The Wee Free Men

when she tried walking through them both ways, nothing happened.
    This wasn’t according to plan. There should have been a magic door. She was sure of that.
    A bubbling feeling in her ear suggested that someone was playing the mousepipes. She looked around and saw William the gonnagle standing on a fallen stone. His cheeks were bulging, and so was the bag of the mousepipes.
    She waved at him. “Can you see anything?” she called.
    William took the pipe out of his mouth, and the bubbling stopped. “Oh, aye,” he said.
    “The way to the Queen’s land?”
    “Oh, aye.”
    “Well, would you care to tell me?”
    “I dinna need to tell a kelda,” said William. “A kelda would see the clear way hersel’.”
    “But you could tell me!”
    “Aye, and you coulda said please,” said William. “I’m ninety-six years old. I’m nae a dolly in yer dolly hoose. Yer granny was a fiiine wuman, but I’ll no’ be ordered about by a wee chit of a girl.”
    Tiffany stared for a moment and then lifted the toad out of her apron pocket.
    “Chit?” she said.
    “It means something very small,” said the toad. “Trust me.”
    “ He’s calling me small!”
    “I’m biggerrr on the inside!” said William. “And I daresay your da’ wouldna be happy if a big giant of a wee girl came stampin’ aroound ordering him aboout!”
    “The old kelda ordered people about!”
    “Aye! Because she’d earned rrrespect!” The gonnagle’s voice seemed to echo around the stones.
    “Please, I don’t know what to do !” wailed Tiffany.
    William stared at her. “Ach, weel, yer no’ doin’ too badly so far,” he said, in a nicer tone of voice. “Ye got Rob Anybody out of marryin’ ye wi’oout breakin’ the rules, and ye’re a game lass, I’ll gi’ ye that. Ye’ll find the way if ye tak’ yer time. Just don’t stamp yer foot and expect the world to do yer biddin’. A’ ye’re doing is shoutin’ for sweeties, ye ken. Use yer eyes. Use yer heid.”
    He put the pipe back in his mouth, puffed his cheeks until the skin bag was full, and made Tiffany’s ears bubble again.
    “What about you, toad?” said Tiffany.
    “You’re on your own, I’m afraid,” said the toad. “Whoever I used to be, I didn’t know much about finding invisible doors. And I resent being press-ganged, too, I may say.”
    “But…I don’t know what to do! Is there a magic word I should say?”
    “I don’t know, is there a magic word you should say?” said the toad, and turned over.
    Tiffany was aware that the Nac Mac Feegle were turning up. They had a nasty habit of being really quiet when they wanted to.
    Oh, no, she thought. They think I know what to do! This isn’t fair ! I haven’t got any training for this. I haven’t been to the witch school! I can’t even find that ! The opening must be somewhere around here, and there must be clues, but I don’t know what they are!
    They’re watching me to see if I’m any good. And I’m good at cheese, and that’s all. But a witch deals with things….
    She put the toad back in her pocket and felt the weight of the book Diseases of the Sheep .
    When she pulled it out, she heard a sigh go up from the assembled pictsies.
    They think words are magical….
    She opened the book at random, and frowned.
    “Cloggets,” she said aloud. Around her, the pictsies nodded their heads and nudged one another.
    “Cloggets are a trembling of the greebs in hoggets,” she read, “which can lead to inflammation of the lower pasks. If untreated, it may lead to the more serious condition of Sloke. Recommended treatment is the daily dosing with turpentine until there is no longer either any trembling, or turpentine, or sheep.”
    She risked looking up. Feegles were watching her from every stone and mound. They looked impressed.
    However, the words in Diseases of the Sheep cut no ice with magic doorways.
    “Scrabbity,” said Tiffany. There was a ripple of anticipation.
    “Scrabbity is a flaky skin condition, particularly around the lollets. Turpentine is a useful remedy—”
    And then she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the teddy bear.
    It was very small, and the kind of red you don’t quite get in nature. Tiffany knew what it was. Wentworth loved the teddy-bear candies. They tasted like glue mixed with sugar and were made of 100% Artificial Additives.
    “Ah,” she said aloud. “My brother was certainly brought here…”
    This caused a stir.
    She walked forward, reading aloud about Garget of the