The Wee Free Men

or added to or mixed up. This wasn’t food; it was what food became if it had been good and had gone to food heaven.

It wasn’t just for eating, it was for show. It was piled up against mounds of greenery and enormous arrangements of flowers. Here and there huge transparent carvings were landmarks in this landscape of food. Tiffany reached up and touched a glittering cockerel. It was ice, damp under her fingertips. There were others, too… a jolly fat man, a bowl of fruits all carved in ice, a swan…

Tiffany was, for a moment, tempted. It seemed a very long time since she had eaten anything. But the food was too obviously not food at all. It was bait. It was supposed to say: Hello, little kiddie. Eat me.

I’m getting the hang of this, thought Tiffany. Good job the creature didn’t think of cheese—

–and there was cheese. Suddenly, cheese had always been there.

She’d seen pictures of lots of different cheeses in the Almanack. She was good at cheese and had always wondered what the others tasted like. They were faraway cheeses with strange sounding names, cheeses like Treble Wibbley, Waney Tastey, Old Argg, Red Runny and the legendary Lancre Blue, which had to be nailed to the table to stop it attacking other cheeses.

Just a taste wouldn’t hurt, surely. It wasn’t the same as eating, was it? After all, she was in control, wasn’t she? She’d seen right through the dream straight away, hadn’t she? So it couldn’t have any effect, could it?

And… well, cheese was hardly temptation for anyone…

OK, the drome must’ve put the cheese in as soon as she’d thought of it, but…

She was already holding the cheese knife. She didn’t quite remember picking it up.

A drop of cold water landed on her hand. It made her glance up at the nearest glittering ice carving.

Now it was a shepherdess, with a saddlebag dress and a big bonnet. Tiffany was sure it had been a swan when she’d looked at it before.

The anger came back. She’d nearly been fooled! She looked at the cheese knife. ‘Be a sword,’ she said. After all, the drome was making her dream, but she was doing the dreaming. She was real. Part of her wasn’t asleep.

There was a clang.

‘Correction,’ said Tiffany. ‘Be a sword that isn’t so heavy.’ And this time she got something she could actually hold.

There was a rustling in the greenery and a red-haired face poked out.

‘Psst,’ it whispered. ‘Dinnae eat the canapes!’

‘You’re a bit late!’

‘Ach, weel, it’s a cunnin’ ol’ drome ye’re dealin’ with here,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘The dream wouldnae let us in unless we wuz properly dressed.’

He stepped out, looking very sheepish in a black suit with a bow tie. There was more rustling and other pictsies pushed their way out of the greenery. They looked a bit like red-headed penguins.

‘Properly dressed?’ said Tiffany.

‘Aye,’ said Daft Wullie, who had a piece of lettuce on his head. ‘An’ these troosers are a wee bit chafin’ around the nethers, I don’t mind tellin’ ye.’

‘Have ye spotted the creature yet?’ said Rob Anybody.

‘No! It’s so crowded!’

‘We’ll help ye look,’ said Rob Anybody. The thing cannae hide if ye’re right up close. Be careful, mind you! If it thinks ye’re gonna whap it one, there’s nae tellin’ what it’ll try! Spread oot, lads, and pretend ye’re enjoying the cailey.’

‘Whut? D’ye mean get drunk an’ fight an’ that?’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Crivens, ye wouldna’ believe it,’ said Rob Anybody, rolling his eyes. ‘Nae, ye pudden’! This is a posh party, ye ken? That means ye mak’ small talk an’ mingle!’

‘Ach, I’m a famous mingler! They won’t even know we’re here!’ said Daft Wullie. ‘C’mon!’

Even in a dream, even at a posh ball, the Nac Mac Feegle knew how to behave. You charged in madly, and you screamed… politely.

‘Lovely weather for the time o’ year, is it not, ye wee scunner!’

‘Hey, jimmy, ha’ ye no got a pommes frites for an ol’ pal?’

‘The band is playin’ divinely, I dinnae think!’

‘Make my caviar deep-fried, willy a?’

There was something wrong with the crowd. No one was panicking or trying to run away, which was certainly the right response to an invasion of Feegles.

Tiffany set off again through the crowd. The masked people at the party paid her no attention, either. And that’s because they’re background people, she thought, just like the background trees. She walked along the room to a pair of double doors, and pulled them open.

There was nothing but blackness beyond it.

So… the only way out was to find the drome. She hadn’t really expected anything else. It could be anywhere. It could be behind a mask, it could be a table. It could be anything.

Tiffany stared at the crowd. And it was then she saw Roland.

He was sitting at a table by himself. It was spread with food, and he had a spoon in his hand.

She ran over and knocked it onto the floor. ‘Haven’t you got any sense at all?’ she said, pulling him upright. ‘Do you want to stay here for ever?’

And then she felt the movement behind her. Later on, she was sure she hadn’t heard anything. She’d just known. It was a dream, after all.

She glanced around, and there was the drome. It was almost hidden behind a pillar.

Roland just stared at her.

‘Are you all right?’ said Tiffany desperately, trying to shake him. ‘Have you eaten anything?’

‘Fwa fwa faff,’ murmured the boy.

Tiffany turned back to the drome. It was moving towards her, but very slowly, trying to stay in the shadows. It looked like a little snowman made of dirty snow.

The music was getting louder. The candles were getting brighter. Out on the huge dance floor, the animal-headed couples whirled faster and faster. And the floor shook. The dream was in trouble.

The Nac Mac Feegles were running to her from every part of the floor, trying to be heard above the din.

The drome was lurching towards her, podgy white fingers grasping the air.

‘First Sight,’ breathed Tiffany.

She cut Roland’s head off.

The snow had melted all across the clearing, and the trees looked real and properly tree-like.

In front of Tiffany, the drome fell backwards. She was holding the old frying pan in her hand, but it had cut beautifully. Odd things, dreams.

She turned and faced Roland, who was staring at her with a face so pale he might as well have been a drome.

‘It was frightened,’ she said. ‘It wanted me to attack you instead. It tried to look like you and made you look like a drome. But it didn’t know how to speak. You do.’

‘You might have killed me!’ he said hoarsely.

‘No,’ said Tiffany. ‘I just explained. Please don’t run away. Have you seen a baby boy here?’

Roland’s face wrinkled. ‘What?’ he said.

The Queen took him,’ said Tiffany. ‘I’m going to fetch him home. I’ll take you too, if you like.’