“No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress,” said the pictsie, patiently.
“Yes, yes, thank you. Where is Rob Anybody? Where is everybody, in fact?”
The young pictsie looked a bit embarrassed.
“There’s a bit o’ a debate goin’ on down below, mistress,” he said.
“Well, we have got to find my brother, okay? I am the kelda in this vicinity, yes?”
“It’s a wee bit more comp-li-cat-ed than that, mistress. They’re, er, discussin’ ye…”
“Discussing what about me?”
Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock looked as if he really didn’t want to be standing there.
“Um, they’re discussing…er…they…”
Tiffany gave up. The pictsie was blushing. Since he was blue to begin with, this turned him an unpleasant violet color. “I’ll go back down the hole. Give my boots a push, will you, please?”
She slid down the dry dirt, and Feegles scattered in the cave below as she landed.
When her eyes got accustomed to the gloom once more, she saw that the galleries were crowded with pictsies again. Some of them were in the middle of washing, and many of them had, for some reason, smoothed down their red hair with grease. They all stared at her as if caught in the act of something dreadful.
“We ought to be going if we’re to follow the Queen,” she said, looking down at Rob Anybody, who’d been washing his face in a basin made of half a walnut shell. Water dripped off his beard, which he’d braided up. There were three braids in his long hair now too. If he turned suddenly, he could probably whip somebody to death.
“Ach, weel,” he said, “there’s a wee matter we got tae sort oout, kelda.” He twiddled the tiny washcloth in his hands. When Rob Anybody twiddled, he was worried.
“Yes?” said Tiffany.
“Er…will ye no ha’ a cup o’ tea?” said Rob Anybody, and a pictsie staggered forward with a big gold cup that must have been made for a king.
Tiffany took it. She was thirsty, after all. There was a sigh from the crowd when she sipped the tea. It was actually quite good.
“We stole a bag o’ it fra’ a peddler who was asleep down by the high road,” said Rob Anybody. “Good stuff, eh?” He patted down his hair with his wet hands.
Tiffany’s cup stopped halfway to her lips. Perhaps the pictsies didn’t realize how loudly they whispered, because her ear was on a level with a conversation.
o;I think I ought to talk to Hamish,” she said.
“Right ye are, mistress,” said a voice by her ear. She turned her head.
“How long have you been there?” she said.
“A’ the time, mistress,” said the pictsie. Others poked their heads around the trees and out from under leaves. There were at least twenty on the mound.
“You’ve been watching me all the time?”
“Aye, mistress. ’Tis oour task to watch o’er our kelda. I’m up here most o’ the time anyway, because I’m studying to become a gonnagle.” The young Feegle flourished a set of mousepipes. “An’ they willna let me play doon there on account o’ them sayin’ my playin’ sounds like a spider tryin’ to fart through its ears, mistress.”
“But what happens if I want to spend a—have a—go to the—what happens if I say I don’t want you to guard me?”
“If it’s a wee call o’ nature ye’re talkin’ aboout, mistress, the cludgie is o’er there in the chalk pit. Ye’ll just sing oot to us where ye’re goin’ and no one’ll go peeking, ye’ll have oour word on it,” said the attendant Feegle.
Tiffany glared at him as he stood in the primroses, beaming with pride and anxious duty. He was younger than most of them, without as many scars and lumps. Even his nose wasn’t broken.
“What’s your name, pictsie?” she said.
“No’-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, mistress. There’s no’ that many Feegle names, ye ken, so we ha’ to share.”