The Wee Free Men

ooutside.”
    Tiffany took the grubby label out of her pocket and stared at it again. There was the life preserver, and the lighthouse. But the Jolly Sailor himself wasn’t there. What was there, so tiny as to be little bigger than a dot on the printed sea, was a tiny rowboat.
    She looked up. There were storm clouds in the sky in front of the huge, hazy life preserver. They were long and ragged, curling as they came.
    “It didna take her long to find a way in,” muttered William.
    “No,” said Tiffany, “but this is my dream. I know how it goes. Keep rowing!”
    Tangling and tumbling, some of the clouds passed overhead and then swooped toward the sea. They vanished beneath the waves like a waterspout in reverse.
    It began to rain hard, so hard that a haze of mist rose over the sea.
    “Is that it?” Tiffany wondered. “Is that all she can do?”
    “I doot it,” said Rob Anybody. “Bend them oars, lads!”
    The boat shot forward, bouncing through the rain from wavetop to wavetop.
    But, against all normal rules, it was now trying to go uphill. The water was mounding up and up, and the boat washed backward in the streaming surf.
    Something was rising. Something white was pushing the seas aside. Great waterfalls poured off the shining dome that climbed toward the storm sky.
    It rose higher, and still there was more. And eventually there was an eye. It was tiny compared to the mountainous head above it, and it rolled in its socket and focused on the tiny boat.
    “Now, that’s a heid that’d be a day’s work e’en for Big Yan,” said Rob Anybody. “I reckon we’d have to come back tomorrow! Row, boys!”
    “It’s a dream of mine,” said Tiffany, as calmly as she could manage. “It’s the whale fish.”
    I never dreamed the smell, though, she added to herself. But here it is, a huge, solid, world-filling smell of salt and water and fish and ooze—
    “Whut does it eat?” Daft Wullie asked.
    “Ah, I know that,” said Tiffany, as the boat rocked on the swell. “Whales aren’t dangerous, because they just eat very small things…”
    “Row like the blazes, lads!” Rob Anybody yelled.
    “How d’ye ken it only eats wee stuff?” said Daft Wullie as the whale fish’s mouth began to open.
    “I paid a whole cucumber once for a lesson on beasts of the deep,” said Tiffany as a wave washed over them. “Whales don’t even have proper teeth!”
    There was a creaking sound and a gust of fishy halitosis about the size of a typhoon, and the view was full of enormous, pointy teeth.
    “Aye?” said Wullie. “Weel, no offense meant, but I dinna think this beastie went to the same school as ye!”
    The surge of water was pushing them away. And Tiffany could see the whole of the head now, and in a way she couldn’t possibly describe, the whale looked like the Queen. The Queen was there , somewhere.
    The anger came back.
    “This is my dream,” she shouted at the sky. “I’ve dreamed it dozens of times! You’re not allowed in here! And whales don’t eat people! Everyone who isn’t very stupid knows that!”
    A tail the size of a field rose and slapped down on the sea. The whale shot forward.
    Rob Anybody threw off his yellow hat and drew his sword.
    “Ach, weel, we tried,” he said. “This wee beastie’s gonna get the worst belly ache there ever wuz!”
    “Aye, we’ll cut oour way out!” shouted Daft Wullie.
    “No, keep rowing!” said Tiffany.
    “It’s ne’er be said that the Nac Mac Feegle turned their back on a foe!” Rob yelled.
    “But you’re rowing facing backward!” Tiffany pointed out.
    The pictsie looked crestfallen. “Oh, aye, I hadna thought o’ it like that,” he said, sitting down again.
    “Just row!” Tiffany insisted. “We’re nearly at the lighthouse!”
    Grumbling, because even if they were facing the right way, they were still going the wrong way, the pictsies hauled on the oars.
    “That’s a great big heid he’s got there, ye ken,” said Rob Anybody. “How big would you say that heid is, gonnagle?”
    “Ach, I’d say it’s verrra big, Rob,” said William, who was with the team on the other oar. “Indeed, I might commit myself to sayin’ it’s enorrrrmous.”
    “Ye’d go as far as that, would ye?”
    “Oh, aye. Enorrrrmous is fully justified.”
    It’s nearly on us, Tiffany thought.
    This has got to work. It’s my dream. Any moment. Any moment now…
    “An’ how near us would you say it is, then?” asked Rob conversationally, as the boat