The Wee Free Men

When she wandered back into the kitchen her mother was still standing by the sink, washing dishes, but a plate of steaming porridge had been put down in the one set place on the table.

'I'll make some more butter today,' said Tiffany carefully, sitting down. 'I might as well while we're getting all this milk.'

Her mother nodded, and put a plate on the draining board beside the sink.

'I haven't done anything wrong, have I?' said Tiffany.

Her mother shook her head.

Tiffany sighed. 'And then she woke up and it was all a dream.' It was just about the worst ending you could have to any story. But it had all seemed soreal. She could remember the smoky smell in the pictsies' cave, and the way... who was it?... oh, yes, he'd been called Rob Anybody... the way Rob Anybody had always been so nervous about talking to her.

It was strange, she thought, that Ratbag had rubbed up against her. He'd sleep on her bed if he could get away with it, but during the day he kept well out of Tiffany's way. How odd...

There was a rattling noise near the mantelpiece. The china shepherdess on Granny's shelf was moving sideways of its own accord and, as Tiffany watched with her porridge spoon halfway to her mouth, it slid off and smashed on the floor.

The rattling went on. Now it was coming from the big oven. She should see the door actually shaking on the hinges.

She turned to her mother, and saw her put another plate down by the sink. But it wasn't being held in a hand...

The oven door burst open and slid across the floor.

'Dinnae eat the porridge!'

Nac Mac Feegles spilled out into the room, hundreds of them, pouring across the tiles.

The walls were shifting. The floor moved. And now the thing turning round at the sink was not even human but just... stuff, no more human than a gingerbread man, grey as old dough, changing shape as it lumbered towards Tiffany.

The pictsies surged past her in a flurry of snow.

She looked up at the thing's tiny black eyes.

The scream came from somewhere deep inside. There was no Second Thought, no first thought, just a scream. It seemed to spread out as it left Tiffany's mouth until it became a black tunnel in front of her, and as she fell into it she heard, in the commotion behind her:

'Who d'yer think ye're lookin' at, pal? Crivens, but ye're gonna get sich a kickin'!'

Tiffany opened her eyes.

She was lying on damp ground in the snowy, gloomy wood. Pictsies were watching her carefully but, she saw, there were others behind them staring outwards, into the gloom amongst the tree trunks.

There was... stuff in the trees. Lumps of stuff. It was grey, and hung there like old cloth.

She turned her head and saw William standing beside her, looking at her with concern.

'That was a dream, wasn't it... ?' she said.

'Weel noo,' said William, 'it was, and therrre again, it wasnae...'

Tiffany sat up suddenly, causing the pictsies to leap back.

'But that... thing was in it, and then you all came out of the oven!' she said. 'You were in my dream! What is—was that creature?'

William the gonnagle stared at her as if trying to make up his mind.

'That was what we call a drome,' he said. 'Nothing here really belongs here, remember? Everything is a reflection from outside, or something kidnapped from another worrrld, or mebbe something the Quin has made outa magic. It was hidin' in the trees, and ye was goin' so fast ye didnae see it. Ye ken spiders?'

'Of course!'

'Well, spiders spin webs. Dromes spin dreams. It's easy in this place. The world you come from is nearly real. This place is nearly unreal, so it's almost a dream anywa'. And the drome makes a dream for ye, wi' a trap in it. If ye eats anythin' in the dream, ye'll never wanta' leave it.'

He looked as though Tiffany should have been impressed.

'What's in it for the drome?' she asked.

'It likes watchin' dreams. It has fun watching ye ha' fun. An' it'll watch ye eatin' dream food, until ye starve to death. Then the drome'll eat ye. Not right away, o' course. It'll wait until ye've gone a wee bit runny, because it hasnae teeth.'

'So how can anyone get out?'

'The best way is to find the drome,' said Rob Anybody. 'It'll be in the dream with you, in disguise. Then ye just gives it a good kickin'.'

'By kicking you mean—?'

'Choppin' its heid off generally works.'

Now, Tiffany thought, I am impressed. I wish I wasn't. 'And this is Fairyland?' she said.

'Aye. Ye could say it's the bit the tourists dinnae see,' said William. 'An' ye did well. Ye were fightin' it. Ye knew it wasnae right.'

Tiffany remembered the friendly cat, and the falling shepherdess. She'd been trying to send messages to herself. She should have listened.

'Thank you for coming after me,' she said, meekly. 'How did you do it?'

'Ach, we can generally find a way intae anywhere, even a dream,' said William, smiling. 'We're a stealin' folk, after all.' A piece of the drome fell out of the tree and flopped onto the snow.

'One of them won't get me again!' said Tiffany.