Peter strode across the room and dumped the bag at the foot of the bed.

"That's my bed," he growled.

Creteus smiled and gently shrugged, looking around the room. "I'm afraid I was not spoilt for choice," he said.

Peter too surveyed the room. It was true. He wasn't sure the ancient bedside table would support Creteus' weight, and that just left the floor.

"George?" he said.

George's voice floated out from behind the bedside table. "Yes?" It sounded stronger than this morning, more confident. Peter wondered how he could fit behind the unit. There was hardly a crack between it and the wall.

"Okay. Just checking you're about."

"I can go if you want."

"Jeez, no. This is your place. I'm not turfing you out."

Creteus gave Peter a smile that nevertheless gently admonished him. "I think Peter was just checking I hadn't broken into your rooms whilst you were absent, in order to steal your heirlooms," he said, still looking at Peter. He spread his arms wide to encompass the room. "Nothing is missing."

"I never said that." Peter dropped down on the foot of the bed and opened the bin bag. "I brought my kettle. Is that all right? For the electricity, I mean." Because I haven't even got 50p for the meter, he added silently.

"Sure. It's all included in the rent," said George's voice.

Peter wanted to apologise for that, to explain again he was skint, to promise he would make it up as soon as he found his feet, but there stood Creteus, towering over him, and it was none of his business.

"Well, sit down." Peter indicated the other end of the bed with a nod of his head. "You're giving me a crick in my neck."

"Thank you." Creteus hitched his trousers at the knees and sat on the bed. He was tall, even by human standards, and Peter strongly suspected the bed was once made for a child. His knees folded halfway to his shoulders, and Peter suddenly thought of a grasshopper.

Peter placed the kettle and lead on the floor and pulled out a crushed box of no-name teabags.

"I've got no milk or sugar," he said, by means of a reluctant invitation.

"Black will be wonderful, thank you."

Peter looked in the bag again and pulled out his mug.

"Oh, wait. I've only got one mug." A clink from the other end of the bed caused him to look up. A mug, still rattling slightly, had appeared on the bedside table. "Fair enough. What about you, George?"

"Thanks," came George's voice from under Peter's feet. Looking down, he saw the kettle and teabags had disappeared. A clunk announced their arrival on the bedside table, along with another mug.

Creteus smiled. "He is so very useful, isn't he?"

"Sure." Peter rose and placed his mug with the others. "So, you and George are mates?"

"We're all fae, Peter. We should all be friends." He glanced at the bed. "So there's no need to be jealous."

"What?" Peter sat on the bed, then jumped up again. "No! No-no-no-no. It's like a bunk bed, right? He sleeps underneath."

Creteus chuckled and raised his hand. "No, I never meant to imply anything untoward. But it's good to see. George doesn't make friends easily." He mouthed the word 'shy', as though it were a secret. "But the two of you seem to have hit it off wonderfully. That's good. For both of you."

"Sorry?"

"Well, I worry about George. Don't I, George? He's been very unhappy since coming to the city. Haven't we all? But with him on his own, too, and lonely. Has he told you about his former life?"

"The kids? Sure."

"Wonderful. So you becoming his friend is such good news."

Peter clenched his fists. "I'm not a kid."

"Oh my goodness, no. I didn't mean to imply that at all. I just meant, he's missed the presence, I think. Right, George?"

"Right." George's voice was behind the bedside table again.

"And of course, it benefits you too."

"Excuse me?" said Peter.

"Oh, George has told me about your situation. I hope you don't mind. Such a shame. And what a friend in need."

"Yes, he's a diamond sure enough."

"What was your job, if I can be so bold?"

"Environmental waste engineer."

"That sounds a responsible occupation."

"Yeah, well, it just meant shit shoveller in the sewers."

Creteus grinned. "Still a responsible job, if not exactly fragrant. And they fired you? A human wanted your job?"

"No one wants that job, but they didn't want me. I wouldn't take their sh- their 'jokes'." Peter waggled his fingers to show the quotes. "And one of them got in the way of my shovel and went crying to the boss."

"No doubt he deserved it. But now you are at a loose end."

"You could put it like that."

Creteus took a deep breath and stared at the opposite wall. After a moment he shook his head.

"That's how they work, you know. Chop, chop. Slice, slice. More and more fae isolated, powerless. One at a time, like hyenas thinning the herd. And eventually there we are, each on our own, no friends, no power, no home. It's the way it is, but it's not fair."

"Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn't have hit him in the bollocks."

Creteus whirled on the leprechaun. "No, no. Don't apologise. You did what anyone with an ounce of pride, an ounce of dignity would do. They treat us like vermin, like rats. Well, sometimes rats bite. They need to understand that."

"Doesn't help me now though."

"No, no, indeed not. Do you have any other skills?"

"You mean apart from dancing a jig? No human is going to hire me, anyway, not now, even if I had a degree in accountancy."

"Tea's up," said George. Peter glanced at the bedside table. Two mugs steamed there. Creteus took them both without rising and passed one to Peter.

"We shouldn't be running to them with a begging bowl, Peter."

"I can't see any fae employing me either. They employ their own. Who wants to see a leprechaun serving food at an elf restaurant?"

"You've been to the Lion and Lamb before, right?"

"The boozer? Sure, but he's barely making ends meet. He'd hire me, sure enough, but he doesn't have a space."

"A human owner, I believe?"

"Sure. But Bob's okay. I mean he's a sarcastic git who makes inappropriate jokes, but he does that with humans too. No, he's okay."

"Of course. But humans drink there too?"

"A few. Tourists mostly. But mainly fae."

"And the lion shall lie down with the lamb, indeed."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. And I expect people talk, yes? Many a slip?"

Peter sighed. "Look, I'm not an educated person. I'm not particularly good at reading between the lines, or just reading, come to that. Why don't you stop farting around and get to the point."

Creteus chuckled again. "The point. Indeed. Very well. It would benefit the community as a whole if we could judge the zeitgeist."

"Don't think any zeitgeists drink there."

"Very droll. But if we knew the gossip, the general feelings of both the fae and the humans, it could help us anticipate events, plan our actions. Be more proactive."

"You want me to spy on them."

Creteus winced. "Spy? No. Just let me know who's about, topics of conversations, that sort of thing. The feel of the place."

"Sounds like spying to me. And anyway, there's a tiny flaw in your plan."

"There is?"

"I'm skint. No job, no money, no prospects of getting either."

Creteus stared ahead at the wall again, nodding his head. After a moment he asked, "Do you care the sort of job you do?"

"Not sewers."

Creteus smiled. "Understandable. I have a need for someone to run errands for me. Collect subscriptions. Deliver messages. I can't pay much, but as well as a wage I can give you additional money for 'the boozer', if we can chat about it the next day. The job offer isn't dependent on that, of course, but I'm not sure the pay will stretch to meals and evenings out."

Peter ran a hand over his mouth. The tea was hot, but that was all he could say in its favour. The oaths of sobriety he had sworn that morning seemed a long time ago.

"Just the topics, sort of thing?" he asked.

"Indeed."

"Okay then. But I'm no spy."