The Wee Free Men

wooden stamps. People appreciated a little picture on their butter.

As she began to shape the butter she was aware of a shadow in the doorway, and turned.

It was Roland.

He looked at her, his face even redder than usual. He was twiddling his very expensive hat nervously, just like Rob Anybody did.

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Look, about… well, about all that… about Roland began.

‘Yes?’

‘Look, I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t lie to anyone or anything,’ he blurted out. ‘But my father just sort of assumed I’d been a hero and he just wouldn’t listen to anything I said even after I told him how… how…’

‘—helpful I’d been?’ said Tiffany.

‘Yes… I mean, no! He said, he said, he said it was lucky for you I was there, he said—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Tiffany, picking up the butter paddles again.

‘And he just kept telling everyone how brave I’d been and—’

‘I said it doesn’t matter,’ said Tiffany. The little paddles went patpatpat on the fresh butter.

Roland’s mouth opened and shut for a moment.

‘You mean you don’t mind?’ he said at last.

‘No. I don’t mind,’ said Tiffany.

‘But it’s not fair!’

‘We’re the only ones who know the truth,’ said Tiffany.

Patapatpat. Roland stared at the fat, rich butter as she calmly patted it into shape.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Er… you won’t tell anyone, will you? I mean, you’ve got every right to, but—’

Patapatapat…

‘No one would believe me,’ said Tiffany.

‘I did try,’ said Roland. ‘Honestly. I really did.’

I expect you did, Tiffany thought. But you’re not very clever and the Baron certainly is a man without First Sight. He sees the world the way he wants to see it.

‘One day you’ll be Baron, won’t you?’ she said.

‘Well, yes. One day. But look, are you really a witch?’

‘When you’re Baron you’ll be good at it, I expect?’ said Tiffany, turning the butter around. ‘Fair and generous and decent? You’ll pay good wages and look after the old people? You wouldn’t let people turn an old lady out of her house?’

‘Well, I hope I—’

Tiffany turned to face him, a butter paddle in each hand.

‘Because I’ll be there, you see. You’ll look up and see my eye on you. I’ll be there on the edge of the crowd. All the time. I’ll be watching everything, because I come from a long line of Aching people and this is my land. But you can be the Baron for us and I hope you’re a good one. If you are not… there will be a reckoning.’

‘Look, I know you were… were—’ Roland began, going red in the face.

‘Very helpful?’ said Tiffany.

‘—but you can’t talk to me like that, you know!’

Tiffany was sure she heard, up in the roof and on the very edge of hearing, someone say: ‘Ach, crivens, what a wee snotter…’

She shut her eyes for a moment, and then, heart pounding, pointed a butter paddle at one of the empty buckets.

‘Bucket, fill yourself!’ she commanded.

It blurred, and then sloshed. Water dripped down the side.

Roland stared at it. Tiffany gave him one of her sweetest smiles, which could be quite scary.

‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ she said.

He turned to her, face pale. ‘No one would believe me…’ he stammered.

‘Aye,’ said Tiffany. ‘So we understand one another. Isn’t that nice? And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to finish this and make a start on some cheese.’

‘Cheese? But you… you could do anything you wanted!’ Roland burst out.

‘And right now I want to make cheese,’ said Tiffany calmly. ‘Go away.’

‘My father owns this farm!’ said Roland, and then realized he’d said that out loud.

There were two little but strangely loud clicks as Tiffany put down the butter paddles and turned round.

‘That was a very brave thing you just said,’ she said, ‘but I expect you’re sorry you said it, now that you’ve had a really good think?’

Roland, who had shut his eyes, nodded his head.

‘Good,’ said Tiffany. ‘Today I’m making cheese. Tomorrow I may do something else. And in a while, maybe, I won’t be here and you’ll wonder: Where is she? But part of me will always be here, always. I’ll always be thinking about this place. I’ll have it in my eye. And I will be back. Now, go away! ’

He turned and ran.

After his footsteps had died away Tiffany said: ‘All right, who’s there?’

‘It’s me, mistress. No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress.’ The pictsie appeared from behind the bucket, and added: ‘Rob Anybody said we should come tae keep an eye on ye for a wee while, and tae thank ye for the offerin’.’

It’s still magic even if you know how it’s done, Tiffany thought.

‘Only watch me in the dairy, then,’ she said. ‘No spying!’

‘Ach, no, mistress,’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock nervously. Then he grinned. ‘Fion’s goin’ off to be the kelda for a clan over near Copperhead Mountain,’ he said, ‘an’ she’s asked me to go along as the gonnagle!’

‘Congratulations!’

‘Aye, and William says I should be fine if I just work on the mousepipes,’ said the pictsie. ‘And… er…’

‘Yes?’ said Tiffany.

‘Er… Hamish says there’s a girl in the Long Lake clan who’s looking to become a kelda… er… it’s a fine clan she’s from… er…’ The pictsie was going violet with embarrassment.

‘Good,’ said Tiffany. ‘If I was Rob Anybody, I’d invite her over right away.’

‘You dinnae mind?’ said Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock hopefully.

‘Not at all,’ said Tiffany. She did a little bit, she had to admit to herself, but it was a bit she could put away on a shelf in her head somewhere.

‘That’s grand!’ said the pictsie. The lads were a bit worried, ye ken. I’ll run up an’ tell them.’ He lowered his voice. ‘An’ would ye like me to run after that big heap o’ jobbies that just left and see that he falls off his horse again?’

‘No!’ said Tiffany hurriedly. ‘No. Don’t. No.’ She picked up the butter paddles. ‘You leave him to me,’ she added, smiling. ‘You can leave everything to me.’

When she was alone again she finished the butter… patapatapat…

She paused, put the paddles down, and with the tip of a very clean finger, drew a curved line in the surface, with another curved line just touching it, so that together they looked like a wave. She traced a third, flat curve under it, which was the Chalk.

Land Under Wave.

She quickly smoothed the butter again and picked up the stamp she’d made yesterday; she’d carved it