《I SHALL WEAR MIDNIGHT》vernon

3、THOSE WHO STIR IN THEIR SLEEP

　　THE MOON WAS well up and turned the world into a sharp-edged jigsaw of black and silver as Tiffany and the Feegles headed up onto the downs. The Nac Mac Feegles could move in absolute silence when they wanted to; Tiffany had been carried by them her- self, and it was always a gentle ride, and really quite pleasant, especially if they had had a bath in the last month or so.
　　Every shepherd on the hills must have seen the Feegle mound at some time or other. No one ever talked about it. Some things were best left unspoken, such as the fact that the loss of lambs on the down where the Feegles lived was much less than it was in more distant parts of the Chalk, but on the other hand a few sheep would disappear; they would be the weak lambs or the very old ewes (Feegles liked old strong mutton, the kind that you could chew for hours)– the flocks were guarded, and guards took their pay. Besides, the mound was very close to all that remained of Granny Aching’s shepherding hut, and that was almost holy ground.
　　Tiffany could smell the smoke leaking up through the thorn bushes as they got nearer. Well, at least it was a blessing that she would not have to slide down the hole to get into it; that sort of thing was all very well when you were nine, but when you were nearly sixteen it was undignified, the ruination of a good dress and, although she would not admit this, far too tight for comfort.
　　But Jeannie the kelda had been making changes. There was an old chalk pit quite close to the mound, reached by a passageway underground. The kelda had got the boys working on this with bits of corrugated iron and tarpaulin which they had ‘found’ in that very distinctive way
　　they had of ‘finding’ things. It still looked like a typical upland chalk pit, because brambles and Climbing Henry and Twirling Betty vines had been trained over it so that barely a mouse would be able to find its way inside. Water could get in though, dripping down the iron and filling barrels down below; there was a much larger space now for cooking, and even enough room for Tiffany to climb down if she remembered to shout out her name first, when hidden hands pulled strings and opened the way through the impassable brambles as if by magic. The kelda had her own private bathroom down there; the Feegles themselves took a bath only when something reminded them, such as an eclipse of the moon.
　　Amber was whisked down the hole and Tiffany waited impatiently close to the right spot in the bramble forest until the thorns magically ‘moved aside’.

　　arm.

　　Jeannie, the kelda, almost as round as a football, was waiting for her, a baby under each

　　‘I am very pleased to see you, Tiffany,’ she said, and for some reason that sounded odd

　　and out of place. ‘I have told the boys tae go and let off steam outside,’ the kelda went on. ‘This is woman’s work, and not a pretty errand at that, I’m sure ye will agree. They have laid her down by the fire and I have started to put the soothings on her. I do think she will bide fine, but it was a good job that ye have done this night. Your famous Mistress Weatherwax her own self could not have done a better job.’
　　‘She taught me to take away pain,’ said Tiffany.
　　‘Ye dinnae say?’ said the kelda, giving Tiffany a strange look. ‘I hope ye never have occasion to regret the day she did ye that … kindness.’
　　At this point several Feegles appeared down the tunnel that led into the main mound. They looked uneasily from their kelda to their hag, and a very reluctant spokesfeegle said, ‘Not to be barging in or anything, ladies, but we was cooking up a wee late-night snack, and Rob said to ask if the big wee hag would like a wee tasty?’
　　Tiffany sniffed. There was a definite scent in the air, and it was the kind of scent you get when you have sheep meat in close conjunction with, for example, a roasting pan. All right, she thought, we know they do it, but they might have the good manners not to do it in front of me!
　　The spokesfeegle must have realized this because, while wringing the edge of his kilt madly with both hands, as a Feegle generally did when he was telling an enormous lie, he added,
　　‘Weel, I think I did hear that maybe a piece of sheep kind of accidentally fell intae the pan when it was cooking and we tried to drag it oot but – well,ye ken what sheep is like – it panicked and fought back.’ At this point the speaker’s obvious relief at being able to cobble some kind of excuse together led him to attempt greater heights of fiction, and he went on: ‘It is my thinking that it must have been suicidal owing to having nothing to do all day but eat grass.’
　　He looked hopefully at Tiffany to see if this had worked, just as the kelda cut in sharply and said, ‘Wee Honeymouth Jock, just you go in there and say that the big wee hag would like a mutton sandwich, OK?’ She looked up at Tiffany and said, ‘No arguing, girl. Ye look tae me to be all but swaying for want of a decent hot meal. I ken well that witches looks after everybody but theirselves. Run ye along, boys.’
　　Tiffany could still feel a tension in the air. The kelda’s solemn little gaze stayed fixed on her, and then Jeannie said, ‘Can you remember yesterday?’
　　It sounded like a silly question, but Jeannie was never silly. It was worth thinking about,
　　although Tiffanyyearned for some suicidal sheep and a decent night’s sleep.
　　‘Yesterday– well, I suppose it’s the day before yesterday now – I was called over to
　　Buckle-Without,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The blacksmith there had not been careful with his
　　forge, and it had broken open and shot hot coals all down his leg. I treated him and took away the pain, which I put in his anvil. For the doing of this, I was paid twenty-four pounds of potatoes, three cured deerskins, half a bucket of nails, one old but serviceable sheet good enough to make bandages and one small jar of hedgehog fat which his wife swore was a capital remedy for inflammation of the pipes. I also had a good helping of stew with the family. Then, since I was in the vicinity, I went on to Buckle-With-Many, where I saw to Mr Gower’s little problem. I mentioned to him about the hedgehog fat, and he said it was a wonderful cure for the unmentionables, and traded me one whole ham for the jar. Mrs Gower made me tea and allowed me to pick a bushel basket of love-in-a-pickle, which grows more freely in her garden than I
　　have ever seen it grow anywhere else.’ Tiffany paused a moment. ‘Oh yes, and then I stopped off

　　at Wits End to change a poultice, and then I went and saw to the Baron, and then, of course, the rest of the day was my own, hah! But on the whole it was not a bad day, as days go, as people were too busy thinking about the fair.’
　　‘And as days go, the day has gone,’ said the kelda, ‘and no doubt it was a busy and useful one. But all day I had premonitions about ye, Tiffany Aching.’ Jeannie held up a small
　　nut-brown hand as Tiffany began to protest, and went on, ‘Tiffany,ye must know that I watch over you. Ye are the hag o’ the hills, after all, and I have the power to
　　watch ye in my heid, to keep an eye on ye, because somebody must. I know ye know this because ye are clever, and I know that ye pretend to me that ye do not know, just as I pretend not to know that I know, and I am sure that ye know that too,yes?’
　　‘I might have to work all that out with a pencil and paper,’ Tiffany said, trying to laugh it

　　off.

　　‘It is nae funny! I can see ye clouded in my heid. Danger around ye. And the worst of it

　　is, I cannae see from whence it comes. And that is not right!’
　　Just as Tiffany opened her mouth, half a dozen Feegles came scurrying down the tunnel from the mound, carrying a plate between them. Tiffany couldn’t help noticing, because witches always noticed things if they possibly can, that the blue decoration around the edge of the plate looked very much like that on her mother’s second-best dinner service. The rest of the plate was obscured by a large piece of mutton, along with jacket potatoes. It smelled wonderful, and her stomach took over her brain. A witch took her meals where she could, and was happy to get them.
　　The meat had been cut in half, although the half for the kelda was slightly smaller than the half for Tiffany. Strictly speaking,you cannot have a half that is smaller than the other half, because it wouldn’t be a half, but human beings know what it means. And keldas always had a huge appetite for their size, because they had babies to make.
　　This wasn’t time to talk anyway. A Feegle offered Tiffany a knife which was, in fact, a
　　Feegle claymore, and then held up a rather grubby tin can with a spoon stuck in it.
　　‘Relish?’ he suggested shyly.
　　This was a bit posh for a Feegle meal, although Jeannie was civilizing them somewhat, in so far as you could civilize a Feegle. At least they were getting the right idea. Nevertheless, Tiffany understood enough to be wary.
　　‘What’s in it?’ she asked, knowing that this was a dangerous question.
　　‘Oh, wonderful stuff,’ said the Feegle, rattling the spoon in the can. ‘There’s crabapple, there is, and mustard seed and horseradish and snails and wild herbs and garlic and a sprinkling of Johnny-come-lately—’ But he had gabbled one word a bit too quickly for Tiffany’s taste.
　　‘Snails?’ she interrupted.
　　‘Oh aye,yes, very nourishing, full of vit’mins and min’rals,ye ken, and those wee pro-teenies, and the nice thing is, with enough garlic, they taste of garlic.’
　　‘What do they taste of if you don’t use garlic?’ said Tiffany.
　　‘Snails,’ said the kelda, taking pity on the waiter, ‘and I have to say they are good eating, my girl. The boys let them out at night to graze on wild cabbage and dog lettuce. They are quite tasty, and I think ye might approve of the fact that there is no stealing involved.’
　　Well, that was a good thing, Tiffany had to admit. Feegles did steal, joyously and repeatedly, as much for sport as anything else. On the other hand, to the right people, in the right place, at the right time, they could be very generous, and this was, fortunately, happening right now.

　　‘Even so, Feegles farming?’ she said aloud.
　　‘Oh no,’ said the spokesfeegle, while his fellows behind him pantomimed insulted distaste by making ‘yuk’ noises and sticking their fingers down their throat. ‘It is nae farming, it is livestock herding, as is suitable for them who is free o’ spirit and likes to feel the wind up their kilt. Mind ye, the stampedes can be a wee bit embarrassing.’
　　‘Have some, please do,’ the kelda pleaded. ‘It will encourage them.’
　　In fact, the new Feegle cuisine was quite tasty. Perhaps it’s true what they say, thought
　　Tiffany, that anything goes with garlic. Except custard.
　　‘Don’t mind my boys,’ said Jeannie when they had both eaten their fill. ‘The times are changing and I think they know it. For ye too. How do ye feel?’
　　‘Oh,you know. The usual,’ said Tiffany. ‘Tired, flustered and upset. That sort of thing.’
　　‘Ye work too hard, my girl. I fear ye do not have enough to eat, and I can certainly see ye don’t get enough sleep. When did ye last sleep the night in a proper bed, I wonder? Ye ken that ye must have sleep; ye cannae think properly without some time to rest. I fear ye will soon need all the strength ye can muster. Would ye like me to put the soothings on ye?’
　　Tiffanyyawned again. ‘Thank you for offering, Jeannie,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think I need them, if it’s all the same to you.’ There was a pile of greasy fleeces in the corner that had probably not long before belonged to sheep who had decided to say goodbye to the cruel world and commit suicide. They looked very inviting. ‘I had better go and see to the girl.’ Tiffany’s legs did not seem to want her to move. ‘Still, I expect she is as safe as houses in a Feegle mound.’
　　‘Oh, no,’ said Jeannie softly as Tiffany’s eyes shut. ‘Much, much safer than houses.’ When Tiffany was actually snoring, Jeannie walked slowly up and into the mound itself.
　　Amber was curled up near the fire, but Rob Anybody had stationed some of the older and wiser Feegles around her. This was because the evening fighting was going on. The Nac Mac Feegle fought as often as they breathed, and generally at the same time. It was by way of being a way of life, in a way. Besides, when you were only a few inches tall,you had the whole world to fight and so you might as well learn early.
　　Jeannie sat down by her husband and watched the brawling for a while. Young Feegles were bouncing off the walls, their uncles and one another. Then she said, ‘Rob, do ye think we are bringing our boys up properly?’
　　Rob Anybody, who was sensitive to Jeannie’s mood, glanced across at the sleeping girl.
　　‘Oh aye, no doubt about it—Hey, did ye no’ see that?
　　Slightly-more-wee-than-wee-Jock-Jock kicked Daft Wullie in the pog! Wonderful dirty fightin’, and he’s still only three inches high!’
　　‘He is going to make a grand warrior one day, Rob, that’s true enough,’ said Jeannie, ‘but
　　…’
　　‘I always tell them,’ Rob Anybody went on excitedly as the young Feegle flew over their
　　heads, ‘that the way to success is always to attack only people who are much bigger than ye are! Important rule!’
　　Jeannie sighed as another young Feegle smacked into the wall, shook his head and rushed back into the fight. It was almost impossible to hurt a Feegle. Any human who tried to stamp on
　　a Feegle would find that the little man he thought was under his boot was now in fact climbing up his trouser leg, and after that the day could only get worse. Besides, if you saw one Feegle, there were probably many more around that you hadn’t spotted, and they had certainly spotted you.

　　Perhaps the bigjobs have bigger problems because they’re bigger than us, the kelda thought. She sighed inwardly. She would never let her husband know this, but sometimes she did wonder whether a young Feegle might profitably be taught something like, well, accountancy. Something that didnae mean ye had to bounce off the walls, and didnae mean you had to fight all the time. But then, would he still be a Feegle?
　　‘I’m feared for the big wee hag, Rob,’ she said. ‘Something is wrong.’
　　‘She wanted to be a hag, lassie,’ said Rob. ‘Now she has to dree her weird, same as us. She is a bonny fighter,ye ken. She kissed the Lord of the Winter to his death and banged the Queen o’ the Elves with a frying pan. And I mind the time that invisible beastie got into her heid, and she wrestled it and sent it away. She fights.’
　　‘Oh, I ken that well enough,’ said the kelda. ‘She kissed the face o’ winter and made springtime come again. It was a great thing that she did, sure enough, but she had the mantle of the summer about her. It was that power she dealt to him, not just her own. She did it well, mind, I can think of none who would have done it better, but she must beware.’
　　‘What enemy can she have that we cannae face with her?’ Rob asked.
　　‘I cannae tell,’ said the kelda, ‘but in my heid, it seems like this. When she kissed the winter, it shook me to my roots; it seemed like it shook the world and I cannae but wonder that there might be those who stirred in their slumber. You mak’ certain, Rob Anybody, to keep more than one eye on her.’