after a hard day is to spend half an hour on my hands and knees scrubbing squashed pixie out of the carpet.’
‘All right,’ the pixie sighed, ‘it’s a fair cop, I’ll come quietly.’ Akram lifted his toe a quarter of an inch and the ball of light edged out a little way. On closer examination it proved to be a three-inch-high young woman in ballet-costume, with rather crumpled wings, a black mask over her face and a sack over her shoulder, on the side of which Akram could just make out the word SWAG.
‘Oh come on,” Akram grunted scornfully. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Not my fault,’ the pixie replied defensively. ‘Victim of circumstances, that’s what I am. Indicative of a deep-seated malaise in modern society that threatens to undermine’
‘You what?’
‘Take your bloody great foot off my chest and I’ll explain.’
It was a sad and, by and large, convincing story. Modern toothpastes, innovative toothbrush design and a greater public awareness of the need for preventive dental hygiene had led to forty per cent redundancies in the corps of tooth fairies. The redundancy money hadn’t lasted long, and career opportunities for tiny luminous flying people are few and far between. Six months ago she’d faced the stark choice: starve or steal.
‘I even tried going on the streets,’ she said mournfully. ‘Bought myself a red filter and everything. But nobody was interested. People can be very cruel sometimes.’
Akram shook his head. ‘Get up,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘About half an hour ago,’ replied the pixie. ‘I raided your fridge. You want to chuck that milk out, by the way. There’s things living in it that are larger than I am.’
‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’
‘Not very,’ the pixie replied with a shrug. ‘Getting in and out’s no problem, I’m used to that, naturally. It’s the carting stuff off that fazes me. When the bulkiest load you’re used to is a second-hand incisor, video recorders can be quite a challenge.’
‘I could tell you weren’t a pro,’ Akram replied. ‘Too noisy, for one thing.’
‘You startled me,’ the pixie said. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Akram shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to turn you in or anything, if that’s what you’re getting at. I mean, if I were to go banging on the door of the police station at half past two in the morning saying I’ve effected a citizen’s arrest and have they got an empty matchbox handy, they’d probably tell me to go home and sleep it off. On the other hand,’ he went on, as a faint light dawned inside his brain, ‘we might be able to help each other. If you’re interested, that is.’
‘Shoot.’
Akram sat down on the radiator and drew his left heel up to his right knee. ‘For reasons I won’t bore you with,’ he said, ‘I could use a tiny winged assistant for a little job I’ve got lined up.’
‘This job pay money, by any chance?’
‘Saucer of milk a day and a shoebox with an old vest in it,’ replied Akram. ‘Take it or leave it.’
‘Done. When do I start?’
‘Tomorrow night,’ Akram replied. ‘Just one thing, though. The light. Can you turn it down?’
At once the pixie dimmed to a faint glow. ‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Fine. You’ll also need rubber boots and wirecutters. There’s quite a lot of electrical work involved, you see.’ Quickly and concisely, Akram explained what the job involved.
‘That’s fine,’ the pixie replied. ‘Piece of cake. Talking of which…’
After he’d given the pixie some milk and made its shoebox - they can’t get Blue Peter in Storybook Land, even with a dish aerial, but Akram made a reasonable fist of it just by light of nature - he cut himself some stale bread, washed it down with tapwater, shoved the lamp he’d just stolen under the mattress, lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep. A pale yellow glow hovered above the shoebox for a while, and
‘All right,’ the pixie sighed, ‘it’s a fair cop, I’ll come quietly.’ Akram lifted his toe a quarter of an inch and the ball of light edged out a little way. On closer examination it proved to be a three-inch-high young woman in ballet-costume, with rather crumpled wings, a black mask over her face and a sack over her shoulder, on the side of which Akram could just make out the word SWAG.
‘Oh come on,” Akram grunted scornfully. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Not my fault,’ the pixie replied defensively. ‘Victim of circumstances, that’s what I am. Indicative of a deep-seated malaise in modern society that threatens to undermine’
‘You what?’
‘Take your bloody great foot off my chest and I’ll explain.’
It was a sad and, by and large, convincing story. Modern toothpastes, innovative toothbrush design and a greater public awareness of the need for preventive dental hygiene had led to forty per cent redundancies in the corps of tooth fairies. The redundancy money hadn’t lasted long, and career opportunities for tiny luminous flying people are few and far between. Six months ago she’d faced the stark choice: starve or steal.
‘I even tried going on the streets,’ she said mournfully. ‘Bought myself a red filter and everything. But nobody was interested. People can be very cruel sometimes.’
Akram shook his head. ‘Get up,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘About half an hour ago,’ replied the pixie. ‘I raided your fridge. You want to chuck that milk out, by the way. There’s things living in it that are larger than I am.’
‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’
‘Not very,’ the pixie replied with a shrug. ‘Getting in and out’s no problem, I’m used to that, naturally. It’s the carting stuff off that fazes me. When the bulkiest load you’re used to is a second-hand incisor, video recorders can be quite a challenge.’
‘I could tell you weren’t a pro,’ Akram replied. ‘Too noisy, for one thing.’
‘You startled me,’ the pixie said. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Akram shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to turn you in or anything, if that’s what you’re getting at. I mean, if I were to go banging on the door of the police station at half past two in the morning saying I’ve effected a citizen’s arrest and have they got an empty matchbox handy, they’d probably tell me to go home and sleep it off. On the other hand,’ he went on, as a faint light dawned inside his brain, ‘we might be able to help each other. If you’re interested, that is.’
‘Shoot.’
Akram sat down on the radiator and drew his left heel up to his right knee. ‘For reasons I won’t bore you with,’ he said, ‘I could use a tiny winged assistant for a little job I’ve got lined up.’
‘This job pay money, by any chance?’
‘Saucer of milk a day and a shoebox with an old vest in it,’ replied Akram. ‘Take it or leave it.’
‘Done. When do I start?’
‘Tomorrow night,’ Akram replied. ‘Just one thing, though. The light. Can you turn it down?’
At once the pixie dimmed to a faint glow. ‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Fine. You’ll also need rubber boots and wirecutters. There’s quite a lot of electrical work involved, you see.’ Quickly and concisely, Akram explained what the job involved.
‘That’s fine,’ the pixie replied. ‘Piece of cake. Talking of which…’
After he’d given the pixie some milk and made its shoebox - they can’t get Blue Peter in Storybook Land, even with a dish aerial, but Akram made a reasonable fist of it just by light of nature - he cut himself some stale bread, washed it down with tapwater, shoved the lamp he’d just stolen under the mattress, lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep. A pale yellow glow hovered above the shoebox for a while, and
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