A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [66]
But the turf lived in the sun, with its hundreds of grasses and flowers and birds and insects. The Nac Mac Feegle knew that better than most, being so much closer to it. What looked like a green desert at a distance was a tiny, thriving, roaring jungle….
“Ach,” said Rob Anybody. “So that’s yer game, izzit? Weel, ye’re no’ takin’ over in here too!”
He chopped at the spindly thing with his sword and stood back.
The rustling of leaves behind him made him turn.
There were two more saplings unfolding. And a third. He looked across the grass and saw a dozen, a hundred tiny trees beginning their race for the sky.
Worried though he was, and he was worried to his boots, Rob Anybody grinned. If there’s one thing a Feegle likes, it’s knowing that wherever you strike, you’re going to hit an enemy.
The sun was going down and the shadows were moving and the turf was dying.
Rob charged.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
What happened during the Nac Mac Feegle’s search for the right smell was remembered by several witnesses (quite apart from all the owls and bats who were left spinning in the air by a broomstick being navigated by a bunch of screaming little blue men).
One of them was Number 95, a ram owned by a not very imaginative farmer. But all he remembered was a sudden noise in the night and a draughty feeling on his back. That was about as exciting as it got for Number 95, so he went back to thinking about grass.
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Then there was Mildred Pusher, age seven, who was the daughter of the shepherd who owned Number 95. One day, when she’d grown up and become a grandmother, she told her grandchildren about the night she came downstairs by candlelight for a drink of water and heard the noises under the sink….
“And there were these little voices, you see, and one said, ‘Ach, Wullie, you canna drink that, look, it says “Poison!” on the bottle,’ and another voice said, ‘Aye, gonnagle, they put that on tae frighten a man from havin’ a wee drink,’ and the first voice said, ‘Wullie, it’s rat poison!’ and the second voice said, ‘That’s fine, then, ’cuz I’m no’ a rat!’ And then I opened the cupboard under the sink, and what do you think—it was full of fairies! And they looked at me and I looked at them and one of them said, ‘Hey, this is a dream you’re having, big wee girl!’ and immediately they all agreed! And the first one said, ‘So, in this dream ye’re having, big wee girl, you wouldna mind telling us where the turpentine is, wouldya?’ And so I told them it was outside in the barn, and he said, ‘Aye? Then we’re offski. But here’s a wee gift fra’ the fairies for a big wee girl who’s gonna go right back tae sleep!’ And then they were gone!”
One of her grandchildren, who’d been listening with his mouth open, said, “What did they give you, Grandma?”
“This!” Mildred held up a silver spoon. “And the strange thing is, it’s just like the ones my mother had, which vanished mysteriously from the drawer the very same night! I’ve kept it safe ever since!”
This was admired by all. Then one of the grandchildren asked: “What were the fairies like, Grandma?”
Grandma Mildred thought about this. “Not as pretty as you might expect,” she said at last. “But definitely more smelly. And just after they’d gone there was a sound like—”
Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
People in The King’s Legs (the owner had noticed that there were lots of inns and pubs called The King’s Head or The King’s Arms, and spotted a gap in the market) looked up when they heard the noise outside.
After a minute or two the door burst open.
“Good night to ye, fellow bigjobs!” roared a figure in the doorway.
The room fell horribly silent. Awkwardly, legs going in every direction, the scarecrow figure wove unsteadily toward the bar and grabbed it thankfully, hanging on as it sagged to its knees.
“A big huge wee drop o’ yer finest whisky, me fine fellow barman fellow,” it said from somewhere under the hat.