A Hat Full Of Sky (16 page)

“Oh, we saw some muckle eldritch places when we wuz raiding for the Quin,” said Rob Anybody. “But we gave that up, for she wuz a schemin’, greedy, ill-fared carlin, that she was!”

“Aye, and it wuz no’ because she threw us oout o’ Fairyland for being completely pished at two in the afternoon, whatever any scunner might mphf mphf…” said Daft Wullie.

“Pished?” said Miss Level.

“Aye…oh, aye, it means…tired. Aye. Tired. That’s whut it means,” said Rob Anybody, holding his hands firmly over his brother’s mouth. “An’ ye dinna ken how to talk in front o’ a lady, yah shammerin’ wee scunner!”

“Er…thank you for doing the dishes,” said Miss Level. “You really didn’t need to…”

“Ach, it wasna any trouble,” said Rob Anybody cheerfully, letting Daft Wullie go. “An’ I’m sure all them plates an’ stuff will mend fine wi’ a bit o’ glue.”

Miss Level looked up at the clock with no hands.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “What exactly is it you propose to do, Mr. Anybody?”

“Whut?”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Oh, aye!”

Rob Anybody rummaged around in his spog, which is a leather bag most Feegles have hanging from their belt. The contents are usually a mystery but sometimes include interesting teeth.

He flourished a much-folded piece of paper.

Miss Level carefully unfolded it.

“‘PLN’?” she said.

“Aye,” said Rob proudly. “We came prepared! Look, it’s
written doon
. Pee El Ner. Plan.”

“Er…how can I put this…” Miss Level mused. “Ah, yes. You came rushing all this way to save Tiffany from a creature that can’t be seen, touched, smelled, or killed. What did you intend to do when you found it?”

Rob Anybody scratched his head, to a general shower of objects.

“I think mebbe you’ve put yer finger on the one weak spot, mistress,” he admitted.

“Do you mean you charge in regardless?”

“Oh, aye. That’s the plan, sure enough,” said Rob Anybody, brightening up.

“And then what happens?”

“Weel, gen’raly people are tryin’ tae wallop us by then, so we just make it up as we gae along.”

“Yes, Robert, but the creature is inside her head!”

Rob Anybody gave Billy a questioning look.

“Robert is a heich-heidit way o’ sayin’ Rob,” said the gonnagle, and to save time he said to Miss Level: “That means kinda posh.”

“Ach, we can get inside her heid, if we have to,” said Rob. “I’d hoped tae get here afore the thing got to her, but we can chase it.”

Miss Level’s face was a picture. Two pictures.

“
Inside
her
head
?” she said.

“Oh, aye,” said Rob, as if that sort of thing
happened every day. “No problemo. We can get in or oout o’ anywhere. Except maybe pubs, which for some reason we ha’ trouble leavin’. A heid? Easy.”

“Sorry, we’re talking about a real head here, are we?” said Miss Level, horrified. “What do you do, go in through the ears?”

Once again, Rob stared at Billy, who looked puzzled.

“No, mistress. They’d be too small,” he said patiently. “But we can move between worlds, ye ken. We’re fairy folk.”

Miss Level nodded both heads. It was true, but it was hard to look at the assembled ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle and remember that they were, technically, fairies. It was like watching penguins swimming underwater and having to remember that they were birds.

“And?” she said.

“We can get intae dreams, ye see…. And what’s a mind but another world o’ dreamin’?”

“No, I must forbid that!” said Miss Level. “I can’t have you running around inside a young girl’s head! I mean, look at you! You’re fully grow…well, you’re men! It’d be like, like…well, it’d be like you looking at her diary!”

Rob Anybody looked puzzled.

“Oh, aye?” he said. “We looked at her diary loads o’ times. Nae harm done.”

“You
looked
at her
diary
?” said Miss Level, horrified. “Why?”

Really, she thought later, she should have expected the answer.

“’Cuz it wuz locked,” said Daft Wullie. “If she didna want anyone tae look at it, why’d she keep it at the back o’ her sock drawer? Anyway, all there wuz wuz a load o’ words we couldna unnerstan’ an’ wee drawings o’ hearts and flowers an’ that.”

“Hearts? Tiffany?” said Miss Level.
“Really?”
She shook herself. “But you shouldn’t have done that! And going into someone’s mind is even worse!”

“The hiver is in there, mistress,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy meekly.

“But you said you can’t do anything about it!”

“
She
might. If we can track her doon,” said the gonnagle. “If we can find the wee bitty bit o’ her that’s still
her
. She’s a bonny fighter when she’s roused. Ye see, mistress, a mind’s like a world itself. She’ll be hidin’ in it somewhere, lookin’ oout though her own eyes, listenin’ wi’ her own ears, tryin’ to make people hear, tryin’ no’ to let yon beast find her…and it’ll be hunting her all
the time, trying tae break her doon….”

Miss Level began to look hunted herself. Fifty small faces, full of worry and hope and broken noses, looked up at her. And she knew she didn’t have a better plan. Or even a PLN.

“All right,” she said. “But at least you ought to have a bath. I know that’s silly, but it will make me feel better about the whole thing.”

There was a general groan.

“A bath? But we a’ had one no’ a year ago,” said Rob Anybody. “Up at the big dew pond for the ships!”

“Ach, crivens!” said Big Yan. “Ye canna ask a man tae take a bath again this soon, mistress! There’ll be nothin’ left o’ us!”

“With hot water and soap!” said Miss Level. “I mean it! I’ll run the water and I…I’ll put some rope over the edge so you can climb in and out, but you
will
get clean. I’m a wi—a hag, and you’d better do what I say!”

“Oh, all reet!” said Rob. “We’ll do it for the big wee hag. But ye’re no’ tae peek, okay?”

“Peek?”
said Miss Level. She pointed a trembling finger. “Get into that bathroom now!”

Miss Level did, however, listen at the door. It’s the sort of thing a witch does.

There was nothing to hear at first but the gentle splash of water, and then:

“This is no’ as bad as I thought!”

“Aye, very pleasin’.”

“Hey, there’s a big yellow duck here. Who’re ye pointin’ that beak at, yer scunner—”

There was a wet quack and some bubbling noises as the rubber duck sank.

“Rob, we oughta get one o’ these put in back in the mound. Verra warmin’ in the wintertime.”

“Aye, it’s no’ that good for the ship, havin’ tae drink oout o’ that pond after we’ve been bathin’. It’s terrible, hearin’ a ship try tae spit.”

“Ach, it’ll make us softies! It’s nae a guid wash if ye dinna ha’ the ice formin’ on yer heid!”

“Who’re you callin’ a softie?”

There followed a lot more splashing, and water started to seep under the door.

Miss Level knocked.

“Come on out now, and dry yourselves off!” she commanded. “She could be back at any minute!”

In fact, it wasn’t for another two hours, by which time Miss Level had got so nervous that her necklaces jingled all the time.

She’d come to witching later than most, being naturally qualified by reason of the two bodies,
but she’d never been very happy about magic. In truth, most witches could get through their whole lives without having to do serious, undeniable magic (making shambles and curse nets and dream catchers didn’t really count, being rather more like arts and crafts, and most of the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense, and the ability to look stern in a pointy hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a policeman. People saw the uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street, you weren’t allowed to back away, muttering, “Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do, you know, stray dogs and road safety….” You were there, you had the hat, you did the job. That was a basic rule of witchery:
It’s up to you.

She was two bags of nerves when Tiffany arrived back, and stood side by side holding hands with herself to give herself confidence.

“Where have you been, dear?”

“Out,” said Tiffany.

“And what have you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“I see you’ve been shopping.”

“Yes.”

“Who with?”

“Nobody.”

“Ah, yes,” Miss Level trilled, completely adrift. “I remember when I used to go out and do nothing. Sometimes you can be your own worst company. Believe me, I know—”

But Tiffany had already swept upstairs.

Without anyone actually seeming to move, Feegles started to appear everywhere in the room.

“Well, that could ha’ gone better,” said Rob Anybody.

“She looked so different!” Miss Level burst out. “She moved differently! I just didn’t know what to do! And those clothes!”

“Aye. Sparklin’ like a young raven,” said Rob.

“Did you see all those bags? Where could she have got the money?
I
certainly don’t have that kind of—”

She stopped, and both of Miss Level spoke.

“Oh, no—”

“—surely not! She wouldn’t—”

“—have, would she?”

“I dinna ken whut ye’re talkin’ aboot,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy, “but whut
she
would dae isna the point. That’s the hiver doin’ the thinkin’!”

Miss Level clasped all four hands together in distress. “Oh dear…I
must
go down to the village and check!”

One of her ran toward the door.

“Well, at least she’s brought the broomstick back,” muttered the Miss Level who stayed. She started to wear the slightly unfocused expression she got when both her bodies weren’t in the same place.

They could hear noises from upstairs.

“I vote we just tap her gently on the heid,” said Big Yan. “It canna give us any trouble if it’s gone sleepies, aye?”

Miss Level clenched and unclenched her fists nervously. “No,” she said. “I’ll go up there and have a
serious
talk with her!”

“I told yez, mistress, it’s not her,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy wearily.

“Well at least I’ll wait until I’ve visited Mr. Weavall,” said Miss Level, standing in her kitchen. “I’m nearly there…ah…he’s asleep. I’ll just
eease
the box out quietly…. If she’s taken his money, I’m going to be
so
angry—”

It was a
good
hat, Tiffany thought. It was at least as tall as Mrs. Earwig’s hat, and it shone darkly. The stars gleamed.

The other packages covered the floor and the bed. She pulled out another one of the black dresses, the one covered in lace, and the cloak,
which spread out in the air. She really liked the cloak. In anything but a complete dead calm, it floated and billowed as if whipped by a gale. If you were going to be a witch, you had to start by looking like one.

She twirled in it once or twice and then said something without thinking, so that the hiver part of her was caught unawares.

“See me.”

The hiver was suddenly thrust outside her body. Tiffany was free. She hadn’t expected it….

She felt herself to the tips of her fingers. She dived toward the bed, grabbed one of Zakzak’s best wands, and waved it desperately in front of her like a weapon.

“You stay out!” she said. “Stay away! It’s my body, not yours! You’ve made it do dreadful things! You
stole
Mr. Weavall’s money! Look at these stupid clothes! And don’t you know about eating and drinking? You stay away! You’re not coming back! Don’t you dare! I’ve got power, you know!”

So have we
, said her own voice in her own head.
Yours.

They fought. A watcher would have seen only a girl in a black dress, spinning around the room and flailing her arms as if she’d been stung, but
Tiffany fought for every toe, every finger. She bounced off a wall, banged against the chest of drawers, slammed into another wall—

—and the door was flung open.

One of Miss Level was there, no longer nervous but trembling with rage. She pointed a shaking finger.

“Listen to me, whoever you are! Did you steal Mr.—” she began.

The hiver turned.

The hiver struck.

The hiver…killed.

I
t’s bad enough being dead. Waking up and seeing a Nac Mac Feegle standing on your chest and peering intently at you from an inch away only makes things worse.

Miss Level groaned. It felt as though she was lying on the floor.

“Ach, this one’s alive, right enough,” said the Feegle. “Told yez! That’s a weasel skull ye owe me!”

Miss Level blinked one set of eyes and then froze in horror.

“What happened to me?” she whispered.

The Feegle in front of her was replaced by the face of Rob Anybody. It was not an improvement.

“How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” he said.

“Five,” whispered Miss Level.

“Am I? Ah, well, ye could be right, ye’d have the knowin’ o’ the countin’,” said Rob, lowering
his hand. “Ye’ve had a wee bittie accident, ye ken. You’re a wee bittie dead.”

Miss Level’s head slumped back. Through the mist of something that wasn’t exactly pain, she heard Rob Anybody say to someone she couldn’t see:

“Hey, I
wuz
breakin’ it tae her gently! I did say ‘wee bittie’ twice, right?”

“It’s as though part of me is…a long way off,” murmured Miss Level.

“Aye, you’re aboout right there,” said Rob, champion of the bedside manner.

Some memories bobbed to the surface of the thick soup in Miss Level’s mind.

“Tiffany killed me, didn’t she?” she said. “I remember seeing that black figure turn around, and her expression was horrible—”

“That wuz the hiver,” said Rob Anybody. “That was no’ Tiffany! She was fightin’ it! She still is, inside! But it didna remember you ha’
two
bodies! We got tae help her, mistress!”

Miss Level pushed herself upright. It
wasn’t
pain she felt, but it was the…ghost of pain.

“What happened to me?” she said, weakly.

“There was like, an explosion, an’ smoke an’ that,” said Rob. “Not messy, really.”

“Oh, well, that’s a small mercy, anyway,” said
Miss Level, sagging back.

“Aye, there was just this, like, big purple cloud o’, like, dust,” said Daft Wullie.

“Where’s my…I can’t feel…Where’s my other body?”

“Aye, that was what got blown up in that big cloud, right enough,” said Rob. “Good job ye hae a spare, eh?”

“She’s all mithered in her heid,” whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. “Take it gently, eh?”

“How do you manage, seeing only one side of things?” said Miss Level dreamily to the world in general. “How will I get everything done with only one pair of hands and feet? Being in just one place all the time…how do people manage? It’s impossible….”

She shut her eyes.

“Mistress Level, we
need
ye!” shouted Rob Anybody into her ear.

“Need, need, need,” murmured Miss Level. “Everyone needs a witch. No one cares if a witch
needs
.
Giving
and
giving
always…a fairy godmother never gets a wish, let me tell you…”

“Mistress Level!” Rob screamed. “Ye cannae pass oout on us noo!”

“I’m weary,” whispered Miss Level. “I’m very, very pished.”

“Mistress Level!” Rob Anybody yelled. “The big wee hag is lying on the floor like a dead person, but she’s cold as ice and sweatin’ like a horse! She’s fightin’ the beast inside her, mistress! And she’s losin’!” Rob peered into Miss Level’s face and shook his head. “Auchtahelweit! She’s swooned! C’mon, lads, let’s move her!”

Like many small creatures, Feegles are immensely strong for their size. It still took ten of them to carry Miss Level up the narrow stairs without banging her head more than necessary, although they did use her feet to push open the door to Tiffany’s room.

Tiffany lay on the floor. Sometimes a muscle twitched.

Miss Level was propped up like a doll.

“How’re we gonna bring the big hag roound?” said Big Yan.

“I heard where ye has to put someone’s heid between their legs,” said Rob doubtfully.

Daft Wullie sighed and drew his sword. “Sounds a wee bit drastic tae me,” he said, “but if someone will help me hold her steady—”

Miss Level opened her eyes, which was just as well. She focused unsteadily on the Feegles and smiled a strange, happy little smile.

“Ooo, fairies!” she mumbled.

“Ach, noo she’s ramblin’,” said Rob Anybody.

“She means fairies like bigjobs
think
they are,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy. “Tiny wee tinkly creatures that live in flowers an’ fly aroound cuddlin’ butterflies an’ that.”

“What? Have they no’
seen
real fairies? They’re worse’n wasps!” said Big Yan.

“We havna got
time
for this!” snapped Rob Anybody. He jumped onto Miss Level’s knee.

“Aye, ma’am, we’s fairies from the land o’—” He stopped and looked imploringly at Billy.

“Tinkle?” Billy suggested.

“Aye, the land o’Tinkle, ye ken, and we found this puir wee—”

“—princess,” said Billy.

“Aye, princess, who’s been attacked by a bunch o’ scunners—”

“—wicked goblins,” said Billy.

“—yeah, wicked goblins, right, an’ she’s in a bad way, so we wuz wonderin’ if ye could kinda tell us how tae look after her—”

“—until the handsome prince turns up on a big white horse wi’ curtains roound it an’ wakes her with a magical kiss,” said Billy.

Rob gave him a desperate look and turned
back to the bemused Miss Level.

“Aye, what ma friend Fairy Billy just said,” he managed.

Miss Level tried to focus.

“You’re very
ugly
for fairies,” she said.

“Aye, well, the ones you gen’rally see are for the
pretty
flowers, ye ken,” said Rob Anybody, inventing desperately. “We’re more for the stingin’ nettles and bindweed an’ Old Man’s Troosers an’ thistles, okay? It wouldna be fair for only the bonny flowers tae have fairies noo, would it? It’d prob’ly be against the law, eh? Noo, can ye
please
help us wi’ this princess here before them scunners—”

“—wicked goblins—” said Billy.

“Aye, before they come back,” said Rob.

Panting, he watched Miss Level’s face. There seemed to be a certain amount of thinking going on.

“Is her pulse rapid?” murmured Miss Level. “You say her skin is cold but she’s sweating? Is she breathing rapidly? It sounds like shock. Keep her warm. Raise her legs. Watch her carefully. Try to remove…the cause….” Her head slumped.

Rob turned to Awf’ly Wee Billy.

“A horse wi’
curtains
roound it?” he said. “Where did ye get all that blethers?”

“There’s a big hoouse near the Long Lake, an’
they read stories tae their wee bairn an’ I got along an’ listened fra’ a mousehole,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy. “One day I snuck in and looked at the pichoors, and there was bigjobs called k’nits wi’ shields and armor and horses wi’ curtains—”

“Weel, it worked, blethers though it be,” said Rob Anybody. He looked at Tiffany. She was lying down, so he was about as high as her chin. It was like walking around a small hill. “Crivens, it does me nae guid at all ta see the puir wee thing like this,” he said, shaking his head. “C’mon, lads, get that cover off the bed and put that cushion under her feet.”

“Er, Rob?” said Daft Wullie.

“Aye?” Rob was staring up at the unconscious Tiffany.

“How are we goin’ tae get
inta
her heid? There’s got tae be somethin’ tae guide us in.”

“Aye, Wullie, an’ I ken whut it’s gonna be, ’cuz I’ve been usin’ mah heid for thinkin’!” said Rob. “Ye’ve seen the big wee hag often enough, right? Well, see this necklet?”

He reached up. The silver horse had slipped around Tiffany’s neck as she lay on the floor. It hung there, amid the amulets and dark glitter.

“Aye?” said Wullie.

“It was a present from that son o’ the Baron,”
said Rob. “An’ she’s kept it. She’s tried tae turn hersel’ intae some kind of creature o’ the night, but somethin’ made her keep this. It’ll be in her heid, too. ’Tis important tae her. All we need tae do is frannit a wheelstone on it and it’ll tak’ us right where she is.”
*

Daft Wullie scratched his head.

“But I thought
she
thought he was just a big pile of jobbies?” he said. “I seen her oout walkin’, an’ when he comes ridin’ past, she sticks her nose in th’ air and looks the other wa’. In fact, sometimes I seen her wait aroound a full five-and-twenty minutes for him tae come past, just so’s she can do that.”

“Ah, weel, no man kens the workin’s o’ the female mind,” said Rob Anybody loftily. “We’ll follow the Horse.”

From
Fairies and How to Avoid Them
by Miss Perspicacia Tick:

No one knows exactly how the Nac Mac Feegle step from one world to another. Those who have seen Feegles actually travel this way say that they apparently throw back their shoulders and thrust out one leg straight ahead of
them. Then they wiggle their foot and are gone. This is known as “the crawstep,” and the only comment on the subject by a Feegle is “It’s all in the ankle movement, ye ken.” They appear to be able to travel magically between worlds of all kinds but not within a world. For this purpose, they assure people, they have “feets.”

The sky was black, even though the sun was high. It hung at just past noon, lighting the landscape as brilliantly as a hot summer day, but the sky was midnight black, shorn of stars.

This was the landscape of Tiffany Aching’s mind.

The Feegles looked around them. There seemed to be downland underfoot, rolling and green.

“She tells the land what it is. The land tells her who she is,” whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. “She really
does
hold the soul o’ the land in her
heid.
…”

“Aye, so ’tis,” muttered Rob Anybody. “But there’s nae creatures, ye ken. Nae ships. Nae burdies.”

“Mebbe…mebbe somethin’s scared them awa’?” said Daft Wullie.

There was, indeed, no life. Stillness and silence
ruled here. In fact Tiffany, who cared a lot about getting words right, would have said it was a hush, which is not the same as silence. A hush is what you get in cathedrals at midnight.

“Okay, lads,” Rob Anybody whispered. “We dinna ken what we’re goin’ tae find, so ye tread as light as e’er foot can fall, unnerstan’? Let’s find the big wee hag.”

They nodded, and stepped forward like ghosts.

The land rose slightly ahead of them, to some kind of earthworks. They advanced on it carefully, wary of ambush, but nothing stopped them as they climbed two long mounds in the turf that made a sort of cross.

“Manmade,” said Big Yan, when they reached the top. “Just like in the old days, Rob.” The silence sucked his speech away.

“This is deep inside o’ the big wee hag’s head,” said Rob Anybody, looking around warily. “We dinna know
whut
made ’em.”

“I dinna like this, Rob,” said a Feegle. “It’s too quiet.”

“Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that—”

“You are my sunshine, my only su—”

“Daft Wullie!” snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange landscape.

The singing stopped. “Aye, Rob?” said Daft Wullie from behind him.

“Ye ken I said I’d tell ye when ye wuz guilty o’ stupid and inna-pro-pree-ate behavior?”

“Aye, Rob,” said Daft Wullie. “That wuz another one o’ those times, wuz it?”

“Aye.”

They moved on again, staring around them. And still there was the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness before thunder. It was as if all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one big sound to happen.

And then they found the Horse.

They’d seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it was not carved into the hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it.

“Awf’ly Wee Billy?” said Rob, beckoning the young gonnagle toward him. “You’re a gonnagle, ye ken aboout poetry and dreams. What’s this? Why’s it up here? It shouldna be on the
top
o’ the hills!”

“Serious hiddlins, Mr. Rob,” said Billy. “This is
serious
hiddlins. I canna work it out yet.”

“She knows the Chalk. Why’d she get this wrong?”

“I’m thinkin’ aboout it, Mr. Rob.”

“You wouldna care tae think a bit faster, would ye?”

“Rob?” said Big Yan, hurrying up. He’d been scouting ahead.

“Aye?” said Rob gloomily.

“Ye’d better come and see this.”

On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled shepherding hut, with a curved roof and a chimney for the potbellied stove. Inside, the walls were covered with the yellow and blue wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were old sacks hanging up there, and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny Aching had counted sheep and days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old fleeces and feed sacks.

“D’ye have the unnerstandin’ of this, Awf’ly Wee Billie?” said Rob. “Can ye tell us where the big wee hag is?”

The young gonnagle looked worried. “Er, Mister Rob, ye ken I’ve only just been made a gonnagle? I mean, I know the songs an’ a’, but I’m no’ verra experienced at this….”

“Aye?” said Rob Anybody. “An’ just how many gonnagles afore ye ha’ walked through the dreams o’ a hag?”

“Er…none I’ve ever heard of, Mister Rob,” Billy confessed.

“Aye. So you already know more aboout it than any o’ them big men,” said Rob. He gave the boy a smile. “Do yer best, laddie. I dinna expect any more of you than that.”

Billy looked out of the shed door and took a deep breath: “Then I’ll tell ye I think she’s hidin’ somewhere close, like a hunted creature, Mr. Rob. This is a wee bit o’ her memory, the place o’ her granny, the place where she’s always felt safe. I’ll tell ye I think that we’re in the soul and center o’ her. The bit o’ her that
is
her. And I’m frightened for her. Frightened to mah boots.”