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unsure too.
    â€œI think that’s because they don’t know,” he said, “or don’t believe, we really are Outsiders!”
    â€œI ain’t an Outsider!” said Torrit. “They’re all Insiders!”
    â€œBut that means that the Abbot really does think we’re from Outside!” said Grimma. “That means he believes we’re here and he can’t see us! Where’s the sense in that?”
    â€œThat’s nomish nature for you,” said Dorcas.
    â€œDon’t see that it matters much,” said Granny grimly. “Come three weeks and they’ll all be Outsiders. Serve them right. They’ll have to go around not looking at themselves. See how they like that, eh?” She stuck her nose in the air. “Ho, hexcuse me, Mr. Abbot, went and tripped over hyou there, didn’t see hyou hi’am sure. . . .”
    â€œI’m sure they’d understand if only they’d listen,” said Masklin.
    â€œShouldn’t think so,” said Dorcas, kicking at the dust. “Silly of me to think they would, really. The Stationeri never listen to new ideas.”
    â€œExcuse me,” said a quiet voice behind them.
    They turned and saw one of the Stationeri standing there. He was young, and quite plump, with curly hair and a worried expression. In fact he was nervously twisting the corner of his robe.
    â€œYou want me?” said Dorcas.
    â€œEr. I was, er, I wanted to talk to the, er, Outsiders,” said the little man carefully. He bobbed a curtsey in the direction of Torrit and Granny Morkie.
    â€œYou’ve got better eyesight than most, then,” said Masklin.
    â€œEr, yes,” said the Stationeri. He looked back down the corridor. “Er, I’d like to talk to you. Somewhere private.”
    They shuffled around a floor joist.
    â€œWell?” said Masklin.
    â€œThat, er, thing that spoke,” said the Stationeri. “Do you believe it?”
    â€œI think it can’t actually tell lies,” said Masklin.
    â€œWhat is it, exactly? Some kind of radio?”
    Masklin gave Dorcas a hopeful look.
    â€œThat’s a thing for making noise,” Dorcas explained loftily.
    â€œIs it?” asked Masklin, and shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve just had it a long time. It says it came with nomes from a long way away, a long time ago. We’ve looked after it for generations, haven’t we, Torrit?”
    The old man nodded violently. “My dad had it before me, and his father before him, and his father before him, and his brother at the same time as him, and their uncle before them—” he began.
    The Stationeri scratched his head.
    â€œIt’s very worrying,” he said. “The humans are acting very strangely. Things aren’t being replaced in the Store. There’s signs we’ve never seen before. Even the Abbot’s worried—he can’t work out what Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects us to do. So, er . . .” He bunched up his robe, untwisted it hurriedly, and went on. “I’m the Abbot’s assistant, you see. My name is Gurder. I have to do the things he can’t do himself. So, er . . .”
    â€œWell, what?” said Masklin.
    â€œCould you come with me? Please?”
    â€œIs there food?” said Granny Morkie, who could always put her finger on the important points.
    â€œWe’ll certainly have some sent up,” said Gurder hurriedly. He backed off through the maze of joists and wiring. “Please, follow me. Please.”

5
    I. Yet there were some who said, We have seen Arnold Bros (est. 1905)’s new Signs in the Store, and we are Troubled for we Understand them not .
    II. For this is the Season that should be Christmas Fayre, and yet the Signs are not the Signs of Christmas Fayre;
    III. Nor are they January Sales, or Back-to-School Week, or Spring Into Spring Fashions, or Summer Bargains, or other Signs we know in their