She was two bags of nerves when Tiffany arrived back, and stood side by side holding hands with herself to give herself confidence.

  ‘Where have you been, dear?’

  ‘Out,’ said Tiffany.

  ‘And what have you been doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I see you’ve been shopping.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Miss Level trilled, completely adrift. ‘I remember when I used to go out and do nothing. Sometimes you can be your own worst company. Believe me, I know—’

  But Tiffany had already swept upstairs.

  Without anyone actually seeming to move, Feegles started to appear everywhere in the room.

  ‘Well, that could ha’ gone better,’ said Rob Anybody.

  ‘She looked so different!’ Miss Level burst out. ‘She moved differently! I just didn’t know what to do! And those clothes!’

  ‘Aye. Sparklin’ like a young raven,’ said Rob.

  ‘Did you see all those bags? Where could she have got the money? ‘I certainly don’t have that kind of—’

  She stopped, and both of Miss Level spoke at once.

  ‘Oh, no—’

  ‘—surely not! She wouldn’t—’

  ‘—have, would she?’

  ‘I dinnae ken whut ye’re talkin’ aboot,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy, ‘but whut she would dae isnae the point. That’s the hiver doin’ the thinkin’!’

  Miss Level clasped all four hands together in distress. ‘Oh dear… I must go down to the village and check!’

  One of her ran towards the door.

  ‘Well, at least she’s brought the broomstick back,’ muttered the Miss Level who stayed. She started to wear the slightly unfocused expression she got when both her bodies weren’t in the same place.

  They could hear noises from upstairs.

  ‘I vote we just tap her gently on the heid,’ said Big Yan. ‘It cannae give us any trouble if it’s gone sleepies, aye?’

  Miss Level clenched and unclenched her fists nervously. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll go up there and have a serious talk with her!’

  ‘I told yez, mistress, it’s not her,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy, wearily.

  ‘Well, at least I’ll wait until I’ve visited Mr Weavall,’ said Miss Level, standing in her kitchen. I’m nearly there… ah… he’s asleep. I’ll just eease the box out quietly… if she’s taken his money I’m going to be so angry—’

  It was a good hat, Tiffany thought. It was at least as tall as Mrs Earwig’s hat, and it shone darkly. The stars gleamed.

  The other packages covered the floor and the bed. She pulled out another one of the black dresses, the one covered in lace, and the cloak, which spread out in the air. She really liked the cloak. In anything but a complete dead calm, it floated and billowed as if whipped by a gale. If you were going to be a witch, you had to start by looking like one.

  She twirled in it once or twice, and then said something without thinking, so that the hiver part of her was caught unawares.

  ‘See me.’

  The hiver was suddenly thrust outside her body, Tiffany was free. She hadn’t expected it…

  She felt herself to the tips of her fingers. She dived towards the bed, grabbed one of Zakzak’s best wands and waved it desperately in front of her like a weapon.

  ‘You stay out!’ she said. ‘Stay away! It’s my body, not yours! You’ve made it do dreadful things! You stole Mr Weavall’s money! Look at these stupid clothes! And don’t you know about eating and drinking? You stay away! You’re not coming back! Don’t you dare! I’ve got power, you know!’

  So have we, said her own voice, in her own head. Yours.

  They fought. A watcher would have seen only a girl in a black dress, spinning around the room and flailing her arms as if she’d been stung, but Tiffany fought for every toe, every finger. She bounced off a wall, banged against the chest of drawers, slammed into another wall—

  –and the door was flung open.

  One of Miss Level was there, no longer nervous, but trembling with rage. She pointed a shaking finger.

  ‘Listen to me, whoever you are! Did you steal Mr Weav—?’ she began.

  The hiver turned.

  The hiver struck.

  The hiver… killed.

  Chapter Eight

  The Secret Land

  It’s bad enough being dead. Waking up and seeing a Nac Mac Feegle standing on your chest and peering intently at you from an inch away only makes things worse.

  Miss Level groaned. It felt as though she was lying on the floor.

  ‘Ach, this one’s alive, right enough,’ said the Feegle. ‘Told yez! That’s a weasel skull ye owe me!’

  Miss Level blinked one set of eyes, and then froze in horror.

  ‘What happened to me?’ she whispered.

  The Feegle in front of her was replaced by the face of Rob Anybody. It was not an improvement.

  ‘How many fingers am I holdin’ up?’ he said.

  ‘Five,’ whispered Miss Level.

  ‘Am I? Ah, well, ye could be right, ye’d have the knowin’ o’ the countin’,’ said Rob, lowering his hand. ‘Ye’ve had a wee bittie accident, ye ken. You’re a wee bittie dead.’

  Miss Level’s head slumped back. Through the mist of something that wasn’t exactly pain, she heard Rob Anybody say to someone she couldn’t see:

  ‘Hey, I wuz breakin’ it tae her gently! I did say “wee bittie” twice, right?’

  ‘It’s as though part of me is… a long way off,’ murmured Miss Level.

  ‘Aye, you’re aboot right there,’ said Rob, champion of the bedside manner.

  Some memories bobbed to the surface of the thick soup in Miss Level’s mind.

  ‘Tiffany killed me, didn’t she,’ she said. ‘I remember seeing that black figure turn round and her expression was horrible—’

  ‘That wuz the hiver,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘That was no’ Tiffany! She was fightin’ it! She still is, inside! But it didnae remember you ha’ two bodies! We got tae help her, mistress!’

  Miss Level pushed herself upright. It wasn’t pain she felt, but it was the… ghost of pain.

  ‘How did I die?’ she said, weakly.

  ‘There was, like, an explosion, an’ smoke an’ that,’ said Rob. ‘Not messy, really.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a small mercy, anyway,’ said Miss Level, sagging back.

  ‘Aye, there was just this, like, big purple cloud o’, like, dust,’ said Daft Wullie.

  ‘Where’s my… I can’t feel… where’s my other body?’

  ‘Aye, that was what got blown up in that big cloud, right enough,’ said Rob. ‘Good job ye has a spare, eh?’

  ‘She’s all mithered in her heid,’ whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘Take it gently, eh?’

  ‘How do you manage, only seeing one side of things?’ said Miss Level dreamily to the world in general. ‘How will I get everything done with only one pair of hands and feet? Being in just one place all the time… how do people manage? It’s impossible…’

  She shut her eyes.

  ‘Mistress Level, we need ye!’ shouted Rob Anybody into her ear.

  ‘Need, need, need,’ murmured Miss Level. ‘Everyone needs a witch. No one cares if a witch needs. Giving and giving always… a fairy godmother never gets a wish, let me tell you…’

  ‘Mistress Level!’ Rob screamed. ‘Ye cannae pass oot on us noo!’

  ‘I’m weary,’ whispered Miss Level. ‘I’m very, very pished.’

  ‘Mistress Level!’ Rob Anybody yelled. ‘The big wee hag is lying on the floor like a dead person, but she’s cold as ice and sweatin’ like a horse! She’s fightin’ the beast inside her, mistress! An’ she’s losin’!’ Rob peered into Miss Level’s face, and shook his head. ‘Auchtahelweit! She’s swooned! C’mon, lads, let’s move her!’

  Like many small creatures, Feegles are immensely strong for their size. It still took ten of them to carry Miss Level up the narrow stairs without banging her head more than necessary, although they did use her feet to push open the door to Tiffany’s room.

  Tiffany lay on the floor. Sometimes a muscle twitched.

  Miss Level was propped up like a doll.

  ‘How’re we gonna bring the big hag roound?’ said Big Yan.

  ‘I heard where ye has to put someone’s heid between their legs,’ said Rob, doubtfully.

  Daft Wullie sighed, and drew his sword. ‘Sounds a wee bit drastic tae me,’ he said, ‘but if someone will help me hold her steady—’

  Miss Level opened her eyes, which was just as well. She focused unsteadily on the Feegles and smiled a strange, happy little smile.

  ‘Ooo, fairies!’ she mumbled.

  ‘Ach, noo she’s ramblin’,’ said Rob Anybody.

  ‘No, she means fairies like bigjobs think they are,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘Tiny wee tinkly creatures that live in flowers an’ fly aroound cuddlin’ butterflies an’ that.’

  ‘What? Have they no’ seen real fairies? They’re worse’n wasps!’ said Big Yan.

  ‘We havnae got time for this!’ snapped Rob Anybody. He jumped onto Miss Level’s knee.

  ‘Aye, ma’am, we’s fairies from the land o’—’ He stopped and looked imploringly at Billy.

  ‘Tinkle?’ Billy suggested.

  ‘Aye, the land o’ Tinkle, ye ken, and we found this puir wee—’

  ‘—princess,’ said Billy.

  ‘Aye, princess, who’s been attacked by a bunch o’ scunners—’

  ‘—wicked goblins,’ said Billy.

  ‘—yeah, wicked goblins, right, an’ she’s in a bad way, so we wuz wonderin’ if ye could kinda tell us how tae look after her—’

  ‘—until the handsome prince turns up on a big white horse wi’ curtains roound it an’ wakes her with a magical kiss,’ said Billy.

  Rob gave him a desperate look, and turned back to the bemused Miss Level.

  ‘Aye, what ma friend Fairy Billy just said,’ he managed.

  Miss Level tried to focus. ‘You’re very ugly for fairies,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, well, the ones you gen’rally see are for the pretty flowers, ye ken,’ said Rob Anybody, inventing desperately. ‘We’re more for the stingin’ nettles and bindweed an’ Old Man’s Troosers an’ thistles, OK? It wouldna be fair for only the bonny flowers tae have fairies noo, would it? It’d prob’ly be against the law, eh? Noo, can ye please help us wi’ this princess here before them scunners—’

  ‘—wicked goblins—’ said Billy.

  ‘Aye, before they come back,’ said Rob.

  Panting, he watched Miss Level’s face. There seemed to be a certain amount of thinking going on.

  ‘Is her pulse rapid?’ murmured Miss Level. ‘You say her skin is cold but she’s sweating? Is she breathing rapidly? It sounds like shock. Keep her warm, raise her legs. Watch her carefully. Try to remove… the cause…’ Her head slumped.

  Rob turned to Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘A horse wi’ curtains roond it?’ he said. ‘Where did ye get all that blethers?’

  ‘There’s a big hoose near the Long Lake an’ they read stories tae their wee bairn an’ I go along an’ listen fra’ a mousehole,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘One day I snuck in and looked at the pichurs, and there was bigjobs called k’nits wi’ shields and armour and horses wi’ curtains—’

  ‘Weel, it worked, blethers though it be,’ said Rob Anybody. He looked at Tiffany. She was lying down, so he was about as high as her chin. It was like walking around a small hill. ‘Crivens, it does me nae guid at all ta see the puir wee thing like this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘C’mon, lads, get that cover off the bed and put that cushion under her feet.’

  ‘Er, Rob?’ said Daft Wullie.

  ‘Aye?’ Rob was staring up at the unconscious riffany.

  ‘How are we goin’ taw get inta her heid? There’s got tae be somethin’ tae guide us in.’

  ‘Aye, Wullie, an’ I ken whut it’s gonna be, ‘cuz I’ve been usin’ mah heid for thinkin’!’ said Rob. ‘Ye’ve seen the big wee hag often enough, right? Well, see this necklet?’

  He reached up. The silver horse had slipped around Tiffany’s neck as she lay on the floor. It hung there, amid the amulets and dark glitter.

  ‘Aye?’ said Wullie.

  ‘It was a present from that son o’ the Baron,’ said Rob. ‘An’ she’s kept it. She’s tried tae turn hersel’ intae some kind of creature o’ the night, but somethin’ made her keep this. It’ll be in her heid, too. ‘Tis important tae her. All we need tae do is frannit a wheelstone on it and it’ll tak’ us right where she is.’8

  Daft Wullie scratched his head. ‘But I thought she thought he was just a big pile of jobbies?’ he said. ‘I seen her oot walkin’, an’ when he comes ridin’ past she sticks her nose in th’ air and looks the other wa’. In fact, sometimes I seen her wait aroond a full five-and-twenty minutes for him tae come past, just so’s she can do that.’

  ‘Ah, weel, no man kens the workin’s o’ the female mind,’ said Rob Anybody loftily. ‘We’ll follow the Horse.’

  From Fairies and How to Avoid Them by Miss Perspicacia Tick:

  No one knows exactly how the Nac Mac Feegle step from one world to another. Those who have seen Feegles actually travel this way say that they apparently throw back their shoulders and thrust out one leg straight ahead of them. Then they wiggle their foot and are gone. This is known as ‘the crawstep’, and the only comment on the subject by a Feegle is ‘It’s all in the ankle movement, ye ken.’ They appear to be able to travel magically between worlds of all kinds but not within a world. For this purpose, they assure people, they have ‘feets’.

  The sky was black, even though the sun was high. It hung at just past noon, lighting the landscape as brilliantly as a hot summer day, but the sky was midnight black, shorn of stars.

  This was the landscape of Tiffany Aching’s mind.

  The Feegles looked around them. There seemed to be downland underfoot, rolling and green.

  ‘She tells the land what it is. The land tells her who she is,’ whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘She really does hold the soul o’ the land in her heid…’

  ‘Aye, so ‘tis,’ muttered Rob Anybody. ‘But there’s nae creatures, ye ken. Nae ships. Nae burdies.’

  ‘Mebbe… mebbe somethin’s scared them awa’?’ said Daft Wullie.

  There was, indeed, no life. Stillness and silence ruled here. In fact Tiffany, who cared a lot about getting words right, would have said it was a hush, which is not the same as silence. A hush is what you get in cathedrals at midnight.

  ‘OK, lads,’ Rob Anybody whispered. ‘We dinnae ken what we’re goin’ tae find, so ye tread as light as e’er foot can fall, unnerstan’? Let’s find the big wee hag.’

  They nodded, and stepped forward like ghosts.

  The land rose slightly ahead of them, to some kind of earthworks. They advanced on it carefully, wary of ambush, but nothing stopped them as they climbed two long mounds in the turf which made a sort of cross.

  ‘Man-made,’ said Big Yan, when they reached the top. ‘Just like in the old days, Rob.’ The silence sucked his speech away.

  ‘This is deep inside o’ the big wee hag’s head,’ said Rob Anybody, looking around warily. ‘We dinnae know whut made ‘em.’

  ‘I dinnae like this, Rob,’ said a Feegle. ‘It’s too quiet.’

  ‘Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that—’

  ‘You are my sunshine, my only su–’

  ‘Daft Wullie!’ snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange landscape.

  The singing stopped. ‘Aye, Rob?’ said Daft Wullie from behind him.

  ‘Ye ken I said I’d tell ye when ye wuz guilty o’ stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behaviour?’

  ‘Aye, Rob,’ said Daft Wullie. ‘That wuz another one o’ those times, wuz it?’

  ‘Aye.’

  They moved on again, staring around them. And still there was the hush. It was the pause before an orchestra plays, the quietness before thunder. It was as if all the small sounds of the hills had shut down to make room for one big sound to happen.

  And then they found the Horse.

  They’d seen it, back on the Chalk. But here it was, not carved into the hillside but spread out before them. They stared at it.

  ‘Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob, beckoning the young gonnagle towards him. ‘You’re a gonnagle, ye ken aboot poetry and dreams. What’s this? Why’s it up here? It shouldnae be on the top o’ the hills!’

  ‘Serious hiddlins, Mr Rob,’ said Billy. This is serious hiddlins. I cannae work it out yet.’

  ‘She knows the Chalk. Why’d she get this wrong?’

  ‘I’m thinkin’ aboot it, Mr Rob.’

  ‘You wouldnae care tae think a bit faster, would ye?’

  ‘Rob?’ said Big Yan, hurrying up. He’d been scouting ahead.

  ‘Aye?’ said Rob gloomily.

  ‘Ye’d better come and see this…’

  On top of a round hill was a four-wheeled shepherding hut, with a curved roof and a chimney for the pot-bellied stove. Inside, the walls were covered with the yellow and blue wrappers from hundreds of packets of Jolly Sailor tobacco. There were old sacks hanging up there, and the back of the door was covered with chalk marks where Granny Aching had counted sheep and days. And there was a narrow iron bedstead, made comfortable with old fleeces and feed sacks.

  ‘D’ye have the unnerstandin’ of this, Awf’ly Wee Billy?’ said Rob. ‘Can ye tell us where the big wee hag is?’