘Well,’ she said. ‘The elf wrote to you. Write back.’
    Of course, I hadn’t even considered that; I’d been too busy trying to figure out how to make a non-lethal mousetrap to contemplate the possibility that I could just sit down with the elf and talk. ‘That’s a very good idea,’ I said.
    â€˜Being mine, that goes without saying. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘that’s assuming you know where to put the letter so he’ll find it. Also that he can read English. Big ifs.’
    I shook my head. ‘No, not really,’ I replied. ‘If he can’t read English, how can he write it? As far as reaching him goes, I’ll put a message in my diary and another one in each of my written work folders. If he wants to be reached, that ought to reach him.’
    Cru was silent for a moment. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘that’s quite sensible. Yes, you could try that, at least as a start. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll have to think of something else: messages painted on walls, adverts in the newspapers, sky-writing. I guess it depends on how badly he wants to get in touch with you.’
    I thought of the tiny letters spelling out HELP. ‘It’s a lot of trouble and effort for him to go to if he doesn’t,’ I reasoned. ‘And he’s not stupid, after all.’
    â€˜What makes you think – ? Oh, you mean the maths answers.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t mean to sound downbeat, but