Wintersmith

banged on it anyway.
    “We will not tolerate this waywardness!” said Aunt Danuta. There was a crash from the other side of the door. “Are you fighting in there?”
    “No, I’m writing a flute sonata!” shouted Roland. Something heavy hit the door.
    Aunt Danuta pulled herself together. She looked like Miss Tick in general outline, but with the eyes of the perpetually offended and the mouth of an instant complainer.
    “If you don’t do as you’re told, I will tell your father—” she began, and stopped when the door was yanked open.
    Roland had a cut on his arm, his face was red, sweat was dripping off his chin, and he was panting. He raised his sword in a trembling hand. Behind him, on the other side of the gray room, was a suit of very battered armor. It turned its helmet to look at the aunts. This made a squeaking noise.
    “If you dare disturb my father,” Roland said as they stared at it, “I shall tell him about the money that’s being taken out of the big chest in the strong room. Don’t lie!”
    For a moment—a blink would have missed it—Aunt Danuta’s face had guilt written on it, but it vanished with speed. “How dare you! Your dear mother—”
    “Is dead!” shouted Roland, and slammed the door.
    The helmet’s visor was pushed up and half a dozen Feegles peered out.
    “Crivens, what a pair of ol’ corbies,” said Big Yan.
    “My aunts,” said Roland darkly. “What’s a corbie?”
    “It’s like a big ol’ crow that hangs around waitin’ for someone tae die,” said Billy Bigchin.
    “Ah, then you’ve met them before,” said Roland with a glint in his eye. “Let’s have another go, shall we? I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
    There was a grumble of protests from every part of the armor, but Rob Anybody shouted it down.
    “All right! We’ll gi’e the lad one more chance,” he said. “Get tae yer posts!”
    There were clangs and much swearing as the Feegles climbed around inside the suit, but after a few seconds the armor seemed to pull itself together. It picked up a sword and lumbered toward Roland, who could hear the muffled orders coming from inside.
    The sword swung, but in one quick movement he deflected it, stepped sideways, swung his own sword in a blur, and chopped the suit in half with a clang that echoed around the castle.
    The top part hit the wall. The bottom half just rocked, still standing.
    After a few seconds, a lot of small heads slowly rose above the iron trousers.
    “Was that supposed to happen?” Roland said. “Is everyone, er…whole?”
    A quick count revealed that there were indeed no half Feegles, although there was a lot of bruising and Daft Wullie had lost his spog. A lot of Feegles were walking in circles and banging at their ears with their hands, though. It had been a very loud clang.
    “No’ a bad effort, that time,” said Rob Anybody vaguely. “Ye seem tae be gettin’ the knowin’ o’ the fightin’.”
    “It definitely seemed better, didn’t it,” said Roland, looking proud. “Shall I have another go?”
    “No! I mean…no,” said Rob. “No, I reckon that’s enough for today, eh?”
    Roland glanced up at the little barred window, high in the wall. “Yes, I’d better go and see my father,” he said, and the glow in his face faded. “It’s well past lunchtime. If I don’t see him every day, he forgets who I am.”
    When the boy had gone, the Feegles looked at one another.
    “That lad is no’ havin’ an easy life right noo,” said Rob Anybody.
    “You’ve got tae admit he’s gettin’ better,” said Billy Bigchin.
    “Oh, aye, I’ll warrant he’s no’ such a bunty as I thought, but that sword is far tae heavy for him, an’ it’ll take weeks tae get him any guid,” said Big Yan. “Ha’ we got weeks, Rob?”
    Rob Anybody shrugged. “Who can tell?” he said. “He’s gonna be the Hero, come whut may. The big wee hag’ll meet the Wintersmith soon enough. She canna fight that. It’s like the hag o’ hags sez: Ye canna fight a story as old as that. It’ll find a way.” He cupped his hands. “C’mon lads, away tae the mound. We’ll come back tonight. Mebbe ye can’t make a Hero all in one go.”

    Tiffany’s little brother was old enough to want to be considered older still, which is a dangerous ambition on a busy working farm, where there are big-hoofed horses and sheep dips and a hundred and one other places where a small person might not be noticed until it’s too late. But most of