“Well.” Her father looked panicky and impatient at the same time. “Go and…do something!”
“Yes, Dad.”
When the door had shut, Tiffany peered under the sink again.
“Are you there, toad?”
“Very poor pickings under here,” the toad answered, crawling out. “You keep it very clean. Not even a spider.”
“This is urgent!” snapped Tiffany. “My little brother has gone missing. In broad daylight! Up on the downs, where you can see for miles!”
“Oh, croap,” said the toad.
“Pardon?” said Tiffany.
“Er, that was, er, swearing in Toad,” said the toad. “Sorry, but—”
“Has what’s going on got something to do with magic?” said Tiffany. “It has, hasn’t it…?”
“I hope it hasn’t,” said the toad, “but I think it has.”
“Have those little men stolen Wentworth?”
“Who, the Feegles? They don’t steal children!”
There was something in the way the toad said it. They don’t steal…
“Do you know who has taken my brother, then?” Tiffany demanded.
“No. But…they might,” said the toad. “Look, Miss Tick told me that you were not to—”
“My brother has been stolen,” said Tiffany sharply. “Are you going to tell me not to do anything about it?”
“No, but—”
“Good! Where are the Feegles now?”
“Lying low, I expect. The place is full of people searching, after all, but—”
“How can I bring them back? I need them!”
“Um, Miss Tick said—”
“How can I bring them back?”
“Er…you want to bring them back, then?” said the toad, looking mournful.
“Yes!”
“It’s just that’s something not many people have ever wanted to do,” said the toad. “They’re not like brownies. If you get Nac Mac Feegle in the house, it’s usually best to move away.” He sighed. “Tell me, is your father a drinking man?”
“He has a beer sometimes,” said Tiffany. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Only beer?”
“Well, I’m not supposed to know about what my father calls the Special Sheep Liniment,” said Tiffany. “Granny Aching used to make it in the old cowshed.”
“Strong stuff, is it?”