She turned to a fresh page, picked up her pencil, and, with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, began to write.
The Nac Mac Feegle gradually reappeared. They didn’t obviously step out from behind things, and they certainly didn’t pop magically into existence. They appeared in the same way that faces appear in clouds and fires; they seemed to turn up if you just looked hard enough and wanted to see them.
They watched the moving pencil in awe, and she could hear them murmuring.
“Look at that writin’ stick noo, will ye, bobbin’ along. That’s hag business.”
“Ach, she has the kenning o’ the writin’, sure enough.”
“But you’ll no’ write doon oour names, eh, mistress?”
“Aye, a body can be put in the pris’n if they have written evidence.”
Tiffany stopped writing and read the note:
Dear Mum and Dad, I have gone to look for Wentworth. I am perfectly probably quite safe, because I am with some friends acquaintances people who knew Granny. PS The cheeses on rack three will need turning tomorrow if I’m not back.
Love, Tiffany
Tiffany looked up at Rob Anybody, who had shinned up the table leg and was watching the pencil intently, in case it wrote something dangerous.
“You could have just come and asked me right at the start,” she said.
“We didna ken it was thee we were lookin’ for, mistress. Lots of bigjob women walkin’ aroond this farm. We didna ken it was thee until you caught Daft Wullie.”
It might not be, thought Tiffany.
“Yes, but stealing the sheep and the eggs, there was no need for that,” she said sternly.
“But they wasna nailed doon, mistress,” said Rob Anybody, as if that was an excuse.
“You can’t nail down an egg!” snapped Tiffany.
“Ach, well, you’d have the kennin’ o’ wise stuff like that, mistress,” said Rob Anybody. “I see you’s done wi’ the writin’, so we’d best be goin’. Ye hae a besom?”
“Broomstick,” murmured the toad.
“Er, no,” said Tiffany. “The important thing about magic,” she added haughtily, “is to know when not to use it.”
“Fair enough,” said Rob Anybody, sliding back down the table leg. “Come here, Daft Wullie.” One of the Feegles who looked very much like that morning’s egg thief came and stood by Rob Anybody, and they both bent over slightly. “If you’d care to step on us, mistress,” said Rob Anybody.
Before Tiffany could open her mouth, the toad said out of the corner of its mouth, and being a toad that means quite a lot of corner, “One Feegle can lift a grown man. You couldn’t squash one if you tried.”
“I don’t want to try!”
Tiffany very cautiously raised a big boot. Daft Wullie ran underneath it, and she felt the boot being pushed upward. She might as well have trodden on a brick.
“Now t’other wee bootie,” said Rob Anybody.
“I’ll fall over!”
“Nae, we’re good at this….”
And then Tiffany was standing up on two pictsies. She felt them moving backward and forward underneath her, keeping her balanced. She felt quite secure, though. It was just like wearing really thick soles.
“Let’s gae,” said Rob Anybody, down below. “An’ don’t worry about yon pussycat scraffin’ the wee burdies. Some of the lads is stayin’ behind to mind things!”
Ratbag crept along a branch. He wasn’t a cat who was good at changing the ways he thought. But he was good at finding nests. He’d heard the cheeping from the other end of the garden, and even from the bottom of the tree he’d been able to see three little yellow beaks in the nest. Now he advanced, drooling. Nearly there…