And made a decision.
The following morning she took Geoffrey to one side, and told him that she had something special to say to him.
‘There’s something else,’ she said. ‘Some . . . little friends I want to introduce you to.’ She paused. ‘Rob,’ she called. ‘I know ye is there, and I ask ye to come out now.’ She paused. ‘There’s a wee drop o’ scumble here for ye.’ She placed a cup with a few drops of the liquor in it on the floor.
There was a movement in the air, a flash of red hair, and Rob Anybody was there, a shiny claymore in his hand.
‘Rob, I want you to meet . . . Geoffrey,’ Tiffany said slowly, carefully, turning to see how Geoffrey was taking the sight of his first Feegle, but Rob took her by surprise.
‘Ach, the wee laddie, we kens him already,’ he announced.
Geoffrey coloured up. ‘Well, I have been sleeping in the old lean-to,’ he said. ‘These gentlemen were kind enough to allow me to share their sleeping space.’
Tiffany was astounded. Geoffrey had met the Feegles already! How had she not known! She was the witch. She should have known.
‘But—’ she began, as other Feegles began to appear, one swinging down on string from the ceiling beams, another sidling out from behind a handy bucket, a group edging over to form a semicircle around the scumble on the floor.
‘Nae trouble,’ said Rob, waving a hand in the air. ‘We has had the most interrresting discussions, ye ken, when ye are in your nightie and asleep.’
‘But we still watch over ye— mmpfh, mmpfh.’ Rob had his hand clamped over Daft Wullie’s mouth.
‘In my nightie?’ Tiffany began, but then gave up. Oh, what was the use. The Feegles would always be watching over her, and if she had to choose between having Feegles or no Feegles in her life, well, it was an easy decision.
‘Ye don’t mind, mistress?’ Rob added, shuffling his feet as he always did when he found himself having to do the Explainin’. ‘Jeannie sez as ye ha’ this yon laddie here, and he is a treasure. And ye knows how we Feegles are with treasure – we just ha’ to pick it up.’
As one, the Nac Mac Feegles sighed in happiness.
And Tiffany pushed the cup towards them, saying, ‘Well, you aren’t goin’ to steal this treasure. But I ken – I think – it may be time for me to take Geoffrey along to meet the kelda.’
It was raining hard and they dried off sitting in front of the great fire in the mound. Geoffrey was elated after the trip, and seemed completely unfazed by having to squeeze through the bushes and wriggle down into the Feegle mound.
Involuntarily he squirmed a little,fn1 for every Feegle eye was upon him. Especially that of Maggie, Jeannie’s eldest daughter, who had just bravely squeezed in to see the big wee hag and her friend. She ran her hands through her fiery hair now, and put on her best pout.
Jeannie sighed. It would soon be time for her daughter to leave. There could only be one kelda.
Just as she thought this, Rob held out his arms and Maggie scrambled across the chamber to sit by his side. ‘My daughter, Maggie,’ Rob said proudly to Geoffrey. ‘Soon to be off to her ain clan, ye ken, now she is a big grown-up lassie.’
Maggie bridled. ‘But can’t I stay here?’ she wheedled, putting on her best little-lassie voice for her father. ‘I like it here, ye ken, and I dinnae want to ha’ a husband’ – she said the word like it was an abomination to her – ‘and babbies. I want to be a warrior.’
Rob laughed. ‘But ye is a lassie, Maggie,’ he said, with a worried look at Jeannie. Had she not taught the hiddlins to Maggie? Taught her what she needed to know to be kelda herself in her own clan?
‘But I kens how to fight,’ Maggie said sulkily. ‘Ask Wee Duggie Bignose – I gave him such a kickin’ when we las’ had a wee brawl, ye ken.’
Wee Duggie Bignose – one of Rob’s scrawnier teenage sons – scuffled his feet awkwardly in the corner and hung his head so that only his nose was visible as the beads in his plaits smacked him on the chin.
‘An’ I talked to the Toad,’fn2 Maggie went on. ‘He said I dinna ha’ to follow tradition, ye ken. He says it’s my Yuman Rites.’
‘Well, ye ain’t a human,’ Jeannie snapped. ‘An’ we’ll ha’ nae more o’ that nonsense. Gae and fetch oor guest a nice bit of mutton now, with some of oor special relish.’
Tiffany knew of the Feegles’ relish. Snail was one of the key ingredients.
‘Snails,’ she murmured to Geoffrey under her breath as Maggie flounced off. To Tiffany’s amazement, the young Feegle lassie flounced in exactly the same way Mrs Earwig flounced. Except, of course, for the obvious fact that Maggie was only five inches tall, whilst Mrs Earwig was as tall as Tiffany’s father.