The Shepherd's Crown (26 page)

And a wee voice said, ‘Crivens!’

‘Rob Anybody?’

‘Oh aye. We follow ye all the time, ye ken. Ye are the hag o’ the hills and the Long Man
is a big hill.’

But, ‘Wait by the gate please, Rob, I must do this by myself,’ she said, suddenly filled with sureness that this was the right choice. She had killed the three elves; now she would face their king. ‘This is hag business, ye ken.’

‘But we knows the King,’ said Rob. ‘If’n we gae along wi’ ye, we can fight yon scunner in his ain world.’

‘Oh aye,’ added Wee Dangerous Spike. ‘A big
laddie, ye ken, but I’ll gi’ the bogle a face full of Feegle he’ll nae forget.’ He experimentally nutted one of the entrance stones, bouncing his head off the rock with a satisfying
clunk
.

Tiffany sighed. ‘That’s what I’m afeared – I mean, afraid of,’ she said. ‘I want to ask the King for his help. Not anger him. And I know the Feegles have history with him . . .’

‘Aye, that’s us,’ said Rob
proudly. ‘We is
history
.’

‘Nae king, nae quin, nae laird!’ roared the assembled Feegles.

‘Nae
Feegles
,’ said Tiffany firmly. A sudden burst of inspiration hit her. ‘I need you
just here
, Rob Anybody,’ she told him. ‘I have to do my hag business with the King without anyone disturbing me.’ She paused. ‘And there are elves afoot. So if any should come seekin’ their king, I want
you
– Rob Anybody,
Wee Dangerous Spike, all of ye – to stop them coming down after me. I need you to do this for me. It’s
important
. Is that
understood
?’

There was a bit of grumbling, but Rob had brightened up. ‘So we can gi’ them scunners a guid kickin’ if they shows up here?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Tiffany said wearily.

This was met by a cheer. ‘Nac Mac Feegle, wha hae!’

She left them there, squabbling over who
should guard which part of the Long Man, Wee Dangerous Spike bashing his head enthusiastically against the entrance stones again as a sort of warmup for what he hoped was coming, and she walked into the stinky darkness, clutching the small crowbar she had brought with her, along with a horseshoe. She put one hand into her pocket and held tight on to the shepherd’s crown – her ground, her turf. Let’s
see if I am truly the hag of the hills, she thought, and she gripped the big stone blocking the entrance.

It rose up gently, no crowbar necessary, the stone crackling as she raised it higher and higher, revealing the steps beyond. The path inside led her deeper and darker, spiralling round and round, taking her into the heart of the barrow.

Into a pathway between the worlds.

Into the world
of the elven King, where he floated between time and space in his land of pleasure. It was stifling, though there was no fire – the heat seemed to be coming out of the earth.

And it stank. It reeked of masculinity and unwashed clothing, of feet and sweat. There were bottles everywhere, and at the end of the hall, naked men were wrestling, grunting and groaning as they twined and twisted with
their opponents, their bodies greased as if from a bucket of lard. There were no women to be seen – this was a land where men indulged themselves with no thought for the other sex. But when they saw Tiffany, they stopped and put their hands over their essentials – as Nanny Ogg would have said – and Tiffany thought: Ha, you big strong men, your meat and two veg hanging out, you are frightened, aren’t
you? I am the maiden – and I am also the hag.

She could see the King of the Elven Races. He was just as Nanny Ogg had described, still stinking of course, but somehow hugely attractive. She kept her eyes on the horns on his head, trying not to look at
his
meat and veg, which were
huge
.

The King sighed, stretching out his legs and tapping his hooves against the wall, an animal scent like that
of a badger in heat rising from him and curling towards her. ‘You, young woman,’ he said lazily, his voice an invitation to romance, to wickedness, to pleasures you had not known you wanted until that moment. ‘You come into my world. Into my entertainments. You are a witch, are you not?’

‘Indeed I am,’ said Tiffany, ‘and I am here to ask the King of the Elves to be a proper king.’

He moved closer
and Tiffany tried not to blanch as the stench of him thickened. He smiled lasciviously, causing her to think, I know who you are and what you are, and I think Nanny Ogg must have liked you . . .

‘Who are you?’ he queried. ‘By your garb, you seem indeed to be a witch, but witches are old and somewhat wrinkled. You, girl . . .’

Sometimes, Tiffany thought, I am so
fed up
with being young.
^fn2
My
youth has got his attention, but what I need is his
respect
.

‘I may be young, my lord,’ she said firmly, ‘but as you see, I
am
a ha— a witch. And I come to tell you that I have killed three of your people.’

That should do it, she thought, but the King merely laughed. ‘You interest me, my girl,’ he said, stretching languorously. ‘I do no harm,’ he added lazily. ‘I simply dream, but my people,
oh dear, what can I do? I must allow them their delights, as I do myself.’

‘But their delights are not to
our
taste,’ said Tiffany. ‘Not in
my
world.’

‘
My
world?’ chuckled the King. ‘Oh, you have pride, little girl. Perhaps you would like to be one of my ladies. A queen needs pride . . .’

‘The Lady Nightshade is your queen,’ said Tiffany firmly, her legs shaking at the invitation in the King’s
words.
To stay here? With him?
her mind shrieked. She gripped the shepherd’s crown more firmly.
I am Tiffany Aching, of the Chalk
, she said to herself,
and I have flint in my soul
. ‘Nightshade is my . . . guest,’ she added. ‘Perhaps you did not know, my lord, that your queen has been thrown from Fairyland by the Lord Peaseblossom?’

A lazy smile spread across the King’s face. ‘Nightshade . . .’
he mused. ‘Well, I hope you enjoy her company.’ He spread his legs, making Tiffany gulp, and leaned forward. ‘You begin to tire me now, girl. What do you
want
from me?’

‘Get your elves to see sense,’ said Tiffany. ‘Or there will be a reckoning.’ Her voice almost wobbled on the last bit of this, but it had to be said, oh yes.

There was a huge sigh, and the King yawned as he lay back again. ‘You
come to my abode and you
threaten
me?’ his voice caressed. ‘Tell me, mistress, what care should I have for those elves who play in your lands? Even the Lady Nightshade? There are other worlds. There are
always
other worlds.’

‘Well,
mine
never was a place for elves,’ Tiffany said. ‘It was
never
yours. You just latched on to it – a
parasite
– and took what you could. But once again I have to tell
you these are the days of iron – not just horseshoes, but iron and steel forged together in great lines across the land. It’s called a
railway
, my lord, and it is spreading across the Disc. People are interested in mechanical things, because mechanical things
work
, while old wives’ tales mostly just don’t kill them. And so people laugh at the fairies, and as they laugh, so you will dwindle. You
see, nobody cares about you any more. They have the clacks, the railways, and it’s a new world. You – and your kind – have no future here now other than in
stories
.’ She said the last word contemptuously.

‘Stories?’ the King mused. ‘A way into the minds of your peoples, mistress. And I can wait . . . the stories will survive when this “railway” you speak of is long gone.’

‘But we will not stand
by to see small children taken as playthings for elves any more,’ Tiffany said. ‘I and others will burn those who take them. This is a warning – I would like it to be friendly but, alas, it seems this is not possible. You are living in railway time and
you should leave us be
.’

The King sighed again. ‘Perhaps . . . perhaps,’ he said. ‘New lands to discover could be entertaining. But I have told
you, I have no desire to visit your land in this time of iron. After all, I have all the time I wish for . . .’

‘What about the elves who have already come through?’

‘Oh, just kill them if you wish.’ The King smiled again. ‘I may remain here until the end of time, and I don’t think that you would want to be there. But I have always liked the ladies, and so I will say that if elves are stupid,
they deserve my censure and your wrath. My dear Mistress Aching –
and yes, I do know who you are
– you clasp good intentions to you like a mother clutches her young. Now, should I even let you leave? When I am looking for . . . entertainment.’ He sighed. ‘I do so desire new amusements sometimes – perhaps to tinker with something, to discover new interests. And one new interest could be you. Do
you think that I will let you leave my home?’ His heavy-lidded eyes caressed her.

Tiffany swallowed. ‘Yes, your majesty. You will let me leave.’

‘You are so sure?’

‘Yes.’ Tiffany wrapped her hand around the shepherd’s crown once again, and felt the flint at its centre give her strength, draw her back to her own land, to her land above the wave. She stepped backwards slowly.

And nearly tripped
over something on the floor behind her.

The King was staring too. It was a white cat and she heard the King’s voice, surprised for the first time: ‘You!’

And then there was an end to it, and Tiffany and You spiralled back the way they had come, and the Feegles were outside, patrolling up and down and enjoying the happy opportunity of fighting a tree or two, since no elves had turned up, but
these trees were still right scunners, stickin’ their barbs as they did into Feegle heads and beards. They
deserved
a guid kickin’.

‘Well, I’m not sure that did any good,’ Tiffany said to Rob as she emerged from the tunnel.

‘Weel,’ said Rob Anybody, ‘let them come. Ye will always have your Feegles. We Feegles are everlasting.’

‘Everlasting if there is enough to drink!’ Wee Dangerous Spike added.

‘Rob,’ said Tiffany firmly. ‘Right now, not one of you needs a drink. We need a
plan
.’ She thought for a moment. ‘The King will not help – yet. But he is looking for new entertainments. Perhaps if we offer him something of that ilk, then he will think more kindly upon us and at least leave us alone?’ Leave us to kill his elves, she thought to herself. He did say he wouldn’t mind. Would he change
his mind?

‘Ach, nae problem,’ said Rob proudly, confident of his ability to find a PLN. ‘That King of the Elves, he needs some-thin’ tae do, ye say.’

‘Like the men of Lancre!’ Tiffany said suddenly. ‘Rob, you know how Geoffrey has them all building sheds . . . Well, you built a
pub
once. How difficult would a shed be?’

‘Nae trouble at all, right, lads?’ said Rob, happy now. For he had his PLN.
‘Let’s offski.’ He looked down at You. ‘How come your pussycat follows you around, mistress?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Tiffany. ‘She’s a cat. They can go anywhere. And after all, she was Granny Weatherwax’s cat and that means quite a lot.’

But Rob wasn’t listening. Not now. He was thinking of his PLN. And the following day, at the mouth of the Long Man there was a shed replete with everything a
gentleman could require, including fishing line and every tool you can think of, all made of wood or stone. Tiffany thought that might make the King of the Elves happy. But she did not feel it would get his help . . .

Lord Peaseblossom lounged on a velvet-covered couch in Fairyland, idly fingering the ruff of feathers around his neck, swigging from a goblet of rich wine.

Lord Lankin had just
entered the chamber. He bowed before his new king, a glorious red broom of a tail slung casually round his neck, a memento of a recent raid. ‘I believe, my lord,’ he said lazily, silkily, ‘that our warriors will soon wish for . . . greater enjoyments in the human world. The barriers seem weak, and those of us who slip through to hunt are finding no real opposition.’

Peaseblossom smiled. He knew
that his elves had been testing the gates, some skipping through the red stones of Lancre whilst others had gambolled near the villages of the Chalk, wary only of the little red-haired men who liked nothing more than a fight with an elf. The elves were like the Feegles in one respect – if there was nobody to fight, they would fight amongst themselves. And squabbling was
de rigueur
in Fairyland
– not even cats were as bad.
^fn3

And elves could take umbrage. They loved umbrage, and as for sulking, that was a top entertainment. But everywhere they had been, they had stirred up little pockets of trouble, being nuisances, causing damage for damage’s sake. Stealing sheep, cows, even the occasional dog. Only yesterday Mustardseed had gleefully snatched a ram from its flock on the hills and
then loosed it in a small china shop, laughing as it had lowered its horns and – yes –
rammed
the shelves.

But there was no rhyme nor reason to it. They needed to show what they could
really
do. Perhaps, Peaseblossom mused, the time was afoot to lead his elves on a raid that all elves would sing about for a long time to come.

A smile flickered across his thin, sharp face, and he waved a hand
in the air, changing his tunic instantly to one of leather and fur, a crossbow tucked into his belt.

‘We will put a girdle of glamour around their world,’ he laughed. ‘Go, my elves, go make your mischief. But when this still-bent moon swells to her full glory, we will go together in force. That land will be ours once more!’

In her father’s barn, Tiffany was watching Nightshade wake up. She had
mixed up a new tonic for her yesterday: a good strong dose of reciprocal greens
^fn4
which had made the elf sleep deeply for a whole day, giving her body a chance to regain its strength.