‘Funny!’ he said. ‘Wee man! Weewee man!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany. ‘You’ve got him started now.’
But she was very surprised, none the less. Wentworth never showed this much interest in anyone who wasn’t a jelly baby.
‘Rob, we’ve got a real one here,’ a pictsie called out. To her horror, Tiffany saw that several of the Nac Mac Feegles were holding up Roland’s unconscious head. He was full-length on the ground.
‘Ah, that was the laddie who wuz rude to ye,’ said Rob. ‘An’ he tried to hit Big Yan with a hammer, too. That wasnae a clever thing to try. What shall we do with him?’
The grasses trembled. The light was fading from the sky. The air was growing colder, too.
‘We can’t leave him here!’ said Tiffany.
‘OK, we’ll drag him along,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Let’s move right noo!’
‘Weewee man! Weewee man!’ shouted Wentworth gleefully.
‘He’ll be like this all day, I’m afraid,’ said Tiffany. ‘Sorry.’
‘Run for the door,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Can ye no’ see the door?’
Tiffany looked around desperately. The wind was bitter now.
‘See the door!’ Rob Anybody commanded. She blinked, and spun round.
‘Er… er…’ she said. The sense of a world beneath that had come to her when she was frightened of the Queen did not turn up so easily now. She tried to concentrate. The smell of snow…
It was ridiculous to talk about the smell of snow. It was just pure frozen water. But Tiffany always knew, when she woke up, if it had snowed in the night. Snow had a smell like the taste of tin. Tin did have a taste, although admittedly it tasted like the smell of snow.
She thought she heard her brain creak with the effort of thinking. If she was in a dream, she had to wake up. But it was no use running. Dreams were full of running. But there was one direction that looked… thin, and white.
She shut her eyes, and thought about snow, crisp and white as fresh bedsheets. She concentrated on the feel of it under her feet. All she had to do was wake up…
She was standing in snow.
‘Right,’ said Rob Anybody.
‘I got out!’ said Tiffany.
‘Ach, sometimes the door’s in yer ain heid,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Noo let’s move!’
Tiffany felt herself being lifted into the air. Nearby, a snoring Roland rose up on dozens of small blue legs as the Feegles got underneath him.
‘Nae stoppin’ until we get right oout o’ here!’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Feegles wha hae!’
They skimmed over the snow, with parties of Feegles running on ahead. After a minute or two Tiffany looked behind them, and saw the blue shadows spreading. They were getting darker, too.
‘Rob—’ she said.
‘Aye, I ken,’ said Rob. ‘Run, lads!’
‘They’re moving fast, Rob!’
‘I ken that, too!’
Snow stung Tiffany’s face. Trees blurred with the speed. The forest sped past. But the shadows were spreading across the path ahead and every time the party ran through them they seemed to have a certain solidity, like fog.
Now the shadows behind were night-black in the middle.
But the pictsies had passed the last tree, and the snowfields stretched ahead.
They stopped, so quickly that Tiffany almost toppled into the snow.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Where’s all oour old footprints gone?’ said Daft Wullie. They wuz there a moment ago! Which way noo?’
The trampled track that had led them on like a line had vanished.
Rob Anybody spun round and looked back at the forest. Darkness curled above it like smoke, spreading along the horizon.
‘She’s sendin’ nightmares after us,’ he growled. This is gonna be a toughie, lads.’
Tiffany saw shapes in the spreading night. She hugged Wentworth tightly.
‘Nightmares,’ repeated Rob Anybody, turning to her. ‘Ye wouldnae want to know about them. We’ll hold ‘em off. Ye must mak’ a run for it. Get awa’ wi’ ye, noo!’
‘I’ve got nowhere to run to!’ said Tiffany.
She heard a high-pitched noise, a sort of chitter-ing, insect noise, coming from the forest. The pictsies had drawn together. Usually they grinned like anything if they thought a fight was coming up, but this time they looked deadly serious.
‘Ach, she’s a bad loser, the Quin,’ said Rob.
Tiffany turned to look at the horizon behind her. The boiling blackness was there, too, a ring that was closing in from all sides.
Doors everywhere, she thought. The old kelda said there’s doors everywhere. I must find a door.
But there’s just snow and a few trees…
The pictsies drew their swords.
‘What, er, kind of nightmares are coming?’ said Tiffany.
‘Ach, long-leggity things with muckle legs and huge teeth, and flappy wings and a hundred eyes, that kinda stuff,’ said Daft Wullie.
‘Aye, and wuss than that,’ said Rob Anybody, staring at the speeding dark.
‘What’s worse than that?’ said Tiffany.
‘Normal stuff gone wrong,’ said Rob.
Tiffany looked blank for a moment, and then shuddered. Oh yes, she knew about those nightmares. They didn’t happen often, but they were horrible when they did. She’d woken up once shaking at the thought of Granny Aching’s boots, which had been chasing her, and another time it was a box of sugar. Anything could be a nightmare.
She could put up with monsters. But she didn’t want to face mad boots.
‘Er… I have an idea,’ she said.
‘So do I,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Dinnae be here, that’s my idea!’
‘There’s a clump of trees over there,’ said Tiffany.
‘So what?’ said Rob. He was staring at the line of nightmares. Things were visible in it, now—teeth, claws, eyes, ribs. From the way he was glaring it was obvious that, whatever happened later, the first few monsters were going to face a serious problem. If they had faces, anyway.
‘Can you fight nightmares?’ said Tiffany. The chittering noise was getting a lot louder.
‘There’s no’ a thing we cannae fight,’ growled Big Yan. ‘If it’s got a heid, we can gi’ it a faceful o’ dandruff. If it disnae have a heid, it’s due a good kickin’!’
Tiffany stared at the onrushing… things.
‘Some of them have got more than one head!’ she said.
‘It’s oour lucky day, then,’ said Daft Wullie.
The pictsies shifted their weight, ready to fight.
‘Piper,’ said Rob Anybody to William the gonnagle, ‘play us a lament. We’ll fight to the sound of the mousepipes—’
‘No!’ said Tiffany. ‘I’m not standing for this! The way to fight nightmares is to wake up! I am your kelda! This is an order! We’re heading for those trees right now! Do what I say!’
‘Weewee man!’ yelled Wentworth.
The pictsies glanced at the trees, and then at Tiffany.
‘Do it!’ she yelled, so loudly that some of them flinched. ‘Right now! Do what I tell you! There’s a better way!’
‘Ye cannae cross a hag, Rob,’ muttered William.
I’m going to get you home!’ snapped Tiffany. I hope, she added to herself. But she’d seen a small, round, pale face staring at them around a tree trunk. There was a drome in those trees.
‘Ach, aye, but—’ Rob Anybody glanced past Tiffany and added: ‘Aw no, look at that…’
There was a pale dot in front of the racing line of monstrousness.
Sneebs was making a break for it. His arms pumped like pistons. His little legs seemed to spin. His cheeks were like balloons.
The tide of nightmares rolled over him and kept coming.
Rob sheathed his sword. ‘Ye heard oour kelda, lads!’ he shouted. ‘Grab her! We’rrre offski!’
Tiffany was lifted up. Feegles raised the unconscious Roland. And everyone ran for the trees.
Tiffany pulled her hand out of her apron pocket, and opened up the crumpled wrapper of Jolly Sailor tobacco. It was something to focus on, to remind her of a dream…
People said you could see the sea from the very top of the downs, but Tiffany had stared hard on a fine winter’s day, when the air was clear, and seen nothing but the hazy blue of distance. But the sea on the Jolly Sailor packet was deep blue, with white crests on the waves. It was the sea, for Tiffany.
It had looked like a small drome in the trees. That meant it wasn’t very powerful. She hoped so. She had to hope so…
The trees got closer. So did the ring of nightmares. Some of the sounds were horrible, of cracking bones and crushing rocks and stinging insects and screaming cats, getting nearer and nearer and nearer—
Chapter 12
Jolly Sailor
–there was sand around her, and white waves crashing, and water draining off the shingle and sounding like an old woman sucking a hard mint.
‘Crivens! Where are we noo?’ said Daft Wullie.
‘Aye, and why’re we all lookin’ like yellow mushrooms?’ Rob Anybody added.
Tiffany looked down, and giggled. Every pictsie was wearing a Jolly Sailor outfit, with an oilskin coat and a huge yellow oilskin rain hat that covered most of their faces. They started to wander about, bumping into one another.
My dream! Tiffany thought. The drome uses what it can find in your head… but this is my dream. I can use it.
Wentworth had gone quiet. He was staring at the waves.
There was a boat pulled up on the shingle. As one pictsie, or small yellow mushroom, the Nac Mac Feegles were flocking towards it and clambering up the sides.
‘What are you doing?’ said Tiffany.
‘Best if we wuz leavin’,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘It’s a good dream ye’ve found us, but we cannae stay here.’
‘But we should be safe here!’
‘Ach, the Quin finds a way in everywhere,’ said Rob, as a hundred pictsies raised an oar. ‘Dinnae fash yersel’, we know all about boats. Did ye no’ see Not-totally-wee Georgie pike fishin’ wi’ Wee Bobby in the stream the other day? We is no strangers to the piscatorial an’ nautical arts, ye ken.’
And they did indeed seem to know about boats. The oars were heaved into the rowlocks, and a party of Feegles pushed it down the stones and into the waves.
‘Now you just hand us the wee bairn,’ shouted Rob Anybody from the stern. Uncertainly, her feet slipping on the wet stones, Tiffany waded through the cold water and handed Wentworth over.
He seemed to think it was very funny.
‘Weewee mens!’ he yelled, as they lowered him into the boat. It was his only joke, so he wasn’t going to stop.
‘Aye, that’s right,’ said Rob Anybody, tucking him under the seat. ‘Noo just you bide there like a good boy and no yellin’ for sweeties or Uncle Rob’ll gi’ ye a skelpin’ across the earhole, OK?’
Wentworth chuckled.
Tiffany ran back up the beach and hauled Roland to his feet. He opened his eyes and looked blearily at her.
‘W’a’s happening?’ he said. ‘I had this strange drea—’ and then he shut his eyes again, and sagged.
‘Get in the boat!’ Tiffany shouted, dragging him across the shingle.
‘Crivens, are we takin’ this wee streak o’ useless-ness?’ said Rob, grabbing Roland’s trousers and heaving him aboard.
‘Of course!’ Tiffany hauled herself in afterwards, and landed in the bottom of the boat as a wave took it. The oars creaked and splashed, and the boat jerked forward. It jolted once or twice as more waves hit it, and then began to plunge across the sea. The pictsies were strong, after all. Even though each oar was a battleground as pictsies hung from it, or piled up on one another’s shoulders or just heaved anything they could grasp, both oars were almost bending as they were dragged through the water.
Tiffany picked herself up, and tried to ignore the sudden uncertain feeling in her stomach.
‘Head for the lighthouse!’ she said.
‘Aye, I ken that,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘It’s the only place there is! And the Quin disnae like light.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a good dream, lady. Have ye no’ looked at the sky?’
‘It’s just a blue sky,’ said Tiffany.
‘It’s no’ exactly a sky,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Look behind ye.’
Tiffany turned. It was a blue sky. Very blue. But above the retreating beach, halfway up the sky, was a band of yellow. It looked a long way away, and hundreds of miles across. And in the middle of it, looming over the world as big as a galaxy and grey-blue with distance, was a lifebelt.
On it, but spelled backwards in letters larger than the moon, were the words:
R O L I A S Y L L O J
‘We are in the label?’ said Tiffany.
‘Oh, aye,’ said Rob Anybody.
‘But the sea feels… real. It’s salty and wet and cold. It’s not like paint! I didn’t dream it salty or so cold!’
‘Nae kiddin’? Then it’s a picture on the outside, and it’s real on the inside.’ Rob nodded. ‘Ye ken, we’ve been robbin’ an’ runnin’ aroound on all kinds o’ worlds for a lang time, and I’ll tell ye this: the universe is a lot more comp-li-cated than it looks from the ooutside.’
Tiffany took the grubby label out of her pocket and stared at it again. There was the lifebelt, and the lighthouse. But the Jolly Sailor himself wasn’t there. What was there, so tiny as to be little bigger than a dot on the printed sea, was a tiny rowing boat.
She looked up. There were storm clouds in the sky, in front of the huge, hazy lifebelt. They were long and ragged, curling as they came.
‘It didnae take her long to find a way in,’ muttered William.
‘No,’ said Tiffany, ‘but this is my dream. I know how it goes. Keep rowing!’
Tangling and tumbling, some of the clouds passed overhead and then swooped towards the sea. They vanished beneath the waves like a waterspout in reverse.
It began to rain hard, so hard that a haze of mist rose over the sea.
‘Is that it?’ Tiffany wondered. ‘Is that all she can do?’
‘I doot it,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Bend them oars, lads!’
The boat shot forward, bouncing through the rain from wavetop to wave top.
But, against all normal rules, it was now trying to go uphill. The water was mounding up and up, and the boat washed backwards in the streaming surf.
Something was rising. Something white was pushing the seas aside. Great waterfalls poured off the shining dome that climbed towards the storm sky.
It rose higher, and still there was more. And, eventually, there was an eye. It was tiny compared to the mountainous head above it, and it rolled in its socket and focused on the tiny boat.
‘Now, that’s a heid that be a day’s work e’en for Big Yan,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘I reckon we’d have to come back tomorrow! Row, boys!’
‘It’s a dream of mine,’ said Tiffany, as calmly as she could manage. ‘It’s the whale fish.’
I never dreamed the smell, though, she added to herself. But here it is, a huge, solid, world-filling smell of salt and water and fish and ooze—
‘Whut does it eat?’ Daft Wullie asked.
‘Ah, I know that,’ said Tiffany, as the boat rocked on the swell. ‘Whales aren’t dangerous, because they just eat very small things…’
‘Row like the blazes, lads!’ Rob Anybody yelled.
‘How d’ye ken it only eats wee stuff?’ said Daft Wullie as the whale fish’s mouth began to open.
‘I paid a whole cucumber once for a lesson on Beasts of the Deep,’ said Tiffany, as a wave washed over them. ‘Whales don’t even have proper teeth!’
There was a creaking sound and a gust of fishy halitosis about the size of a typhoon, and the view was full of enormous, pointy teeth.
‘Aye?’ said Wullie. ‘Weel, no offence meant, but I dinnae think this beastie went to the same school as ye!’
The surge of
water was pushing them away. And Tiffany could see the whole of the head now and, in a way she couldn’t possibly describe, the whale looked like the Queen. The Queen was there, somewhere.
The anger came back.
‘This is my dream,’ she shouted at the sky. ‘I’ve dreamed it dozens of times! You’re not allowed in here! And whales don’t eat people! Everyone who isn’t very stupid knows that!’
A tail the size of a field rose and slapped down on the sea. The whale shot forward.
Rob Anybody threw off his yellow hat and drew his sword.
‘Ach, weel, we tried,’ he said. ‘This wee beastie’s gonna get the worst belly ache there ever wuz!’
‘Aye, we’ll cut oour way out!’ shouted Daft Wullie.
‘No, keep rowing!’ said Tiffany.
‘It’s ne’er been said that the Nac Mac Feegle turned their back on a foe!’ Rob yelled.
‘But you’re rowing facing backwards!’ Tiffany pointed out.
The pictsie looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, aye, I hadnae thought o’ it like that,’ he said, sitting down again.
‘Just row!’ Tiffany insisted. ‘We’re nearly at the lighthouse!’
Grumbling, because even if they were facing the right way they were still going the wrong way, the pictsies hauled on the oars.
‘That’s a great big heid he’s got there, ye ken,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘How big would you say that heid is, gonnagle?’
‘Ach, I’d say it’s verrra big, Rob,’ said William, who was with the team on the other oar. ‘Indeed, I might commit myself to sayin’ it’s enorrrrmous.’
‘Ye’d go as far as that, would ye?’
‘Oh, aye. Enorrrrmous is fully justified…’
It’s nearly on us, Tiffany thought.
This has got to work. It’s my dream. Any moment. Any moment now…
‘An’ how near us would you say it is, then?’ asked Rob conversationally, as the boat wallowed and jerked just ahead of the whale.
‘That’s a verrra good question, Rob,’ said William. ‘And I’d answer it by sayin’ it’s verrra close indeed.’
Any moment now, thought Tiffany. I know Miss Tick said you shouldn’t believe in your dreams, but she meant you shouldn’t just hope.
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