Tiffany looked around. She was the only person in the cavern who was over seven inches tall.
“Er, yes,” she said. “Er…more or less. Yes.”
“I am Fion. The kelda says to tell you the wee boy will come to nae harm yet.”
“She’s found him?” said Tiffany quickly. “Where is he?”
“Nae, nae, but the kelda knows the way of the Quin. She didna want you to fash yersel’ on that score.”
“But she stole him!”
“Aye. ’Tis comp-li-cate-ed. Rest a wee while. The kelda will see you presently. She is…not strong now.”
Fion turned around with a swirl of skirts, strode back across the chalk floor as if she was a queen herself, and disappeared behind a large round stone that leaned against the far wall.
Tiffany, without looking down, carefully lifted the toad out of her pocket and held it close to her lips. “Am I fashing myself?” she whispered.
“No, not really,” said the toad.
“You would tell me if I was, wouldn’t you?” said Tiffany urgently. “It’d be terrible if everyone could see I was fashing and I didn’t know.”
“You haven’t a clue what it means, have you…?” said the toad.
“Not exactly, no.”
“She just doesn’t want you to get upset, that’s all.”
“Yes, I thought it was probably something like that,” lied Tiffany. “Can you sit on my shoulder? I think I might need some help here.”
The ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle were watching her with interest, but at the moment it appeared that she had nothing to do but hurry up and wait. She sat down carefully, drumming her fingers on her knees.
“Whut d’ye think of the wee place, eh?” said a voice from below. “It’s great, yeah?”
She looked down. Rob Anybody Feegle and a few of the pictsies she’d already met were lurking there, watching her nervously.
“Very…cozy,” said Tiffany, because that was better than saying “how sooty” or “how delightfully noisy.” She added: “Do you cook for all of you on that little fire?”
The big space in the center held a small fire, under a hole in the roof that let the smoke get lost in the bushes above and in return brought in a little extra light.
“Aye, mistress,” said Rob Anybody.
“The small stuff, bunnies an’ that,” added Daft Wullie. “The big stuff we roasts in the chalk pi—mmph mmph…”
“Sorry, what was that?” said Tiffany.
“What?” said Rob Anybody innocently, his hand firmly over the mouth of the struggling Wullie.
“What was Wullie saying about roasting ‘big stuff’?” Tiffany demanded. “You roast ‘big stuff’ in the chalk pit? Is this the kind of big stuff that goes ‘baa’? Because that’s the only big stuff you’ll find in these hills!”
She knelt down on the grimy floor and brought her face to within an inch of Rob Anybody’s face, which was grinning madly and sweating.
“Is it?”
“Ach…ah…weel…in a manner o’ speakin’…”
“It is?”
“’Tis not thine, mistress!” shrieked Rob Anybody. “We ne’er took an Aching ship wi’out the leave o’ Granny!”