The Wee Free Men

You’re not very clever, thought Tiffany. You’ve never needed to be. You can get what you want just by dreaming it. You believe in your dreams, so you never have to think.



She turned and whispered to Roland, “Crack the nut! Don’t worry about what I do, crack the nut!” The boy looked at her blankly.



“What did you say to him?” snapped the Queen.



“I said good-bye,” said Tiffany, holding on tightly to her brother. “I’m not handing my brother over, no matter what you do!”



“Do you know what color your insides are?” said the Queen.



Tiffany shook her head mutely.



“Well, now you’ll find out,” said the Queen, smiling sweetly.



“You’re not powerful enough to do anything like that,” said Tiffany.



“You know, you are right,” said the Queen. “That kind of physical magic is, indeed, very hard. But I can make you think I’ve done the most…terrible things. And that, little girl, is all I need to do. Would you like to beg for mercy now? You may not be able to later.”



Tiffany paused. “No-o,” she said at last. “I don’t think I will.”



The Queen leaned down. Her gray eyes filled Tiffany’s world. “People here will remember this for a long time,” she said.



“I hope so,” said Tiffany. “Crack…the…nut.”



For a moment the Queen looked puzzled again. She was not good at dealing with sudden changes. “What?”



“Eh? Oh. Right,” muttered Roland.



“What did you say to him?” the Queen demanded, as the boy ran toward the hammer man.



Tiffany kicked her on the leg. It wasn’t a witch thing. It was so nine years old, and she wished she could have thought of something better. On the other hand, she had hard boots and it was a good kick.



The Queen shook her. “Why did you do that?” she said. “Why won’t you do what I say? Everyone could be so happy if only they’d do what I say!”



Tiffany stared at the woman’s face. The eyes were gray now, but the pupils were like silver mirrors.



I know what you are, said her Third Thoughts. You’re something that’s never learned anything. You don’t know anything about people. You’re just…a child that’s got old.



“Want a sweetie?” she whispered.



There was a shout behind her. She twisted in the Queen’s grip and saw Roland fighting for the hammer. As she watched, he turned desperately and raised the heavy thing over his head, knocking over the elf behind him.



The Queen pulled her around savagely as the hammer fell. “Sweetie?” she hissed. “I’ll show you swe—”



“Crivens! It’s the Quin! An’ she’s got oour kelda, the ol’ topher!”



“Nae Quin! Nae Laird! Wee Free Men!”



“I could murrrder a kebab!”



“Get her!”



Tiffany might have been the only person, in all the worlds that there are, to be happy to hear the sound of the Nac Mac Feegle.



They poured out of the smashed nut. Some were still wearing bow ties. Some were back in their kilts. But they were all in a fighting mood and, to save time, were fighting with one another to get up to speed.



The clearing…cleared. Real or dreams, the people could see trouble when it rolled toward them in a roaring, cursing, red-and-blue tide.



Tiffany ducked out of the Queen’s grasp and hurried into the grasses to watch.



Big Yan ran past, carrying a struggling full-sized elf over his head. Then he stopped suddenly and tossed it high over the clearing.



“An’ away he goes, right on his heid!” he yelled, then turned and ran back into the battle.



The Nac Mac Feegle couldn’t be trodden on or squeezed. They worked in groups, running up one another’s backs to get high enough to punch an elf or, preferably, bash it with their heads. And once anyone was down, it was all over bar the kicking.



There was some method in the way the Nac Mac Feegle fought. For example, they always chose the biggest opponent because, as Rob Anybody said later, “It makes them easier to hit, ye ken.” And they simply didn’t stop. It was that which wore people down. It was like being attacked by wasps with fists.



It took them a little while to realize that they’d run out of people to fight. They went on fighting one another for a bit anyway, since they’d come all this way, and then settled down and began to go through the pockets of the fallen in case there was any loose change.



Tiffany stood up.



“Ach, weel, no’ a bad job though I says it mysel’,” said Rob Anybody, looking around. “A very neat fight, an’ we didna e’en ha’ to resort to usin’ poetry.”



“How did you get into the nut?” said Tiffany. “I mean, it was…a nut!”



“Only way we could find in,” said Rob Anybody. “It’s got to be a way that fits. ’Tis difficult work, navigatin’ in dreams.”



“Especially when ye’re a wee bittie sloshed,” said Daft Wullie, grinning broadly.



“What? You’ve been…drinking?” said Tiffany. “I’ve been facing the Queen and you’ve been in a pub?”



“Ach, no!” said Rob Anybody. “Ye ken that dream wi’ the big party? When you had the pretty frock an’ a’? We got stuck in it.”



“But I killed the drome!”



Rob looked a little shifty. “Weeeel,” he said, “we didna get oout as easily as you. It took us a wee while.”



“Until we finished all the drink,” said Daft Wullie helpfully.



Rob glared at him. “Ye didna ha’ to put it like that!” he snapped.



“You mean the dream keeps on going?” said Tiffany.



“If ye’re thirsty enough,” said Daft Wullie. “An’ it wasna just the drink—there was can-a-pays as well.”



“But I thought if you ate or drank in a dream, you stayed there!” said Tiffany.



“Aye, for most creatures,” said Rob Anybody. “Not for us, though. Hooses, banks, dreams, ’tis a’ the same to us. There’s nothing we canna get in or oot of.”



“Except maybe pubs,” said Big Yan.



“Oh, aye,” said Rob Anybody cheerfully. “Gettin’ oot o’ pubs sometimes causes us a cerrrtain amount o’ difficulty, I’ll grant ye that.”



“And where did the Queen go?” she said.



“Ach, she did an offski as soon as we arrived,” said Rob Anybody. “An’ so should we, kelda, afore the dream changes.” He nodded at Wentworth. “Is this the wee bairn? Ach, what a noseful o’ bogeys!”



“Wanna sweetie!” shouted Wentworth, on automatic candy pilot.



“Weeel, ye canna ha’ none!” shouted Rob Anybody. “An’ stop snivelin’ and come awa’ wi’ us and stop bein’ a burden to your wee sister!”



Tiffany opened her mouth to protest—and shut it again when Wentworth, after a moment of shock, chuckled.



“Funny!” he said. “Wee man! Weewee man!”



“Oh dear,” said Tiffany. “You’ve got him started now.”



But she was very surprised, nonetheless. Wentworth never showed this much interest in anyone who wasn’t a jelly baby.



“Rob, we’ve got a real one here,” a pictsie called out. To her horror, Tiffany saw that several of the Nac Mac Feegle were holding up Roland’s unconscious head. He was full length on the ground.



“Ah, that was the laddie who wuz rude to ye,” said Rob. “An’ he tried to hit Big Yan wi’ a hammer, too. That wasna a clever thing to try. What shall we do with him?”



The grasses trembled. The light was fading from the sky. The air was growing colder, too.



“We can’t leave him here!” said Tiffany.



“Okay, we’ll drag him along,” said Rob Anybody. “Let’s move right noo!”



“Wee wee man! Wee wee man!” shouted Wentworth gleefully.



“He’ll be like this all day, I’m afraid,” said Tiffany. “Sorry.”



“Run for the door,” said Rob Anybody. “Can ye no’ see the door?”



Tiffany looked around desperately. The wind was bitter now.



“See the door!” Rob Anybody commanded. She blinked and spun around.



“Er…er…” she said. The sense of a world beneath that had come to her when she was frightened of the Queen did not turn up so easily now. She tried to concentrate. The smell of snow…



It was ridiculous to talk about the smell of snow. It was just pure frozen water. But Tiffany always knew, when she woke up, if it had snowed in the night. Snow had a smell like the taste of tin. Tin did have a taste, although admittedly it tasted like the smell of snow.



She thought she heard her brain creak with the effort of thinking. If she was in a dream, she had to wake up. But it was no use running. Dreams were full of running. But there was one direction that looked…thin, and white.



She shut her eyes and thought about snow, crisp and white as fresh bed sheets. She concentrated on the feel of it under her feet. All she had to do was wake up….



She was standing in snow.



“Right,” said Rob Anybody.



“I got out!” said Tiffany.



“Ach, sometimes the door’s in yer ain heid,” said Rob Anybody. “Noo let’s move!”



Tiffany felt herself lifted into the air. Nearby, a snoring Roland rose up on dozens of small blue legs as the Feegles got underneath him.



“Nae stoppin’ until we get right oout o’ here!” said Rob Anybody. “Feegles wha hae!”



They skimmed over the snow, with parties of Feegles running on ahead. After a minute or two Tiffany looked behind them and saw the blue shadows spreading. They were getting darker, too.



“Rob—” she said.



“Aye, I ken,” said Rob. “Run, lads!”



“They’re moving fast, Rob!”



“I ken that, too!”



Snow stung Tiffany’s face. Trees blurred with the speed. The forest sped past. But the shadows were spreading across the path ahead, and every time the party ran through them, they seemed to have a certain solidity, like fog.



Now the shadows behind were night black in the middle.



But the pictsies has passed the last tree, and the snowfields stretched ahead.



They stopped, so quickly that Tiffany almost toppled into the snow.



“What’s happened?”



“Where’s all oour old footprints gone?” said Daft Wullie. “They wuz there a moment ago! Which way noo?”



The trampled track, which had led them on like a line, had vanished.



Rob Anybody spun around and looked back at the forest. Darkness curled above it like smoke, spreading along the horizon.



“She’s sendin’ nightmares after us,” he growled. “This is gonna be a toughie, lads.”



Tiffany saw shapes in the spreading night. She hugged Wentworth tightly.



“Nightmares,” repeated Rob Anybody, turning to her. “Ye wouldna want to know about them. We’ll hold ’em off. Ye must mak’ a run for it. Get awa’ wi’ ye, noo!”