The Wee Free Men

And Tiffany had sat by the narrow bed and thought about Granny Aching, and about the little girl Sarah Grizzel very carefully painting the flowers in the book, and about the world losing its centre.

She missed the silence. What there was now wasn’t the same kind of silence there had been before. Granny’s silence was warm, and brought you inside. Granny Aching might sometimes have had trouble remembering the difference between children and lambs, but in her silence you were welcome and belonged. All you had to bring was a silence of your own.

Tiffany wished that she’d had a chance to say sorry about the shepherdess.

Then she’d gone home and told everyone that Granny was dead. She was seven, and the world had ended.

Someone was tapping politely on her boot. She opened her eyes and saw the toad. It was holding a small rock in its mouth. It spat it out.

‘Sorry about that,’ it said. I’d have used my arms but we’re a very soggy species.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’ said Tiffany.

‘Well, if you hit your head on this low ceiling you would have a definite claim for damages,’ said the toad. ‘Er… did I just say that?’

‘Yes, and I hope you wish you hadn’t,’ said Tiffany. ‘Why did you say it?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ moaned the toad. ‘Sorry, what were we talking about?’

‘I meant, what do the pictsies want me to do now?’

‘Oh, I don’t think it works like that,’ said the toad. ‘You’re the kelda. You say what’s to be done.’

‘Why can’t Fion be kelda? She’s a pictsie!’

‘Can’t help you there,’ said the toad.

‘Can I be of serrrvice?’ said a voice by Tiffany’s ear.

She turned her head and saw, on one of the galleries that ran around the cave, William the gonnagle.

Up close, he was noticeably different from the other Feegles. His hair was neater, and plaited into one pigtail. He didn’t have as many tattoos. He spoke differently too, more clearly and slowly than the others, sounding his Rs like a drumroll.

‘Er, yes,’ said Tiffany. ‘Why can’t Fion be kelda here?’

William nodded. ‘A good question,’ he said politely. ‘But, ye ken, a kelda cannot wed her brrrrotherrrr. She must go to a new clan and wed a warrrrior there.’

‘Well, why couldn’t that warrior come here?’

‘Because the Feegles here would not know him. They’d have no rrrrespect for him.’ William made ‘respect’ sound like an avalanche.

‘Oh. Well… what was that about the Queen? You were going to say something and they stopped you.’

William looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t think I can tell you aboout—’

‘I am the temporary kelda,’ said Tiffany, stiffly.

‘Aye. Well… there was a time when we lived in the Queen’s world and served her, before she grew so cold. But she tricked us, and we rrrrebelled. It was a dark time. She does not like us. And that is all I will say,’ William added.

Tiffany watched Feegles going in and out of the kelda ‘s chamber. Something was going on in there.

They’re burying her in the other part of the mound,’ said William, without being asked. ‘Wi’ the other keldas o’ this clan.’

‘I thought they would be more… noisy,’ said Tiffany.

‘She was their motherrr,’ said William. They do not want to shout. Their hearts are too full for worrrrds. In time we will hold a wake to help her back to the land o’ the living, and that’ll be a loud one, I can promise ye. We’ll dance the FiveHundredAndTwelvesome Reel to the tune o’ “The Devil Among The Lawyers” and eat and drink, and I dare say my nephews will ha’ headaches the size o’ a sheep.’ The old Feegle smiled briefly. ‘But, for now, each Feegle remembers her in silence. We dinnae mourn like ye do, ye ken. We mourn for them that has tae stay behind.’

‘Was she your mother too?’ said Tiffany quietly.

‘Nay. She was my sister. Did she no’ tell ye that when a kelda goes to a new clan she takes a few o’ her brothers with her? To be alone amongst strangers would be too much for a heart to bear.’ The gonnagle sighed. ‘Of course, in time, after the kelda weds, the clan is full of her sons and is no’ so lonely for her.’

‘It must be for you, though,’ said Tiffany.

‘You’re a quick one, I’ll grant ye that,’ said William. ‘I am the last o’ those who came. When this is o’er I’ll seek the leave of the next kelda to return to my ain folk in the mountains. This is a fiiine fat country and this is a fiiine bonny clan my nephews have, but I would like to die in the heather where I was borrrned. If you will excuse me, Kelda.’

He walked away and was lost in the shadows of the mound.

Tiffany suddenly wanted to go home. Perhaps it was just William’s sadness, but now she felt shut up in the mound.

‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ she muttered.

‘Good idea,’ said the toad. ‘You’ve got to find the place where the time is different, for one thing.’

‘But how can I do that?’ wailed Tiffany. ‘You can’t see time!’

She stuck her arms through the entrance hole and pulled herself up into the fresh air…

There was a big old clock in the farmhouse, and the time on it got set once a week. That is, when her father went to the market in Creel Springs he made a note of the position of the hands on the big clock there, and when he got home he moved the hands on their clock to the same position. It was really just for show, anyway. Everyone took their time from the sun, and the sun couldn’t go wrong.

Now Tiffany lay amongst the trunks of the old thorn bushes, whose leaves rustled continuously in the breeze. The mound was like a little island in the endless turf; late primroses and even a few ragged foxgloves grew up here in the shelter of the thorn roots. Her apron lay beside her where she had left it earlier.

‘She could have just told me where to look,’ she said.

‘But she didn’t know where it would be,’ said the toad. ‘She just knew the signs to look for.’

Tiffany rolled over carefully and stared up at the sky between the low branches. It’ll shine out, the kelda had said…

‘I think I ought to talk to Hamish,’ she said.

‘Right ye are, mistress,’ said a voice by her ear. She turned her head.

‘How long have you been there?’ she said.

‘A’ the time, mistress,’ said the pictsie. Others poked their heads around the trees and out from under leaves. There were at least twenty on the mound.

‘You’ve been watching me all the time?’

‘Aye, mistress. ‘Tis oour task to watch o’er our kelda. I’m up here most o’ the time anyway, because I’m studying to become a gonnagle.’ The young Feegle flourished a set of mousepipes. ‘An’ they willnae let me play doon there on account o’ them sayin’ my playin’ sounds like a spider tryin’ to fart through its ears, mistress.’

‘But what happens if I want to spend a—have a—go to the—What happens if I say I don’t want you to guard me?’

‘If it’s a wee call o’ nature ye’re talkin’ aboout, mistress, the cludgie is o’er there in the chalk pit. Yell just sing oot to us where ye’re goin’ and no one’ll go peeking, yell have oour word on it,’ said the attendant Feegle.

Tiffany glared at him as he stood in the primroses, beaming with pride and anxious duty. He was younger than most of them, without as many scars and lumps. Even his nose wasn’t broken.

‘What’s your name, pictsie?’ she said.

‘No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress. There’s no’ that many Feegle