‘I could push you back over so you could have another look,’ the elf suggested.

‘That’d be cheating,’ Thumb said firmly, ‘which would tend to corrupt the validity of the data. How’d it be if we just walked along the rail and climbed out through that window over there?’

The elf looked where Thumb was pointing. ‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘You’re sure it’s safe?’

‘Well, the alternative is staying here and drowning. You choose; I’m biased.’

‘I’ll tell you one thing, for sure,’ the elf said, as they tightrope-walked towards the open window. ‘If we do get out of this alive, I’ve had it with fairytales. No more fooling about with big bad wolves and homicidal woodcutters and wicked witches with machine guns and psychotic pigs for me. No more Miss Nice Girl. We’re going to move right out on to the outskirts of the forest and open a video library.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Thumb replied, in a rather wobbly voice. ‘Happily ever after, and all that jazz.’

‘Certainly not,’ the elf replied severely. ‘Miserably and fighting all the time, like real people. That way,’ she added, ‘ever after might get to mean longer than a week.’

He was a single star in an infinite blackness, a tiny speck on an endless ocean, one solitary spectator in an otherwise deserted Wembley Stadium. On all sides there was nothing but an eerie expanse of white bubbles, like some bizarre Antarctic seascape shrouded in low fog.

‘Go on,’ Dumpy growled. ‘Git.’

‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ replied the mop plaintively. ‘Properly speaking, I’m not obliged to carry passengers at all. I’d be well within my rights…’

‘Shut up.’

‘Witches, now,’ the mop continued, taking no notice, ‘we’ve got to stop for witches, ‘cos they’re entitled, provided they’ve got a current brush pass and all. But it doesn’t say anything in Regulations about giving lifts to passing dwarves. I could probably get in serious trouble for this, you realise.’

‘Keep swimmin’.’

‘It’d be different,’ sighed the mop, ‘if you appeared to have the faintest idea about where it is you actually want to go. But we’ve been cruising round in circles for hours now, and my handle’s starting to hurt something awful. I’m going to have to insist that you either specify a valid destination, or—’

‘Over there,’ Dumpy broke in urgently. ‘Quick.’

‘Now you’re sure about this, aren’t you?’ said the mop. ‘Because if you suddenly decide to change your mind…’

‘Quit complaining,’ Dumpy said. ‘That’s my partner over there.’

Sure enough, on the bubble-thronged horizon, a bedraggled figure was clinging desperately to a floating baguette. ‘Hang on, ‘Stiltskin,’ Dumpy roared. ‘I’m a-comin’ to get you.’

‘Now just you hold on a moment,’ the mop objected. ‘One of you’s bad enough, but if you’re suggesting I stop and take on another one of you freeloaders—’

‘Do it or I’m gonna stick your head down a toilet full o’ Harpic so fast you won’t know you’re born. And that’s a promise.’

‘Vulgar beast. All right then, if you absolutely insist. But you’re taking full responsibility.’

‘So sue me. Hey, you sure you can’t go no faster’n this?’

The mop drew up directly alongside Rumpelstiltskin’s baguette, and Dumpy quickly pulled him aboard. For some time he could do nothing except spit out water and swear, with the outraged mop keeping up a running commentary of protests while he did so. When at last he’d finished with all that, he heaved a sigh that seemed to come from deep down inside his socks.

‘Serves me right,’ he groaned, ‘for turning my back on a perfectly good scam to go trailing and paddling about playing Heroes. What I wouldn’t give for a nice cool dry cellar with a spinning wheel and a big heap of straw.’

The mop shuddered under them like a nervous horse. Frantically, Dumpy grabbed a handful of mop-strings and pulled. ‘Whoa there,’ he commanded. ‘Ain’t no call to be in such a gosh-danged hurry. You just bide there quiet and let me think.’

‘Honestly,’ muttered the mop darkly, ‘is this the time to go trying entirely new experiences?’

‘Shuttup.’ Dumpy looked round, but there was nothing to see except the billows of white, eye-stinging foam, and he had to admit that he didn’t know what to do. That troubled him; a dwarf, surely, ought to know exactly what to do at any given moment. He should be in command, in charge of every situation, proud, self-reliant and brimming with self-confidence. A dwarf should walk tall.

‘Looks like this is it, then,’ mumbled his colleague beside him. ‘The end of the chapter. For you, the story is over.’ He sighed. ‘Well, there’s probably worse ways to go, though I’d be surprised if there’s many that are more bizarre.’

‘That ain’t no way to talk,’ Dumpy replied, shocked. ‘Dwarves don’t quit, boy. That jes’ ain’t the way.’

‘Oh, put a sock in it, please!’ Rumpelstiltskin exploded. ‘God, you should listen to yourself for a minute, you really should. It’s enough to make a cat laugh.’

Dumpy narrowed his eyes. ‘What you sayin’?’ he demanded.

‘Quite simple,’ Rumpelstiltskin replied, turning his back. ‘So simple, in fact, that even you shouldn’t have too much trouble getting your head around it. Ready? Then I’ll begin. You — do — not — talk — like — that. Nobody — does. Got that? Or would you prefer to wait for the novelisation?’

A surge of fury set out to cross Dumpy’s face, but it was overtaken by a flood of bewilderment. ‘What kind o’ nonsense you talkin’ now, partner?’ he groaned. ‘You done bin out in the sun with no hat on, and that’s fo’ sho’.’

‘You see?’ Rumpelstiltskin cried, whirling round so fast he nearly upset the mop. ‘You can’t even do it properly. It’s just what Thumb was saying a while back, only we didn’t listen to him. You’re not you, get it? I can remember now, you see. For some reason, when the water came up to my chin and I thought I was just about to drown, all the memories that’d somehow been locked up in a cupboard in the back of my mind came busting out, and I remembered! I used to know you.’

Dumpy blinked at him. Somewhere at the back of his own mind was a tiny voice yelling Help! Let me out! ‘You did?’ he queried.

‘We used to work together,’ Rumpelstiltskin replied. ‘That’s if you can call it work, of course. There were seven of us, and we lived in a real dive of a place out the west edge of the forest. All the neighbours used to refer to us as Dwarves Behaving Badly.’

‘I…’ Dumpy raised his voice to yell a rebuttal, but somehow didn’t. ‘I remember,’ he said.

‘Thought you would. We used to go off to work every morning down the sewage plant, then troop back of an evening, send out for pizzas, open a couple of cases of beer, put a dirty film on the video…’

‘We used to dry our socks in the microwave,’ Dumpy interrupted suddenly. ‘Once a month, regular as clockwork, we’d take ‘em off, sloosh them down with the garden hose, then bung ‘em in at Defrost for ten minutes. Very good way of doing them, too. Efficient.’

‘That’s it, you’re right,’ Rumpelstiltskin said. He’d noticed that Dumpy’s accent and vocabulary were completely different as well, but he didn’t mention that. ‘I remember that. And then she came along and said we mustn’t do it any more.’

Dumpy winced. ‘Snow White,’ he said.

‘Yup. Dear God, how could I ever forget her?’

‘Takes some doing, I agree,’ Dumpy concurred with feeling. ‘You remember the newspaper she used to put down all over the furniture?’

‘The pink velvet curtains with brocaded tiebacks.’

‘Having to iron the dishcloths.’

‘That godawful picture of happy kittens playing with a ball of wool she made us hang in the bog. Where the peanut calendar used to be.’

‘The little frilly lavatory brush holder in the shape of a cutely grinning pig.’

‘And none of us daring to say a thing. Which was fair enough, because you had to be as brave as two short planks to say anything when she was in one of her moods…’