'We've decided,' he said. 'If it's the same to you, we'll keep what we have. Sorry.' He gave Dorcas and the bandit a bright smile. The bandit returned it. At least, he opened his mouth and showed a lot of teeth.

'Er,' said Dorcas, 'you can't say that, you know. You can't say you don't want to be robbed!' He saw Masklin's look of complete bewilderment. 'Robbed,' he repeated. 'It means having your things taken away from you. You just can't say you don't want it to happen!' 'Why not?' said Grimma.

'Because-' the old nome hesitated. 'I don't know, really. Tradition, I suppose.' The bandit chief tossed his knife from one hand to the other. 'Tell you what I'll do,' he said, 'you being new and everything. We'll hardly hurt you at all. Get them!' Two bandits grabbed Granny Morkie.

This turned out tobe a mistake. Her bony right hand flashed out and there were two ringing slaps.

'Cheek!' she snapped, as the nomes staggered sideways, clutching their ears.

A bandit who tried to hold old Torrit got a pointed elbow in his stomach. One waved a knife at Grimma, who caught his wrist; the knife dropped from his hand and he sank to his knees, making pathetic bubbling noises.

Masklin leaned down, grabbed a handful of the chief's shirt in one hand, and lifted him up to eye-level.

'I'm not sure we fully understand this custom,' he said. 'But nomes shouldn't hurt other nomes, don't you think?' 'Ahahaha,' said the chief, nervously.

'So I think perhaps it would be a good idea if you go away, don't you?' He let go. The bandit scrabbled on the floor for his knife, gave Masklin another anxious grin, and ran for it. The rest of the band hurried after him, or at least limped fast.

Masklin turned to Dorcas, who was shaking with laughter.

Well,' he said, 'what was that all about?' Dorcas leaned against a wall for support.

'You really don't know, do you?' he said.