Bob placed the tray of coffees on the table and distributed the cups.

"No cream," he said. "Just milk. I wasn't expecting visitors. We got the fancy yellow sugar though."

He sat down next to Amanda, facing the two Fae.

"So, I'm Bob. I own this establishment. Peter I know. You are...?"

"Creteus."

"Okay. That doesn't help me a lot."

Creteus spread his hands wide. "I represent many of the Fae in this area."

"Okay. What's that to do with me?"

Creteus turned to Amanda. "And you are?"

"Amanda Andrews."

"Ah. I have heard of you. And your father, of course. Daughter of the saviour of the Fae. Or their executioner, depending on your outlook."

Amanda set her mouth into a thin line. "And your outlook?"

Creteus shrugged. "In my culture we visit neither the sins nor the virtues of the father onto the children. Nor do we expect the children to pay for those sins." He waved his hand dismissively. "Your efforts to salve your conscience really mean nothing to us."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bob tapped his finger on the table. "Cut her some slack. If it wasn't for her, things this afternoon could have been a lot uglier. You could try showing her a little thanks."

"Thanks?" Creteus turned to face Bob. "Humans rounded up Fae, Fae who were innocent of any crime, even by human standards. Humans intimidated them, manhandled them, interrogated them, and I should show thanks that a human made sure that such treatment was according to human laws? Their only crime was that they were Fae. And I should thank you they were only interrogated and not beaten or dragged away to one of your concentration camps?"

"That's not our fault!" Amanda was almost vibrating with anger. "We're trying to help, to fix things."

Creteus bowed his head. "And we are so grateful. Because, obviously, we're only Fae. A slip of a human who lives under her father's shadow can do so much more than the thousands of Fae in the square mile." He looked up and treated her to a mirthless smile. "We'd be so terribly, terribly grateful for a human's help."

Bob put his hand on Amanda's. "Mister Creteus. Perhaps you could get whatever it is off your chest, and then get the hell out of my pub."

Creteus sat back. "The Ministry of Fae Affairs visited you this afternoon, I understand. What did they want?"

"They were after Elves."

"Elves? Specifically?"

"My pub was vandalised. A call to arms against humans written in Elvish. I think they rather wanted to talk to the graffiti warriors."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Well, not dwarves or Michael here. It was too high." Bob held up a hand to Peter. "Joke, mate. Just a joke. I have it on good authority it wasn't an elf either."

Creteus frowned. "Why do you say that?"

Bob shrugged. "I'm no expert, but I was told the writing wasn't neat enough. Apparently half the poetry of Elvish is how pretty the words look written down. But who knows? I know nothing about human poetry, never mind Elvish. My experience stops at 'there was a young Fairy called Daisy'."

"But they didn't get anything," said Amanda. "They were after clan names, but our solicitors made sure every Fae knew their rights."

"Rights." Creteus looked as though he would spit. "What rights are they? The right to own property? The right to freedom of movement? The right to assemble peaceably for a lunchtime beer?"

"No one was detained," said Amanda. "No one was coerced."

"Not here." Creteus gave her his mock bow again. "But we are so grateful."

"Look, we did what we could. I brought solicitors, but they had a warrant. What else could we do?"

"No, no. I'm sure you did all you could. Your conscience is clear. I'm sure we're all so terribly grateful."

"Okay," said Bob, rising. "Now you know all we know. So unless you want to buy a beer, you can leave, okay?"

Creteus stared at Bob for long seconds, then shrugged. "Thank you so much for your help," he said, rising. He bowed to Amanda, nodded at Bob then turned to the door. Peter scrambled out of his chair and followed. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed, Bob noted with a note of satisfaction.

"We're closed for the rest of the day," he told the leprechaun. "But your money's still welcome back here after today, okay?"

He closed the door on them, turned the locks then leaned back on the door. He gave Amanda a searching look. She was almost levitating with anger.

"Ms Andrews. Amanda. I'm a publican. Dishing out trite advice is my profession, nay my vocation. You can please yourself in this world, or you can please other people. And let me tell you, self-righteous pricks like that? You'll never please them. You want to put the world to rights? Fill your boots. But do it for yourself."

Amanda snorted. "Ha! And you think he's self-righteous."