The Wee Free Men

There were lords and ladies, people in fine clothes and even a few shepherds. But some of them had a pieced-together look. They looked, in fact, like a picture book back in her bedroom.

It was made of thick card, worn raggedy-edged by generations of Aching children. Each page showed a character, and each was cut into four strips that could be turned over independently. The point of the whole thing was that a bored child could turn over parts of the pages and change the way the characters were dressed. You could end up with a soldier’s head on a baker’s chest wearing a maid’s dress and a farmer’s big boots.

Tiffany had never been bored enough. She considered that even things that spend their whole lives hanging from the underside of branches would never be bored enough to spend more than five seconds with that book.

The people around her looked either as though they’d been taken from that book, or had dressed for a fancy-dress party in the dark. One of two of them nodded to her as she passed, but didn’t seem surprised to see her.

She ducked under a round leaf much bigger than she was and took out the toad again.

‘Whap? It’s su” cooold,’ said the toad, hunching down on her hand.

‘Cold? The air’s baking!’

‘There’s just snow,’ said the toad. ‘Put me back, I’m freezing!’

Just a minute, thought Tiffany. ‘Do toads dream?’ she said.

‘No!’

‘Oh . . . so it’s not really hot?’

‘No! You just think it is!’

‘Psst,’ said a voice.

Tiffany put the toad away and wondered if she dared to turn her head.

‘It’s me!’ said the voice.

Tiffany turned towards a clump of daisies twice the height of a man. That’s not a lot of help . . .’

‘Are you mad?’ said the daisies.

‘I’m looking for my brother,’ said Tiffany sharply.

‘The horrible child who screams for sweeties all the time?’

The daisy stems parted and the boy Roland darted out and joined her under the leaf.

‘Yes,’ she said, edging away, and feeling that only a sister has a right to call even a brother like Wentworth ‘horrible’.

‘And threatens to go to the toilet if he’s left alone?’ said Roland.

‘Yes! Where is he?’

‘That’s your brother? The one who’s permanently sticky?’

‘I told you!’

‘And you really want him back?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why?’

He’s my brother, Tiffany thought. What’s ‘why?’ got to do with it?

‘Because he’s my brother! Now tell me where he is?’

‘Are you sure you can get out of here?’ said Roland.

‘Of course,’ Tiffany lied.

‘And you can take me with you?’

‘Yes.’ Well, she hoped so.

‘All right. I’ll let you do that,’ said Roland, relaxing.

‘Oh, you’ll let me, will you?’ said Tiffany.

‘Look, I didn’t know what you were, all right?’ said Roland. There’s always weird things in the forest. Lost people, bits of dreams that’re still lying around . . . you have to be careful. But if you really know the way, then I ought to get back before my father worries too much.’

Tiffany felt the Second Thoughts starting. They said: Don’t change your expression. Just. . . check . . .

‘How long have you been here?’ she asked carefully. ‘Exactly?’

‘Well, the light doesn’t really change much,’ said the boy. ‘It feels like I’ve been here . . . oh, hours. Maybe a day . . .’

Tiffany tried hard not to let her face give anything away, but it didn’t work. Roland’s eyes narrowed.

‘I have, haven’t I?’ he said.

‘Er . . . why do you ask?’ said Tiffany, desperately.

‘Because in a way it . . . feels like . . . longer. I’ve only been hungry two or three times, and been to the . . . you know . . . twice, so it can’t be very long. But I’ve done all kinds of things . . . it’s been a busy day . . .’ His voice trailed off.

‘Um. You’re right,’ said Tiffany. “Time goes slowly here. It’s been . . . a bit longer . . .’

‘A hundred years? Don’t tell me it’s a hundred years! Something magical has happened and it’s a hundred years, yes?’

‘What? No! Um . . . nearly a year.’

The boy’s reaction was surprising. This time he looked really frightened. ‘Oh, no! That’s worse than a hundred years!’

‘How?’ said Tiffany, bewildered.

‘If it was a hundred years I wouldn’t get a thrashing when I got home!’

Hmm, thought Tiffany. ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ she said aloud. ‘Your father has been very miserable. Besides, it’s not your fault you were stolen by the Queen—’ She hesitated, because this time it was his expression that gave it all away. ‘Was it?’

‘Well, there was this fine lady on a horse with bells all over its harness and she galloped past me when I was out hunting and she was laughing, so of course I spurred my horse and chased after her and . . .’ He fell silent.

‘That probably wasn’t a good decision,’ said Tiffany.

‘It’s not . . . bad here,’ said Roland. ‘It just keeps . . . changing. There’s . . . doorways everywhere. I mean entrances into other . . . places. . .’ His voice tailed off.

‘You’d better start at the beginning,’ said Tiffany.

‘It was great at first,’ said Roland. ‘I thought it was, you know, an adventure? She fed me sweetmeats—’

‘What are they, exactly?’ said Tiffany. Her dictionary hadn’t included that one. ‘Are they like sweetbreads?’