“Don’t be silly,” Efluviel said. “Of course it is.” The little man shook his head. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is. Everybody knows that. It’s in the story.”

“My name is Albert Winckler,” the little man said, and for a moment there wasn’t a sound to be heard, not even the scuttling of rats. Then the little man smiled and went on, “In the story, the evil gnome’s name is indeed Rumpelstiltskin, but I’m not him.”

“Great,” Mordak said briskly, before another silence could form and become solid. “Glad we’ve cleared that up. What the hell sort of a name is Albert Winkle?”

“Winckler,” the little man replied with dignity. “I come from a place called Chicago. You won’t have heard of it.”

“Actually—” Efluviel said, then waved her hand vaguely. “Ignore me.”

Mr Winckler sipped his tea. “Chicago is a city in a country a long way from here. In fact–you wouldn’t happen to be familiar with multiverse theory, would you?”

Mordak shrugged, but Efluviel said, “Oh, that.”

“You know about—?”

“The idea that there’s an infinite number of parallel universes existing simultaneously and occupying the same physical space in a basically helical continuum? Yup. I know loads of fairy stories. My mum gave me a book of them when I was three.”

Mr Winckler took a deep breath. “The world I come from,” he said, “is in just such an alternate universe. Over there, I was a very naughty boy. I did some really bad things.”

Mordak looked up. “Oh yes?”

Mr Winckler nodded. “About as bad as it gets,” he said. “I was a banker.”

Mordak frowned. “Say again.”

“A banker. With a B. I worked for a bank.”

Mordak scratched his head. “That’s where you look after people’s money for them, and lend it to people who need it, right? What’s so bad about that?”

Mr Winckler smiled. “Indeed,” he said. “To be precise, I was a commodities broker. I won’t bore you with the story of my life, but I got into a spot of trouble. I had to lay my hands on a huge sum of money very quickly, or else something really bad would happen to me.” He turned his head and looked at Efluviel. “It involved a nasty little man whose name I think you know,” he said, “but we won’t go into all that now. Suffice it to say, I had to get an obscenely large sum of money very quickly. And then I met this girl, who told me how to do it. So that’s what I did.”

Mordak pursed his lips. “And that was the really bad thing?”

“Oh yes.” Mr Winckler stopped and cleared his throat noisily. His eyes were rather red. “I took a load of useless, worthless junk and I made people believe I’d turned it into–well, not actual gold, but as good as, or better than. Pretty soon I had all the money I needed, but by then the idea had caught on, and lots of other people were doing it too. It wasn’t long before practically all the money in the world–real money, not my pretend stuff–was tied up in the scam; and when the bubble burst and people started realising it was all make-believe, the consequences were—Well, let’s not go into that. Like I said, I was a very naughty boy.”

Efluviel clicked her tongue. “It can’t all have been your fault,” she said. “People shouldn’t have been so stupid. They should’ve known better.”

Mr Winckler gave her a sort of cracked grin. “They didn’t see it quite that way,” he said. “Where I come from, people are expected to be stupid and not take responsibility for their own actions, which is why we have governments. No, it’s very sweet of you to say so, but it really was all my fault. Which is why I came here.”

Mordak looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I seem to have turned over two pages at once. Why did you come here?”

“Ah.” Mr Winckler grinned. “Partly, I guess, because once I realised what I’d set in motion, I thought it’d probably be a good idea to get as far away as I could, before all the people I’d screwed realised it was me who screwed them. But mostly,” he went on, his face straightening, “to make amends.”

“Really,” Efluviel said.

“Yes. Well,” Mr Winckler conceded, “actually, no. When I escaped, I was feeling really, really guilty. And then I came here, and I hadn’t been here long when I realised that this place wasn’t so very different from where I’d just come from. I mean yes, there are differences; like, magic works here, and back home it doesn’t. But basically, a lot of the setups and infrastructures are pretty much the same as they used to be at home, a long time ago. Which meant, of course, that what had happened where I came from could happen here one day. All it would take, I realised, would be for some evil bastard like me to come along, and you’d end up in the same horrible mess as we’re in, because of me. And I couldn’t bear the thought of that.”

Mr Winckler stopped talking and looked down at his hands for a while. Eventually, Efluviel said, “So you decided—”

“I’d make sure it would never happen,” Mr Winckler said, and his eyes were bright with anger and tears. “I’d fix things so you’d never have to go through what we went through. I reckoned it was the least I could do. My way of putting things right.”

“Fair enough,” Mordak said. “But what’s all that got to do with the humans suddenly getting rich?”

“I’m coming to that,” Mr Winckler said. “Once I’d discovered that magic works here–to a very limited extent and within strictly defined parameters, which is cool–I knew exactly what I had to do. I borrowed an idea from the Old Country. We used to call it quantitative easing.”

Efluviel blinked. “Say what?”

Mr Winckler smiled. “I know,” he said. “It’s meant to be confusing and meaningless, that’s so people won’t understand what you’re proposing to do until it’s too late. What it means is, you make up vast amounts of pretend money that doesn’t actually exist, and then you give it to people to spend.” He shook his head. “It never worked worth a damn back home, naturally, because magic doesn’t work there, and without magic it’s just a really, really stupid idea. Here, though—” He leaned back and pointed at the spinning-wheel. “A different story entirely. “Here, you genuinely can turn straw into gold, instead of just pretending to the voters that that’s what you’re doing. And then I found out that everybody over here knows the Rumpelstiltskin story too. Perfect, just what I needed. The point being, everybody knows the horrid little gnome’s true name. If I just went around handing out fistfuls of gold at random, people would be suspicious, they’d assume I was up to something. But if they truly thought they were getting the better of me–well, no problem. It’s all about perceptions, you see, and what people can be suckered into believing.”

Mr Winckler poured himself some more tea. Efluviel said, “Just a minute, though. I don’t see the point.”

“Excuse me?”

“Of giving the humans loads and loads of make-believe money. How’s that going to make them happier, or stop this disaster of yours from ever happening?”

Mr Winckler shook his head. “That was just the first step,” he said. “We’ve gone way beyond all that. Essentially, while you’ve been away, traipsing up and down mountains enjoying yourselves, I’ve taken the humans in this reality through a controlled and greatly accelerated version of what we went through back home. The difference being, I knew what I was doing, and where to press the buttons and levers. What we stumbled blindly through over hundreds of years, I’ve guided your humans through in a matter of months.” He yawned, and stretched. “It’s been a long, hard slog, but I think I can safely say my work here’s nearly done. Very soon now, I’ll be able to pack up and slip quietly away, and everything will be for the best in the best of all possible worlds.”

There was a long silence. Then Mordak said, “All right, let’s assume you’re right and you’ve made things all nice for the humans. Maybe it’s escaped your attention, but there’s other species besides them–goblins, dwarves—” He paused for a moment. “Elves. And if you’ve made the humans happy and rich, the first thing they’re going to do is come down on my lot like a ton of bricks. And stop shaking your head like that, it’s incredibly annoying.”

“All taken care of,” Mr Winckler said. “The humans will be too busy creating and fairly distributing wealth to have the time or the energy for making war. And if they don’t start anything, you won’t have to fight back. Same for the Elves. With the humans off your backs, you can get on with whatever it is you do. To be honest,” he added, “I haven’t quite managed to figure out what that is yet, but so long as you know, that’s all that matters.”

“Easy,” Efluviel said. “We’re better than everyone else. And we tell them so. It’s a full-time job, believe me.”

“Whatever,” Mr Winckler said. “The point is, take the humans out of the equation as a nuisance-creating agent, and the rest of you can live in peace and plenty.”

But Mordak was scowling. “You’ve missed the point,” he said. “Maybe not about her lot, but you’re definitely wrong about the goblins. We don’t want to live in peace and harmony, we want to fight and break things and grind the other races under our iron heel. Yes we do,” he added, as Efluviel looked at him oddly. “It’s what we do, it’s what we’re for. We’re evil.”

Mr Winckler just smiled at him. “Not for much longer,” he said.

Mordak’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

“Oh, let’s not spoil the surprise,” Mr Winckler said. “But next time you run into your Dark Lord, you may notice a few changes, that’s all I’m saying. I think you goblins are standing on the threshold of a bright new tomorrow, as we say where I come from. Whether you like it or not.”

“You’ve convinced the Dark Lord to give up Evil? That’s just so—”

Mr Winckler shrugged. “Evil,” he said, “what good does it do? Better off without it, in my opinion. I talk to him in his dreams, which he can’t remember when he wakes up. But the subconscious effect remains, which is what matters. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised next time you speak to him. And once you don’t have to do Evil any more, you goblins can settle down, act normally and turn into regular folks, just in time to share in the general prosperity.” He shrugged. “Compared to sorting out the humans, your Dark Lord was a slice of seed cake. Which only goes to show the advantage of dealing with a strong centralised authority. Only one idiot to bamboozle, rather than dozens.”

Mordak jumped up. He was quivering all over. “You can’t do things like that,” he said, “it’s not right. You can’t just decide to abolish Evil and say, okay, from now on all you goblins are going to be nice. It’s unethical. It’s a violation of our fundamental goblin rights. It’s wrong.”

Mr Winckler grinned. “Pretty bad, huh?”

“Very bad. Very bad indeed.”

“Wicked?”

“To put it mildly.”

“You might almost go so far as to say—”

“No!” Mordak shouted. Then he seemed to deflate. “Well, actually, yes, evil is a good way of describing it. Evil, as in imposing your ideas of what’s good for people on them against their will, and the hell with what they want.”

“So, if I succeed, evil will have triumphed.”

“Yes. No. Sort of.”

Mr Winckler clapped his hands together. “Evil, as personified by me. Meet the new Dark Lord. But you can call me Albert.”

Mordak walked round and round in circles for a bit, then sat down again. “That’s just so—”

“Yes,” said Mr Winckler happily, “isn’t it? That’s the thing about good and evil,” he added pleasantly. “It’s just like the gold-into-straw thing, it’s all simply what people believe. And meanwhile, you’ve got a kingdom to run and everyday problems to solve and people to feed and bills to pay. I think you’ll find it easier my way. At least give it a chance.” He turned to Efluviel. “He’s not really evil, is he? Be honest.”

Efluviel thought for a moment. “Inconsiderate, devious, chauvinist and a pain in the bum, yes. Evil?” She shrugged. “Not really, no.”

Mordak glowered at her. “I’m not speaking to you. Ever again.”

“And you’re no better than he is,” Mr Winckler said cheerfully, “and you’re one of the Children of Light, God help us all. In fact, there’s so little to choose between you, I really can’t be bothered to try. The point is, when the chips were down, both of you—” He shrugged. “To paraphrase one of your greatest goblin philosophers, the things we do because we care are beyond naughty and nice. And you can tell your friend, if he carries on scowling at me like that, the wind’ll change and he’ll stick like it.”

“I think that already happened,” Efluviel said, “some time ago. Oh, and I’m not talking to you either. Mordak, tell him.”

Mr Winckler sighed happily. “There you are, you see. Goblin and Elf united in harmony against the common enemy. And I did all that,” he added happily, “with my little hatchet.”

Mordak shot him a poisonous look, realised that it had no effect whatsoever, and gave up. “Fine,” he said. “I can sort of see what you’re getting at, and I suppose–well, it’s nasty and mean and totally out of order, but it might just make things better for everyone. Assuming,” he added quickly, “that you really have thought it all through, and you haven’t overlooked anything that’ll screw it all up, and there won’t be any horrible side-effects that you aren’t telling us about. Assuming.”

“Oh, there’ll be side-effects all right,” Mr Winckler said, looking away. “Nasty ones and plenty of them. But not here. Here, nothing but sweetness and light. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Mordak and Efluviel looked at each other. “Well, no.”

“Yes,” Mr Winckler said firmly. “Because here–well, multiverse theory is just that, a theory. I mean, nobody’s ever proved it, scientifically. So, for all we know, all the other alternate universes, including the one I originally came from, are just—” He shrugged. “Science fiction. So, if something bad has to happen to a reality far away of which we know little, which hasn’t been proved to exist and probably doesn’t, then so what? No skin off your noses, that’s for sure.”

“Hang on,” Mordak said. “What does that actually mean?”

“Oh, well.” Mr Winckler shrugged. “It’s just possible that, by coming here and doing good, I’ve created a hopeless breach of the Laws of Conservation of All Sorts of Things, and my native reality could just conceivably—”

“What?”

Mr Winckler rubbed his nose with his thumb. “Blow up. But what the hell, omelettes and eggs. After all, I buggered it up so comprehensively before I left that on balance, if it does blow up it’ll be doing them a favour. And if they don’t even exist—”

Mordak stared at him. “You’re going to blow up a whole universe?”

“It’s possible,” Mr Winckler said. “But there. Strictly in accordance with good banking practice. If an asset becomes worthless, you write it off. And if that means you cause endless misery and disaster to the poor devils you leave floundering in your wake, you put aside a small percentage of the profits, set up a foundation and do good works to improve the lives of a lot of other people somewhere else. That’s called philanthropy. Just ask Bill Gates.”

Mordak thought for a moment. “Just out of interest,” he said, “is there anything we can do to stop you?”

“Not really, no.” Mr Winckler sighed. “Oh come on,” he said, “what’s with the long faces? I told you just now, didn’t I, I’m the new Dark Lord, or I will be, one day quite soon, when the present incumbent gets the boot. And it’s all my fault, so nobody else has anything to feel guilty about. And besides, it’s all so far away and theoretical, it hardly matters. If a star goes nova in the next galaxy but one, you don’t rush about tearing your hair out and wailing, ‘We should have done something’. If you think about it at all, you just say, well, it had obviously had its time, life must go on. And compared to an alternative reality, the next galaxy but one is practically on your doorstep. To put it another way, it’s none of your business. Forget about it. Leave the agonies of guilt to me.” He made a vague gesture with his hands. “God knows, I’m used to them.”

Mordak leaned forward a little. “Old goblin proverb,” he said. “Never leave a living mistake. Meaning, if you mess up, make sure everyone who knows about it is safely dead.”

Mr Winckler smiled. “I rather like that,” he said. “You know, when this is all over, I might settle down here and become a naturalised goblin. You people are so unfussy.”

“Not as unfussy as all that,” Mordak replied. “Besides, you’re too tall. And your nose is the wrong shape.”

“Ah well. Besides, it won’t be up to you. After all, you answer to the Dark Lord, don’t you? When he appoints me his new finance minister, you’ll have to be polite to me then. You know what?” He beamed at Mordak, possibly the widest smile he’d ever seen. “I think I could get to like evil. This New Evil of yours, anyway. It can be whatever you want it to be. I like that.”

“New Evil isn’t like that,” Mordak said angrily. “It’s real evil, with values and stuff, but with a caring and compassionate face. It’s not an excuse for not giving a damn, or covering up your mistakes by blowing up universes. That’s not evil, that’s—”

“Bad?” Mr Winckler sighed. “Not very nice? This is no use, we’re just going round in circles. The time eventually comes when you’ve got to make a deal. Ask the Elf. She knows all about that.”

Efluviel went bright red. “That’s just so—” She hesitated. “I did not make a deal,” she said firmly. “I agreed to do something I didn’t want to do in order to get something I really wanted. There’s a difference, you know.” She paused and frowned. “And ever since, I’ve been cold-bloodedly manipulating him into doing exactly what I want. That’s not a deal, that’s exploitation.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mordak said.

“Yes I have,” Efluviel snapped. “I wheedled and tricked you into making me the editor of the Face. Using you. Not,” she added emphatically, “a deal.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mordak repeated patiently. “You’ve worked really hard and had some bloody good ideas and we wouldn’t have got here without you. And I’d have made you the editor anyway. You’re a really good journalist.”

“You—” Efluviel turned on him like a cobra, then stopped dead. “You think so?”

“Yes. Outstanding. You even check your facts and spell some of the names right. And yes, you’re consistently snarky and point-scoring, but that’s just being an Elf, you do it to each other all the time, it’s really just a sign of acceptance, like dogs weeing down your leg. And no one could say you haven’t stuck to your side of the bargain.”

Efluviel turned to Mr Winckler. “Ignore him, he’s delusional. It’s the altitude. Goblins can’t cope with more than ten feet above sea level. Elves don’t do deals with goblins. Just, sometimes we deceive and betray them in a mutually beneficial way.”

Mr Winckler smiled. “Bullshit,” he said kindly. “There, now. See what I’ve achieved? The king of the goblins, and you, soon to be the most influential Elf in the Realms, best friends. I really have done an outstanding job, though I do say so myself. Now, isn’t that worth a single, solitary, non-existent reality going pop, to achieve all that? Come on. It’s not like there aren’t an infinite number of others out there. One more or less really doesn’t matter.”

Mordak frowned. “You’re sure killing you wouldn’t put things right?”

“You haven’t been listening, have you?” Mr Winckler said. “Everything would be so much easier for everyone if they just listened to what I tell them.”

“How about sending you back?”

For a split second, Mr Winckler’s face froze. Then he laughed. “Sure,” he said. “You and whose army?”

“Well, mine, actually. A quarter of a million goblins, last time anyone counted.”

“Forget it,” Mr Winckler said. “Magic works here, remember? You’d only embarrass yourself. Besides, I have superior firepower.” Without turning his head, he called out, “Boys.”

From the shadows at the back of the barn, two figures stepped forward. One was a very old man, in a cloth cap and a battered-looking raincoat, but with very shiny shoes. The other was a tall, skinny young man, eating a muffin. “Believe me,” Mr Winckler said, “you don’t want to mess with them. Oh, I forgot. You met them before. As I recall, you were terrified of them.”

“I wasn’t,” Efluviel said.

“Yes, well, you’re a girl, you don’t count. He’s the battle-scarred veteran of a hundred bloody wars, and he nearly wet himself.”

“That’s a slight exaggeration,” Mordak said. But he stayed exactly where he was. The young man finished his muffin, gave him a long, cold stare and started on a cherry Bakewell. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” Mordak said.

Mr Winckler was buttering a scone. “Oh good,” he said. “It’s nice when people say thank you. Well, I think that’s about it for now. I’ve explained, so you’re fully in the picture, and we’ve agreed that there’s nothing you can do about anything, so that’s fine, and we’ve done the exchange of veiled threats and you’ve admitted defeat, so I guess that just about wraps things up. You can get a lot done when you set your mind to it. Goodbye.”

Mordak made a low growling noise that no human throat could ever manage. The old man shook his head sadly. Mr Winckler didn’t seem to have heard. “Don’t,” Efluviel said softly.

Mordak turned on her. “I thought you said you weren’t scared of those two.”

“I’m not. But you are, and you know lots more about what’s dangerous or not than I do. Let’s just go.”

“But—”

“Now.”

“Efluviel—”

“Outside.” She turned her head and smiled at Mr Winckler. “Thank you so much for explaining everything so clearly,” she said, “it was very good of you to make time for us, specially when you’re so busy. We’ll be going now.”

Mr Winckler raised one hand in silent dismissal. The young man took a step forward, reached inside his coat and pulled out a baguette. He held it in a faintly menacing way for about a second and a half, then bit the top off it. Mordak swallowed hard (so did the young man) and began to back slowly towards the door without breaking eye contact, until Efluviel grabbed him by the collar, said, “Come on!” loudly in his ear and dragged him out of the barn.

Mr Winckler looked up from spreading jam on a scone. Outside he could hear raised voices, but what they said seemed not to bother him particularly. He smiled, then handed the scone to the young man. “Dismissed,” he said.

The old man saluted smartly but didn’t withdraw. “Was there something?” Mr Winckler said.

“Well, sir.” The old man was still at attention; an alarming sight, like a bow held at full draw, or a tree bent sideways by the wind. “Not meaning to teach you your own business or anything, perish the thought, sir, but don’t you think that Mordak might be thinking of trying something?”

Mr Winckler shrugged. “So what? He’s a goblin.”

“Very cunning, sir, goblins. Cunning and devious. Young Art, sir, he always reckons a goblin’s never more dangerous than when he appears to be retreating. Isn’t that right, Art?”

“He’s a goblin,” Mr Winckler repeated. “He does what he’s told.”

“Very true, sir, very true indeed. But suppose the Dark Lord—”

“I wasn’t thinking of him.”

“Ah.” The old man thought for a moment, then nodded. “In that case, sir, if you don’t need us any more, we’ll be getting along. Doesn’t do for Art to miss mealtimes. He gets all faint.”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Mr Winckler looked away; then, just as the old man was about to disappear, he called out, “Hang on a second.”

The old man stopped. “Sir?”

“You do think I’m right, don’t you? About those two.”

“Oh, I expect so, sir. You’re very confident, anyway. Essential part of leadership, sir, confidence.”

Mr Winckler frowned. “She’s got him on a piece of string,” he said, “I’m pretty sure about that, so we don’t need to worry about him. And she’ll be all right. I mean, she’s got what she wants, and that’s all that matters. I never yet met an Elf that wasn’t as self-centred as a drill-bit.”

“Quite true, sir, me neither. Mind you, I only ever met three.” The old man smiled. “Goodnight, sir. Mind you look after yourself. You work too hard, is your trouble.”

“True.” Mr Winckler hesitated, then turned his head to look at the old man. “You’ve been there, haven’t you? Where I come from.”

“Many times, sir, many times. I shall miss it.”

“But you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“I don’t think anything, sir, it’s not my place.”

Mr Winckler grinned. “Quite right, it isn’t. Very well, you can go.”

“Our Art, now, he thinks it’s not very nice to blow up one world to help another, just so someone can kid himself he’s a philanthropist. But he’s young, sir, he’ll learn.”

“Quite,” Mr Winckler said. “A sense of proportion’s something that only comes with experience.”

“I didn’t mean that, sir. I meant, he’ll learn to keep his thoughts to himself. Like me, sir. Goodnight.”