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Apr 18, 2011, 10:06:41 AM4/18/11
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about a real head here, are we?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'What do
you do, go in through the
ears?' Once again, Rob stared at Billy, who looked puzzled. 'No,
mistress. They'd be too small,'
he said, patiently. 'But we can move between worlds, ye ken. We're
fairy folk.' Miss Level nodded
both heads. It was true, but it was hard to look at the assembled
ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle and
remember that they were, technically, fairies. It was like watching
penguins swimming underwater
and having to remember that they were birds. 'And?' she said. 'We can
get intae dreams, ye see...
And what's a mind but another world o' dreamin'?' 'No, I must forbid
that!' said Miss Level. 'I
can't have you running around inside a young girl's head! I mean, look
at you! You're fullygrow...
well, you're men! It'd be like, like... well, it'd be like you looking
at her diary!' Rob
Anybody looked puzzled. 'Oh, aye?' he said. 'We looked at her diary
loads o' times. Nae harm
done.' 'You looked at her diary?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'Why?'
Really, she thought later,
she should have expected the answer. "Cuz it wuz locked,' said Daft
Wullie. 'If she didnae want
anyone tae look at it, why'd she keep it at the back o' her sock
drawer? Anyway, all there wuz wuz
a load o' words we couldnae unnerstan' an' wee drawings o' hearts and
flowers an' that.' 'Hearts?
Tiffany?' said Miss Level. 'Really?' She shook herself. 'But you
shouldn't have done that! And
going into someone's mind is even worse!' 'The hiver is in there,
mistress,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy
meekly. 'But you said you can't do anything about it!' 'She might. If
we can track her doon,' said
the gonnagle. 'If we can find the wee bitty bit o' her that's still
her. She's a bonny fighter
when she's roused. Ye see, mistress, a mind's like a world itself.
She'll be hidin' in it
somewhere, lookin' oot through her own eyes, listenin' wi' her own
ears, tryin' to make people
hear, tryin' no' to let yon beast find her... and it'll be hunting her
all the time, trying tae
break her doon Miss Level began to look hunted herself. Fifty small
faces, full of worry and hope
and broken noses, looked up at her. And she knew she didn't have a
better plan. Or even a PLN.
'All right,' she said. 'But at least you ought to have a bath. I know
that's silly, but it will
make me feel better about the whole thing.' There was a general groan.
'A bath? But we a' had one
no' a year ago,' said Rob Anybody. 'Up at the big dew pond for the
ships!' 'Ach, crivens!' said
Big Yan. 'Ye cannae ask a man tae take a bath again this soon,
mistress! There'll be nothin' left
o' us!' 'With hot water and soap!' said Miss Level. 'I mean it! I'll
run the water and I... I'll
put some rope over the edge so you can climb in and out, but you will
get clean. I'm a wi- a hag,
and you'd better do what I say!' 'Oh, all reet!' said Rob. 'We'll do
it for the big wee hag. But
ye're no' tae peek, OK?' 'Peek?' said Miss Level. She pointed a
trembling finger. 'Get into that
bathroom now!' Miss Level did, however, listen at the door. It's the
sort of thing a witch does.
There was nothing to hear at first but the gentle splash of water, and
then: "This is no' as bad
as I thought!' 'Aye, very pleasin'.' 'Hey, there's a big yellow duck
here. Who 're ye pointin'
that beak at, yer scunner-' There was a wet quack and some bubbling
noises as the rubber duck
sank. 'Rob, we oughtae get one o' these put in back in the mound.
Verra warmin' in the winter
time.' 'Aye, it's no' that good for the ship, havin' tae drink oot o'
that pond after we 've been
bathin'. It's terrible, hearin' a ship try tae spit.' 'Ach, it'll make
us softies! It's nae a guid
wash if ye dinnae ha' the ice formin' on yer held!' ' Who 're you
callin' a softie?' There
followed a lot more splashing and water started to seep under the
door. Miss Level knocked. 'Come
on out now, and dry yourselves off!' she commanded. 'She could be back
at any minute!' In fact it
wasn't for another two hours, by which time Miss Level had got so
nervous that her necklaces
jingled all the time. She'd come to witching later than most, being
naturally qualified by reason
of the two bodies, but she'd never been very happy about magic. In
truth, most witches could get
through their whole life without having to do serious, undeniable
magic (making shambles and cursenets
and dreamcatchers didn't really count, being rather more like arts-and-
crafts, and most of
the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense and the ability to
look stern in a pointy
hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a
policeman. People saw the
uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street you
weren't allowed to back away
muttering, 'Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do,
you know, stray dogs and road
safety...' You were there, you had the hat, you did the job. That was
a basic rule of witchery:
It's up to you. She was two bags of nerves when Tiffany arrived back,
and stood side by side
holding hands with herself to give herself confidence. 'Where have you
been, dear?' 'Out,' said
Tiffany. 'And what have you been doing?' 'Nothing.' 'I see you've been
shopping.' 'Yes.' 'Who
with?' 'Nobody.' 'Ah, yes,' Miss Level trilled, completely adrift. I
remember when I used to go
out and do nothing. Sometimes you can be your own worst company.
Believe me, I know-' But Tiffany
had already swept upstairs. Without anyone actually seeming to move,
Feegles started to appear
everywhere in the room. 'Well, that could ha' gone better,' said Rob
Anybody. 'She looked so
different!' Miss Level burst out. 'She moved differently! I just
didn't know what to do! And those
clothes!' 'Aye. Sparklin' like a young raven,' said Rob. 'Did you see
all those bags? Where could
she have got the money? I certainly don't have that kind of-' She
stopped, and both of Miss Level
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spoke at once. 'Oh, no surely not! She wouldn't have, would she?' 'I
dinnae ken whut ye're talkin'
aboot,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy, 'but whut she would dae isnae the
point. That's the hiver doin' the
thinkin'!' Miss Level clasped all four hands together in distress. 'Oh
dear... I must go down to
the village and check!' One of her ran towards the door. 'Well, at
least she's brought the
broomstick back,' muttered the Miss Level who stayed. She started to
wear the slightly unfocused
expression she got when both her bodies weren't in the same place.
They could hear noises from
upstairs. 'I vote we just tap her gently on the heid,' said Big Yan.
'It cannae give us any
trouble if it's gone sleepies, aye?' Miss Level clenched and
unclenched her fists nervously. 'No,'
she said. 'I'll go up there and have a serious talk with her!' 'I told
yez, mistress, it's not
her,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy, wearily. 'Well, at least I'll wait until
I've visited Mr Weavall,'
said Miss Level, standing in her kitchen. 'I'm nearly there... ah...
he's asleep. I'll just eease
the box out quietly... if she's taken his money I'm going to be so
angry-' It was a good hat,
Tiffany thought. It was at least as tall as Mrs Earwig's hat, and it
shone darkly. The stars
gleamed. The other packages covered the floor and the bed. She pulled
out another one of the black
dresses, the one covered in lace, and the cloak, which spread out in
the air. She really liked the
cloak. In anything but a complete dead calm, it floated and billowed
as if whipped by a gale. If
you were going to be a witch, you had to start by looking like one.
She twirled in it once or
twice, and then said something without thinking, so that the hiver
part of her was caught
unawares. 'See me.' The hiver was suddenly thrust outside her body,
Tiffany was free. She hadn't
expected it... She felt herself to the tips of her fingers. She dived
towards the bed, grabbed one
of Zakzak's best wands and waved it desperately in front of her like a
weapon. 'You stay out!' she
said. 'Stay away! It's my body, not yours! You've made it do dreadful
things! You stole Mr
Weavall's money! Look at these stupid clothes! And don't you know
about eating and drinking? You
stay away! You're not coming back! Don't you dare! I've got power, you
know!' So have we, said her
own voice, in her own head. Yours. They fought. A watcher would have
seen only a girl in a black
dress, spinning around the room and flailing her arms as if she'd been
stung, but Tiffany fought
for every toe, every finger. She bounced off a wall, banged against
the chest of drawers, slammed
into another wall- - and the door was flung open. One of Miss Level
was there, no longer nervous,
but trembling with rage. She pointed a shaking finger. 'Listen to me,
whoever you are! Did you
steal Mr Weav-?' she began. The hiver turned. The hiver struck. The
hiver... killed.
Chapter Secret
It's bad enough being dead. Waking up and seeing a Nac Mac Feegle
standing on your chest and
peering intently at you from an inch away only makes things worse.
Miss Level groaned. It felt as
though she was lying on the floor. 'Ach, this one's alive, right
enough,' said the Feegle. Told
yez! That's a weasel skull ye owe me!' Miss Level blinked one set of
eyes, and then froze in
horror. 'What happened to me?' she whispered. The Feegle in front of
her was replaced by the face
of Rob Anybody. It was not an improvement. 'How many fingers am I
holdin' up?' he said. 'Five,'
whispered Miss Level. 'Am I? Ah, well, ye could be right, ye'd have
the knowin' o' the countin','
said Rob, lowering his hand. 'Ye've had a wee bittie accident, ye ken.
You're a wee bittie dead.'
Miss Level's head slumped back. Through the mist of something that
wasn't exactly pain, she heard
Rob Anybody say to someone she couldn't see: 'Hey, I wwzbreakin' it
tae her gently! I did say "wee
bittie" twice, right?' 'It's as though part of me is... a long way
off,' murmured Miss Level.
'Aye, you're aboot right there,' said Rob, champion of the bedside
manner. Some memories bobbed to
the surface of the thick soup in Miss Level's mind. Tiffany killed me,
didn't she,' she said. 'I
remember seeing that black figure turn round and her expression was
horrible-' That wuz the
hiver,' said Rob Anybody. That was no' Tiffany! She was fightin' it!
She still is, inside! But it
didnae remember you ha' two bodies! We got tae help her, mistress!'
Miss Level pushed herself
upright. It wasn't pain she felt, but it was the... ghost of pain.
'How did I die?' she said,
weakly. There was, like, an explosion, an' smoke an' that,' said Rob.
'Not messy, really.' 'Oh,
well, that's a small mercy, anyway,' said Miss Level, sagging back.
'Aye, there was just this,
like, big purple cloud o', like, dust,' said Daft Wullie. 'Where's
my... I can't feel... where's
my other body?' 'Aye, that was what got blown up in that big cloud,
right enough,' said Rob. 'Good
job ye has a spare, eh?' 'She's all mithered in her heid,' whispered
Awf'ly Wee Billy. Take it
gently, eh?' 'How do you manage, only seeing one side of things?' said
Miss Level dreamily to the
world in general. 'How will I get everything done with only one pair
of hands and feet? Being in
just one place all the time... how do people manage? It's impossible
She shut her eyes. 'Mistress
Level, we need ye!' shouted Rob Anybody into her ear. 'Need, need,
need,' murmured Miss Level.
'Everyone needs a witch. No one cares if a witch needs. Giving and
giving always... a fairy
godmother never gets a wish, let me tell you 'Mistress Level!' Rob
screamed. 'Ye cannae pass oot
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on us noo!' 'I'm weary,' whispered Miss Level. 'I'm very, very
pished.' 'Mistress Level!' Rob
Anybody yelled. The big wee hag is lying on the floor like a dead
person, but she's cold as ice
and sweatin' like a horse! She's fightin' the beast inside her,
mistress! An' she's losin'!' Rob
peered into Miss Level's face, and shook his head. 'Auchtahelweit!
She's swooned! C'mon, lads,
let's move her!' Like many small creatures, Feegles are immensely
strong for their size. It still
took ten of them to carry Miss Level up the narrow stairs without
banging her head more than
necessary, although they did use her feet to push open the door to
Tiffany's room. Tiffany lay on
the floor. Sometimes a muscle twitched. Miss Level was propped up like
a doll. 'How're we gonna
bring the big hag roound?' said Big Yan. I heard where ye has to put
someone's heid between their
legs,' said Rob, doubtfully. Daft Wullie sighed, and drew his sword.
'Sounds a wee bit drastic tae
me,' he said, 'but if someone will help me hold her steady-' Miss
Level opened her eyes, which was
just as well. She focused unsteadily on the Feegles and smiled a
strange, happy little smile.
'Ooo, fairies!' she mumbled. 'Ach, noo she's ramblin',' said Rob
Anybody. 'No, she means fairies
like bigjobs think they are,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'Tiny wee tinkly
creatures that live in
flowers an' fly aroound cuddlin' butterflies an' that.' 'What? Have
they no' seen real fairies?
They're worse'n wasps!' said Big Yan. 'We havnae got time for this! '
snapped Rob Anybody. He
jumped onto Miss Level's knee. 'Aye, ma'am, we's fairies from the land
o'-' He stopped and looked
imploringly at Billy. 'Tinkle?' Billy suggested. 'Aye, the land o'
Tinkle, ye ken, and we found
this puir wee princess,' said Billy. 'Aye, princess, who's been
attacked by a bunch o' scunners
wicked goblins,' said Billy. '- yeah, wicked goblins, right, an' she's
in a bad way, so we wuz
wonderin' if ye could kinda tell us how tae look after her until the
handsome prince turns up on a
big white horse wi' curtains roound it an' wakes her with a magical
kiss,' said Billy. Rob gave
him a desperate look, and turned back to the bemused Miss Level. 'Aye,
what ma friend Fairy Billy
just said,' he managed. Miss Level tried to focus. 'You're very ugly
for fairies,' she said. 'Aye,
well, the ones you gen'rally see are for the pretty flowers, ye ken,'
said Rob Anybody, inventing
desperately. 'We're more for the stingin' nettles and bindweed an' Old
Man's Troosers an'
thistles, OK? It wouldna be fair for only the bonny flowers tae have
fairies noo, would it? It'd
prob'ly be against the law, eh? Noo, can ye please help us wi' this
princess here before them
scunners wicked goblins-' said Billy. 'Aye, before they come back,'
said Rob. Panting, he watched
Miss Level's face. There seemed to be a certain amount of thinking
going on. Is her pulse rapid?'
murmured Miss Level. 'You say her skin is cold but she's sweating? Is
she breathing rapidly? It
sounds like shock. Keep her warm. Raise her legs. Watch her carefully.
Try to remove... the
cause...' Her head slumped. Rob turned to Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'A horse
wi' curtains roond it?' he
said. 'Where did ye get all that blethers?' 'There's a big hoose near
the Long Lake an' they read
stories tae their wee bairn an' I go along an' listen fra' a
mousehole,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy.
'One day I snuck in and looked at the pichurs, and there was bigjobs
called k'nits wi' shields and
armour and horses wi' curtains-' 'Weel, it worked, blethers though it
be,' said Rob Anybody. He
looked at Tiffany. She was lying down, so he was about as high as her
chin. It was like walking
around a small hill. 'Crivens, it does me nae guid at all ta see the
puir wee thing like this,' he
said, shaking his head. 'C'mon, lads, get that cover off the bed and
put that cushion under her
feet.' 'Er, Rob?' said Daft Wullie. 'Aye?' Rob was staring up at the
unconscious Tiffany. 'How are
we goin' taw get inta her heid? There's got tae be somethin' tae guide
us in.' 'Aye, Wullie, an' I
ken whut it's gonna be, 'cuz I've been usin' mah heid for thinkin'!'
said Rob. 'Ye've seen the big
wee hag often enough, right? Well, see this necklet?' He reached up.
The silver horse had slipped
around Tiffany's neck as she lay on the floor. It hung there, amid the
amulets and dark glitter.
'Aye?' said Wullie. 'It was a present from that son o' the Baron,'
said Rob. 'An' she's kept it.
She's tried tae turn hersel' intae some kind of creature o' the night,
but somethin' made her keep
this. It'll be in her heid, too. 'Tis important tae her. All we need
tae do is frannit a
wheelstone on it and it'll tak' us right where she is.' [If anyone
knew what this meant, they'd
know a lot more about the Nac Mac Feegles' way of travelling.] Daft
Wullie scratched his head.
'But I thought she thought he was just a big pile of jobbies?' he
said. 'I seen her oot walkin',
an' when he comes ridin' past she sticks her nose in th' air and looks
the other wa'. In fact,
sometimes I seen her wait aroond a full five-and-twenty minutes for
him tae come past, just so's
she can do that.' 'Ah, weel, no man kens the workin's o' the female
mind,' said Rob Anybody
loftily. 'We'll follow the horse.' From Fairies and How to Avoid Them'
by Miss Perspicacia Tick:
No one knows exactly how the Nac Mac Feegle step from one world to
another. Those who have seen
Feegles actually travel this way say that they apparently throw back
their shoulders and thrust
out one leg straight ahead of them. Then they wiggle their foot and
are gone. This is known as the
crawstep', and the only comment on the subject by a Feegle is It's all
in the ankle movement, ye
ken.' They appear to be able to travel magically between worlds of all
kinds but not within a
world. For this purpose, they assure people, they have 'feets'. The
sky was black, even though the
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sun was high. It hung at just past noon, lighting the landscape as
brilliantly as a hot summer
day, but the sky was midnight black, shorn of stars. This was the
landscape of Tiffany Aching's
mind. The Feegles looked around them. There seemed to be downland
underfoot, rolling and green.
'She tells the land what it is. The land tells her who she is,'
whispered Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'She
really does hold the soul o' the land in her heid 'Aye, so 'tis,'
muttered Rob Anybody. 'But
there's nae creatures, ye ken. Nae ships. Nae burdies.' 'Mebbe...
mebbe somethin's scared them
awa'?' said Daft Wullie. There was, indeed, no life. Stillness and
silence ruled here. In fact
Tiffany, who cared a lot about getting words right, would have said it
was a hush, which is not
the same as silence. A hush is what you get in cathedrals at midnight.
'OK, lads,' Rob Anybody
whispered. 'We dinnae ken what we're goin' tae find, so ye tread as
light as e'er foot can fall,
unnerstan'? Let's find the big wee hag.' They nodded, and stepped
forward like ghosts. The land
rose slightly ahead of them, to some kind of earthworks. They advanced
on it carefully, wary of
ambush, but nothing stopped them as they climbed two long mounds in
the turf which made a sort of
cross. 'Man-made,' said Big Yan, when they reached the top. 'Just like
in the old days, Rob.' The
silence sucked his speech away. 'This is deep inside o' the big wee
hag's head,' said Rob Anybody,
looking around warily. 'We dinnae know whut made 'em.' 'I dinnae like
this, Rob,' said a Feegle.
'It's too quiet.' 'Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that-' 'You are
my sunshine, my only su-'
'Daft Wullie!' snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange
landscape. The singing
stopped. 'Aye, Rob?' said Daft Wullie from behind him. 'Ye ken I said
I'd tell ye when ye wuz
guilty o' stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behaviour?' 'Aye, Rob,' said
Daft Wullie. 'That wuz another
one o' those times, wuz it?' 'Aye.' They moved on again, staring
around them. And still there was
the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness
before thunder. It was as if
all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one
big sound to happen. And then
they found the Horse. They'd seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it
was, not carved into the
hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it. 'Awf'ly Wee
Billy?' said Rob, beckoning
the young gonnagle towards him. 'You're a gonnagle, ye ken aboot
poetry and dreams. What's this?
Why's it up here? It shouldnae be on the top o' the hills!' 'Serious
hiddlins, Mr Rob,' said
Billy. 'This is serious hiddlins. I cannae work it out yet.' 'She
knows the Chalk. Why'd she get
this wrong?' I'm thinkin' aboot it, Mr Rob.' 'You wouldnae care tae
think a bit faster, would ye?'
'Rob?' said Big Yan, hurrying up. He'd been scouting ahead. 'Aye?'
said Rob gloomily. 'Ye'd better
come and see this On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled
shepherding hut, with a curved roof
and a chimney for the pot-bellied stove. Inside, the walls were
covered with the yellow and blue
wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were
old sacks hanging up there,
and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny
Aching had counted sheep and
days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old
fleeces and feed sacks.
'D'ye have the unnerstandin' of this, Awf'ly Wee Billy?' said Rob.
'Can ye tell us where the big
wee hag is?' The young gonnagle looked worried. 'Er, Mister Rob, ye
ken I've only just been made a
gonnagle? I mean, I know the songs an' a', but I'm no' verra
experienced at this 'Aye?' said Rob
Anybody. 'An' just how many gonnagles afore ye ha' walked through the
dreams o' a hag?' 'Er...
none I've ever heard of, Mister Rob,' Billy confessed. 'Aye. So you
already know more aboot it
than any o' them big men,' said Rob. He gave the boy a smile. 'Do yer
best, laddie. I dinnae
expect any more of you than that.' Billy looked out of the shed door,
and took a deep breath:
'Then I'll tell ye I think she's hidin' somewhere close like a hunted
creature, Mr Rob. This is a
wee bit o' her memory, the place o' her granny, the place where she's
always felt safe. I'll tell
ye I think that we're in the soul and centre o' her. The bit o' her
that is her. And I'm
frightened for her. Frightened to mah boots.' 'Why?' 'Because I've
been watchin' the shadows, Mr
Rob,' said Billy. 'The sun is movin'. It's slippin' doon the sky.'
'Aye, weel, that's whut the sun
does-' Rob began. Billy shook his head. 'Nay, Mr Rob. Ye dinnae
understand! I'm tellin' ye that's
no' the sun o' the big wide world. That's the sun o' the soul o' her.'
The Feegles looked at the
sun, and at the shadows, then back at Billy. He'd stuck his chin out
bravely but he was trembling.
'She'll die when night comes?' Rob said. There's worser things than
death, Mr Rob. The hiver will
have her, head tae toe-' That is nae gonna happen!' shouted Rob
Anybody, so suddenly that Billy
backed away. 'She's a strong big wee lass! She fought the Quin wi' no
more than a fryin' pan!'
Awf'ly Wee Billy swallowed. There were a lot of things he'd rather do
than face Rob Anybody now.
But he pressed on. 'Sorry, Mr Rob, but I'm telling ye she had iron
then, an' she wuz on her ain
turf. She's a lang, lang way fra' hame here. An' it'll squeeze this
place when it finds it, leave
no more room for it, and the night will come, an'-' ' 'Scuse me, Rob.
I ha' an idea.' It was Daft
Wullie, twisting his hands nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.
'Ye ha' an idea?' said Rob.
'Aye, an' if I tell youse, I dinnae want you ta' say it's inna-pro-pre-
ate, OK, Rob?' Rob Anybody
sighed. 'OK, Wullie, ye ha' my word on it.' 'Weel,' said Wullie, his
fingers knotting and
unknotting. 'What is this place if it's not truly her ain place? What
is it if not her ain turf?
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If she cannae fight the creature here, she cannae fight it anywhere!'
'But it willnae come here,'
said Billy. 'It doesnae need to. As she grows weaker, this place will
fade away.' 'Oh, crivens,'
mumbled Daft Wullie. 'Weel, it was a good idea, right? Even if it
doesnae work?' Rob Anybody
wasn't paying any attention. He stared around the shepherding hut. My
man's got to use his heid
for something other than nuttin' folk, Jeannie had said. 'Daft Wullie
is right,' he said quietly.
This is her safe place. She holds the land, she has it in her eye. The
creature can ne'er touch
her here. Here, she has power. But 'twill be a jail hoose for her here
unless she fights the
monster. She'd be locked in here and watch her life gae doon the
cludgie. She'll look oot at the
world like a pris'ner at a tiny window, and see hersel' hated and
feared. So we'll fetch the beast
in here against its will, and here it will die!' The Feegles cheered.
They weren't sure what was
going on, but they liked the sound of it. 'How?' said Awf'ly Wee
Billy. 'Ye had to gae and ask
that, eh?' said Rob Anybody bitterly. 'An' I wuz doin' sae weel wi'
the thinkin'-' He turned.
There was a scratching noise on the door above him. Up there, across
the rows and rows of half
rubbed-out markings, freshly chalked letters were appearing one by
one, as if an invisible hand
was writing them. 'Worrds,' said Rob Anybody. 'She's tryin' tae tell
us somethin'!' 'Yes, they say-
' Billy began. 'I ken weel what they say!' snapped Rob Anybody. 'I ha'
the knowin' of the readin'!
They say-' He looked up again. 'OK, they say... that's the snake, an'
that's the kinda like a gate
letter, an' the comb on its side, two o' that, an' the fat man
standin' still, an' the snake
again, and then there's whut we calls a "space" and then there's the
letter like a saw's teeth,
and two o' the letters that's roound like the sun, and the letter
that's a man sittin' doon, and
onna next line we ha'... the man wi' his arms oot, and the letter
that's you, an' ha, the fat man
again but noo he's walkin, an' next he's standin' still again, an'
next is the comb, an' the upan'-
doon ziggy-zaggy letter, and the man's got his arms oot, and then
there's me, and that ziggyzaggy
and we end the line with the comb again... an' on the next line we
starts wi' the bendy
hook, that's the letter roound as the sun, them's twa' men sittin'
doon, there's the letter
reaching ooot tae the sky! then there's a space 'cos there's nae
letter, then there's the snaky
again, an' the letter like a hoose frame, and then there's the letter
that's me, aye, an' another
fella sitting doon, an' another big roound letter, and, ha, oor ol'
friend, the fat man walkin'!
The End!' He stood back, hands on hips, and demanded: There! Is that
readin' I just did, or wuz it
no'?' There was a cheer from the Feegles, and some applause. Awf'ly
Wee Billy looked up at the
chalked words: And then he looked at Rob Anybody's expression. 'Aye,
aye,' he said, 'Ye're doin
great, Mr Rob. Sheep's wool, turpentine and Jolly Sailor tobacco.'
'Ach, weel, anyone can read it
all in one go,' said Rob Anybody, dismissively. 'But youse gotta be
guid to break it doon intae
all the tricksie letters. And veera guid to have the knowin' o' the
meanin' o' the whole.' 'What
is that?' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'The meaning, gonnagle, is that you
are gonna' go stealin' There
was a cheer from the rest of the Feegles. They hadn't been keeping up
very well, but they
recognized that word all right. 'An' it's gonna be a stealin' tae
remember!' Rob yelled, to
another cheer. 'Daft Wullie!' 'Aye!' 'Ye'll be in charge! Ye ha' not
got the brains o' a beetle,
brother o' mine, but when it comes tae the thievin' ye hae no equal in
this wurld! Ye've got tae
fetch turpentine and fresh ship wool and some o' the Jolly Sailor
baccy! Ye got tae get them to
the big hag wi' twa' bodies! Tell her she must mak' the hiver smell
them, right? It'll bring it
here! And ye'd best be quick, because that sun is movin' down the sky.
Ye'll be stearin' fra' Time
itself- aye? Ye have a question?' Daft Wullie had raised a finger.
'Point o' order, Rob,' he said,
'but it was a wee bittie hurtful there for you to say I dinnae hae the
brains of a beetle Rob
hesitated, but only for a moment. 'Aye, Daft Wullie, ye are right in
whut ye say. It was unricht
o' me to say that. It was the heat o' the moment, an' I am full sorry
for it. As I stand here
before ye now, I will say: Daft Wullie, ye do hae the brains o' a
beetle, an' I'll fight any
scunner who says different!' Daft Wullie's face broke into a huge
smile, then crinkled into a
frown. 'But ye are the leader, Rob,' he said. 'No' on this raid,
Wullie. A'm staying here. I have
every confidence that ye'll be a fiiinne leader on this raid an' not
totally mess it up like ye
did the last seventeen times!' There was a general groan from the
crowd. 'Look at the sun, will
ye!' said Rob, pointing. 'It's moved since we've been talkin'!
Someone's got tae stay wi' her! I
will no' ha' it said we left her tae die alone! Now, get movin', ye
scunners, or feel the flat o'
my blade!' He raised his sword and growled. They fled. Rob Anybody
laid his sword down with care,
then sat on the step of the shepherding hut to watch the sun. After a
while, he was aware of
something else... Hamish the aviator gave Miss Level's broomstick a
doubtful look. It hung a few
feet above the ground and it worried him. He hitched up the bundle on
his back that contained his
parachute, although it was technically the 'paradrawers', since it was
made of string and an old
pair of Tiffany's best Sunday drawers, well washed. They still had
flowers on, but there was
nothing like them for getting a Feegle safely to the ground. He had a
feeling it (or they) were
going to be needed. 'It's no' got feathers,' he complained. 'Look, we
dinnae ha' time to argue!'
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said Daft Wullie. 'We're in a hurry, ye ken, an' you're the only one
who knows how tae fly!' 'A
broomstick isnae flyin',' said Hamish. 'It's magic. It hasnae any
wings! I dinnae ken that stuff!'
But Big Yan had already thrown a piece of string over the bristle end
of the stick and was
climbing up. Other Feegles followed. 'Besides, how do they steer these
things?' Hamish went on.
'Weel, how do ye do it with wi' the birdies?' Daft Wullie demanded.
'Oh, that's easy. Ye just
shift your weight, but-' 'Ach, yell learn as we go,' said Wullie.
'Flying can-nae be that
difficult. Even ducks can do it, and they have nae brains at a'.' And
there was really no point in
arguing, which is why, a few minutes later, Hamish inched his way
along the stick's handle. The
rest of the Feegles clung to the bristles at the other end,
chattering. Firmly tied to the
bristles was a bundle of what looked like sticks and rags, with a
battered hat and the stolen
beard on top of it. At least this extra weight meant that the stick
end was pointing up, towards a
gap in the fruit trees. Hamish sighed, took a deep breath, pulled his
goggles over his eyes and
put a hand on a shiny area of stick just in front of him. Gently, the
stick began to move through
the air. There was a cheer from the Feegles. 'See? Told yez ye'd be
OK,' Daft Wullie called out.
'But can ye no' make it go a wee bit faster?' Carefully, Hamish
touched the shiny area again. The
stick shuddered, hung motionless for a moment, and then shot upwards
trailing a noise very like
Arrrrrrrrrgg00ggg0gg0ghhhh.hhhhhh.hhhh... In the silent world of
Tiffany's head, Rob Anybody
picked up his sword again and crept across the darkening turf. There
was something there, small
but moving. It was a tiny thorn bush, growing so fast that its twigs
visibly moved. Its shadow
danced on the grass. Rob Anybody stared at it. It had to mean
something. He watched it carefully.
Little bush, growing... And then he remembered what the old kelda had
told them when he'd been a
wee boy. Once, the land had been all forest, heavy and dark. Then men
came and cut down trees.
They let the sun in. The grass grew up in the clearings. The bigjobs
brought in sheep, which ate
the grass, and also what grew in the grass: tree seedlings. And so the
dark forests died. There
hadn't been much life in them, not once the tree trunks closed in
behind you; it had been dark as
the bottom of the sea in there, the leaves far above keeping out the
light. Sometimes there was
the crash of a branch, or the rattle and patter as acorns the
squirrels had missed bounced down,
from branch to branch, into the gloom. Mostly it was just hot and
silent. Around the edges of the
forest were the homes of many creatures. Deep inside the forest, the
everlasting forest, was the
home of wood. But the turf lived in the sun, with its hundreds of
grasses and flowers and birds
and insects. The Nac Mac Feegle knew that better than most, being so
much closer to it. What
looked like a green desert at a distance was a tiny, thriving, roaring
jungle... 'Ach,' said Rob
Anybody. 'So that's yer game, izzit? Weel, ye're no' takin' over in
here too!' He chopped at the
spindly thing with his sword, and stood back. The rustling of leaves
behind him made him turn.
There were two more saplings unfolding. And a third. He looked across
the grass and saw a dozen, a
hundred tiny trees beginning their race for the sky. Worried though he
was, and he was worried to
his boots, Rob Anybody grinned. If there's one thing a Feegle likes,
it's knowing that wherever
you strike you're going to hit an enemy. The sun was going down and
the shadows were moving and
the turf was dying. Rob charged.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh... What happened during the
Nac Mac Feegles' search for the right smell was remembered by several
witnesses (quite apart from
all the owls and bats who were left spinning in the air by a
broomstick being navigated by a bunch
of screaming little blue men). One of them was Number 95, a ram owned
by a not very imaginative
farmer. But all he remembered was a sudden noise in the night and a
draughty feeling on his back.
That was about as exciting as it got for Number 95, so he went back to
thinking about grass.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Then there was Mildred Pusher,
aged seven, who was the
daughter of the farmer who owned Number 95. One day, when she'd grown
up and become a grandmother,
she told her grandchildren about the night she came downstairs by
candlelight for a drink of water
and heard the noises under the sink... 'And there were these little
voices, you see, and one said,
"Ach, Wullie, you cannae drink that, look, it says 'Poison!!' on the
bottle," and another voice
said, "Aye, gonnagle, they put that on tae frighten a man from havin'
a wee drink," and the first
voice said, "Wullie, it's rat poison!" and the second voice said,
"That's fine, then, 'cos I'm no'
a rat!" And then I opened the cupboard under the sink and, what do you
think, it was full of
fairies! And they looked at me and I looked at them and one of them
said, "Hey, this is a dream
you're having, big wee girl!" and immediately they all agreed! And the
first one said, "So, in
this dream ye're having, big wee girl, you wouldna mind telling us
where the turpentine is,
wouldya?" And so I told them it was outside in the barn, and he said,
"Aye? Then we're offski. But
here's a wee gift fra' the fairies for a big wee girl who's gonna go
right back tae sleep!" And
then they were gone!' One of her grandchildren, who'd been listening
with his mouth open, said,
'What did they give you, Grandma?' 'This!' Mildred held up a silver
spoon. 'And the strange thing
is, it's just like the ones my mother had, which vanished mysteriously
from the drawer the very
same night! I've kept it safe ever since!' This was admired by all.
Then one of the grandchildren
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asked: 'What were the fairies like, Grandma?' Grandma Mildred thought
about this. 'Not as pretty
as you might expect,' she said at last. 'But definitely more smelly.
And just after they'd gone
there was a sound like-' Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
People in the King's Legs (the
owner had noticed that there were lots of inns and pubs called the
King's Head or the King's Arms,
and spotted a gap in the market) looked up when they heard the noise
outside. After a minute or
two the door burst open. 'Good night to ye, fellow bigjobs!' roared a
figure in the doorway. The
room fell horribly silent. Awkwardly, legs going in every direction,
the scarecrow figure wove
unsteadily towards the bar and grabbed it thankfully, hanging on as it
sagged onto its knees. 'A
big huge wee drop o' yer finest whisky, me fine fellow barman fellow,'
it said from somewhere
under the hat. 'It seems to me that you've already had enough to
drink, friend,' said the barman,
whose hand had crept to the cudgel he kept under the bar for special
customers. 'Who're ye calling
"friend", pal?' roared the figure, trying to pull itself up. That's
fightin' talk, that is! And I
havenae had enough to drink, pal, 'cos if I have, why've I still got
all this money, eh? Answer me
that!' A hand sagged into a coat pocket, came out jerkily and slammed
down onto the top of the
bar. Ancient gold coins rolled in every direction and a couple of
silver spoons dropped out of the
sleeve. The silence of the bar became a lot deeper. Dozens of eyes
watched the shiny discs as they
spun off the bar and rolled across the floor. 'An' I want an ounce o'
Jolly Sailor baccy,' said
the figure. 'Why, certainly, sir,' said the barman, who had been
brought up to be respectful to
gold coins. He felt under the bar and his expression changed. 'Oh. I'm
sorry, sir, we've sold out.
Very popular, Jolly Sailor. But we've got plenty of- ' The figure had
already turned round to face
the rest of the room. 'OK, I'll gi'e a handful o' gold to the first
scunner who gi'es me a pipeful
o' Jolly Sailor!' it yelled. The room erupted. Tables scraped. Chairs
overturned. The scarecrow
man grabbed the first pipe and threw the coins into the air. As fights
immediately broke out, he
turned back to the bar and said: 'And I'll ha' that wee drop o' whisky
before I go, barman. Ach,
no you willnae, Big Yan! Shame on ye! Hey, youse legs can shut up
right noo! A wee pint of
whisky'll do us no harm! Oh, aye? Who deid and made ye Big Man, eh?
Listen, ye scunner, oor Rob is
in there! Aye, and he'd have a wee drink, too!' The customers stopped
pushing one another out of
the way to get at the coins, and got up to face a whole body arguing
with itself. 'Anywa', I'm in
the heid, right? The heid's in charge. I dinnae ha' tae listen to a
bunch o' knees! I said this
wuz a bad idea, Wullie, ye ken we ha' trouble getting oot of pubs!
Well, speaking on behalf o' the
legs, we're not gonna stand by and watch the heid get pished, thank ye
so veerae much!' To the
horror of the customers the entire bottom half of the figure turned
round and started to walk
towards the door, causing the top half to fall forward. It gripped the
edge of the bar
desperately, managed to say, 'OK! Is a deep-fried pickled egg totally
oot o' the question?' and
then the figure- - tore itself in half. The legs staggered a few steps
towards the door, and fell
over. In the shocked silence a voice from somewhere in the trousers
said: 'Crivens! Time for
offski!' The air blurred for a moment and the door slammed. After a
while one of the customers
stepped forward cautiously and prodded the heap of old clothes and
sticks that was all that
remained of the visitor. The hat rolled off and he jumped back. A
glove that was still hanging
onto the bar fell onto the floor with a thwap! that sounded very loud.
'Well, look at it this
way,' said the barman. 'Whatever it was, at least it's left its
pockets-' From outside came the
sound of: The broomstick hit the thatched roof of Miss Level's cottage
hard, and stuck in it.
Feegles fell off, still fighting. In a struggling, punching mass they
rolled into the cottage,
conducted guerrilla warfare all the way up the stairs and ended up in
a head-butting, kicking heap
in Tiffany's bedroom, where those who'd been left behind to guard the
sleeping girl and Miss Level
joined in out of interest. Gradually, the fighters became aware of a
sound. It was the skirl of
the mousepipes, cutting through the battle like a sword. Hands stopped
gripping throats, fists
stopped in mid-punch, kicks hovered in mid-air. Tears ran down Awf'ly
Wee Billy's face as he
played The Bonny Flowers, the saddest song in the world. It was about
home, and mothers, and good
times gone past, and faces no longer there. The Feegles let go of one
another and stared down at
their feet as the forlorn notes wound about them, speaking of betrayal
and treachery and the
breaking of promises- 'Shame on ye!' screamed Awf'ly Wee Billy,
letting the pipe drop out of his
mouth. 'Shame on ye! Traitors! Betrayers! Ye shame hearth and hame!
Your hag is fightin' for her
verra soul! Have ye no honour?' He flung down the mousepipes, which
wailed into silence. 'I curse
my feets that let me stand here in front o' ye! Ye shame the verra sun
shinin' on ye! Ye shame the
kelda that birthed ye! Traitors! Scuggans! What ha' I done to be among
this parcel o' rogues? Any
man here want tae fight? Then fight me! Aye, fight me! An' I swear by
the harp o' bones I'll tak'
him tae the deeps o' the sea an' then kick him tae the craters o' the
moon an' see him ride tae
the Pit o' Heel itself on a saddle made o' hedgehogs! I tell ye, my
rage is the strength of the
storm that tears mountains intae sand! Who among ye will stand agin
me?' Big Yan, who was almost
three times the size of Awf'ly Wee Billy, cowered back as the little
gonnagle stood in front of
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him. Not a Feegle would have raised a hand at that moment, for fear of
his life. The rage of a
gonnagle was a dreadful thing to see. A gonnagle could use words like
swords. Daft Wullie shuffled
forward. 'I can see ye're upset, gonnagle,' he mumbled. "Tis me that's
at fault, on account o'
being daft. I shoulda remembered aboout us and pubs.' He looked so
dejected that Awf'ly Wee Billy
calmed down a little. 'Very well then,' he said, but rather coldly
because you can't lose that
much anger all at once. 'We'll not talk aboot this again. But we will
remember it, right?' He
pointed to the sleeping shape of Tiffany. 'Now pick up that wool, and
the tobacco, and the
turpentine, understand? Someone tak' the top off the turpentine bottle
and pour a wee drop onto a
bit o' cloth. And no one, let me mak' myself clear, is tae drink any
of it!' The Feegles fell over
themselves to obey. There was a ripping noise as 'the bit o' cloth'
was obtained from the bottom
of Miss Level's dress. 'Right,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'Daft Wullie,
you tak' all the three things
and put them up on the big wee hag's chest, where she can smell them.'
'How can she smell them
when she's oot cold like that?' said Wullie. 'The nose disnae sleep,'
said the gonnagle flatly.
The three smells of the shepherding hut were laid reverentially just
below Tiffany's chin. 'Noo we
wait,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'We wait, and hope.' It was hot in the
little bedroom with the
sleeping witches and a crowd of Feegles. It wasn't long before the
smells of sheep's wool,
turpentine and tobacco rose and twined and filled the air... Tiffany's
nose twitched. The nose is
a big thinker. It's good at memory -very good. So good that a smell
can take you back in memory so
hard that it hurts. The brain can't stop it. The brain has nothing to
do with it. The hiver could
control brains, but it couldn't control a stomach that threw up when
it was flown on a broomstick.
And it was useless at noses. .. The smell of sheep's wool, turpentine
and Jolly Sailor tobacco
could carry a mind away, all the way to a silent place that was warm
and safe and free from
harm... The hiver opened its eyes and looked around. The shepherding
hut?' it said. It sat up. Red
light shone in through the open door, and through the trunks of the
saplings growing everywhere.
Many of them were quite big now and cast long shadows, putting the
setting sun behind bars. Around
the shepherding hut, though, they had been cut down. This is a trick,'
it said. 'It won't work. We
are you. We think like you. We're better at thinking like you than you
are.' Nothing happened. The
hiver looked like Tiffany, although here it was slightly taller
because Tiffany thought she was
slightly taller than she really was. It stepped out of the hut and
onto the turf. It's getting
late,' it said to the silence. 'Look at the trees! This place is
dying. We don't have to escape.
Soon all this will be part of us. Everything that you really could be.
You're proud of your little
piece of ground. We can remember when there were no worlds! We- you
could change things with a
wave of your hand! You could make things right or make things wrong,
and you could decide which is
which! You will never die!' Then why are ye sweatin', ye big heap o'
jobbies? Ach, what a
scunner!' said a voice behind it. For a moment the hiver wavered. Its
shape changed, many times in
the fractions of a second. There were bits of scales, fins, teeth, a
pointy hat, claws... and then
it was Tiffany again, smiling. 'Oh, Rob Anybody, we are glad to see
you,' it said. 'Can you help
us-?' 'Dinnae gi' me all that swiddle!' shouted Rob, bouncing up and
down in rage. 'I know a hiver
when I sees one! Crivens but ye're due a kickin'!' The hiver changed
again, became a lion with
teeth the size of swords and roared at him. 'Ach, it's like that, is
it?' said Rob Anybody.
'Dinnae go awa'!' He ran a few steps and vanished. The hiver changed
back to its Tiffany shape
again. 'Your little friend has gone,' it said. 'Come out now. Come out
now. Why fear us? We are
you. You won't be like the rest, the dumb animals, the stupid kings,
the greedy wizards. Together-
' Rob Anybody returned, followed by... well, everyone. 'Ye cannae
die,' he yelled. 'But we'll make
ye wish ye could!' They charged. The Feegles had the advantage in most
fights because they were
small and fought big enemies. If you're small and fast you're hard to
hit. The hiver fought back
by changing shape, all the time. Swords clanged on scales, heads
butted fangs- it whirled across
the turf, growling and screaming, calling up past shapes to counter
every attack. But Feegles were
hard to kill. They bounced when thrown, sprang back when trodden on
and easily dodged teeth and
claws. They fought- - and the ground shook so suddenly that even the
hiver lost its footing. The
shepherding hut creaked and began to settle into the turf, which
opened up around it as easily as
butter. The saplings trembled and began to fall over, one after the
other, as if their roots were
being cut under the grass. The land... rose. Rolling down the shifting
slope, the Feegles saw the
hills climbing towards the sky. What was there, what had always been
there, become more plain.
Rising into the dark sky was a head, shoulders, a chest... Someone who
had been lying down,
growing turf, their arms and legs the hills and valleys of the
downland, was sitting up. They
moved with great stony slowness, millions of tons of hill shifting and
creaking around them. What
had looked like two long mounds in the shape of a cross became giant
green arms, unfolding. A hand
with fingers longer than houses reached down, picked up the hiver and
lifted it up into the air.
Far off, something thumped three times. The sound seemed to be coming
from outside the world. The
Feegles, turning and watching from the small hill that was one of the
knees of the giant girl,
you do, go in through the
ears?' Once again, Rob stared at Billy, who looked puzzled. 'No,
mistress. They'd be too small,'
he said, patiently. 'But we can move between worlds, ye ken. We're
fairy folk.' Miss Level nodded
both heads. It was true, but it was hard to look at the assembled
ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle and
remember that they were, technically, fairies. It was like watching
penguins swimming underwater
and having to remember that they were birds. 'And?' she said. 'We can
get intae dreams, ye see...
And what's a mind but another world o' dreamin'?' 'No, I must forbid
that!' said Miss Level. 'I
can't have you running around inside a young girl's head! I mean, look
at you! You're fullygrow...
well, you're men! It'd be like, like... well, it'd be like you looking
at her diary!' Rob
Anybody looked puzzled. 'Oh, aye?' he said. 'We looked at her diary
loads o' times. Nae harm
done.' 'You looked at her diary?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'Why?'
Really, she thought later,
she should have expected the answer. "Cuz it wuz locked,' said Daft
Wullie. 'If she didnae want
anyone tae look at it, why'd she keep it at the back o' her sock
drawer? Anyway, all there wuz wuz
a load o' words we couldnae unnerstan' an' wee drawings o' hearts and
flowers an' that.' 'Hearts?
Tiffany?' said Miss Level. 'Really?' She shook herself. 'But you
shouldn't have done that! And
going into someone's mind is even worse!' 'The hiver is in there,
mistress,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy
meekly. 'But you said you can't do anything about it!' 'She might. If
we can track her doon,' said
the gonnagle. 'If we can find the wee bitty bit o' her that's still
her. She's a bonny fighter
when she's roused. Ye see, mistress, a mind's like a world itself.
She'll be hidin' in it
somewhere, lookin' oot through her own eyes, listenin' wi' her own
ears, tryin' to make people
hear, tryin' no' to let yon beast find her... and it'll be hunting her
all the time, trying tae
break her doon Miss Level began to look hunted herself. Fifty small
faces, full of worry and hope
and broken noses, looked up at her. And she knew she didn't have a
better plan. Or even a PLN.
'All right,' she said. 'But at least you ought to have a bath. I know
that's silly, but it will
make me feel better about the whole thing.' There was a general groan.
'A bath? But we a' had one
no' a year ago,' said Rob Anybody. 'Up at the big dew pond for the
ships!' 'Ach, crivens!' said
Big Yan. 'Ye cannae ask a man tae take a bath again this soon,
mistress! There'll be nothin' left
o' us!' 'With hot water and soap!' said Miss Level. 'I mean it! I'll
run the water and I... I'll
put some rope over the edge so you can climb in and out, but you will
get clean. I'm a wi- a hag,
and you'd better do what I say!' 'Oh, all reet!' said Rob. 'We'll do
it for the big wee hag. But
ye're no' tae peek, OK?' 'Peek?' said Miss Level. She pointed a
trembling finger. 'Get into that
bathroom now!' Miss Level did, however, listen at the door. It's the
sort of thing a witch does.
There was nothing to hear at first but the gentle splash of water, and
then: "This is no' as bad
as I thought!' 'Aye, very pleasin'.' 'Hey, there's a big yellow duck
here. Who 're ye pointin'
that beak at, yer scunner-' There was a wet quack and some bubbling
noises as the rubber duck
sank. 'Rob, we oughtae get one o' these put in back in the mound.
Verra warmin' in the winter
time.' 'Aye, it's no' that good for the ship, havin' tae drink oot o'
that pond after we 've been
bathin'. It's terrible, hearin' a ship try tae spit.' 'Ach, it'll make
us softies! It's nae a guid
wash if ye dinnae ha' the ice formin' on yer held!' ' Who 're you
callin' a softie?' There
followed a lot more splashing and water started to seep under the
door. Miss Level knocked. 'Come
on out now, and dry yourselves off!' she commanded. 'She could be back
at any minute!' In fact it
wasn't for another two hours, by which time Miss Level had got so
nervous that her necklaces
jingled all the time. She'd come to witching later than most, being
naturally qualified by reason
of the two bodies, but she'd never been very happy about magic. In
truth, most witches could get
through their whole life without having to do serious, undeniable
magic (making shambles and cursenets
and dreamcatchers didn't really count, being rather more like arts-and-
crafts, and most of
the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense and the ability to
look stern in a pointy
hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a
policeman. People saw the
uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street you
weren't allowed to back away
muttering, 'Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do,
you know, stray dogs and road
safety...' You were there, you had the hat, you did the job. That was
a basic rule of witchery:
It's up to you. She was two bags of nerves when Tiffany arrived back,
and stood side by side
holding hands with herself to give herself confidence. 'Where have you
been, dear?' 'Out,' said
Tiffany. 'And what have you been doing?' 'Nothing.' 'I see you've been
shopping.' 'Yes.' 'Who
with?' 'Nobody.' 'Ah, yes,' Miss Level trilled, completely adrift. I
remember when I used to go
out and do nothing. Sometimes you can be your own worst company.
Believe me, I know-' But Tiffany
had already swept upstairs. Without anyone actually seeming to move,
Feegles started to appear
everywhere in the room. 'Well, that could ha' gone better,' said Rob
Anybody. 'She looked so
different!' Miss Level burst out. 'She moved differently! I just
didn't know what to do! And those
clothes!' 'Aye. Sparklin' like a young raven,' said Rob. 'Did you see
all those bags? Where could
she have got the money? I certainly don't have that kind of-' She
stopped, and both of Miss Level
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spoke at once. 'Oh, no surely not! She wouldn't have, would she?' 'I
dinnae ken whut ye're talkin'
aboot,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy, 'but whut she would dae isnae the
point. That's the hiver doin' the
thinkin'!' Miss Level clasped all four hands together in distress. 'Oh
dear... I must go down to
the village and check!' One of her ran towards the door. 'Well, at
least she's brought the
broomstick back,' muttered the Miss Level who stayed. She started to
wear the slightly unfocused
expression she got when both her bodies weren't in the same place.
They could hear noises from
upstairs. 'I vote we just tap her gently on the heid,' said Big Yan.
'It cannae give us any
trouble if it's gone sleepies, aye?' Miss Level clenched and
unclenched her fists nervously. 'No,'
she said. 'I'll go up there and have a serious talk with her!' 'I told
yez, mistress, it's not
her,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy, wearily. 'Well, at least I'll wait until
I've visited Mr Weavall,'
said Miss Level, standing in her kitchen. 'I'm nearly there... ah...
he's asleep. I'll just eease
the box out quietly... if she's taken his money I'm going to be so
angry-' It was a good hat,
Tiffany thought. It was at least as tall as Mrs Earwig's hat, and it
shone darkly. The stars
gleamed. The other packages covered the floor and the bed. She pulled
out another one of the black
dresses, the one covered in lace, and the cloak, which spread out in
the air. She really liked the
cloak. In anything but a complete dead calm, it floated and billowed
as if whipped by a gale. If
you were going to be a witch, you had to start by looking like one.
She twirled in it once or
twice, and then said something without thinking, so that the hiver
part of her was caught
unawares. 'See me.' The hiver was suddenly thrust outside her body,
Tiffany was free. She hadn't
expected it... She felt herself to the tips of her fingers. She dived
towards the bed, grabbed one
of Zakzak's best wands and waved it desperately in front of her like a
weapon. 'You stay out!' she
said. 'Stay away! It's my body, not yours! You've made it do dreadful
things! You stole Mr
Weavall's money! Look at these stupid clothes! And don't you know
about eating and drinking? You
stay away! You're not coming back! Don't you dare! I've got power, you
know!' So have we, said her
own voice, in her own head. Yours. They fought. A watcher would have
seen only a girl in a black
dress, spinning around the room and flailing her arms as if she'd been
stung, but Tiffany fought
for every toe, every finger. She bounced off a wall, banged against
the chest of drawers, slammed
into another wall- - and the door was flung open. One of Miss Level
was there, no longer nervous,
but trembling with rage. She pointed a shaking finger. 'Listen to me,
whoever you are! Did you
steal Mr Weav-?' she began. The hiver turned. The hiver struck. The
hiver... killed.
Chapter Secret
It's bad enough being dead. Waking up and seeing a Nac Mac Feegle
standing on your chest and
peering intently at you from an inch away only makes things worse.
Miss Level groaned. It felt as
though she was lying on the floor. 'Ach, this one's alive, right
enough,' said the Feegle. Told
yez! That's a weasel skull ye owe me!' Miss Level blinked one set of
eyes, and then froze in
horror. 'What happened to me?' she whispered. The Feegle in front of
her was replaced by the face
of Rob Anybody. It was not an improvement. 'How many fingers am I
holdin' up?' he said. 'Five,'
whispered Miss Level. 'Am I? Ah, well, ye could be right, ye'd have
the knowin' o' the countin','
said Rob, lowering his hand. 'Ye've had a wee bittie accident, ye ken.
You're a wee bittie dead.'
Miss Level's head slumped back. Through the mist of something that
wasn't exactly pain, she heard
Rob Anybody say to someone she couldn't see: 'Hey, I wwzbreakin' it
tae her gently! I did say "wee
bittie" twice, right?' 'It's as though part of me is... a long way
off,' murmured Miss Level.
'Aye, you're aboot right there,' said Rob, champion of the bedside
manner. Some memories bobbed to
the surface of the thick soup in Miss Level's mind. Tiffany killed me,
didn't she,' she said. 'I
remember seeing that black figure turn round and her expression was
horrible-' That wuz the
hiver,' said Rob Anybody. That was no' Tiffany! She was fightin' it!
She still is, inside! But it
didnae remember you ha' two bodies! We got tae help her, mistress!'
Miss Level pushed herself
upright. It wasn't pain she felt, but it was the... ghost of pain.
'How did I die?' she said,
weakly. There was, like, an explosion, an' smoke an' that,' said Rob.
'Not messy, really.' 'Oh,
well, that's a small mercy, anyway,' said Miss Level, sagging back.
'Aye, there was just this,
like, big purple cloud o', like, dust,' said Daft Wullie. 'Where's
my... I can't feel... where's
my other body?' 'Aye, that was what got blown up in that big cloud,
right enough,' said Rob. 'Good
job ye has a spare, eh?' 'She's all mithered in her heid,' whispered
Awf'ly Wee Billy. Take it
gently, eh?' 'How do you manage, only seeing one side of things?' said
Miss Level dreamily to the
world in general. 'How will I get everything done with only one pair
of hands and feet? Being in
just one place all the time... how do people manage? It's impossible
She shut her eyes. 'Mistress
Level, we need ye!' shouted Rob Anybody into her ear. 'Need, need,
need,' murmured Miss Level.
'Everyone needs a witch. No one cares if a witch needs. Giving and
giving always... a fairy
godmother never gets a wish, let me tell you 'Mistress Level!' Rob
screamed. 'Ye cannae pass oot
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on us noo!' 'I'm weary,' whispered Miss Level. 'I'm very, very
pished.' 'Mistress Level!' Rob
Anybody yelled. The big wee hag is lying on the floor like a dead
person, but she's cold as ice
and sweatin' like a horse! She's fightin' the beast inside her,
mistress! An' she's losin'!' Rob
peered into Miss Level's face, and shook his head. 'Auchtahelweit!
She's swooned! C'mon, lads,
let's move her!' Like many small creatures, Feegles are immensely
strong for their size. It still
took ten of them to carry Miss Level up the narrow stairs without
banging her head more than
necessary, although they did use her feet to push open the door to
Tiffany's room. Tiffany lay on
the floor. Sometimes a muscle twitched. Miss Level was propped up like
a doll. 'How're we gonna
bring the big hag roound?' said Big Yan. I heard where ye has to put
someone's heid between their
legs,' said Rob, doubtfully. Daft Wullie sighed, and drew his sword.
'Sounds a wee bit drastic tae
me,' he said, 'but if someone will help me hold her steady-' Miss
Level opened her eyes, which was
just as well. She focused unsteadily on the Feegles and smiled a
strange, happy little smile.
'Ooo, fairies!' she mumbled. 'Ach, noo she's ramblin',' said Rob
Anybody. 'No, she means fairies
like bigjobs think they are,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'Tiny wee tinkly
creatures that live in
flowers an' fly aroound cuddlin' butterflies an' that.' 'What? Have
they no' seen real fairies?
They're worse'n wasps!' said Big Yan. 'We havnae got time for this! '
snapped Rob Anybody. He
jumped onto Miss Level's knee. 'Aye, ma'am, we's fairies from the land
o'-' He stopped and looked
imploringly at Billy. 'Tinkle?' Billy suggested. 'Aye, the land o'
Tinkle, ye ken, and we found
this puir wee princess,' said Billy. 'Aye, princess, who's been
attacked by a bunch o' scunners
wicked goblins,' said Billy. '- yeah, wicked goblins, right, an' she's
in a bad way, so we wuz
wonderin' if ye could kinda tell us how tae look after her until the
handsome prince turns up on a
big white horse wi' curtains roound it an' wakes her with a magical
kiss,' said Billy. Rob gave
him a desperate look, and turned back to the bemused Miss Level. 'Aye,
what ma friend Fairy Billy
just said,' he managed. Miss Level tried to focus. 'You're very ugly
for fairies,' she said. 'Aye,
well, the ones you gen'rally see are for the pretty flowers, ye ken,'
said Rob Anybody, inventing
desperately. 'We're more for the stingin' nettles and bindweed an' Old
Man's Troosers an'
thistles, OK? It wouldna be fair for only the bonny flowers tae have
fairies noo, would it? It'd
prob'ly be against the law, eh? Noo, can ye please help us wi' this
princess here before them
scunners wicked goblins-' said Billy. 'Aye, before they come back,'
said Rob. Panting, he watched
Miss Level's face. There seemed to be a certain amount of thinking
going on. Is her pulse rapid?'
murmured Miss Level. 'You say her skin is cold but she's sweating? Is
she breathing rapidly? It
sounds like shock. Keep her warm. Raise her legs. Watch her carefully.
Try to remove... the
cause...' Her head slumped. Rob turned to Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'A horse
wi' curtains roond it?' he
said. 'Where did ye get all that blethers?' 'There's a big hoose near
the Long Lake an' they read
stories tae their wee bairn an' I go along an' listen fra' a
mousehole,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy.
'One day I snuck in and looked at the pichurs, and there was bigjobs
called k'nits wi' shields and
armour and horses wi' curtains-' 'Weel, it worked, blethers though it
be,' said Rob Anybody. He
looked at Tiffany. She was lying down, so he was about as high as her
chin. It was like walking
around a small hill. 'Crivens, it does me nae guid at all ta see the
puir wee thing like this,' he
said, shaking his head. 'C'mon, lads, get that cover off the bed and
put that cushion under her
feet.' 'Er, Rob?' said Daft Wullie. 'Aye?' Rob was staring up at the
unconscious Tiffany. 'How are
we goin' taw get inta her heid? There's got tae be somethin' tae guide
us in.' 'Aye, Wullie, an' I
ken whut it's gonna be, 'cuz I've been usin' mah heid for thinkin'!'
said Rob. 'Ye've seen the big
wee hag often enough, right? Well, see this necklet?' He reached up.
The silver horse had slipped
around Tiffany's neck as she lay on the floor. It hung there, amid the
amulets and dark glitter.
'Aye?' said Wullie. 'It was a present from that son o' the Baron,'
said Rob. 'An' she's kept it.
She's tried tae turn hersel' intae some kind of creature o' the night,
but somethin' made her keep
this. It'll be in her heid, too. 'Tis important tae her. All we need
tae do is frannit a
wheelstone on it and it'll tak' us right where she is.' [If anyone
knew what this meant, they'd
know a lot more about the Nac Mac Feegles' way of travelling.] Daft
Wullie scratched his head.
'But I thought she thought he was just a big pile of jobbies?' he
said. 'I seen her oot walkin',
an' when he comes ridin' past she sticks her nose in th' air and looks
the other wa'. In fact,
sometimes I seen her wait aroond a full five-and-twenty minutes for
him tae come past, just so's
she can do that.' 'Ah, weel, no man kens the workin's o' the female
mind,' said Rob Anybody
loftily. 'We'll follow the horse.' From Fairies and How to Avoid Them'
by Miss Perspicacia Tick:
No one knows exactly how the Nac Mac Feegle step from one world to
another. Those who have seen
Feegles actually travel this way say that they apparently throw back
their shoulders and thrust
out one leg straight ahead of them. Then they wiggle their foot and
are gone. This is known as the
crawstep', and the only comment on the subject by a Feegle is It's all
in the ankle movement, ye
ken.' They appear to be able to travel magically between worlds of all
kinds but not within a
world. For this purpose, they assure people, they have 'feets'. The
sky was black, even though the
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sun was high. It hung at just past noon, lighting the landscape as
brilliantly as a hot summer
day, but the sky was midnight black, shorn of stars. This was the
landscape of Tiffany Aching's
mind. The Feegles looked around them. There seemed to be downland
underfoot, rolling and green.
'She tells the land what it is. The land tells her who she is,'
whispered Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'She
really does hold the soul o' the land in her heid 'Aye, so 'tis,'
muttered Rob Anybody. 'But
there's nae creatures, ye ken. Nae ships. Nae burdies.' 'Mebbe...
mebbe somethin's scared them
awa'?' said Daft Wullie. There was, indeed, no life. Stillness and
silence ruled here. In fact
Tiffany, who cared a lot about getting words right, would have said it
was a hush, which is not
the same as silence. A hush is what you get in cathedrals at midnight.
'OK, lads,' Rob Anybody
whispered. 'We dinnae ken what we're goin' tae find, so ye tread as
light as e'er foot can fall,
unnerstan'? Let's find the big wee hag.' They nodded, and stepped
forward like ghosts. The land
rose slightly ahead of them, to some kind of earthworks. They advanced
on it carefully, wary of
ambush, but nothing stopped them as they climbed two long mounds in
the turf which made a sort of
cross. 'Man-made,' said Big Yan, when they reached the top. 'Just like
in the old days, Rob.' The
silence sucked his speech away. 'This is deep inside o' the big wee
hag's head,' said Rob Anybody,
looking around warily. 'We dinnae know whut made 'em.' 'I dinnae like
this, Rob,' said a Feegle.
'It's too quiet.' 'Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that-' 'You are
my sunshine, my only su-'
'Daft Wullie!' snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange
landscape. The singing
stopped. 'Aye, Rob?' said Daft Wullie from behind him. 'Ye ken I said
I'd tell ye when ye wuz
guilty o' stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behaviour?' 'Aye, Rob,' said
Daft Wullie. 'That wuz another
one o' those times, wuz it?' 'Aye.' They moved on again, staring
around them. And still there was
the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness
before thunder. It was as if
all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one
big sound to happen. And then
they found the Horse. They'd seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it
was, not carved into the
hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it. 'Awf'ly Wee
Billy?' said Rob, beckoning
the young gonnagle towards him. 'You're a gonnagle, ye ken aboot
poetry and dreams. What's this?
Why's it up here? It shouldnae be on the top o' the hills!' 'Serious
hiddlins, Mr Rob,' said
Billy. 'This is serious hiddlins. I cannae work it out yet.' 'She
knows the Chalk. Why'd she get
this wrong?' I'm thinkin' aboot it, Mr Rob.' 'You wouldnae care tae
think a bit faster, would ye?'
'Rob?' said Big Yan, hurrying up. He'd been scouting ahead. 'Aye?'
said Rob gloomily. 'Ye'd better
come and see this On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled
shepherding hut, with a curved roof
and a chimney for the pot-bellied stove. Inside, the walls were
covered with the yellow and blue
wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were
old sacks hanging up there,
and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny
Aching had counted sheep and
days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old
fleeces and feed sacks.
'D'ye have the unnerstandin' of this, Awf'ly Wee Billy?' said Rob.
'Can ye tell us where the big
wee hag is?' The young gonnagle looked worried. 'Er, Mister Rob, ye
ken I've only just been made a
gonnagle? I mean, I know the songs an' a', but I'm no' verra
experienced at this 'Aye?' said Rob
Anybody. 'An' just how many gonnagles afore ye ha' walked through the
dreams o' a hag?' 'Er...
none I've ever heard of, Mister Rob,' Billy confessed. 'Aye. So you
already know more aboot it
than any o' them big men,' said Rob. He gave the boy a smile. 'Do yer
best, laddie. I dinnae
expect any more of you than that.' Billy looked out of the shed door,
and took a deep breath:
'Then I'll tell ye I think she's hidin' somewhere close like a hunted
creature, Mr Rob. This is a
wee bit o' her memory, the place o' her granny, the place where she's
always felt safe. I'll tell
ye I think that we're in the soul and centre o' her. The bit o' her
that is her. And I'm
frightened for her. Frightened to mah boots.' 'Why?' 'Because I've
been watchin' the shadows, Mr
Rob,' said Billy. 'The sun is movin'. It's slippin' doon the sky.'
'Aye, weel, that's whut the sun
does-' Rob began. Billy shook his head. 'Nay, Mr Rob. Ye dinnae
understand! I'm tellin' ye that's
no' the sun o' the big wide world. That's the sun o' the soul o' her.'
The Feegles looked at the
sun, and at the shadows, then back at Billy. He'd stuck his chin out
bravely but he was trembling.
'She'll die when night comes?' Rob said. There's worser things than
death, Mr Rob. The hiver will
have her, head tae toe-' That is nae gonna happen!' shouted Rob
Anybody, so suddenly that Billy
backed away. 'She's a strong big wee lass! She fought the Quin wi' no
more than a fryin' pan!'
Awf'ly Wee Billy swallowed. There were a lot of things he'd rather do
than face Rob Anybody now.
But he pressed on. 'Sorry, Mr Rob, but I'm telling ye she had iron
then, an' she wuz on her ain
turf. She's a lang, lang way fra' hame here. An' it'll squeeze this
place when it finds it, leave
no more room for it, and the night will come, an'-' ' 'Scuse me, Rob.
I ha' an idea.' It was Daft
Wullie, twisting his hands nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.
'Ye ha' an idea?' said Rob.
'Aye, an' if I tell youse, I dinnae want you ta' say it's inna-pro-pre-
ate, OK, Rob?' Rob Anybody
sighed. 'OK, Wullie, ye ha' my word on it.' 'Weel,' said Wullie, his
fingers knotting and
unknotting. 'What is this place if it's not truly her ain place? What
is it if not her ain turf?
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If she cannae fight the creature here, she cannae fight it anywhere!'
'But it willnae come here,'
said Billy. 'It doesnae need to. As she grows weaker, this place will
fade away.' 'Oh, crivens,'
mumbled Daft Wullie. 'Weel, it was a good idea, right? Even if it
doesnae work?' Rob Anybody
wasn't paying any attention. He stared around the shepherding hut. My
man's got to use his heid
for something other than nuttin' folk, Jeannie had said. 'Daft Wullie
is right,' he said quietly.
This is her safe place. She holds the land, she has it in her eye. The
creature can ne'er touch
her here. Here, she has power. But 'twill be a jail hoose for her here
unless she fights the
monster. She'd be locked in here and watch her life gae doon the
cludgie. She'll look oot at the
world like a pris'ner at a tiny window, and see hersel' hated and
feared. So we'll fetch the beast
in here against its will, and here it will die!' The Feegles cheered.
They weren't sure what was
going on, but they liked the sound of it. 'How?' said Awf'ly Wee
Billy. 'Ye had to gae and ask
that, eh?' said Rob Anybody bitterly. 'An' I wuz doin' sae weel wi'
the thinkin'-' He turned.
There was a scratching noise on the door above him. Up there, across
the rows and rows of half
rubbed-out markings, freshly chalked letters were appearing one by
one, as if an invisible hand
was writing them. 'Worrds,' said Rob Anybody. 'She's tryin' tae tell
us somethin'!' 'Yes, they say-
' Billy began. 'I ken weel what they say!' snapped Rob Anybody. 'I ha'
the knowin' of the readin'!
They say-' He looked up again. 'OK, they say... that's the snake, an'
that's the kinda like a gate
letter, an' the comb on its side, two o' that, an' the fat man
standin' still, an' the snake
again, and then there's whut we calls a "space" and then there's the
letter like a saw's teeth,
and two o' the letters that's roound like the sun, and the letter
that's a man sittin' doon, and
onna next line we ha'... the man wi' his arms oot, and the letter
that's you, an' ha, the fat man
again but noo he's walkin, an' next he's standin' still again, an'
next is the comb, an' the upan'-
doon ziggy-zaggy letter, and the man's got his arms oot, and then
there's me, and that ziggyzaggy
and we end the line with the comb again... an' on the next line we
starts wi' the bendy
hook, that's the letter roound as the sun, them's twa' men sittin'
doon, there's the letter
reaching ooot tae the sky! then there's a space 'cos there's nae
letter, then there's the snaky
again, an' the letter like a hoose frame, and then there's the letter
that's me, aye, an' another
fella sitting doon, an' another big roound letter, and, ha, oor ol'
friend, the fat man walkin'!
The End!' He stood back, hands on hips, and demanded: There! Is that
readin' I just did, or wuz it
no'?' There was a cheer from the Feegles, and some applause. Awf'ly
Wee Billy looked up at the
chalked words: And then he looked at Rob Anybody's expression. 'Aye,
aye,' he said, 'Ye're doin
great, Mr Rob. Sheep's wool, turpentine and Jolly Sailor tobacco.'
'Ach, weel, anyone can read it
all in one go,' said Rob Anybody, dismissively. 'But youse gotta be
guid to break it doon intae
all the tricksie letters. And veera guid to have the knowin' o' the
meanin' o' the whole.' 'What
is that?' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'The meaning, gonnagle, is that you
are gonna' go stealin' There
was a cheer from the rest of the Feegles. They hadn't been keeping up
very well, but they
recognized that word all right. 'An' it's gonna be a stealin' tae
remember!' Rob yelled, to
another cheer. 'Daft Wullie!' 'Aye!' 'Ye'll be in charge! Ye ha' not
got the brains o' a beetle,
brother o' mine, but when it comes tae the thievin' ye hae no equal in
this wurld! Ye've got tae
fetch turpentine and fresh ship wool and some o' the Jolly Sailor
baccy! Ye got tae get them to
the big hag wi' twa' bodies! Tell her she must mak' the hiver smell
them, right? It'll bring it
here! And ye'd best be quick, because that sun is movin' down the sky.
Ye'll be stearin' fra' Time
itself- aye? Ye have a question?' Daft Wullie had raised a finger.
'Point o' order, Rob,' he said,
'but it was a wee bittie hurtful there for you to say I dinnae hae the
brains of a beetle Rob
hesitated, but only for a moment. 'Aye, Daft Wullie, ye are right in
whut ye say. It was unricht
o' me to say that. It was the heat o' the moment, an' I am full sorry
for it. As I stand here
before ye now, I will say: Daft Wullie, ye do hae the brains o' a
beetle, an' I'll fight any
scunner who says different!' Daft Wullie's face broke into a huge
smile, then crinkled into a
frown. 'But ye are the leader, Rob,' he said. 'No' on this raid,
Wullie. A'm staying here. I have
every confidence that ye'll be a fiiinne leader on this raid an' not
totally mess it up like ye
did the last seventeen times!' There was a general groan from the
crowd. 'Look at the sun, will
ye!' said Rob, pointing. 'It's moved since we've been talkin'!
Someone's got tae stay wi' her! I
will no' ha' it said we left her tae die alone! Now, get movin', ye
scunners, or feel the flat o'
my blade!' He raised his sword and growled. They fled. Rob Anybody
laid his sword down with care,
then sat on the step of the shepherding hut to watch the sun. After a
while, he was aware of
something else... Hamish the aviator gave Miss Level's broomstick a
doubtful look. It hung a few
feet above the ground and it worried him. He hitched up the bundle on
his back that contained his
parachute, although it was technically the 'paradrawers', since it was
made of string and an old
pair of Tiffany's best Sunday drawers, well washed. They still had
flowers on, but there was
nothing like them for getting a Feegle safely to the ground. He had a
feeling it (or they) were
going to be needed. 'It's no' got feathers,' he complained. 'Look, we
dinnae ha' time to argue!'
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said Daft Wullie. 'We're in a hurry, ye ken, an' you're the only one
who knows how tae fly!' 'A
broomstick isnae flyin',' said Hamish. 'It's magic. It hasnae any
wings! I dinnae ken that stuff!'
But Big Yan had already thrown a piece of string over the bristle end
of the stick and was
climbing up. Other Feegles followed. 'Besides, how do they steer these
things?' Hamish went on.
'Weel, how do ye do it with wi' the birdies?' Daft Wullie demanded.
'Oh, that's easy. Ye just
shift your weight, but-' 'Ach, yell learn as we go,' said Wullie.
'Flying can-nae be that
difficult. Even ducks can do it, and they have nae brains at a'.' And
there was really no point in
arguing, which is why, a few minutes later, Hamish inched his way
along the stick's handle. The
rest of the Feegles clung to the bristles at the other end,
chattering. Firmly tied to the
bristles was a bundle of what looked like sticks and rags, with a
battered hat and the stolen
beard on top of it. At least this extra weight meant that the stick
end was pointing up, towards a
gap in the fruit trees. Hamish sighed, took a deep breath, pulled his
goggles over his eyes and
put a hand on a shiny area of stick just in front of him. Gently, the
stick began to move through
the air. There was a cheer from the Feegles. 'See? Told yez ye'd be
OK,' Daft Wullie called out.
'But can ye no' make it go a wee bit faster?' Carefully, Hamish
touched the shiny area again. The
stick shuddered, hung motionless for a moment, and then shot upwards
trailing a noise very like
Arrrrrrrrrgg00ggg0gg0ghhhh.hhhhhh.hhhh... In the silent world of
Tiffany's head, Rob Anybody
picked up his sword again and crept across the darkening turf. There
was something there, small
but moving. It was a tiny thorn bush, growing so fast that its twigs
visibly moved. Its shadow
danced on the grass. Rob Anybody stared at it. It had to mean
something. He watched it carefully.
Little bush, growing... And then he remembered what the old kelda had
told them when he'd been a
wee boy. Once, the land had been all forest, heavy and dark. Then men
came and cut down trees.
They let the sun in. The grass grew up in the clearings. The bigjobs
brought in sheep, which ate
the grass, and also what grew in the grass: tree seedlings. And so the
dark forests died. There
hadn't been much life in them, not once the tree trunks closed in
behind you; it had been dark as
the bottom of the sea in there, the leaves far above keeping out the
light. Sometimes there was
the crash of a branch, or the rattle and patter as acorns the
squirrels had missed bounced down,
from branch to branch, into the gloom. Mostly it was just hot and
silent. Around the edges of the
forest were the homes of many creatures. Deep inside the forest, the
everlasting forest, was the
home of wood. But the turf lived in the sun, with its hundreds of
grasses and flowers and birds
and insects. The Nac Mac Feegle knew that better than most, being so
much closer to it. What
looked like a green desert at a distance was a tiny, thriving, roaring
jungle... 'Ach,' said Rob
Anybody. 'So that's yer game, izzit? Weel, ye're no' takin' over in
here too!' He chopped at the
spindly thing with his sword, and stood back. The rustling of leaves
behind him made him turn.
There were two more saplings unfolding. And a third. He looked across
the grass and saw a dozen, a
hundred tiny trees beginning their race for the sky. Worried though he
was, and he was worried to
his boots, Rob Anybody grinned. If there's one thing a Feegle likes,
it's knowing that wherever
you strike you're going to hit an enemy. The sun was going down and
the shadows were moving and
the turf was dying. Rob charged.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh... What happened during the
Nac Mac Feegles' search for the right smell was remembered by several
witnesses (quite apart from
all the owls and bats who were left spinning in the air by a
broomstick being navigated by a bunch
of screaming little blue men). One of them was Number 95, a ram owned
by a not very imaginative
farmer. But all he remembered was a sudden noise in the night and a
draughty feeling on his back.
That was about as exciting as it got for Number 95, so he went back to
thinking about grass.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Then there was Mildred Pusher,
aged seven, who was the
daughter of the farmer who owned Number 95. One day, when she'd grown
up and become a grandmother,
she told her grandchildren about the night she came downstairs by
candlelight for a drink of water
and heard the noises under the sink... 'And there were these little
voices, you see, and one said,
"Ach, Wullie, you cannae drink that, look, it says 'Poison!!' on the
bottle," and another voice
said, "Aye, gonnagle, they put that on tae frighten a man from havin'
a wee drink," and the first
voice said, "Wullie, it's rat poison!" and the second voice said,
"That's fine, then, 'cos I'm no'
a rat!" And then I opened the cupboard under the sink and, what do you
think, it was full of
fairies! And they looked at me and I looked at them and one of them
said, "Hey, this is a dream
you're having, big wee girl!" and immediately they all agreed! And the
first one said, "So, in
this dream ye're having, big wee girl, you wouldna mind telling us
where the turpentine is,
wouldya?" And so I told them it was outside in the barn, and he said,
"Aye? Then we're offski. But
here's a wee gift fra' the fairies for a big wee girl who's gonna go
right back tae sleep!" And
then they were gone!' One of her grandchildren, who'd been listening
with his mouth open, said,
'What did they give you, Grandma?' 'This!' Mildred held up a silver
spoon. 'And the strange thing
is, it's just like the ones my mother had, which vanished mysteriously
from the drawer the very
same night! I've kept it safe ever since!' This was admired by all.
Then one of the grandchildren
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asked: 'What were the fairies like, Grandma?' Grandma Mildred thought
about this. 'Not as pretty
as you might expect,' she said at last. 'But definitely more smelly.
And just after they'd gone
there was a sound like-' Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
People in the King's Legs (the
owner had noticed that there were lots of inns and pubs called the
King's Head or the King's Arms,
and spotted a gap in the market) looked up when they heard the noise
outside. After a minute or
two the door burst open. 'Good night to ye, fellow bigjobs!' roared a
figure in the doorway. The
room fell horribly silent. Awkwardly, legs going in every direction,
the scarecrow figure wove
unsteadily towards the bar and grabbed it thankfully, hanging on as it
sagged onto its knees. 'A
big huge wee drop o' yer finest whisky, me fine fellow barman fellow,'
it said from somewhere
under the hat. 'It seems to me that you've already had enough to
drink, friend,' said the barman,
whose hand had crept to the cudgel he kept under the bar for special
customers. 'Who're ye calling
"friend", pal?' roared the figure, trying to pull itself up. That's
fightin' talk, that is! And I
havenae had enough to drink, pal, 'cos if I have, why've I still got
all this money, eh? Answer me
that!' A hand sagged into a coat pocket, came out jerkily and slammed
down onto the top of the
bar. Ancient gold coins rolled in every direction and a couple of
silver spoons dropped out of the
sleeve. The silence of the bar became a lot deeper. Dozens of eyes
watched the shiny discs as they
spun off the bar and rolled across the floor. 'An' I want an ounce o'
Jolly Sailor baccy,' said
the figure. 'Why, certainly, sir,' said the barman, who had been
brought up to be respectful to
gold coins. He felt under the bar and his expression changed. 'Oh. I'm
sorry, sir, we've sold out.
Very popular, Jolly Sailor. But we've got plenty of- ' The figure had
already turned round to face
the rest of the room. 'OK, I'll gi'e a handful o' gold to the first
scunner who gi'es me a pipeful
o' Jolly Sailor!' it yelled. The room erupted. Tables scraped. Chairs
overturned. The scarecrow
man grabbed the first pipe and threw the coins into the air. As fights
immediately broke out, he
turned back to the bar and said: 'And I'll ha' that wee drop o' whisky
before I go, barman. Ach,
no you willnae, Big Yan! Shame on ye! Hey, youse legs can shut up
right noo! A wee pint of
whisky'll do us no harm! Oh, aye? Who deid and made ye Big Man, eh?
Listen, ye scunner, oor Rob is
in there! Aye, and he'd have a wee drink, too!' The customers stopped
pushing one another out of
the way to get at the coins, and got up to face a whole body arguing
with itself. 'Anywa', I'm in
the heid, right? The heid's in charge. I dinnae ha' tae listen to a
bunch o' knees! I said this
wuz a bad idea, Wullie, ye ken we ha' trouble getting oot of pubs!
Well, speaking on behalf o' the
legs, we're not gonna stand by and watch the heid get pished, thank ye
so veerae much!' To the
horror of the customers the entire bottom half of the figure turned
round and started to walk
towards the door, causing the top half to fall forward. It gripped the
edge of the bar
desperately, managed to say, 'OK! Is a deep-fried pickled egg totally
oot o' the question?' and
then the figure- - tore itself in half. The legs staggered a few steps
towards the door, and fell
over. In the shocked silence a voice from somewhere in the trousers
said: 'Crivens! Time for
offski!' The air blurred for a moment and the door slammed. After a
while one of the customers
stepped forward cautiously and prodded the heap of old clothes and
sticks that was all that
remained of the visitor. The hat rolled off and he jumped back. A
glove that was still hanging
onto the bar fell onto the floor with a thwap! that sounded very loud.
'Well, look at it this
way,' said the barman. 'Whatever it was, at least it's left its
pockets-' From outside came the
sound of: The broomstick hit the thatched roof of Miss Level's cottage
hard, and stuck in it.
Feegles fell off, still fighting. In a struggling, punching mass they
rolled into the cottage,
conducted guerrilla warfare all the way up the stairs and ended up in
a head-butting, kicking heap
in Tiffany's bedroom, where those who'd been left behind to guard the
sleeping girl and Miss Level
joined in out of interest. Gradually, the fighters became aware of a
sound. It was the skirl of
the mousepipes, cutting through the battle like a sword. Hands stopped
gripping throats, fists
stopped in mid-punch, kicks hovered in mid-air. Tears ran down Awf'ly
Wee Billy's face as he
played The Bonny Flowers, the saddest song in the world. It was about
home, and mothers, and good
times gone past, and faces no longer there. The Feegles let go of one
another and stared down at
their feet as the forlorn notes wound about them, speaking of betrayal
and treachery and the
breaking of promises- 'Shame on ye!' screamed Awf'ly Wee Billy,
letting the pipe drop out of his
mouth. 'Shame on ye! Traitors! Betrayers! Ye shame hearth and hame!
Your hag is fightin' for her
verra soul! Have ye no honour?' He flung down the mousepipes, which
wailed into silence. 'I curse
my feets that let me stand here in front o' ye! Ye shame the verra sun
shinin' on ye! Ye shame the
kelda that birthed ye! Traitors! Scuggans! What ha' I done to be among
this parcel o' rogues? Any
man here want tae fight? Then fight me! Aye, fight me! An' I swear by
the harp o' bones I'll tak'
him tae the deeps o' the sea an' then kick him tae the craters o' the
moon an' see him ride tae
the Pit o' Heel itself on a saddle made o' hedgehogs! I tell ye, my
rage is the strength of the
storm that tears mountains intae sand! Who among ye will stand agin
me?' Big Yan, who was almost
three times the size of Awf'ly Wee Billy, cowered back as the little
gonnagle stood in front of
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him. Not a Feegle would have raised a hand at that moment, for fear of
his life. The rage of a
gonnagle was a dreadful thing to see. A gonnagle could use words like
swords. Daft Wullie shuffled
forward. 'I can see ye're upset, gonnagle,' he mumbled. "Tis me that's
at fault, on account o'
being daft. I shoulda remembered aboout us and pubs.' He looked so
dejected that Awf'ly Wee Billy
calmed down a little. 'Very well then,' he said, but rather coldly
because you can't lose that
much anger all at once. 'We'll not talk aboot this again. But we will
remember it, right?' He
pointed to the sleeping shape of Tiffany. 'Now pick up that wool, and
the tobacco, and the
turpentine, understand? Someone tak' the top off the turpentine bottle
and pour a wee drop onto a
bit o' cloth. And no one, let me mak' myself clear, is tae drink any
of it!' The Feegles fell over
themselves to obey. There was a ripping noise as 'the bit o' cloth'
was obtained from the bottom
of Miss Level's dress. 'Right,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'Daft Wullie,
you tak' all the three things
and put them up on the big wee hag's chest, where she can smell them.'
'How can she smell them
when she's oot cold like that?' said Wullie. 'The nose disnae sleep,'
said the gonnagle flatly.
The three smells of the shepherding hut were laid reverentially just
below Tiffany's chin. 'Noo we
wait,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy. 'We wait, and hope.' It was hot in the
little bedroom with the
sleeping witches and a crowd of Feegles. It wasn't long before the
smells of sheep's wool,
turpentine and tobacco rose and twined and filled the air... Tiffany's
nose twitched. The nose is
a big thinker. It's good at memory -very good. So good that a smell
can take you back in memory so
hard that it hurts. The brain can't stop it. The brain has nothing to
do with it. The hiver could
control brains, but it couldn't control a stomach that threw up when
it was flown on a broomstick.
And it was useless at noses. .. The smell of sheep's wool, turpentine
and Jolly Sailor tobacco
could carry a mind away, all the way to a silent place that was warm
and safe and free from
harm... The hiver opened its eyes and looked around. The shepherding
hut?' it said. It sat up. Red
light shone in through the open door, and through the trunks of the
saplings growing everywhere.
Many of them were quite big now and cast long shadows, putting the
setting sun behind bars. Around
the shepherding hut, though, they had been cut down. This is a trick,'
it said. 'It won't work. We
are you. We think like you. We're better at thinking like you than you
are.' Nothing happened. The
hiver looked like Tiffany, although here it was slightly taller
because Tiffany thought she was
slightly taller than she really was. It stepped out of the hut and
onto the turf. It's getting
late,' it said to the silence. 'Look at the trees! This place is
dying. We don't have to escape.
Soon all this will be part of us. Everything that you really could be.
You're proud of your little
piece of ground. We can remember when there were no worlds! We- you
could change things with a
wave of your hand! You could make things right or make things wrong,
and you could decide which is
which! You will never die!' Then why are ye sweatin', ye big heap o'
jobbies? Ach, what a
scunner!' said a voice behind it. For a moment the hiver wavered. Its
shape changed, many times in
the fractions of a second. There were bits of scales, fins, teeth, a
pointy hat, claws... and then
it was Tiffany again, smiling. 'Oh, Rob Anybody, we are glad to see
you,' it said. 'Can you help
us-?' 'Dinnae gi' me all that swiddle!' shouted Rob, bouncing up and
down in rage. 'I know a hiver
when I sees one! Crivens but ye're due a kickin'!' The hiver changed
again, became a lion with
teeth the size of swords and roared at him. 'Ach, it's like that, is
it?' said Rob Anybody.
'Dinnae go awa'!' He ran a few steps and vanished. The hiver changed
back to its Tiffany shape
again. 'Your little friend has gone,' it said. 'Come out now. Come out
now. Why fear us? We are
you. You won't be like the rest, the dumb animals, the stupid kings,
the greedy wizards. Together-
' Rob Anybody returned, followed by... well, everyone. 'Ye cannae
die,' he yelled. 'But we'll make
ye wish ye could!' They charged. The Feegles had the advantage in most
fights because they were
small and fought big enemies. If you're small and fast you're hard to
hit. The hiver fought back
by changing shape, all the time. Swords clanged on scales, heads
butted fangs- it whirled across
the turf, growling and screaming, calling up past shapes to counter
every attack. But Feegles were
hard to kill. They bounced when thrown, sprang back when trodden on
and easily dodged teeth and
claws. They fought- - and the ground shook so suddenly that even the
hiver lost its footing. The
shepherding hut creaked and began to settle into the turf, which
opened up around it as easily as
butter. The saplings trembled and began to fall over, one after the
other, as if their roots were
being cut under the grass. The land... rose. Rolling down the shifting
slope, the Feegles saw the
hills climbing towards the sky. What was there, what had always been
there, become more plain.
Rising into the dark sky was a head, shoulders, a chest... Someone who
had been lying down,
growing turf, their arms and legs the hills and valleys of the
downland, was sitting up. They
moved with great stony slowness, millions of tons of hill shifting and
creaking around them. What
had looked like two long mounds in the shape of a cross became giant
green arms, unfolding. A hand
with fingers longer than houses reached down, picked up the hiver and
lifted it up into the air.
Far off, something thumped three times. The sound seemed to be coming
from outside the world. The
Feegles, turning and watching from the small hill that was one of the
knees of the giant girl,
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