The Wee Free Men - Terry Pratchett [95]
No, she couldn’t tell anyone. They’d never believe her, and suppose that they did, and went up and poked around in the pictsies’ mound? She couldn’t let that happen.
What would Granny Aching have done?
Granny Aching would have said nothing. Granny Aching often said nothing. She just smiled to herself, and puffed on her pipe, and waited until the right time.
Tiffany smiled to herself.
She slept, and didn’t dream.
And a day went past.
And another day.
On the third day it rained. Tiffany went into the kitchen when no one was about and took down the china shepherdess from the shelf. She put it in a sack, then slipped out of the house and ran up onto the downs.
The worst of the weather was going to either side of the Chalk, which cut through the clouds like the prow of a ship. But when Tiffany reached the spot where an old stove and four iron wheels stood out of the grass, and cut a square of turf, and carefully chipped out a hole for the china shepherdess, and then put the turf back…it was raining hard enough to soak in and give the turf a chance of surviving. It seemed the right thing to do. And she was sure she caught a whiff of tobacco.
Then she went to the pictsies’ mound. She’d worried about that. She knew they were there, didn’t she? So, somehow, going to check that they were there would be sort of showing that she doubted if they would be, wouldn’t it? They were busy people. They had lots to do. They had the old kelda to mourn. They were probably very busy. That’s what she told herself. It wasn’t because she kept wondering if there really might be nothing down the hole but rabbits. It wasn’t that at all.
She was the kelda. She had a duty.
She heard music. She heard voices. And then sudden silence as she peered into the gloom.
She carefully took a bottle of Special Sheep Liniment out of her sack and let it slide into darkness.
Tiffany walked away and heard the faint music start up again.
She did wave at a buzzard, circling lazily under the clouds, and she was sure a tiny dot waved back.
On the fourth day Tiffany made butter and did her chores. She did have help.
“And now I want you to go and feed the chickens,” she said to Wentworth. “What is it I want you to do?”
“Fee’ the cluck-clucks,” said Wentworth.
“Chickens,” said Tiffany severely.
“Chickens,” said Wentworth obediently.
“And wipe your nose not on your sleeve! I gave you a handkerchief. And on the way back see if you can carry a whole log, will you?”
“Ach, crivens,” muttered Wentworth.
“And what is it we don’t say?” said Tiffany. “We don’t say the—”
“—the crivens word,” Wentworth muttered.
“And we don’t say it in front of—”
“—in fron’ of Mummy,” said Wentworth.
“Good. And then when I’ve finished, we’ll have time to go down to the river.”
Wentworth brightened up.
“Weewee mens?” he said.
Tiffany didn’t reply immediately.
She hadn’t seen a single Feegle since she’d been home.
“There might be,” she said. “But they’re probably very busy. They’ve got to find another kelda, and…well, they’re very busy. I expect.”
“Weewee men say hit you in the head, fish face!” said Wentworth happily.
“We’ll see,” said Tiffany, feeling like a parent. “Now please go and get the eggs.”
When he’d wandered away, carrying the egg basket in both hands, Tiffany turned out some butter onto the marble slab and picked up the paddles to pat it into, well, a pat of butter. Then she’d stamp it with one of the 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