Ang barged past me, furious. 'What did you jus' say?'

'I means hallo, my bewty!' Goron replied, jumping down from his chair. 'A right good sight, you are, lass. Knew you'd come, I did.'

'We was in the area,' Ang said sharply. 'Wouldna bothered otherwise.'

My gaze slid sideways. Tempting though it was to contradict Ang – and despite how entertaining it was to watch her embarrassment deepen – my attention was fixed on our tweed-clad host.

She'd stepped back to watch this reunion with a simpering expression which was entirely at odds with her otherwise haughty bearing. Her clothes, though a little creased, were in no way shabby. A quality herringbone weave, lacking in frayed edges or scuffs, but with a certain faded quality to suggest the material had been well-used for a long time. A gold brooch with a sapphire was pinned at her collar. My salesman's nose told me it was probably as genuine as the air of privilege about her.

I'm hardly unaccustomed to individuals pretending to be more than they seem (and sometimes pretending to be less than they are) but there's something about a gentrified heritage which is difficult to fake and easy to spot. It might be the intrinsic self-assuredness that comes with owning several hundred acres of land, or the unshakeable confidence of knowing there are few people in the world who can order you about. And possibly it was in the way she suddenly grasped my hand and emphatically shook it while I stood nonplussed in the doorway.

'Name's Bernice!' she shouted jovially into my ear. 'Call me Bernie! Come in, please do. Oh, I am so glad to have such special visitors.'

We shuffled in, awkwardly. A fake fireplace flickered merrily at one end of the cosy room. The rest of it was taken up with a pair of armchairs and numerous end tables, leaving very little space for three knockers, a coblyn, myself and . . . 'Bernie'.

'Whassis then?' Branok and Merouda clustered at the fireplace, tapping the glass front and making appreciative remarks about mechanisms. Ang was still giving Goron a heated dressing down, though he seemed quite happy about it. Bernice, meanwhile, had picked up a large leatherbound journal and was eagerly scribbling away.

'Excuse me,' I said faintly, 'but is Goron your guest?'

She dropped the journal and clapped her hands to her face. 'Oh, goodness, excuse me! Where are my manners? Would you like some tea?'

'No,' I said, over the top of the loud 'Yes!' from the knockers.

'I'll be right back with the teapot!' she said brightly and bustled off into the next room. I turned helplessly to Goron.

'Who is she? Why are you having a tea party?'

Goron grinned. 'Just some old bird, in't she? 'Armless. But makes a good brew.'

'And what about the bluecaps she was supposedly carrying?'

'Did somebody say bluecaps?' Bernice re-entered with a large pink china teapot and a tray of floral cups. 'Well, my good man, you might say I'm something of an enthusiast.'

'A bluecap enthusiast?'

She chortled, though I didn't see what was funny. 'No, dear boy. I'm something of a fae aficionado. That is to say, I study faeries.'

I could hear the unnecessary 'ae' she put into the word. It's the archaic (and, frankly, poncy) way of saying 'fairies' – or, more accurately, 'those savage little winged bastards that don't deserve to be in pleasant children's stories'.

'I certainly hoped to discover some bluecaps on my travels here. They are such an elusive sprite.' Bernice delicately put down her tray. 'But I must say that I never dreamed that a gentleman like Goron would actually knock on my door!'

'I tried the windows but it were locked,' Goron supplied.

'And such lovely company he's been, too. Such fun stories! Did you know Goron's people still live in abandoned mines all throughout Cornwall? They used to dig out the tin, right alongside our boys! But now they mine piskey dust! Isn't that marvellous?'

Bernie was hard to keep up with. She overflowed with enthusiasm.

'Fancy that,' I said, swinging a glance at the knocker. 'Sounds like you two are best friends. Practically told her your life story, eh?'

He shrugged. 'Old news though, innit? Most folks knows about knockers. Don't you worry lass, I ain't mentioned your kin at all,' he added to Ang.

Bernie ushered me closer to look at her leather journal (not that I hadn't already sneaked a peek while she was out of the room). She licked a finger and turned a few pages, revealing neat, curly writing and an array of rough pencil sketches.

'That one's Goron, is it?' I said, pointing to the most recent one.

'Yes, indeed! It's so rare that the fauna is willing to sit still for a portrait. I wish I had brought my paints.' She looked up wistfully, and I followed her gaze to a brown satchel hanging from a hook. 'You'd think photography would be the answer, wouldn't you? But I can never get the darned thing to focus properly.'

'Well of course not–' I stopped myself, suddenly wary. Who would try to capture the likeness of a fairy – or any uncanny creature, for that matter – on camera? You need more than just a lens to bring them into focus. A special type of mind, for instance. One that had gotten used to hunting for the frayed edge of the real, to seeing past the blurred false impression – to unfocusing your eyes to see what's really there. At least, that's how Cora had once described it to me. And we'd both practiced to become pros.

So a camera will just give you a blur, no matter how still your subject sits.

'You've been at this a long time, have you?' I said, flicking through the pages.

'Oh, since I was a girl. I always believed, you see, and Mother knew many things which she passed on to me. Some of these early sketches are hers. When I was nine, my father went to live with the fairies, you see. Such an explorer! They invited him, don't you know.'

'Ye-es.' I stared at the early drawings by Bernice's mother. They flaunted petite human-like figures with butterfly wings and flower dresses. Petals in their hair and leaves for skirts. 'And he never came back, I expect.'

'Oh, no, of course not. You can't return from Fairyland. But it's such an honour that they asked him to go! How could he refuse? I'm very proud. I hope that I might follow him one day.' She clasped her hands to her chest. 'I've made such progress. Let me show you something. Won't be a tick.'

She disappeared again into the other room, amid sounds of rummaging. I stared at the book, apparently her life's work and possibly greatest sentimental item, and marvelled that she'd left it alone in the hands of an unkempt stranger, three knockers, and a coblyn.

'Trusting, isn't she?' I murmured to no one.

Ang popped up at my side. She'd clambered onto a footstool to get a better look at the journal. 'Them's fairies, are they, gwas?' She pointed to the smiling, frolicking creatures on the page.

'No,' I said quietly.

'What are they, then?'

'A fiction.' I flipped to a later page. Bernie's sketches were rougher, capturing only the barest essence of beasts: the outline of a lurking shadow, a sense of tooth, a smidge of claw. There were a variety of shapes, none of them – I hoped – fairylike. One with pointed ears and folded cap might be another coblyn spotted years ago; a hastily scribbled figure with a flash of fins was likely some form of merfolk; another, bird-like shape could be any of a whole host of uncanny avian creatures, though Bernie's annotation labelled it simply as a talking corvid – more likely a trickster having some fun with her.

I closed the book with a frown. 'Let's just say I suspect Bernie's dear old dad left the family for other reasons, and her mother was either too soft or too daft to tell her the truth about it.'

'Ah,' said Ang, 'ye thinks he ran off wi' a Loose Woman.'

'I think that would make him a Loose Man, actually.'

A crash from the other room interrupted us, followed by a shrill, 'Oh, goodness gracious!'

Ang scratched her nose. 'Think we should go help, gwas?'

I tugged uncomfortably at my coat. 'I think that's her bedroom, Ang. I'm sure whatever it is, she's fine–'

'Help! Please!'

'–but on the other hand, maybe you should go take a look.'

The knockers were already peering round the door. ''Ere, what's the racket fer?' said Branok, before he was promptly lifted off his feet and yanked into the room.

'Tas!' Merouda shrieked, diving after him.

Goron darted back from the door. He held an arm out to Ang. 'Careful now! It's bleddy piskies!'

'You're joking!' I exclaimed. 'How'd they get in?'

'Looks like she 'ad them in cages.'

'You mean she'd caught them? Why would anyone . . . never mind.'

As my hand touched the doorknob, an ear-splitting crash ripped the air and threw us onto the ground. I waited for my vision to stop wobbling.

'Everyone okay?' I said dizzily.

Goron lifted his head and grunted. 'That'll be Merouda's new toy, I s'pect.'

'I hates that mwnci,' Ang muttered.

Once upright (or at least bent over), we crept to the door and prodded it open. It was indeed a bedroom, though you could barely tell under all the frills.

Bernie was out cold on the floor, having apparently been dropped from a height. I knew this, because her torn tweed jacket was still pinned to the ceiling by cutlery.

And then the piskies came into view, catching the eye like stains on a carpet.

* * *

Author's Note

Happy New Year, folks! It's been, uh, 'eventful' so far, huh...

Only one more instalment to go to wrap this episode up. What do you think so far?

P.S. Warning ahead for strong language in the next part. Prepare for some very rude piskies...