‘A’ the time, mistress,’ said the pictsie. Others poked their heads around the trees and out from under leaves. There were at least twenty on the mound.
‘You’ve been watching me all the time?’
‘Aye, mistress. ‘Tis oour task to watch o’er our kelda. I’m up here most o’ the time anyway, because I’m studying to become a gonnagle.’ The young Feegle flourished a set of mousepipes. ‘An’ they willnae let me play doon there on account o’ them sayin’ my playin’ sounds like a spider tryin’ to fart through its ears, mistress.’
‘But what happens if I want to spend a—have a—go to the—What happens if I say I don’t want you to guard me?’
‘If it’s a wee call o’ nature ye’re talkin’ aboout, mistress, the cludgie is o’er there in the chalk pit. Yell just sing oot to us where ye’re goin’ and no one’ll go peeking, yell have oour word on it,’ said the attendant Feegle.
Tiffany glared at him as he stood in the primroses, beaming with pride and anxious duty. He was younger than most of them, without as many scars and lumps. Even his nose wasn’t broken.
‘What’s your name, pictsie?’ she said.
‘No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress. There’s no’ that many Feegle names, ye ken, so we ha’ to share.’
‘Well, Not-as-big-as-Little-Jock—’ Tiffany began.
‘That’d be Medium-Sized Jock, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock.
‘Well, Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock, I can—’
‘That’s No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. ‘Ye were one jock short,’ he added helpfully.
‘You wouldn’t be happier with, say, Henry?’ said Tiffany, helplessly.
‘Ach, nay, mistress.’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock wrinkled his face. ‘There’s nay history tae the name, ye ken. But there have been a number o’ brave warriors called No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. Why ‘tis nearly as famous a name as Wee Jock itself! An’, o’ course, should Wee Jock hisself be taken back to the Last World then I’ll get the name o’ Wee Jock, which isnae to say that I mislike the name o’ No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, ye ken. There’s been many a fine story o’ the exploits o’ No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock,’ the pictsie added, looking so earnest that Tiffany didn’t have the heart to say that they must have been very long stories.
Instead she said: ‘Well, er, please, I want to talk to Hamish the aviator.’
‘Nae problem,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. ‘He’s up there right noo.’
He vanished. A moment later Tiffany heard—or, rather, felt with her ears—the bubbling sensation of a Feegle whistle.
Tiffany pulled Diseases of the Sheep, which was now looking very battered, out of her apron. There was a blank page at the back. She tore it out, feeling like a criminal for doing so, and took out her pencil.
Dear Mum and Dad,
How are you, I am well. Wentworth is also well but I have to go and fetch him from the Qu where he is staying. Hop to be back soon.
Tiffany
PS I hope the cheese is all right.
She was just considering this when she heard a rush of wings overhead. There was a whirring noise, a moment of silence and then a small, weary and rather muffled voice said: ‘Ach, crivens’
She looked out onto the turf. The body of Hamish was upside down a few feet away. His arms with their twirlers were still outstretched.4
It took some time to get him out. If he landed headfirst and spinning, Tiffany was told, he had to be unscrewed in the opposite direction so that his ears didn’t come off.
When he was upright and swaying unsteadily, Tiffany said: ‘Can you wrap this letter in a stone and drop it in front of the farmhouse where people will see it?’
‘Aye, mistress.’
‘And… er… does it hurt when you land headfirst like that?’
‘Nay, mistress, but it is awfu’ embarrassing.’
‘Then there’s a sort of toy we used to make that might help you,’ said Tiffany. ‘You make a kind of… bag of air—’
‘Bag o’ air?’ said the aviator, looking puzzled.
‘Well, you know how things like shirts billow out on a washing line when it’s windy? Well, you just make a cloth bag and tie some strings to it and a stone to the strings, and when you throw it up the bag fills with air and the stone floats down.’
Hamish stared at her.
‘Do you understand me?’ said Tiffany.
‘Oh, aye. I wuz just waitin’ to see if you wuz goin’ to tell me anything else,’ said Hamish politely.
‘Do you think you could, er, borrow some fine cloth?’
‘Nay, mistress, but I ken well where I can steal some,’ said Hamish.
Tiffany decided not to comment on this. She said: ‘Where was the Queen when the mist came down?’
Hamish pointed. ‘Aboot a half mile yonder, mistress.’
In the distance Tiffany could see some more mounds, and a few stones from the old days.
Trilithons, they were called, which just meant ‘three stones’. The only stones found naturally on the downs were flints, which were never very big. But the stones of the trilithons had been dragged from at least ten miles away, and were stacked like a child stacks toy bricks. Here and there the big stones had been stood in circles; sometimes one stone had been placed all alone. It must have taken a lot of people a long time to do all that. Some people said there’d been human sacrifices up there. Some said they were part of some old religion. Some said they marked ancient graves.
Some said they were a warning: avoid this place.
Tiffany hadn’t. She’d been there with her sisters a few times, as a dare, just in case there were any skulls. But the mounds around the stones were thousands of years old. All that you found there now were rabbit holes.
‘Anything else, mistress?’ said Hamish politely. ‘Nay? Then I’ll just be goin’…’
He raised his arms over his head and started to run across the turf. Tiffany jumped as the buzzard skimmed down a few yards away from her and snatched him back up into the sky.
‘How can a man six inches high train a bird like that?’ she asked as the buzzard circled again for height.
‘Ach, all it takes is a wee drop o’ kindness, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock.
‘Really?’
‘Aye, an’ a big dollop o’ cruelty,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock went on. ‘Hamish trains ‘em by runnin’ aroound in a rabbit skin until a bird pounces on him.’
That sounds awful!’ said Tiffany.
‘Ach, he’s not too nasty aboot it. He just knocks them out wi’ his heid, and then he’s got a special oil he makes which he blows up their beak,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock went on. ‘When they wakes up, they thinks he’s their mammy and’ll do his biddin’.’
The buzzard was already a distant speck.
‘He hardly seems to spend any time on the ground!’ said Tiffany.
‘Oh, aye. He sleeps in the buzzard’s nest at night, mistress. He says it’s wunnerfully warm. An’ he spends all his time in the air,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock added. ‘He’s ne’er happy unless he’s got the wind under his kilt.’
‘And the birds don’t mind?’
‘Ach, no, mistress. All the birds and beasts up here know it’s good luck to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle, mistress.’
‘They do?’
‘Well, to tell ye the truth, mistress, it’s more that they know it’s unlucky not to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle.’
Tiffany looked at the sun. It was only a f
ew hours away from setting.
‘I must find the way in,’ she said. ‘Look, Not-as-small-as—’
‘No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress,’ said the pictsie, patiently.
‘Yes, yes, thank you. Where is Rob Anybody? Where is everybody, in fact?’
The young pictsie looked a bit embarrassed.
‘There’s a bit o’ a debate goin’ on down below, mistress,’ he said.
‘Well, we have got to find my brother, OK? I am the kelda in this vicinity, yes?’
‘It’s a wee bit more comp-li-cat-ed than that, mistress. They’re, er, discussin’ ye…’
‘Discussing what about me?’
Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock looked as if he really didn’t want to be standing there.
‘Um, they’re discussing… er… they…’
Tiffany gave up. The pictsie was blushing. Since he was blue to begin with, this turned him an unpleasant violet colour. ‘I’ll go back down the hole. Give my boots a push, will you, please?’
She slid down the dry dirt and Feegles scattered in the cave below as she landed.
When her eyes got accustomed to the gloom once more she saw that the galleries were crowded with pictsies again. Some of them were in the middle of washing, and many of them had, for some reason, smoothed down their red hair with grease. They all started at her as if caught in the act of something dreadful.
‘We ought to be going if we’re to follow the Queen,’ she said, looking down at Rob Anybody, who’d been washing his face in a basin made of half a walnut shell. Water dripped off his beard, which he’d plaited up. There were three plaits in his long hair now, too. If he turned suddenly he could probably whip somebody to death.
‘Ach, weel,’ he said, ‘there’s a wee matter we got tae sort oout, Kelda.’ He twiddled the tiny facecloth in his hands. When Rob Anybody twiddled, he was worried.
‘Yes?’ said Tiffany.
‘Er… will ye no’ ha’ a cup o’ tea?’ said Rob Anybody, and a pictsie staggered forward with a big gold cup that, once, must have been made for a king.
Tiffany took it. She was thirsty, after all. There was a sigh from the crowd when she sipped the tea. It was actually quite good.
‘We stole a bag o’ it fra’ a pedlar who was asleep down by the high road,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Good stuff, eh?’ He patted down his hair with his wet hands.
Tiffany’s cup stopped halfway to her lips. Perhaps the pictsies didn’t realize how loudly they whispered, because her ear was on a level with a conversation.
‘Ach, she’s a bit on the big side, no offence to her.’
‘Aye, but a kelda has to be big, ye ken, to have lots of wee babbies.’
‘Aye, fair enough, big wimmin is a’ very well, but if a laddie was to try tae cuddle this one he’d had tae leave a chalk mark to show where he left off yesterday.’
‘An’ she’s a bit young.’
‘She neednae have any babbies yet, then. Or mebbe not too many at a time, say. Nae more than ten, mebbe.’
‘Crivens, lads, what’re ye talkin’ aboout? ‘Tis Rob Anybody she‘ll choose anyway. Ye can see the big man’s poor wee knees knocking fra’ here!’
Tiffany lived on a farm. Any little beliefs that babies are delivered by storks or found under bushes tend to get sorted out early on if you live on a farm, especially when a cow is having a difficult calving in the middle of the night. And she’d helped with the lambing, when small hands could be very useful in difficult cases. She knew all about the bags of red chalk the rams had strapped to their chests, and why you knew later on that the ewes with the red smudges on their backs were going to be mothers in the spring. It’s amazing what a child who is quiet and observant can learn, and this includes things people don’t think she is old enough to know.
Her eye spotted Fion, on the other side of the hall. She was smiling in a worrying way.
‘What’s happening, Rob Anybody?’ she said, laying the words down carefully.
‘Ah, weel… it’s the clan rules, ye ken,’ said the Feegle, awkwardly. ‘Ye being the new kelda an’, an’, weel, we’re bound to ask ye, see, nae matter what we feel, we gotta ask ye mutter mutter mutter.’ He stepped back quickly.
‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ said Tiffany.
‘We’ve scrubbed up nice, ye ken,’ Rob Anybody said. ‘Some o’ the lads actually had a bath in the dewpond, e’en though ‘tis only May, and Big Yan washed under his arms for the first time ever, and Daft Wullie has picked ye a bonny bunch of flowers.’
Daft Wullie stepped forward, swollen with nervous pride, and thrust the aforesaid bouquet into the air. They probably had been nice flowers, but he didn’t have much idea of what a bunch was or how you picked one. Stems and leaves and dropping petals stuck out of his fist in all directions.
‘Very nice,’ said Tiffany, taking another sip of the tea.
‘Guid, guid,’ said Rob Anybody, wiping his forehead. ‘So mebbe you’d like tae tell us mutter mutter mutter.’
‘They want to know which one of them you’re going to marry,’ said Fion loudly. ‘It’s the rules. Ye have to choose, or quit as kelda. Ye have to choose yer man an’ name the day.’
‘Aye,’ said Rob Anybody, not meeting Tiffany’s eye.
Tiffany held the cup perfectly steady, but only because suddenly she couldn’t move a muscle. She was thinking: Aaargh! This is not happening to me! I can’t—He couldn’t—We wouldn’t—They’re not even—This is ridiculous! Run away!
But she was aware of hundreds of nervous faces in the shadows. How you deal with this is going to be important, said her Second Thoughts. They’re all watching you. And Fion wants to see what you’ll do. You really didn’t ought to dislike a girl four feet shorter than you, but you do.
‘Well, this is very unexpected,’ she said, forcing herself to smile. ‘A big honour, of course.’
‘Aye, aye,’ said Rob Anybody, looking at the floor.
‘And there’s so many of you it’d be so hard to choose,’ Tiffany went on, still smiling. And her Second Thoughts said: He’s not happy about it either!
‘Aye, it will that,’ said Rob Anybody.
‘I’d just like to have a little fresh air while I think about it,’ said Tiffany, and didn’t let the smile fade until she was out on the mound again.
She crouched down and peered among the primrose leaves. ‘Toad!’ she yelled.
The toad crawled out, chewing something. ‘Hm?’ it said.
They want to marry me!’
‘Mm phmm ffm mm?’
‘What are you eating?’
The toad swallowed. ‘A very undernourished slug,’ it said.
‘I said they want to marry me!’
‘And?’
‘And? Well, just—Just think!’
‘Oh, right, yeah, the height thing,’ said the toad. ‘It might not seem much now, but when you’re five feet seven he’ll still be six inches high—’
‘Don’t laugh at me! I’m the kelda!’
‘Well, of course, that’s the point, isn’t it,’ said the toad. ‘As far as they’re concerned, there’s rules. The new kelda marries the warrior of her choice and settles down and has lots and lots of Feegles. It’d be a terrible insult to refuse—’
‘I am not going to marry a Feegle! I can’t have hundreds of babies! Tell me what to do!’
‘Me? Tell the kelda what to do? I wouldn’t dare,’ said the toad. ‘And I don’t like being shouted at. Even toads have their pride, you know.’ It crawled back into the leaves.
Tiffany took a deep breath, ready to shout, and then closed her mouth.
The old kelda must’ve known about this, she thought. So… she must have thought I’d be able to deal with it. It’s just the rules, and they didn’t know what to do about them. None of them wanted to marry a big girl like her, even if none of them would admit it. It was just the rules.
There must be a way round it. There had to be.
But she had to accept a husband and she had to name the day. They’d told her that.
She stared at the thorn trees for a moment. Hmm, she thought.
She slid back down the hole.
The pictsies were waiting nervously, every scarred and bearded face watching hers.
‘I accept you, Rob Anybody,’ she said.
Rob Anybody’s face became a mask of terror. She heard him mutter, ‘Aw crivens!’ in a tiny voice.
‘But of course, it’s the bride who names the day, isn’t it?’ said Tiffany cheerfully. ‘Everyone knows that.’
‘Aye,’ Rob Anybody quavered. That’s the tradition, right enough.’
‘Then I shall.’ Tiffany took a deep breath. ‘At the end of the world is a great big mountain of granite rock a mile high,’ she said. ‘And every year, a tiny bird flies all the way to the rock and wipes its beak on it. Well, when the little bird has worn the mountain down to the size of a grain of sand… that’s the day I’ll marry you, Rob Anybody Feegle!’
Rob Anybody’s terror turned to outright panic, but then he hesitated and, very slowly, started to grin.
‘Aye, guid idea,’ he said slowly. ‘It doesnae do tae rush these things.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Tiffany.
‘And that’d gi’ us time tae sort oout the guest list an a’ that,’ the pictsie went on.
‘That’s right.’
‘Plus there’s a’ that business wi’ the wedding dress and buckets o’ flowers and a’ that kind of stuff,’ said Rob Anybody, looking more cheerful by the second. ‘That sort o’ thing can tak’ for ever, ye ken.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Tiffany.
‘But she’s really just said no!’ Fion burst out. ‘It’d take millions of years for the bird to—’
‘She said aye!’ Rob Anybody shouted. ‘Ye al’ heard her, lads! An’ she’s named the day! That’s the rules!’
‘Nae problem aboot the mountain, neither,’ said Daft Wullie, still holding out the flowers. ‘Just ye tell us where it is and I reckon we could ha’ it doon a lot faster than any wee burdie—’
‘It’s got to be the bird!’ yelled Rob Anybody desperately. ‘OK? The wee burdie! Nae more arguin’! Anyone feelin’ like arguin’ will feel ma boot! Some o’ us ha’ got a wee laddie to steal back fra’ the Quin!’ He drew his sword and waved it in the air. ‘Who’s coming wi’ me?’
The Wee Free Men d(-2 Page 12
