A Hat Full Of Sky

‘Ye ken I said I’d tell ye when ye wuz guilty o’ stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behaviour?’

‘Aye, Rob,’ said Daft Wullie. ‘That wuz another one o’ those times, wuz it?’

‘Aye.’

They moved on again, staring around them. And still there was the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness before thunder. It was as if all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one big sound to happen.

And then they found the Horse.

They’d seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it was, not carved into the hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it.

‘Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob, beckoning the young gonnagle towards him. ‘You’re a gonnagle, ye ken aboot poetry and dreams. What’s this? Why’s it up here? It shouldnae be on the top o’ the hills!’

‘Serious hiddlins, Mr Rob,’ said Billy. This is serious hiddlins. I cannae work it out yet.’

‘She knows the Chalk. Why’d she get this wrong?’

‘I’m thinkin’ aboot it, Mr Rob.’

‘You wouldnae care tae think a bit faster, would ye?’

‘Rob?’ said Big Yan, hurrying up. He’d been scouting ahead.

‘Aye?’ said Rob gloomily.

‘Ye’d better come and see this…’

On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled shepherding hut, with a curved roof and a chimney for the pot- bellied stove. Inside, the walls were covered with the yellow and blue wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were old sacks hanging up there, and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny Aching had counted sheep and days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old fleeces and feed sacks.

‘D’ye have the unnerstandin’ of this, Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob. ‘Can ye tell us where the big wee hag is?’

The young gonnagle looked worried. ‘Er, Mister Rob, ye ken I’ve only just been made a gonnagle? I mean, I know the songs an’ a’, but I’m no’ verra experienced at this…’

‘Aye?’ said Rob Anybody. ‘An’ just how many gonnagles afore ye ha’ walked through the dreams o’ a hag?’

‘Er… none I’ve ever heard of, Mister Rob,’ Billy confessed.

‘Aye. So you already know more aboot it than any o’ them big men,’ said Rob. He gave the boy a smile. ‘Do yer best, laddie. I dinnae expect any more of you than that.’

Billy looked out of the shed door, and took a deep breath: ‘Then I’ll tell ye I think she’s hidin’ somewhere close like a hunted creature, Mr Rob. This is a wee bit o’ her memory, the place o’ her granny, the place where she’s always felt safe. I’ll tell ye I think that we’re in the soul and centre o’ her. The bit o’ her that is her. And I’m frightened for her. Frightened to mah boots.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve been watchin’ the shadows, Mr Rob,’ said Billy. ‘The sun is movin’. It’s slippin’ doon the sky.’

‘Aye, weel, that’s whut the sun does—’ Rob began.

Billy shook his head. ‘Nay, Mr Rob. Ye dinnae understand! I’m tellin’ ye that’s no’ the sun o’ the big wide world. That’s the sun o’ the soul o’ her.’

The Feegles looked at the sun, and at the shadows, then back at Billy. He’d stuck his chin out bravely but he was trembling.

‘She’ll die when night comes?’ Rob said.

‘There’s worser things than death, Mr Rob. The hiver will have her, head tae toe—’

‘That is nae gonna happen!’ shouted Rob Anybody, so suddenly that Billy backed away. ‘She’s a strong big wee lass! She fought the Quin wi’ no more than a fryin’ pan!’

Awf’ly Wee Billy swallowed. There were a lot of things he’d rather do than face Rob Anybody now. But he pressed on.

‘Sorry, Mr Rob, but I’m telling ye she had iron then, an’ she wuz on her ain turf. She’s a lang, lang way fra’ hame here. An’ it’ll squeeze this place when it finds it, leave no more room for it, and the night will come, an’—’

‘ ‘Scuse me, Rob. I ha’ an idea.’

It was Daft Wullie, twisting his hands nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.

‘Ye ha’ an idea?’ said Rob.

‘Aye, an’ if I tell youse, I dinnae want you ta’ say it’s inna-pro-pre-ate, OK, Rob?’

Rob Anybody sighed. ‘OK, Wullie, ye ha’ my word on it.’

‘Weel,’ said Wullie, his fingers knotting and unknotting. ‘What is this place if it’s not truly her ain place? What is it if not her ain turf? If she cannae fight the creature here, she cannae fight it anywhere!’

‘But it willnae come here,’ said Billy. ‘It doesnae need to. As she grows weaker, this place will fade away.’

‘Oh, crivens,’ mumbled Daft Wullie. ‘Weel, it was a good idea, right? Even if it doesnae work?’

Rob Anybody wasn’t paying any attention. He stared around the shepherding hut. My man’s got to use his heid for something other than nuttin’ folk, Jeannie had said.

‘Daft Wullie is right,’ he said quietly. ‘This is her safe place. She holds the land, she has it in her eye. The creature can ne’er touch her here. Here, she has power. But ‘twill be a jail hoose for her here unless she fights the monster. She’d be locked in here and watch her life gae doon the cludgie. She’ll look oot at the world like a pris’ner at a tiny window, and see hersel’ hated and feared. So we’ll fetch the beast in here against its will, and here it will die!’

The Feegles cheered. They weren’t sure what was going on, but they liked the sound of it.

‘How?’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy.

‘Ye had to gae and ask that, eh?’ said Rob Anybody bitterly. ‘An’ I wuz doin’ sae weel wi’ the thinkin’—’

He turned. There was a scratching noise on the door above him.

Up there, across the rows and rows of half rubbed-out markings, freshly chalked letters were appearing one by one, as if an invisible hand was writing them.

‘Worrds,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘She’s tryin’ tae tell us somethin’!’

‘Yes, they say—’ Billy began.

‘I ken weel what they say!’ snapped Rob Anybody. ‘I ha’ the knowin’ of the readin’! They say—’

He looked up again. ‘OK, they say… that’s the snake, an’ that’s the kinda like a gate letter, an’ the comb on its side, two o’ that, an’ the fat man standin’ still, an’ the snake again, and then there’s whut we calls a “space” and then there’s the letter like a saw’s teeth, and two o’ the letters that’s roound like the sun, and the letter that’s a man sittin’ doon, and onna next line we ha’… the man wi’ his arms oot, and the letter that’s you, an’ ha, the fat man again but noo he’s walkin, an’ next he’s standin’ still again, an’ next is the comb, an’ the up-an’-doon ziggy-zaggy letter, and the man’s got his arms oot, and then there’s me, and that ziggy-zaggy and we end the line with the comb again… an’ on the next line we starts wi’ the bendy hook, that’s the letter roound as the sun, them’s twa’ men sittin’ doon, there’s the letter reaching ooot tae the sky, then there’s a space ‘cos there’s nae letter, then there’s the snaky again, an’ the letter like a hoose frame, and then there’s the letter that’s me, aye, an’ another fella sitting doon, an’ another big roound letter, and, ha, oor ol’ friend, the fat man walkin’! The End!’

He stood back, hands on hips, and demanded: There! Is that readin’ I just did, or wuz it no’?’

There was a cheer from the Feegles, and some applause.

Awf’ly Wee Billy looked up at the chalked words: