The Wee Free Men

The worst of the weather was going either side of the Chalk, which cut through the clouds like the prow of a ship. But when Tiffany reached the spot where an old stove and four iron wheels stood out of the grass, and cut a square of turf, and carefully chipped out a hole for the china shepherdess, and then put the turf back... it was raining hard enough to soak it in and give it a chance of surviving. It seemed the right thing to do. And she was sure she caught a whiff of tobacco.

Then she went to the pictsies' mound. She'd worried about that. She knew they were there, didn't she? So, somehow, going to check that they were there would be... sort of... showing that she doubted if they would be, wouldn't it? They were busy people. They had lots to do. They had the old kelda to mourn. They were probably very busy. That's what she told herself. It wasn't because she kept wondering if there really might be nothing down the hole but rabbits. It wasn't that at all.

She was the kelda. She had a duty.

She heard music. She heard voices. And then sudden silence as she peered into the gloom.

She carefully took a bottle of Special Sheep Liniment out of her sack and let it slide into darkness.

Tiffany walked away, and heard the faint music start up again.

She did wave at a buzzard, circling lazily under the clouds, and she was sure a tiny dot waved back.

On the fourth day, Tiffany made butter, and did her chores. She did have help.

'And now I want you to go and feed the chickens,' she said to Wentworth. 'What is it I want you to do?'

'Fee' the cluck-clucks,' said Wentworth.

'Chickens,' said Tiffany, severely.

'Chickens,' said Wentworth obediently.

'And wipe your nose not on your sleeve! I gave you a handkerchief. And on the way back see if you can carry a whole log, will you?'

'Ach, crivens,' muttered Wentworth.

'And what is it we don't say?' said Tiffany. 'We don't say the—'

'—the crivens word,' Wentworth muttered.

'And we don't say it in front of—'

'—in fron' of Mummy,' said Wentworth.

'Good. And then when I've finished we'll have time to go down to the river.'

Wentworth brightened up.

'Weewee mens?' he said.

Tiffany didn't reply immediately.

Tiffany hadn't seen a single Feegle since she'd been home.

'There might be,' she said. 'But they're probably very busy. They've got to find another kelda, and... well, they're very busy. I expect.'

'Weewee men say hit you in the head, fishface!' said Wentworth happily.

'We'll see,' said Tiffany, feeling like a parent. 'Now please go and feed the chickens and get the eggs.'

When he'd wandered away, carrying the egg basket in both hands, Tiffany turned out some butter onto the marble slab and picked up the paddles to pat it into, well, a pat of butter. Then she'd stamp it with one of the wooden stamps. People appreciated a little picture on their butter.

As she began to shape the butter she was aware of a shadow in the doorway, and turned.

It was Roland.

He looked at her, his face even redder than usual. He was twiddling his very expensive hat nervously, just like Rob Anybody did.

'Yes?' she said.

'Look, about... well, about all that... about Roland began.

'Yes?'

'Look, I didn't— I mean, I didn't lie to anyone or anything,' he blurted out. 'But my father just sort of assumed I'd been a hero and he just wouldn't listen to anything I said even after I told him how... how...'

'—helpful I'd been?' said Tiffany.

'Yes... I mean, no! He said, he said, he said it was lucky for you I was there, he said—'

'It doesn't matter,' said Tiffany, picking up the butter paddles again.

'And he just kept telling everyone how brave I'd been and—'

'I said it doesn't matter,' said Tiffany. The little paddles went patpatpat on the fresh butter.

Roland's mouth opened and shut for a moment.

'You mean you don't mind?' he said at last.

'No. I don't mind,' said Tiffany.

'But it's not fair!'

'We're the only ones who know the truth,' said Tiffany.

Patapatpat.Roland stared at the fat, rich butter as she calmly patted it into shape.

'Oh,' he said. 'Er... you won't tell anyone, will you? I mean, you've got every right to, but—'

Patapatapat...

'No one would believe me,' said Tiffany.

'I did try,' said Roland. 'Honestly. I really did.'

I expect you did, Tiffany thought. But you're not very clever and the Baron certainly is a man without First Sight. He sees the world the way he wants to see it.

'One day you'll be Baron, won't you?' she said.

'Well, yes. One day. But look, are you really a witch?'

'When you're Baron you'll be good at it, I expect?' said Tiffany, turning the butter around. 'Fair and generous and decent? You'll pay good wages and look after the old people? You wouldn't let people turn an old lady out of her house?'

'Well, I hope I—'

Tiffany turned to face him, a butter paddle in each hand.