The Wee Free Men

She headed home, and wondered if she should have mentioned the little red-haired men. She hadn't for a whole lot of reasons. She wasn't sure, now, that she'd really seen them; she had a feeling that they wouldn't have wanted her to; and it was nice to have something Miss Tick didn't know. Yes. That was the best part. Miss Tick was a bit too clever, in Tiffany's opinion.

On the way home she climbed to the top of Arken Hill, which was just outside the village. It wasn't very big, not even as high as the downs above the farm and certainly nothing like as high as the mountains.

The hill was more... homely. There was a flat place at the top where nothing ever grew, and Tiffany knew there was a story that a hero had once fought a dragon up there and its blood had burned the ground where it fell. There was another story that said there was a heap of treasure under the hill, defended by the dragon, and another story that said a king was buried there in armour of solid gold. There were lots of stories about the hill; it was surprising it hadn't sunk under the weight of them.

Tiffany stood on the bare soil and looked at the view.

She could see the village and the river and Home Farm, and the Baron's castle and, beyond the fields she knew, she could see grey woods and heathlands.

She closed her eyes and opened them again. And blinked, and opened them again.

There was no magic door, no hidden building revealed, no strange signs.

For a moment, though, the air buzzed, and smelled of snow.

When she got home she looked up 'incursion' in the dictionary. It meant 'invasion'.

An incursion of major proportions, Miss Tick had said.

And, now, little unseen eyes watched Tiffany from the top of the shelf...

Chapter 3—Hunt The Hag

Miss Tick removed her hat, reached inside and pulled a piece of string. With little clicks and flapping noises the hat took up the shape of a rather elderly straw hat. She picked up the paper flowers from the ground and stuck them on, carefully.

Then she said: 'Phew!'

'You can't just let the kid go like that,' said the toad, who was sitting on the table.

'Like what?'

'She's clearly got First Sight and Second Thoughts. That's a powerful combination.'

'She's a little know-it-all,' said Miss Tick.

'Right. Just like you. She's impressed you, right? I know she did because you were quite nasty to her, and you always do that to people who impress you.'

'Do you want to be turned into a frog?'

'Well, now, let me see...' said the toad sarcastically. 'Better skin, better legs, likelihood of being kissed by a princess one hundred per cent improved... why, yes. Whenever you're ready, madam.'

'There're worse things than being a toad,' said Miss Tick darkly.

'Try it some time,' said the toad. 'Anyway, I rather liked her.'

'So did I,' said Miss Tick, briskly. 'She hears about an old lady dying because these idiots thought she was a witch, and she decides to become a witch so that they don't try that again. A monster roars up out of her river and she bashes it with a frying pan! Have you ever heard the saying "The land finds its witch"? It's happened here, I'll bet. But a chalk witch? Witches like granite and basalt, hard rock all the way down! Do you know what chalk is?'

'You're going to tell me,' said the toad.

'It's the shells of billions and billions of tiny, helpless little sea creatures that died millions of years ago,' said Miss Tick. 'It's... tiny, tiny bones. Soft. Soggy. Damp. Even limestone is better than that. But... she's grown up on chalk and she is hard, and sharp, too. She's a born witch. On chalk! Which is impossible!'

'She bashed Jenny!' said the toad. The girl has got talent!'

'Maybe, but she needs more than that. Jenny isn't clever,' said Miss Tick. 'She's only a Grade One Prohibitory Monster. And she was probably bewildered to find herself in a stream, when her natural home is in stagnant water. There'll be much, much worse than her.'

'What do you mean,"a Grade One Prohibitory Monster"?' asked the toad. 'I've never heard her called that.'

'I am a teacher as well as a witch,' said Miss Tick, adjusting her hat carefully. 'Therefore I make lists. I make assessments. I write things down in a neat, firm hand with pens of two colours. Jenny is one of a number of creatures invented by adults to scare children away from dangerous places.' She sighed. 'If only people would think before they make up monsters.'

'You ought to stay and help her,' said the toad.

'I've got practically no power here,' said Miss Tick. 'I told you. It's the chalk. And remember the redheaded men. A Nac Mac Feegle spoke to her! Warned her! I've never seen one in my life! If she's got them on her side, who knows what she can do?'