The Wee Free Men

‘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 few 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 ‘II choose anyway. Ye can see the big man’s poor wee knees knocking fra’ here!’