The Wee Free Men

“I’ve got nowhere to run to!” said Tiffany.



She heard a high-pitched noise, a sort of chittering, insect noise, coming from the forest. The pictsies had drawn together. Usually they grinned like anything if they thought a fight was coming up, but this time they looked deadly serious.



“Ach, she’s a bad loser, the Quin,” said Rob.



Tiffany turned to look at the horizon behind her. The boiling blackness was there, too, a ring that was closing in from all sides.



Doors everywhere, she thought. The old kelda said there’s doors everywhere. I must find a door. But there’s just snow and a few trees….



The pictsies drew their swords.



“What, er, kind of nightmares are coming?” said Tiffany.



“Ach, long-leggity things with muckle legs and huge teeth, and flappy wings and a hundred eyes, that kinda stuff,” said Daft Wullie.



“Aye, and wuss than that,” said Rob Anybody, staring at the speeding dark.



“What’s worse than that?” said Tiffany.



“Normal stuff gone wrong,” said Rob.



Tiffany looked blank for a moment, and then shuddered. Oh yes, she knew about those nightmares. They didn’t happen often, but they were horrible when they did. She’d woken up once shaking at the thought of Granny Aching’s boots, which had been chasing her, and another time it was a box of sugar. Anything could be a nightmare.



She could put up with monsters. But she didn’t want to face mad boots.



“Er…I have an idea,” she said.



“So do I,” said Rob Anybody. “Dinna be here—that’s my idea!”



“There’s a clump of trees over there,” said Tiffany.



“So what?” said Rob. He was staring at the line of nighmares. Things were visible in it now—teeth, claws, eyes, ribs. From the way he was glaring, it was obvious that whatever happened later, the first few monsters were going to face a serious problem. If they had faces, anyway.



“Can you fight nightmares?” said Tiffany. The chittering noise was getting a lot louder.



“There’s no’ a thing we canna fight,” growled Big Yan. “If it’s got a heid, we can gie it a faceful o’ dandruff. If it disna have a heid, it’s due a good kickin’!”



Tiffany stared at the onrushing…things.



“Some of them have got more than one head!” she said.



“It’s oour lucky day, then,” said Daft Wullie.



The pictsies shifted their weight, ready to fight.



“Piper,” said Rob Anybody to William the gonnagle, “play us a lament. We’ll fight to the sound of the mousepipes—”



“No!” said Tiffany. “I’m not standing for this! The way to fight nightmares is to wake up! I am your kelda! This is an order! We’re heading for those trees right now! Do what I say!”



“Weewee man!” yelled Wentworth.



The pictsies glanced at the trees and then at Tiffany.



“Do it!” she yelled, so loudly that some of them flinched. “Right now! Do what I tell you! There’s a better way!”



“Ye canna cross a hag, Rob,” muttered William.



“I’m going to get you home!” snapped Tiffany. I hope, she added to herself. But she’d seen a small, round, pale face staring at them around a tree trunk. There was a drome in those trees.



“Ach, aye, but—” Rob Anybody glanced past Tiffany and added: “Aw no, look at that…”



There was a pale dot in front of the racing line of monstrousness.



Sneebs was making a break for it. His arms pumped like pistons. His little legs seemed to spin. His cheeks were like balloons.



The tide of nightmares rolled over him and kept coming.



Rob sheathed his sword. “Ye heard oour kelda, lads!” he shouted. “Grab her! We’rrre offski!”



Tiffany was lifted up. Feegles raised the unconscious Roland. And everyone ran for the trees.



Tiffany pulled her hand out of her apron pocket and looked at the crumpled wrapper of Jolly Sailor tobacco. It was something to focus on, to remind her of a dream…



People said you could see the sea from the very top of the downs, but Tiffany had stared hard on a fine winter’s day, when the air was clear, and seen nothing but the hazy blue of distance. But the sea on the Jolly Sailor packet was deep blue, with white crests on the waves. It was the sea, for Tiffany.



It had looked like a small drome in the trees. That meant it wasn’t very powerful. She hoped so. She had to hope so….



The trees got closer. So did the ring of nightmares. Some of the sounds were horrible, of cracking bones and crushing rocks and stinging insects and screaming cats, getting nearer and nearer and nearer.



CHAPTER 12



Jolly Sailor



There was sand around her, and white waves crashing, and water draining off the pebble beach and sounding like an old woman sucking a hard mint.



“Crivens! Where are we noo?” said Daft Wullie.



“Aye, and why’re we all lookin’ like yellow mushrooms?” Rob Anybody added.



Tiffany looked down and giggled. Every pictsie was wearing a Jolly Sailor outfit, with an oilskin coat and a huge yellow oilskin rain hat that covered most of his face. They started to wander about, bumping into one another.



My dream! Tiffany thought. The drome uses what it can find in your head…but this is my dream. I can use it.



Wentworth had gone quiet. He was staring at the waves.



There was a boat pulled up on the beach. As one pictsie, or small yellow mushroom, the Nac Mac Feegle were flocking toward it and clambering up the sides.



“What are you doing?” said Tiffany.



“Best if we wuz leavin’,” said Rob Anybody. “It’s a good dream ye’ve found us, but we canna stay here.”



“But we should be safe here!”



“Ach, the Quin finds a way in everywhere,” said Rob, as a hundred pictsies raised an oar. “Dinna fash yersel’, we know all about boats. Did ye no’ see Not-totally-wee-Georgie pike fishin’ wi’ Wee Bobby in the stream the other day? We is no strangers to the piscatorial an’ nautical arts, ye ken.”



And they did indeed seem to know about boats. The oars were heaved into the oarlocks, and a party of Feegles pushed the boat down the stones and into the waves.



“Now you just hand us the wee bairn,” shouted Rob Anybody from the stern. Uncertainly, her feet slipping on the wet stones, Tiffany waded through the cold water and handed Wentworth over.



He seemed to think it was very funny.



“Weewee mens!” he yelled as they lowered him into the boat. It was his only joke, so he wasn’t going to stop.



“Aye, that’s right,” said Rob Anybody, tucking him under the seat. “Noo just you bide there like a good boy and no yellin’ for sweeties or Uncle Rob’ll gie ye a skelpin’ across the earhole, okay?”



Wentworth chuckled.



Tiffany ran back up the beach and hauled Roland to his feet. He opened his eyes and looked blearily at her.



“Wha’s happening?” he said. “I had this strange drea—” and then he shut his eyes again and sagged.



“Get in the boat!” Tiffany shouted, dragging him across the shingle.



“Crivens, are we takin’ this wee streak o’ uselessness?” said Rob, grabbing Roland’s trousers and heaving him aboard.



“Of course!” Tiffany hauled herself in afterward and landed in the bottom of the boat as a wave took it. The oars creaked and splashed, and the boat jerked forward. It jolted once or twice, as more waves hit it, and then began to plunge across the sea. The pictsies were strong, after all. Even though each oar was a battleground as pictsies hung from it, or piled up on one another’s shoulders or just heaved anything they could grasp, both oars were almost bending as they were dragged through the water.



Tiffany picked herself up and tried to ignore the sudden uncertain feeling in her stomach.



“Head for the lighthouse!” she said.



“Aye, I ken that,” said Rob Anybody. “It’s the only place there is! And the Quin disna like light.” He grinned. “It’s a good dream, lady. Have ye no’ looked at the sky?”



“It’s just a blue sky,” said Tiffany.



“It’s no’ exactly a sky,” said Rob Anybody. “Look behind ye.”



Tiffany turned. It was a blue sky. Very blue. But above the retreating beach, halfway up the sky, was a band of yellow. It looked a long way away, and hundreds of miles across. And in the middle of it, looming over the world as big as a galaxy and gray-blue with distance, was a life preserver.



On it, in letters larger than the moon, were the words:



“We are in the label?” said Tiffany.



“Oh, aye,” said Rob Anybody.



“But the sea feels…real. It’s salty and wet and cold. It’s not like paint! I didn’t dream it salty or so cold!”



“Nae kiddin’? Then it’s a picture on the outside, and it’s real on the inside.” Rob nodded. “Ye ken, we’ve been robbin’ and running aroound on all kinds o’ worlds for a lang time, and I’ll tell ye this: The universe is a lot more comp-li-cated than it looks from the ooutside.”



“We are in the label?” said Tiffany.



“Oh, aye,” said Rob Anybody.



“But the sea feels…real. It’s salty and wet and cold. It’s not like paint! I didn’t dream it salty or so cold!”



“Nae kiddin’? Then it’s a picture on the outside, and it’s real on the inside.” Rob nodded. “Ye ken, we’ve been robbin’ and running aroound on all kinds o’ worlds for a lang time, and I’ll tell ye this: The universe is a lot more comp-li-cated than it looks from the ooutside.”



Tiffany took the grubby label out of her pocket and stared at it again. There was the life preserver, and the lighthouse. But the Jolly Sailor himself wasn’t there. What was there, so tiny as to be little bigger than a dot on the printed sea, was a tiny rowboat.



She looked up. There were storm clouds in the sky in front of the huge, hazy life preserver. They were long and ragged, curling as they came.



“It didna take her long to find a way in,” muttered William.



“No,” said Tiffany, “but this is my dream. I know how it goes. Keep rowing!”



Tangling and tumbling, some of the clouds passed overhead and then swooped toward the sea. They vanished beneath the waves like a waterspout in reverse.



It began to rain hard, so hard that a haze of mist rose over the sea.



“Is that it?” Tiffany wondered. “Is that all she can do?”



“I doot it,” said Rob Anybody. “Bend them oars, lads!”



The boat shot forward, bouncing through the rain from wavetop to wavetop.



But, against all normal rules, it was now trying to go uphill. The water was mounding up and up, and the boat washed backward in the streaming surf.



Something was rising. Something white was pushing the seas aside. Great waterfalls poured off the shining dome that climbed toward the storm sky.



It rose higher, and still there was more. And eventually there was an eye. It was tiny compared to the mountainous head above it, and it rolled in its socket and focused on the tiny boat.