The staircase was long, narrow and dark, and the slippery condition of her shoes made the journey an interesting one. When she finally emerged into light and air, she found herself in what looked unnervingly like a warm, bright, enchantingly dull waiting-room. There were the usual plastic chairs, the usual table with dog-eared copies of ancient magazines, the usual gaunt-looking avocado plant in a too-small pot; and behind the absolutely standard receptionist’s desk sat a nice, cosy-looking middle-aged—

‘Hello,’ the leprechaun was saying to the wicked queen.

‘Have you got an appointment?’

“Fraid not,’ the queen replied. ‘If he could spare me a minute or so, it’d be greatly appreciated.’

The leprechaun beamed. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here,’ she said, and pressed a button on her desk.

‘I’ll regret asking this,’ Sis muttered while the receptionist was making her call, ‘but isn’t that—?’

The queen nodded. ‘They all are. Logical choice of profession, given their experience in hiding pots of gold under rainbows. Don’t stare, it’s rude. She’s not staring, and you’re a whole lot weirder in these parts than she is.’

By the time Sis had thought that one through, the connecting door had opened and a — dammit, yes, a funny little man with sparkling eyes behind round spectacles and a long white beard was shaking hands with the wicked queen and asking after the health of some carefully memorised relative. Sis felt better; that proved he was an accountant, for all that he was four feet tall and dressed in red and yellow slippers with bells on the toes. Any minute now, she thought, he’ll press the tips of his fingers together and say ‘Let’s just run through those figures again, shall we?’ and then she’d know.

She followed them through into the leprechaun’s office, which was even more reassuring. There was the desk; one comfy chair behind it, two chair-shaped instruments of torture in front. There were the filing cabinet, the rows of loose-leaf reference books, the files neatly stacked on the floor with Dictaphone tapes balanced on them ready for the typists, the obligatory framed photograph on the desktop with picture of generic wife, small child and dog (look closely at some of those framed photos; wherever you go, sooner or later you’ll notice they’re all of the same woman, child and dog). The only thing missing was the VDU and where it should have been there was a free-standing grey-plastic-framed mirror.

‘So,’ the leprechaun said, nodding them into the punters’ chairs, ‘what can I do for you?’

The wicked queen settled her face into that expression of charming helplessness that can sometimes draw the fangs of even the most hard-bitten professional adviser. ‘I’m afraid I’ve done something awfully silly,’ she said, ‘and I was wondering if you could possibly help me.’

The leprechaun smiled. ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure it can’t be as bad as you make out.’

The queen simpered back; Sis had done enough pocket-money work for Uncle Terry during the school holidays to know it was tactically quite sound, but that didn’t stop her wanting to be noisily sick. ‘It’s like this,’ she said. ‘We — that’s her and me — we’ve managed to crash the Mirrors network for the whole kingdom and all that’s left is what’s in this bucket, and we’ve spilt quite a lot of that. Also, her two brothers are missing out there somewhere, nothing seems to work at all, and we haven’t a clue how to put it right. Do you think you could suggest something?’

‘Um,’ the leprechaun replied, looking as if he’d just found a sea-serpent coiled round his soup spoon. ‘All due respect, but that doesn’t really sound like an accountancy problem. I’m sorry if that sounds negative,’ he added quickly, as the queen’s face fell like share prices after a spring election, ‘but the tax advantages of a total systems wipe-out aren’t all that great. Of course,’ he went on, ‘it’s all a bit of a grey area, and I’d need to take another look at the figures—’

(Ah, whispered Sis to herself. I believe.)

‘Actually,’ the queen interrupted, ‘the tax thing isn’t absolutely uppermost in my mind right now.’

The leprechaun looked at her and blinked. ‘It isn’t?’ he said.

‘Well, no.’

‘Oh.’ Something in his manner suggested that where he came from, people had been burnt at the stake for less. ‘So how can I help?’

The queen smiled and pointed at the mirror. ‘I seem to remember you saying that your, um, one of those ran off an independent network, and I was just wondering if I might possibly—’

The leprechaun looked at her gravely, as if she’d just asked if she might borrow his mother for a little experiment. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said guardedly. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Nothing drastic,’ the queen assured him. ‘For starters, I was wondering if we could use your mirror to translate my, um, bucket. You see, it’s all jumbles of silly letters and symbols and things, and I haven’t the faintest idea what that’s all about. It certainly isn’t any use, how it is. If we could somehow load it on to yours, we might be able to get things running again.’

The leprechaun leaned back in his chair and fiddled with the stem of his spectacles. ‘Of course I’d love to help in any way I can, you know that,’ he said. ‘But there are sensitive personal files relating to my clients’ financial affairs—’

‘I won’t peek, honest,’ the queen cooed.

‘Quite so.’ The leprechaun hesitated, patently torn between his obligations to his paying customers and his loyalty to his queen. ‘Unfortunately, the rules of the profession are very strict. After all,’ he added, sensing that he’d hit on a winning argument, ‘you wouldn’t want me letting all and sundry look at your file.’

For some reason, the queen suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘You do it, then. You probably know far more about these gadgets than I do anyway. Don’t suppose it’d take you more than a minute or so.’

It was the accountant’s turn to look thoughtful. On the one hand, he was saying to himself, my mother didn’t raise me to be no systems analyst; on the other hand, for his usual hourly charge, paid cash, quite likely in advance, he’d cheerfully do handstands in the street, sing serenades under young girls’ windows while accompanying himself on the mandolin (hire of mandolin extra), escort inconvenient female relatives to social functions or clean out a blocked sink. ‘Certainly,’ he said, plastering a smile onto his face and then wiping it away before it set hard. ‘I shall do my best.’

‘Oh good,’ the queen said. ‘That’s a weight off my mind. Here’s the bucket.’ She hauled it up and placed it carefully on the desk; she didn’t spill a drop, but the mud on the bottom made an awful mess of a thick wodge of paperwork. ‘Do you want us to wait in the waiting room, or shall we go away and come back, or what?’

The leprechaun peered down into the bucket, wiggled his ears, and sat down in the general direction of his chair. When he spoke next, there was a curiously shell-shocked tone to his voice.

‘This may, ah, take some time,’ he croaked. ‘Perhaps you’d better go away and come back later. Better still, I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

The wicked queen raised an eyebrow; it was a gesture that suited her, and she knew it. ‘How?’ she asked sweetly. ‘With everything being offline all over the kingdom.’

‘Oh.’ The leprechaun looked up, his mind clearly elsewhere. ‘I’ll, er, send a messenger. You’re going back to the palace, presumably.’

The queen nodded. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I feel ever so much better now.’

Once the door had closed and the sound of footsteps on the stairs had died away, the accountant got up, drew the curtains, checked under the mat and behind the picture frames, took off his red and yellow stripy jacket and loosened the staid, demure tie he wore hidden under the vestments of his trade. Then he looked into the bucket again. Then he grinned.