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'No.'
'And you don't have any secret powers?'
'No.'
'Are you sure? The moment I saw you, I thought: he's got some amazing power that will probably manifest itself when he's in dire trouble. I thought: no-one could really be as useless as that unless it was a disguise.'
'No. I'm sure. Look, I'm just a normal person. Yes, all right, I was abandoned as a baby. I don't know why. It was something that happened. They say it happens quite a lot. It doesn't make you special. And I don't have any secret markings as if I was some kind of sheep, and I don't think I'm a hero in disguise and I don't have some kind of amazing talent that I'm aware of. OK, I'm good at playing quite a few musical instruments. I practise a lot. But I'm the kind of person heroes aren't. I get by and I get along. I do my best. Understand?'
'Oh.'
'You should have found someone else.'
'In fact, you can't be any help at all?'
'No.' There was silence for a while and then Malicia said, 'You know, in many ways I don't think this adventure has been properly organized.'
'Oh, really?' said Keith. 'This is not how people should be tied up.'
'Malicia, do you understand? This isn't a story,' said Keith, as patiently as he could. 'That's what I'm trying to tell you. Real life isn't a story. There isn't some kind of… of magic that keeps you safe and makes crooks look the other way and not hit you too hard and tie you up next to a handy knife and not kill you. Do you understand?' There was some more dark silence. 'My granny and my great-aunt were very famous story-tellers, you know,' said Malicia eventually, in a strained
little voice. 'Agoniza and Eviscera Grim.'
'You said,' said Keith. 'My mother would have been a good story-teller, too, but my father doesn't like stories. That's why I've changed my name to Grim for professional purposes.'
'Really…'
'I used to get beaten when I was small for telling stories,' Malicia went on. 'Beaten?' said Keith. 'All right, then, smacked,' said Malicia. 'On the leg. But it did hurt. My father says you can't run a city on stories. He says you have to be practical.'
'Oh.'
'Aren't you interested in anything except music? He broke your pipe!'
'I expect I'll buy another one.' The calm voice infuriated Malicia. 'Well, I'll tell you something,' she said. 'If you don't turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else's story.'
'And what if your story doesn't work?'
'You keep changing it until you find one that does.'
'Sounds silly.'
'Huh, look at you. You're just a face in someone else's background. You let a cat make all the decisions.'
'That's because Maurice is-' A voice said, 'Would you like us to go away until you've stopped being human?'
'Maurice?' said Keith. 'Where are you?'
'I'm in a drain and believe me, this has not been a good night. Do you know how many old cellars there are here?' said the voice of Maurice, in the blackness. 'Peaches is bringing a candle in. It's too dark even for me to see you.'
'Who's Peaches?' whispered Malicia. 'She's another Changeling. A thinking rat,' said Keith. 'Like Pilchards?'
'Like Sardines, yes.'
'Aha,' hissed Malicia. 'See? A story. I am smug, I gloat. The plucky rats rescue our heroes, probably by gnawing through the ropes.'
'Oh, we're back in your story, are we?' said Keith. 'And what am I in your story?'
'I know it's not going to be romantic interest,' said Malicia. 'And you're not funny enough for comic relief. I don't know. Probably just… someone. You know, like “man in street”, something like that.' There were faint sounds in the darkness. 'What are they doing now?' she whispered. 'Trying to light their candle, I think.'
