A Hat Full Of Sky

‘Is that the big wee hag dreamin’ she’s the hills or the hills dreamin’ they’re the big wee hag?’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Both, mebbe,’ said Rob Anybody. They watched the huge hand close and winced.

‘But ye cannae kill a hiver,’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Aye, but ye can frit it awa’,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘It’s a big wee universe oot there. If I was it, I’d no’ think o’ tryin’ her again!’

There were three more booms in the distance, louder this time.

‘I think,’ he went on, ‘that’s it’s time we were off ski.’

In Miss Level’s cottage, someone was knocking heavily on the front door. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Chapter Nine Soul and Centre

Tiffany opened her eyes, remembered, and thought: Was that a dream, or was that real?

And the next thought was: How do I know I’m me? Suppose I’m not me but just think I’m me? How can I tell if I’m me or not? Who’s the ‘me’ that’s asking the question? Am I thinking these thoughts? How would I know if it wasn’t?

‘Dinnae ask me,’ said a voice by her head. ‘Is this one of them tricksie ones?’

It was Daft Wullie. He was sitting on her pillow.

Tiffany squinted down. She was in bed in Miss Level’s cottage. A green quilt stretched out in front of her. A quilt. Green. Not turf, not hills… but it looked like the downland, from here.

‘Did I say all that aloud?’ she asked.

‘Oh, aye.’

‘Er… it did all happen, didn’t it?’ said Tiffany.

‘Oh, aye,’ said Daft Wullie cheerfully. ‘The big hag wuz up here till just noo, but she said ye probably wasnae gonna wake up a monster.’

More bits of memory landed in Tiffany’s memory like red-hot rocks landing on a peaceful planet.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh, aye,’ said Daft Wullie.

‘And Miss Level?’

And this rock of memory was huge, a flaming mountain that’d make a million dinosaurs flee for their lives. Tiffany’s hands flew to her mouth.

‘I killed her!’ she said.

‘Noo, then, ye didnae—’

‘I did! I felt my mind thinking it. She made me angry! I just waved my hand like this’—a dozen Nac Mac Feegle dived for cover—‘and she just exploded into nothing! It was me! I remember!’

‘Aye, but the big hag o’ hags said it wuz usin’ your mind tae think with—’ Daft Wullie began.

‘I’ve got the memories! It was me, with this hand!’ The Feegles who had raised their heads ducked back down again. ‘And… the memories I’ve got… I remember dust, turning into stars… things… the heat… blood… the taste of blood… I remember… I remember the see-me trick! Oh, no! I practically invited it in! I killed Miss Level!’

Shadows were closing in around her vision, and there was a ringing in her ears. Tiffany heard the door swing open and hands picked her up as though she was as light as a bubble. She was slung over a shoulder and carried swiftly down the stairs and out into the bright morning, where she was swung down onto the ground.

‘…And all of us… we killed her… take one crucible of silver…’ she mumbled.

A hand slapped her sharply across the face. She stared through inner mists at the tall dark figure in front of her. A bucket handle was pressed firmly into her hand.

‘Milk the goats now, Tiffany! Now, Tiffany, d’you hear! The trusting creatures look to you! They wait for you! Tiffany milks the goats. Do it, Tiffany! The hands know how, the mind will remember and grow stronger, Tiffany!’

She was thrust down onto the milking stool and, through the mist in her head, made out the cowering shape of… of… Black Meg.

The hands remembered. They placed the pail, grasped a teat and then, as Meg raised a leg to play the foot-in-the-bucket game, grabbed it and forced it safely back down onto the milking platform.

She worked slowly, her head full of hot fog, letting her hands have their way. Buckets were filled and emptied, milked goats got a bucket of feed from the bin…

Sensibility Bustle was rather puzzled that his hands were milking a goat. He stopped.

‘What is your name?’ said a voice behind him.

‘Bustle. Sensibil–

‘No! That was the wizard, Tiffany! He was the strongest echo, but you’re not him! Get into the dairy, TIFFANY!’

She stumbled into the cool room under the command of that voice and the world focused. There was a foul cheese on the slab, sweating and stinking.

‘Who put this here?’ she asked.

‘The hiver did, Tiffany. Tried to make a cheese by magic, Tiffany. Hah!’ said the voice. ‘And you are not it, Tiffany! You know how to make cheese the right way, don’t you, Tiffany? Indeed you do! What is your name?’

…all was confusion and strange smells. In panic, she roared–

Her face was slapped again.

‘No, that was the sabre-toothed tiger, Tiffany! They’re all just old memories the hiver left behind, Tiffany! It’s worn a lot of creatures but they are not you! Come forward, Tiffany!’

She heard the words without really understanding them. They were just out there somewhere, between people who were just shadows. But it was unthinkable to disobey them.

‘Drat!’ said the hazy tall figure. ‘Where’s that little blue feller? Mister Anyone?’

‘Here, mistress. It’s Rob Anybody, mistress. I beg o’ ye not tae turn me intae somethin’ unnatural, mistress!’

‘You said she had a box of keepsakes. Fetch it down here this minute. I feared this might happen. I hates doin’ it this way!’

Tiffany was turned round and once again looked into the blurry face while strong hands gripped her arms. Two blue eyes stared into hers. They shone in the mist like sapphires.

‘What’s your name, Tiffany?’ said the voice.

‘Tiffany!’

The eyes bored into her. ‘Is it? Really? Sing me the first song you ever learned, Tiffany! Now! ’

‘Hzan, hzana, m’taza—’

‘Stop! That was never learned on a chalk hill! You ain’t Tiffany! I reckon you’re that desert queen who killed twelve of her husbands with scorpion sandwiches! Tiffany is the one I’m after! Back into the dark with you!’