“Heyyy, Mr Reekles.” Justice moves in. “How’s the wife and kids?” First luck: Justice and the old man share a love of Greenglade’s rugby team.

“Young Tackler!” The caretaker’s voice is warm. “They’re all right, thank you kindly. The grandson just picked up a cricket bat this year.”

I imagine Justice moving closer, angling for the old man’s pocket

Closer, closer…

“Hah! You tell him rugby’s where it’s at.”

“Ohh, far too rough for a littl’un like ’im.”

A pause.

“’Ere, shouldn’t you be in class by now?”

“Yikes! Maisy keeping all right though?” he’s stalling.

“Dandy.” He smiles, you can hear it. “Now be off with yer.”

“Be well, sir.”

“And you.” The cleaning trolley squeaks away, and seconds later Justice leaps into the cupboard, hissing, “Got it!”

I hold out the card reader all prepped and ready. It’s not an iron forge and heavy key, but I have never felt more dwarf than I do now, as I forge a key inside this tiny cupboard in this everyday-world school.

Card read.

Copied.

Finally, Justice holds a new keycard in place and neither of us breathes. Work, please. Come on.

It beeps. Justice thrusts Reekles’ card at me and I skid down the hallway, puffing, “Sir! Sir! You dropped this!”

And that’s it. We’re set.

*

Justice and Sabre show up in matching suits, singing ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ from Cinderella loud enough for the whole street.

“You caved,” I say, honestly a little disappointed. “No dresses.”

“Yeah, well, the job at hand is more important than my heels.” Sabre sighs, hugging his backpack of tools sadly and glancing at Justice.

“You got the signs and stuff?”

“I did.” He pulls one out. I don’t know what I’d been expecting but these sleek, steel, all-caps ALL GENDERS signs are everything.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, goon.”

I climb into a stretch limo with my friends. And halfway to school, it hits me. I stare at them, these everyday nerds, setting out to break the rules and probably a good few laws to take down barriers for one small angry dwarf. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Questing.” Justice grins. “For right and proper justice. We’re going to be heroes!”

“We should skip the songs of legends past, right?” Sabre asks.

“Don’t you dare.” Tro glares. “Gimme. And get that skylight open!”

So that’s how we ride towards our fate, adventurers, dressed like high society, standing with our heads out of the limo, bellowing battle songs in course rock language at unwitting passers-by, until we cannot sing for laughter.

*

Everyone is party-drunk, draped in glitz and joy as they stop at every bush for a new selfie.

“Act like … that,” Tro whispers, taking charge. We steel ourselves, and walk in bold as actual heroes, waving tickets at the door volunteers.

I almost don’t believe it. How do they not see us for our shady dwarf-orc-elven selves, all horns and teeth and fire-eyes and trouble. But they don’t, at all: we’re just ordinary revellers.