The Wee Free Men - Terry Pratchett [61]
Tiffany looked at her own finger. The bite of the fairy had left two tiny holes.
“It isna too bad,” Rob Anybody shouted up from below. “No one taken by them, just a few cases where the lads didna put their hands o’er their ears in time.”
“Are they all right?”
“Oh, they’ll be fine wi’ counsellin’.”
On the mound of snow William clapped Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock on the shoulder in a friendly way.
“That, lad,” he said proudly, “was some of the worst poetry I have heard for a long time. It was offensive to the ear and a torrrture to the soul. The last couple of lines need some work, but ye has the groanin’ off fiiine. All in all, a verrry commendable effort! We’ll make a gonnagle out of ye yet!”
Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock blushed happily.
In Fairyland words really have power, Tiffany thought. And I am more real. I’ll remember that.
The pictsies assembled into battle order again, although it was pretty disorderly, and set off. Tiffany didn’t rush too far ahead this time.
“That’s yer little people wi’ wings,” said Rob, as Tiffany sucked at her finger. “Are ye happier now?”
“Why were they trying to carry you away?”
“Ach, they carries their victims off to their nest, where their young ones—”
“Stop!” said Tiffany. “This is going to be horrible, right?”
“Oh, aye. Gruesome,” said Rob, grinning.
“And you used to live here?”
“Ah, but it wasna so bad then. It wasna perfect, mark you, but the Quin wasna as cold in them days. The King was still aroound. She was always happy then.”
“What happened? Did the King die?”
“No. They had words, if ye tak’ my meanin’,” said Rob.
“Oh, you mean like an argument—”
“A bit, mebbe,” said Rob. “But they was magical words. Forests destroyed, mountains explodin’, a few hundred deaths, that kind of thing. And he went off to his own world. Fairyland was never a picnic, ye ken, even in the old days. But it was fine if you kept alert, an’ there was flowers and burdies and summertime. Now there’s the dromes and the hounds and the stinging fey and such stuff creepin’ in from their own worlds, and the whole place has gone doon the tubes.”
Things taken from their own worlds, thought Tiffany, as she tramped through the snow. Worlds all squashed together like peas in a sack, or hidden inside one another like bubbles inside other bubbles.
She had a picture in her head of things creeping out of their own world and into another, in the same way that mice invaded the larder. Only there were worse things than mice.
What would a drome do if it got into our world? You’d never know it was there. It’d sit in the corner and you’d never see it, because it wouldn’t let you. And it’d change the way you saw the world, give you nightmares, make you want to die.
Her Second Thoughts added: I wonder how many have got in already and we don’t know?
And I’m in Fairyland, where dreams can hurt. Somewhere all stories are real, all songs are true. I thought that was a strange thing for the kelda to say….
Tiffany’s Second Thoughts said: Hang on, was that a First Thought?
And Tiffany thought: No, that was a Third Thought. I’m thinking about how I think about what I’m thinking. At least, I think so.
Her Second Thoughts said: Let’s all calm down, please, because this is quite a small head.
The forest went on. Or perhaps it was a small forest and, somehow, moved around them as they walked. This was Fairyland, after all. You couldn’t trust it.
And the snow still vanished where Tiffany walked, and she had only to look at a tree for it to smarten up and make an effort to look like a real tree.
The Queen is…well, a queen, Tiffany thought. She’s got a world of her own. She could do anything with it. And all she does is steal things, mess up people’s lives…
There was the thud of hoofbeats in the distance.
It’s her! What shall I do? What shall I say?
The Nac Mac Feegles leaped behind the trees.
“Come away oot o’ the path!” whispered Rob Anybody.
“She might still have him!” said Tiffany, gripping the pan handle nervously and staring