The Wee Free Men

‘How did you get away from the huge wave?’ she asked.

‘Ach, we’re fast movers,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘An’ it was a strong lighthoose. O’ course, the water came up pretty high.’

‘A few sharks were involved, that kind of thing,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock.

‘Oh, aye, a few sharkies,’ said Rob Anybody, shrugging. ‘And one o’ them octopussies—’

‘It was a giant squid,’ said William the gonnagle.

‘Aye, well, it was a kebab pretty quickly,’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Ha’ a heidful o’ held, you wee weewee!’ shouted Wentworth, overcome with wit.

William coughed politely. ‘And the big wave threw up a lot of sunken vessels full o’ trrrreasure,’ he said. ‘We stopped off for a wee pillage . . .’

The Nac Mac Feegles held up wonderful jewels and big gold coins.

‘But that’s just dream treasure, surely?’ said Tiffany. ‘Fairy gold! It’ll turn into rubbish in the morning!’

‘Aye?’ said Rob Anybody. He glanced at the horizon. ‘OK, ye heard the kelda, lads!

We got mebbe half an hour to sell it to someone! Permission to go offski?’ he added to Tiffany.

‘Er . . . oh, yes. Fine. Thank you—’

They were gone, in a split-second blur of blue and red.

But William the gonnagle remained for a moment. He bowed to Tiffany.

‘Ye didnae do at all badly,’ he said. ‘We’re proud o’ ye. So would yer grrranny be. Remember that. Ye are not unloved.’

Then he vanished too.

There was a groan from Roland, lying on the turf. He began to move.

‘Weewee men all gone,’ said Wentworth, sadly, in the silence that followed. ‘Crivens all gone.’

‘What were they?’ muttered Roland, sitting up and holding his head.

‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ said Tiffany. ‘Er . . . do you remember much?’

‘It all seems like . . . a dream . . .’ said Roland. ‘I remember . . . the sea, and we were running, and I cracked a nut which was full of those little men, and I was hunting in this huge forest with shadows—’

‘Dreams can be very funny things,’ said Tiffany carefully. She went to stand up and thought: I must wait here a while. I don’t know why I know, I just know. Perhaps I knew and have forgotten. But I must wait for something . . .

‘Can you walk down to the village?’ she said.

‘Oh, yes. I think so. But what did—?’

‘Then will you take Wentworth with you, please? I’d like to . . . rest for a while.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Roland, looking concerned.

‘Yes. I won’t be long. Please? You can drop him off at the farm. Tell my parents I’ll be down soon. Tell them I’m fine.’

‘Weewee men,’ said Wentworth. ‘Crivens! Want bed.’

Roland was still looking uncertain.

‘Off you go!’ Tiffany commanded, and waved him away.

When the two of them had disappeared below the brow of the hill, with several backward glances, she sat down between the four iron wheels and hugged her knees.

Far off, she could see the mound of the Nac Mac Feegle. Already, they were a slightly puzzling memory, and she’d seen them only a few minutes ago. But when they’d gone, they left the impression of never having been there.

She could go to the mound and see if she could find the big hole. But supposing it wasn’t there? Or supposing it was, but all there was down there were rabbits?

No, it’s all true, she said to herself. I must remember that, too.

A buzzard screamed in the dawn greyness. She looked up as it circled into sunlight, and a tiny dot detached itself from the bird.

That was far too high up even for a pictsie to stand the fall.

Tiffany scrambled to her feet as Hamish tumbled through the sky. And then - something ballooned above him and the fall became just a gentle floating, like thistledown.

The bulging shape above Hamish was Y-shaped. As it got bigger, the shape become more precise, more . . . familiar.

He landed, and a pair of Tiffany’s pants, the long-legged ones with the rosebud pattern, settled down on top of him.

‘That was great,’ he said, pushing his way through the folds of fabric. ‘Nae more landin’ on my heid for me!’

‘They’re my best pants,’ said Tiffany, wearily. ‘You stole them off our clothes line, didn’t you . . . ?’

‘Oh aye. Nice and clean,’ said Hamish. ‘I had to cut the lace off ‘cuz it got in the way, but I put it by and ye could easily sew it on again.’ He gave Tiffany the big grin of someone who, for once, has not dived heavily into the ground.

She sighed. She’d liked the lace. She didn’t have many things that weren’t necessary. ‘I think you’d better keep them,’ she said.

‘Aye, I will, then,’ said Hamish. ‘Noo, what wuz it. . . ? Oh, yes. Ye have visitors comin’. I spotted them out over the valley. Look up there.’

There were two other things up there, bigger than a buzzard, so high that they were already in full sunlight. Tiffany watched as they circled lower.

They were broomsticks.

I knew I had to wait! Tiffany thought.

Her ears bubbled. She turned and saw Hamish running across the grass. As she looked, the buzzard picked him up and sped onwards. She wondered if he was frightened or, at least, didn’t want to meet . . . whoever was coming

The broomsticks descended.