The Wee Free Men

names, ye ken, so we ha’ to share.’

‘Well, Not-as-big-as-Little-Jock—’ Tiffany began.

‘That’d be Medium-Sized Jock, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock- Jock.

‘Well, Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock, I can—’

‘That’s No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as- Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. ‘Ye were one jock short,’ he added helpfully.

‘You wouldn’t be happier with, say, Henry?’ said Tiffany, helplessly.

‘Ach, nay, mistress.’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock wrinkled his face. ‘There’s nay history tae the name, ye ken. But there have been a number o’ brave warriors called No’-as-big-as- Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. Why ‘tis nearly as famous a name as Wee Jock itself! An’, o’ course, should Wee Jock hisself be taken back to the Last World then I’ll get the name o’ Wee Jock, which isnae to say that I mislike the name o’ No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, ye ken. There’s been many a fine story o’ the exploits o’ No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock,’ the pictsie added, looking so earnest that Tiffany didn’t have the heart to say that they must have been very long stories.

Instead she said: ‘Well, er, please, I want to talk to Hamish the aviator.’

‘Nae problem,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock. ‘He’s up there right noo.’

He vanished. A moment later Tiffany heard—or, rather, felt with her ears—the bubbling sensation of a Feegle whistle.

Tiffany pulled Diseases of the Sheep, which was now looking very battered, out of her apron. There was a blank page at the back. She tore it out, feeling like a criminal for doing so, and took out her pencil.

Dear Mum and Dad,

How are you, I am well. Wentworth is also well but I have to go and fetch him from the Qu where he is staying. Hop to be back soon.

Tiffany

PS I hope the cheese is all right.

She was just considering this when she heard a rush of wings overhead. There was a whirring noise, a moment of silence and then a small, weary and rather muffled voice said: ‘Ach, crivens’

She looked out onto the turf. The body of Hamish was upside down a few feet away. His arms with their twirlers were still outstretched.4

It took some time to get him out. If he landed headfirst and spinning, Tiffany was told, he had to be unscrewed in the opposite direction so that his ears didn’t come off.

When he was upright and swaying unsteadily, Tiffany said: ‘Can you wrap this letter in a stone and drop it in front of the farmhouse where people will see it?’

‘Aye, mistress.’

‘And… er… does it hurt when you land headfirst like that?’

‘Nay, mistress, but it is awfu’ embarrassing.’

‘Then there’s a sort of toy we used to make that might help you,’ said Tiffany. ‘You make a kind of… bag of air—’

‘Bag o’ air?’ said the aviator, looking puzzled.

‘Well, you know how things like shirts billow out on a washing line when it’s windy? Well, you just make a cloth bag and tie some strings to it and a stone to the strings, and when you throw it up the bag fills with air and the stone floats down.’

Hamish stared at her.

‘Do you understand me?’ said Tiffany.

‘Oh, aye. I wuz just waitin’ to see if you wuz goin’ to tell me anything else,’ said Hamish politely.

‘Do you think you could, er, borrow some fine cloth?’

‘Nay, mistress, but I ken well where I can steal some,’ said Hamish.

Tiffany decided not to comment on this. She said: ‘Where was the Queen when the mist came down?’

Hamish pointed. ‘Aboot a half mile yonder, mistress.’

In the distance Tiffany could see some more mounds, and a few stones from the old days.

Trilithons, they were called, which just meant ‘three stones’. The only stones found naturally on the downs were flints, which were never very big. But the stones of the trilithons had been dragged from at least ten miles away, and were stacked like a child stacks toy bricks. Here and there the big stones had been stood in circles; sometimes one stone had been placed all alone. It must have taken a lot of people a long time to do all that. Some people said there’d been human sacrifices up there. Some said they were part of some old religion. Some said they marked ancient graves.

Some said they were a warning: avoid this place.

Tiffany hadn’t. She’d been there with her sisters a few times, as a dare, just in case there were any skulls. But the mounds around the stones were thousands of years old. All that you found there now were rabbit holes.

‘Anything else, mistress?’ said Hamish politely. ‘Nay? Then I’ll just be goin’…’

He raised his arms over his head and started to run across the turf. Tiffany jumped as the buzzard skimmed down a few yards away from her and snatched him back up into the sky.

‘How can a man six inches high train a bird like that?’ she asked as the buzzard circled again for height.

‘Ach, all it takes is a wee drop o’ kindness, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger- than-Wee-Jock-Jock.

‘Really?’

‘Aye, an’ a big dollop o’ cruelty,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock went on. ‘Hamish trains ‘em by runnin’ aroound in a rabbit skin until a bird pounces on him.’

That sounds awful!’ said Tiffany.

‘Ach, he’s not too nasty aboot it. He just knocks them out wi’ his heid, and then he’s got a special oil he makes which he blows up their beak,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock went on. ‘When they wakes up, they thinks he’s their mammy and’ll do his biddin’.’

The buzzard was already a distant speck.

‘He hardly seems to spend any time on the ground!’ said Tiffany.

‘Oh, aye. He sleeps in the buzzard’s nest at night, mistress. He says it’s wunnerfully warm. An’ he spends all his time in the air,’ Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock added. ‘He’s ne’er happy unless he’s got the wind under his kilt.’

‘And the birds don’t mind?’

‘Ach, no, mistress. All the birds and beasts up here know it’s good luck to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle, mistress.’

‘They do?’

‘Well, to tell ye the truth, mistress, it’s more that they know it’s unlucky not to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle.’

Tiffany looked at the sun. It was only a few hours away from setting.

‘I must find the way in,’ she said. ‘Look, Not-as-small-as—’

‘No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress,’ said the pictsie, patiently.

‘Yes, yes, thank you. Where is Rob Anybody? Where is everybody, in fact?’

The young pictsie looked a bit embarrassed.

‘There’s a bit o’ a debate goin’ on down below, mistress,’ he said.

‘Well, we have got to find my brother, OK? I am the kelda in this vicinity,