'Yeah?' he said, adding reproachfully, 'I was on my tea break, you know.'
'This young . . . lady is being awkward,' said Zakzak. 'Throwing magic about. Talking back and being smart at me. The usual stuff.' Brian looked at Tiffany. She smiled. 'Brian's been to Unseen University,' said Zakzak with a 'so there' smirk. 'Got a degree. What he doesn't know about magic could fill a book! These ladies need showing the way out, Brian.'
'Now then, ladies,' said Brian nervously, putting down his mug. 'Do what Mr Stronginthearm says and push off, right? We don't want trouble, do we? Go on, there's good kids.'
'Why do you need a wizard to protect you, with all these magical amulets around the place, Mr Stronginthearm?' said Tiffany sweetly. Zakzak turned to Brian. 'What're you standing there for?' he demanded. 'She's doing it again! I pay you, don't I? Put a 'fluence on 'em, or something!'
'Well, er . . . that one could be a bit of an awkward customer . . .' Brian said, nodding towards Tiffany. 'If you studied wizardry, Brian, then you know about conservation of mass, don't you?' she said. 'I mean, you know what really happens when you try to turn someone into a frog?'
'Well, er . . .' the wizard began. 'Ha! That's just a figure of speech!' snapped Zakzak. I'd like to see you turn someone into a frog!'
'Wish granted,' said Tiffany, and waved the wand. Brian started to say, 'Look, when I said I'd been to Unseen University I meant-' But he ended up saying, 'Erk.' Take the eye away from Tiffany, up through the shop, high, high about the village until the landscape spreads out in a patchwork of field, woods and mountains. The magic spreads out like the ripples made when a stone is dropped in water. Within a few miles of the place it makes shambles spin and breaks the threads of curse-nets. As the ripples widen the magic gets fainter, although it never dies, and
still can be felt by things far more sensitive than any shamble . . . Let the eye move and fall now on this wood, this clearing, this cottage . . . There is nothing on the walls but whitewash, nothing on the floor but cold stone. The huge fireplace doesn't even have a cooking stove. A black tea kettle hangs on a black hook over what can hardly be called a fire at all; it's just a few little sticks huddling together. This is the house of a life peeled to the core. Upstairs, an old woman, all in faded black, is lying on a narrow bed. But you wouldn't think she was dead, because there is a big card on a string around her neck which reads: I Ain't Dead . . . and you have to believe it when it's written down like that. Her eyes are shut, her hands are crossed on her chest, her mouth is open. And bees crawl into her mouth, and over her ears, and all over her pillow. They fill the room, flying in and out of the open window, where someone has put a row of saucers filled with sugary water on the sill. None of the saucers match, of course. A witch never has matching crockery. But the bees work on, coming and going . . . busy as bees. When the ripple of magic passes through, the buzz rises to a roar. Bees pour in though the window urgently, as though driven by a gale. They land on the still old woman until her head and shoulders are a boiling mass of tiny brown bodies. And then, as one insect, they rise in a storm and pour away into the outside air, which is full of whirling seeds from the sycamore trees outside. Mistress Weatherwax sat bolt upright and said: 'Bzzzt!' Then she stuck a finger into her mouth, rootled around a bit and pulled out a struggling bee. She blew on it and shooed it out of the window. For a moment her eyes seemed to have many facets, just like a bee. 'So,' she said. 'She's learned how to Borrow, has she? Or she's been Borrowed!' Annagramma fainted. Zakzak stared, too afraid to faint. 'You see,' said Tiffany, while something in the air went gloop, gloop above them, 'a frog weighs only a few ounces but Brian weighs, oh, about a hundred and twenty pounds, yes? So, to turn someone big into a frog you've got to find something to do with all the bits you can't fit into a frog, right?' She bent down and lifted up the pointy wizard's hat on the floor. 'Happy, Brian?' she said. A small frog, squatting on a heap of clothes, looked up and said, 'Erk!' Zakzak didn't look at the frog. He was looking at the thing that went gloop, gloop. It was like a large pink balloon full of water, quite pretty really, wobbling gently against the ceiling.
'You've killed him!' he mumbled. 'What? Oh, no. That's just the stuff he doesn't need right now. It's sort of. . . spare Brian.'
'Erk,' said Brian. Gloop went the rest of him. 'About this discount-' Zakzak began hurriedly. 'Ten per cent would be-' Tiffany waved the wand. Behind her, the whole display of crystals rose in the air and began to orbit one another in a glittering and above all fragile way. 'That wand shouldn't do that!' he said. 'Of course it can't. It's rubbish. But I can,' said Tiffany. 'Ninety per cent discount, did I hear you say? Think quickly, I'm getting tired. And the spare Brian is getting . . . heavy.'
'You can keep it all!' Zakzak screamed. 'For free! Just don't let him splash! Please!'
'No, no, I'd like you to stay in business,' said Tiffany. 'A ninety per cent discount would be fine. I'd like you to think of me as ... a friend 'Yes! Yes! I am your friend! I'm a very friendly person! Now please put him baaack! Please!' Zakzak dropped to his knees, which wasn't very far. 'Please! He's not really a wizard! He just did evening classes there in fretwork! They hire out classrooms, that sort of thing. He thinks I don't know! But he read a few of the magic books on the quiet and he pinched the robes and he can talk wizard lingo so's you'd hardly know the difference! Please! I'd never get a real wizard for the money I pay him! Don't hurt him, pleaseV Tiffany waved a hand. There was a moment even more unpleasant than the one which had ended up with the spare Brian bumping against the ceiling, and then the whole Brian stood there, blinking. 'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' gasped Zakzak. Brian blinked. 'What just happened?' he said. Zakzak, beside himself with horror and relief, patted him frantically. 'You're all there?' he said. 'You're not a balloon?'
'Here, get off!' said Brian, pushing him away. There was a groan from Annagramma. She opened her eyes, saw Tiffany and tried to scramble to her feet and back away, which meant that she went backwards like a spider. 'Please don't do that to me! Please don't!' she shouted. Tiffany ran after her and pulled her to her feet. 'I wouldn't do anything to you, Annagramma,' she said happily. 'You're my friend! We're all friends! Isn't that nice please please stop me . . .' You had to remember that pictsies weren't brownies. In theory, brownies would do the housework for you if you left them a saucer of milk. The Nac Mac Feegle . . . wouldn't. Oh, they'd try, if they liked you and you didn't insult them with milk in the saucer. They were helpful. They just weren't good at it. For example, you shouldn't try to remove a stubborn stain from a plate by repeatedly hitting it with your head. And you didn't want to see a sink full of them and your best china. Or a precious pot
rolling backwards and forwards across the floor while the Feegles inside simultaneously fought the ground-in dirt and each other. But Miss Level, once she'd got the better china out of the way, found she rather liked the Feegles. There was something unsquashable about them. And they were entirely unamazed by a woman with two bodies, too. 'Ach, that's no thin',' Rob Anybody had said. 'When we wuz raidin' for the Quin, we once found a world where there wuz people wi' five bodies each. All sizes, ye ken, for doin' a' kinds of jobs.'
'Really?' said both of Miss Level. 'Aye, and the biggest body had a huge left hand, just for openin' pickle jars.'
'Those lids can get very tight, it's true,' Miss Level had agreed. 'Oh, we saw some muckle eldritch places when we wuz raiding for the Quin/ said Rob Anybody. 'But we gave that up for she wuz a schemin', greedy, ill-fared carlin, that she was!'
'Aye, and it wuz no' because she threw us oot o' Fairyland for being completely pished at two in the afternoon, whatever any scunner might mphf mphf. . .' said Daft Wullie. 'Pished?' said Miss Level. 'Aye ... oh, aye, it means . . . tired. Aye. Tired. That's whut it means,' said Rob Anybody, holding his hands firmly over his brother's mouth. 'An' ye dinnae ken how to talk in front o' a lady, yah shammerin' wee scunner!'
'Er . . . thank you for doing the washing up,' said Miss Level. 'You really didn't need to . . .'
'Ach, it wasnae any trouble,' said Rob Anybody cheerfully, letting Daft Wullie go. 'An' I'm sure all them plates an' stuff will mend fine wi' a bit o' glue.' Miss Level looked up at the clock with no hands. 'It's getting late,' she said. 'What exactly is it you propose to do, Mr Anybody?'
'Whut?'
'Do you have a plan?'
'Oh, aye!' Rob Anybody rummaged around in his spog, which is a leather bag most Feegles have hanging from their belt. The contents are usually a mystery, but sometimes include interesting teeth. He flourished a much-folded piece of paper. Miss Level carefully unfolded it. ' “PLN”?' she said. 'Aye,' said Rob proudly. 'We came prepared! Look, it's written doon. Pee El Ner. Plan.'
'Er . . . how can I put this. .. ?' Miss Level mused. 'Ah, yes. You came rushing all this way to save Tiffany from a creature that can't be seen, touched, smelled or killed. What did you intend to do when you found it?' Rob Anybody scratched his head, to a general shower of objects. 'I think mebbe you've put yer finger on the one weak spot, mistress,' he admitted. 'Do you mean you charge in regardless?'
'Oh, aye. That's the plan, sure enough,' said Rob Anybody, brightening up.
'And then what happens?'
'Weel, gen'raly people are tryin' tae wallop us by then, so we just mak' it up as we gae along.'
'Yes, Robert, but the creature is inside her head!' Rob Anybody gave Billy a questioning look. 'Robert is a heich-heidit way o' sayin' Rob,' said the gonnagle, and to save time he said to Miss Level: 'That means kinda posh.'
'Ach, we can get inside her heid, if we have to,' said Rob. 'I'd hoped tae get here afore the thing got to her, but we can chase it.' Miss Level's face was a picture. Two pictures. 'Inside her head!' she said. 'Oh, aye,' said Rob, as if that sort of thing happened every day. 'No problemo. We can get in or oot o' anywhere. Except maybe pubs, which for some reason we ha' trouble leavin'. A heid? Easy.'
'Sorry, we're talking about a real head here, are we?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'What do you do, go in through the ears?' Once again, Rob stared at Billy, who looked puzzled. 'No, mistress. They'd be too small,' he said, patiently. 'But we can move between worlds, ye ken. We're fairy folk.' Miss Level nodded both heads. It was true, but it was hard to look at the assembled ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle and remember that they were, technically, fairies. It was like watching penguins swimming underwater and having to remember that they were birds. 'And?' she said. 'We can get intae dreams, ye see . . . And what's a mind but another world o' dreamin'?'
'No, I must forbid that!' said Miss Level. 'I can't have you running around inside a young girl's head! I mean, look at you! You're fully-grow . . . well, you're men! It'd be like, like . . . well, it'd be like you looking at her diary!' Rob Anybody looked puzzled. 'Oh, aye?' he said. 'We looked at her diary loads o' times. Nae harm done.'