The scent of rot permeates his van. He once again needs to dispose of bodies stored in the back overlong, but the Hobgoblins said last time they have enough for the next three seasons. As he has yet to meet anything else this side of the Hedge that would be interested in them, he will have to wait.

Unlike the seasons of his home, their passing in this world require lengths of time that differ by location. Not all seasons are represented everywhere and some areas even have extra seasons. He is still attempting to make sense of their Contracts.

A ding to warn him of low fuel interrupts his thoughts. He can ponder why some places get snow and others do not later later. For now, he looks for the nearest petrol station. He once attempted to persuade his van that it can function without fuel only to learn it has a pre-existing, seemingly unbreakable Contract with petroleum after it stopped functioning and refused to start again despite every Contract he offered it. Ever since then, he has been better about watching the gauge.

His travels see him currently passing through a small city, and a station is near. He stops before the pump and enters the store to pay. As with all human buildings, he must stoop to pass through the door. Clutched in his hand is what they call 'money'. The human agreement with these leaf-like bills is another of this world's Contracts he does not understand. He has attempted to offer stories from his collection as payment, but the humans always demand money instead. At least he has since discovered how easy money is to acquire from the remains of those who tell him worthless stories.

The station attendant is focused on a magazine full of images of unclothed humans. It spares barely a glance at its customer as it accepts the payment and activates the fuel pump. He surveys this human and considers asking it for a story, but its daydreams are fixated on the ritual of human breeding to the exclusion of all else. He instead accepts his change and returns to the pump.

As he is again helping his van to satisfy its bewildering Contract, two humans walk past the station. One, its flat expression matching its drab exterior, is perhaps the most humdrum example of a human he has yet seen. The other one draws his interest: It bears the marks of a Tenure it must have fled to return to this world. A Masque hides its undefined, malleable appearance from humans, but he can see clearly the work of The Faceless to convert the former human into a Mirrorskin.

Their fellow humans pass by and ignore them as they tend to do with others of their kind they do not know. When they come to the crosswalk, the grey one taps the heel of its foot thrice against the corner of the sidewalk and then holds a small mirror over its shoulder as it crosses the middle of the street.

Few humans know the means to turn away the attentions of Lurker in the Deep and The Faceless. Escaped servants rarely teach their still-human companions Arcadian secrets. Even he knows how fragile human minds are; reveal Fae matters to them as anything more than a story and they often end up painting walls in their own piss, shite, and blood. He re-evaluates the boring human in the light of its actions. If it knows those two signs, rituals he has not seen any other human perform in all the time he has spent in this world, then perhaps it knows a new story.

He uses his van to follow them until they reach an entrance to the Hedge masquerading as an alleyway. They attempt to enter it, but at least one of his ancient Contracts is still in force in this world. He calls on the thorns and vines to bar their passage as he exits his van to come up behind them and block the other side.

The Mirrorskin gasps in fear the moment he draws close, but it nevertheless moves in front of its companion. The grey one keeps its impassive expression even as its muscles tighten. He can feel a strong bond between the two, but the Contract between them is not one he recognises.

"Who are you?" asks the Mirrorskin.

"I left my Name in Arcadia. Until I can reclaim it, call me The Tall Blue Man."

"What do you want with us?"

"I want you to tell me a story, one I've not heard before." He reaches out and lightly touches the Mirrorskin, enjoying how its flesh ripples at his touch. The Faceless must have deeply loved this one. It pulls back from him.

"You've not told me your Names."

"Call me Ditto," replies the Mirrorskin.

"I'm Maud Pie." Maud looks about them as though seeking a path to escape. "Since you've trapped us here, I guess we aren't permitted to refuse. Do you mind if I negotiate for us both, Ditto?"

"Go for it. You have a sharper mind for dealing with Contracts."

"Right then." Maud turns its attention back to the man. "I would like to offer you a Contract," it states in its flat, boring voice.

He is beginning to regret asking it for a story.

"We'll each tell you half a story. If you accept our shared story as a new one for your collection, we'll be free to go and you'll never tell any other Arcadian or Hedge dweller or anything else that uses your type of magick about us or where you heard it. You will replace all the Names in it with fictitious Names of your own invention. If you don't accept it as a new story, you may do with us whatever you do to people who fail your request. Do you accept?"

"I do." His vocal agreement is sufficient to Bind him to the Contract, but he offers his hand regardless. Humans always seem to expect that, as though the physical gesture has some bearing on the weight of their Contracts. Once both have taken his hand, he says, "You may start."

They whisper to each other for a moment before Ditto begins: "Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Candy."