‘What’s a window?’

You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Well ha ha, very funny. I hope you get woodworm.

‘Oh.’ The puppet slumped against a hairbrush, its joints all floppy. ‘Does this mean you aren’t going to be my friend after all?’

No, no, I really really want to be your friend, but you’ve got to do exactly what I tell you. Are you listening?

The puppet’s head lifted and dropped. ‘Hello,’ it said.

Right then. Now, I want you to stand up— can you manage that all right, because I’m not sure I can talk you through it if you can‘t.

‘Easy.’ The puppet stood up. ‘Look, no strings,’ it announced proudly. ‘What’s a string?’ it added.

Oh, I see what’s happening. Somehow you’re getting a few thoughts and turns of phrase from my mind, but your excuse for a brain can’t understand them. Well, never mind that for now. Turn your head left— sorry, forgot. Just turn your head until I say Stop. Right, are you ready? Fine. Now, start turning.

The puppet’s head started to turn, like the turret of a dear little wooden tank. ‘Am I doing this right?’ it asked nervously.

Carry on, you’re doing just fine, it’s— hey, stop!

‘Here?’

No, back a bit, you’ve gone too far. No, that’s too far the other way. Slowly now— and there, we’ve done it.

‘Oh, hooray! This is tremendously exciting, you know. Can we do it again?’

No, certainly not. You have no idea how dizzy it makes me feel when you turn that thing. Not that I’m all that fussed, mind. After all, this is your head I’m stuck in, and if I get travelsick and throw up, I’m not going to be the one with a filthy smell between his ears. Right, you see that white shiny thing, there by the empty milk bottle?

‘I think so. Bearing in mind that I don’t know what an empty milk bottle looks like.’

Don’t worry about it. You can see the big flat shiny thing?

‘I suppose so. What does it look like?’

Oh for— there, that’s it. No, back just a— stop right there. Don’t move till I tell you.

‘Of course not, Friend. Anything you say.’

Look at the shiny thing. That’s what we call a mirror. Now, can you see your reflection?

‘How should I know? All I can see is this horrible dangly thing with a funny look on its face and a very big nose.’

Don’t worry, just hold it. Now, repeat after me.

‘You sure? I really don’t like the look of—’

Oh, grow up. That’s you, you idiot.

‘Me?’ The puppet quivered slightly. ‘Gosh. Hey, I look horrible. Is my face really that disgustingly soppy?’

Repeat after me.

The puppet listened for a while; then it cleared its wooden throat and said, ‘Mirror.’

At first, nothing happened; there was only the puppet’s reflection, grinning inhumanly right deep down into the silver backing. Then—

You’ve done it, we’re in! Now, keep doing exactly what I tell you to, okay?

The face in the mirror wasn’t a cute wooden puppet any more. It was a stern, humourless, rocklike expression, more than a little reminiscent of a bust of Mr Spock done by the Mount Rushmore team. It stared out of the mirror for a long three seconds, then said, ‘Running DOS.’

Yippee! Now then—

‘YIPPEE! Now, then.’

The face in the mirror raised a sardonic eyebrow ‘Bad command or file name,’ it said.

No, not that, you idiot. And don’t say that. Don’t say that, either. God, you’re almost as stupid as my Amiga. All right, start again. Tell it — The puppet listened, then carefully enunciated, ‘C colon backslash reality. Excuse me, but what are you doing?’ Huh? Oh, I’m trying to bypass Mirrors and find a way of linking up with my PC back home, assuming my mum hasn’t pulled out the plug or switched the modem off Before I do that, though, I need to rig up some kind of makeshift Protocol. And before you ask, you don’t want to know. Really you don‘t. Ready?

‘Oh yes. This is fun.’

You really think so? Jeez. Get a life, will you!

The puppet looked confused. ‘I thought I already had one,’ it replied.

That’s what all the nerds say. Now, after me. Zed exclamation mark arrow equals backslash—

Seen from a distance, the cottage didn’t seem in the least ominous or threatening — which was odd, Fang couldn’t help thinking. There seemed to be a rule in these parts that if a place was trouble, it had to be marked as such so clearly that the tell-tale signs would be visible from orbit. This was so much an accepted way of life that the estate agents’ particulars tended to read something like highly desirable and sinister isolated hovel, set under looming lead-grey clouds riven by forked lightning, storm-gnarled dead trees at front & rear, creaking doors & floorboards, twisted chimneys, own ravens, would suit first-time wicked stepmother/DIY enthusiast, viewing essential… This place, on the other hand, broadcast cosiness and home-baked muffins; which, in a sinister-plot-twist area, was a clear breach of the planning regulations.

The door was slightly ajar, and as the handsome prince crawled up and put his ear to the crack, he could hear voices — ‘…Absolutely fucking brilliant, like having an unbreakable password. We could do what the hell we want and nobody’d be able to do anything about it.’

Another bit of odd, he reflected; my, Granny, what a deep voice you’ve got. All the better to bullshit you with, my dear. Still; you never knew with these witches.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m going in. It’s probably going to be dangerous, so—’ He took a deep breath. Nobility and generosity of spirit weren’t exactly his cup of tea, and he didn’t feel confident with them. ‘So you just get lost. Piss off. Go do whatever it is you little buggers do. And, um, thanks for your help.’

‘Huh?’

‘You heard.’

The elf grinned so widely that its face should have split. ‘Am I really hearing this? Do my pointy ears deceive me? You’re really letting me go?’

‘Yes. Now scram, before I change my mind.’

‘Certainly not. Wouldn’t miss this for all the mushrooms in Thailand. Besides, you’ll probably need me to save you.’

‘In your dreams. Look, I won’t tell you again.’

‘It’s the handsome prince outfit,’ the elf commented sagely. ‘It’s getting to you. You’re starting to be nice.’

‘Say that again and I’ll splat you. All right, it’s up to you. Follow me.’

He pushed the door open and ducked under the lintel. It was pitch dark inside, and he hadn’t gone three paces when he felt something brush against his leg and there was an ear-splitting crash, as of splintering china. Tea-set, probably.

He swore under his breath. Still, nothing he could do about it now, except possibly run away. ‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Anybody home?’

Overhead, feet clumped on the ceiling, answering his question. The springs of a bed groaned, and a wardrobe door slammed. Two of them, he guessed. At least. He gritted his embarrassingly white toothpaste-ad teeth and climbed the stairs.

‘Hello?’

In the upstairs room there was a little light; a pale smear, seeping through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains. There was somebody or something in the bed — Looked like a wolf.

Correction; it looked like a wolf in the same way a child’s drawing of a tree looks like a tree. Someone dressed as a wolf? But why?

Be that as it may; if whoever it was wanted to be taken for a wolf, it’d be diplomatic to humour them, at least to begin with. ‘Hello,’ he repeated. ‘Are you a wolf?’

‘Woof.’

‘Gosh.’ Dammit, Fang muttered to himself, this is degrading as well as silly. I’m a wolf, this is a human. Except — well, enough said. ‘What small eyes you’ve got!’

‘What? Oh shit. I mean, yes, all the, um, worse for seeing you with.’