'Away! Away!' shouted the Abbot, and Masklin saw that he was trembling.

That was the strange thing about the Store. Only a few days ago there weren't that many things you needed to know, and they mainly involved big hungry creatures and how to avoid them. Fieldcraft, Torrit had called it. Now it was beginning to dawn on Masklin that there was a different sort of knowledge, and it consisted of the things you needed to understand in order to survive among other nomes. Things like: be very careful when you tell people things they don't want to hear. And: the thought that they may be wrong makes people very angry.

Some of the lesser Stationeri ushered them hurriedly through the doorway. It was done quite expertly, without any of them actually touching Masklin's people or even looking them in the face. Several of them scattered hastily away from Torrit when he picked up the Thing and held it protec­tively.

Finally Granny Morkie's temper, which was never particularly long, shortened to vanishing point. She grabbed the nearest monk by his black robe and held him up inches in front of her nose. His eyes crossed frantically with the effort of not seeing her. She poked him violently in the chest.

'Do you feel my finger?' she demanded. 'Do you feel it? Not here, am I?' 'Indigenous!' said Torrit.

The monk solved his immediate problem by giving a little whimper and fainting.

'Let's get away from here,' said Dorcas hur­riedly. 'I suspect it's only a small step between not seeing people and making sure they don't exist.' 'I don't understand,' said Grimma. 'How can people not see us?' 'Because they know we're from Outside,' said Masklin.

'But other nomes can see us!' said Grimma, her voice rising. Masklin didn't blame her. He was beginning to feel a bit unsure too.