Only Masklin stayed where he was, despite the urgent complaints from his stomach. He wasn't sure he even began to understand how things worked in the Store, but he had an obscure feeling that if you didn't face them with dignity you could end up doing things you weren't entirely happy about.

'You're not hungry?' said Angalo.

'I'm hungry,' admitted Masklin, 'I'm just not eating. Where does all the food come from?' 'Oh, we take it from the humans,' said Angalo airily. 'They're rather stupid, you know.' 'And they don't mind?' 'They think it's rats,' sniggered Angalo. We take up rat doodahs with us. At least, the Food Hall families do,' he corrected himself. 'Sometimes they let other people go up with them. Then the humans just think it's rats.' Masklin's brow wrinkled.

'Doodahs?' he said.

'You know,' said Angalo. 'Droppings.' Masklin nodded. 'They fall for that, do they?' he said doubtfully.

'They're very stupid, I told you.' The boy walked around Masklin. 'You must come and see my father,' he said. 'Of course, it's a foregone conclusion that you'll join the Haberdasheri.' Masklin looked at the tribe. They had spread out among the food stalls. Torrit had a lump of cheese as big as his head, Granny Morkie was investigating a banana as if it might explode, and even Grimma wasn't paying him any attention.

Masklin felt lost. What he was good at, he knew, was tracking a rat across several fields, bringing it down with a single spear throw, and dragging it home. He'd felt really good about that People had said things like 'Well done'.

He had a feeling that you didn't have to track a banana. 'Your father?' he said.