“Carrots go in the other end, the mouth end.”

“It was dark in that stable,” said Jolly. “It wasn’t our fault.”

“And then there was the poor bloke playing Father Christmas.”

“We were sure that beard wasn’t real,” said Angry. “I mean, ninety-nine percent sure. I’d have put money on it.”

“But you didn’t put money on it, did you?” said Sergeant Rowan. “You put glue on it. You glued it when he wasn’t looking and then asked a child to give it a tug. You thought you’d end up with a small boy with a beard stuck to his hand, but instead you got a Father Chrismas with a small boy stuck to him. Father Christmas had to have his beard cut off, and the kid ended up with hands that looked like the paws of an elderly werewolf.”

“It won’t happen again, Sergeant,” said Dan. “They’re changed men.”

“The only thing that will change that lot is Death,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Even then, they’ll probably try to steal his scythe.”

Dan began to hustle the dwarfs along.

“Well, we must be off,” he said. “We’re running late as it is. Good to see you again. Maybe we’ll all meet up at the Grand Opening!”

“I can hardly wait,” said Sergeant Rowan.

He turned his chair to face Constable Peel.

“We need to watch them, Constable. We need to watch them like hawks. No, not just like hawks, but like hawks . . . with binoculars. We—”

He paused.

“Where’s the rest of my pie gone?” he said.

“Sergeant—” began Constable Peel as an engine started up.

“And my tea. And the teapot!”

The engine was followed by a burst of sirens, but they were quickly silenced.

“Sarge—”

“They’ve even taken the cups!”

“Sarge!” said Constable Peel with some force.

“What is it?”

“I think they’ve stolen our car.”

IX

In Which Clever Disguises Are Adopted

NURD TRUDGED BACK TO Mrs. Johnson’s house, his head low. Wormwood had chosen to stay late at the car-testing center. There had been some spectacular crashes that day, and Wormwood liked nothing better than rebuilding crashed cars.

Nurd was wearing a bulky jacket, and a hood covered his head. His hands were plunged deep into his pockets. It looked like rain, but he had decided not to take the bus because taking the bus meant being near people. Even though Nurd’s appearance had changed a great deal in his time on Earth, he was still strange enough to attract startled glances from passersby and fellow passengers. Small children sometimes cried at the sight of him, and he had lost count of the number of elderly ladies whom he had caused to faint with fright. It was easier just to walk home, even if it did take him an hour.

Home. Nurd grimaced at the word. Mrs. Johnson’s house wasn’t home. Oh, it was comfortable, and Samuel and his mother did all that they could to make Nurd and Wormwood feel like part of the family, but as time went on, Nurd just became more and more aware of how different he was. Earth was better than Hell, but Nurd still didn’t belong there, and he didn’t think that he ever would.