The Wee Free Men

very old-fashioned clothes, and his eyes followed Tiffany as she went past.
    “Good morning,” she said.
    “Sneebs!” he said, and in her head appeared the words: “Get away from here!”
    “Excuse me?” she said.
    “Sneebs!” said the man, wringing his hands. And the words appeared, floating in her brain: “It’s terribly dangerous!”
    He waved a pale hand as if to brush her away. Shaking her head, Tiffany walked on.
    There were lords and ladies, people in fine clothes and even a few shepherds. But some of them had a pieced-together look. They looked, in fact, like a picture book back in her bedroom.
    It was made of thick card, its edges worn raggedy by generations of Aching children. Each page showed a character, and each was cut into four strips that could be turned over independently. The point of the whole thing was that a bored child could turn over parts of the pages and change the way the characters were dressed. You could end up with a soldier’s head on a baker’s chest wearing a maid’s dress and a farmer’s big boots.
    Tiffany had never been bored enough. She considered that even things that spend their whole lives hanging from the undersides of branches would never be bored enough to spend more than five seconds with that book.
    The people around here looked as though they’d either been taken from that book or had dressed for a fancy-dress party in the dark. One or two of them nodded to her as she passed but didn’t seem surprised to see her.
    She ducked under a round leaf much bigger than she was and took out the toad again.
    “Whap? It’s sti’ cooold,” said the toad, hunching down on her hand.
    “Cold? The air’s baking!”
    “There’s just snow,” said the toad. “Put me back, I’m freezing!”
    Just a minute, thought Tiffany. “Do toads dream?” she said.
    “No!”
    “Oh…so it’s not really hot?”
    “No! You just think it is!”
    “Psst,” said a voice.
    Tiffany put the toad away and wondered if she dared to turn her head.
    “It’s me!” said the voice.
    Tiffany turned toward a clump of daisies twice the height of a man. “That’s not a lot of help.”
    “Are you crazy?” said the daisies.
    “I’m looking for my brother,” said Tiffany sharply.
    “The horrible child who screams for candy all the time?”
    The daisy stems parted and the boy Roland darted out and joined her under the leaf.
    “Yes,” she said, edging away and feeling that only a sister has a right to call even a brother like Wentworth horrible.
    “And threatens to go to the toilet if he’s left alone?” said Roland.
    “Yes! Where is he?”
    “ That’s your brother? The one who’s permanently sticky?”
    “I told you!”
    “And you really want him back?”
    “Yes!”
    “Why?”
    He’s my brother, Tiffany thought. What’s why got to do with it?
    “Because he’s my brother! Now tell me where he is?”
    “Are you sure you can get out of here?” said Roland.
    “Of course,” Tiffany lied.
    “And you can take me with you?”
    “Yes.” Well, she hoped so.
    “All right. I’ll let you do that,” said Roland, relaxing.
    “Oh, you’ll let me, will you?” said Tiffany.
    “Look, I didn’t know what you were, all right?” said Roland. “There’s always weird things in the forest. Lost people, bits of dreams that’re still lying around…you have to be careful. But if you really know the way, then I ought to get back before my father worries too much.”
    Tiffany felt the Second Thoughts starting. They said: Don’t change your expression. Just…check.
    “How long have you been here?” she asked carefully. “Exactly?”
    “Well, the light doesn’t really change much,” said the boy. “It feels like I’ve been here…oh, hours. Maybe a day.”
    Tiffany tried hard not to let her face give anything away, but it didn’t work. Roland’s eyes narrowed.
    “I have, haven’t I?” he said.
    “Er…why do you ask?” said Tiffany, desperately.
    “Because in a way it…feels like…longer. I’ve only been hungry two or three times, and been to the…you know…twice, so it can’t be very long. But I’ve done all kinds of things…it’s been a busy day….” His voice trailed off.
    “Um. You’re right,” said Tiffany. “Time goes slowly here. It’s been…a bit longer.”
    “A hundred years? Don’t tell me it’s a hundred years! Something magical has happened and it’s a hundred years, yes?”
    “What? No! Um…nearly a year.”
    The boy’s