Page 30 of A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld 32)

'Really?' said both of Miss Level. 'Aye, and the biggest body had a huge left hand, just for openin' pickle jars.'

'Those lids can get very tight, it's true,' Miss Level had agreed. 'Oh, we saw some muckle eldritch places when we wuz raiding for the Quin/ said Rob Anybody. 'But we gave that up for she wuz a schemin', greedy, ill-fared carlin, that she was!'

'Aye, and it wuz no' because she threw us oot o' Fairyland for being completely pished at two in the afternoon, whatever any scunner might mphf mphf. . .' said Daft Wullie. 'Pished?' said Miss Level. 'Aye ... oh, aye, it means . . . tired. Aye. Tired. That's whut it means,' said Rob Anybody, holding his hands firmly over his brother's mouth. 'An' ye dinnae ken how to talk in front o' a lady, yah shammerin' wee scunner!'

'Er . . . thank you for doing the washing up,' said Miss Level. 'You really didn't need to . . .'

'Ach, it wasnae any trouble,' said Rob Anybody cheerfully, letting Daft Wullie go. 'An' I'm sure all them plates an' stuff will mend fine wi' a bit o' glue.' Miss Level looked up at the clock with no hands. 'It's getting late,' she said. 'What exactly is it you propose to do, Mr Anybody?'

'Whut?'

'Do you have a plan?'

'Oh, aye!' Rob Anybody rummaged around in his spog, which is a leather bag most Feegles have hanging from their belt. The contents are usually a mystery, but sometimes include interesting teeth. He flourished a much-folded piece of paper. Miss Level carefully unfolded it. ' “PLN”?' she said. 'Aye,' said Rob proudly. 'We came prepared! Look, it's written doon. Pee El Ner. Plan.'

'Er . . . how can I put this. .. ?' Miss Level mused. 'Ah, yes. You came rushing all this way to save Tiffany from a creature that can't be seen, touched, smelled or killed. What did you intend to do when you found it?' Rob Anybody scratched his head, to a general shower of objects. 'I think mebbe you've put yer finger on the one weak spot, mistress,' he admitted. 'Do you mean you charge in regardless?'

'Oh, aye. That's the plan, sure enough,' said Rob Anybody, brightening up.

'And then what happens?'

'Weel, gen'raly people are tryin' tae wallop us by then, so we just mak' it up as we gae along.'

'Yes, Robert, but the creature is inside her head!' Rob Anybody gave Billy a questioning look. 'Robert is a heich-heidit way o' sayin' Rob,' said the gonnagle, and to save time he said to Miss Level: 'That means kinda posh.'

'Ach, we can get inside her heid, if we have to,' said Rob. 'I'd hoped tae get here afore the thing got to her, but we can chase it.' Miss Level's face was a picture. Two pictures. 'Inside her head!' she said. 'Oh, aye,' said Rob, as if that sort of thing happened every day. 'No problemo. We can get in or oot o' anywhere. Except maybe pubs, which for some reason we ha' trouble leavin'. A heid? Easy.'

'Sorry, we're talking about a real head here, are we?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'What do you do, go in through the ears?' Once again, Rob stared at Billy, who looked puzzled. 'No, mistress. They'd be too small,' he said, patiently. 'But we can move between worlds, ye ken. We're fairy folk.' Miss Level nodded both heads. It was true, but it was hard to look at the assembled ranks of the Nac Mac Feegle and remember that they were, technically, fairies. It was like watching penguins swimming underwater and having to remember that they were birds. 'And?' she said. 'We can get intae dreams, ye see . . . And what's a mind but another world o' dreamin'?'

'No, I must forbid that!' said Miss Level. 'I can't have you running around inside a young girl's head! I mean, look at you! You're fully-grow . . . well, you're men! It'd be like, like . . . well, it'd be like you looking at her diary!' Rob Anybody looked puzzled. 'Oh, aye?' he said. 'We looked at her diary loads o' times. Nae harm done.'

'You looked at her diary?' said Miss Level, horrified. 'Why?' Really, she thought later, she should have expected the answer. "Cuz it wuz locked,' said Daft Wullie. 'If she didnae want anyone tae look at it, why'd she keep it at the back o' her sock drawer? Anyway, all there wuz wuz a load o' words we couldnae unnerstan' an' wee drawings o' hearts and flowers an' that.'

'Hearts? Tiffany?' said Miss Level. 'Really?' She shook herself. 'But you shouldn't have done that! And going into someone's mind is even worse!'

'The hiver is in there, mistress,' said Awf'ly Wee Billy meekly. 'But you said you can't do anything about it!'

'She might. If we can track her doon,' said the gonnagle. 'If we can find the wee bitty bit o' her that's still her. She's a bonny fighter when she's roused. Ye see, mistress, a mind's like a world itself. She'll be hidin' in it somewhere, lookin' oot through her own eyes, listenin' wi' her own ears, tryin' to make people hear, tryin' no' to let

yon beast find her . . . and it'll be hunting her all the time, trying tae break her doon Miss Level began to look hunted herself. Fifty small faces, full of worry and hope and broken noses, looked up at her. And she knew she didn't have a better plan. Or even a PLN. 'All right,' she said. 'But at least you ought to have a bath. I know that's silly, but it will make me feel better about the whole thing.' There was a general groan. 'A bath? But we a' had one no' a year ago,' said Rob Anybody. 'Up at the big dew pond for the ships!'

'Ach, crivens!' said Big Yan. 'Ye cannae ask a man tae take a bath again this soon, mistress! There'll be nothin' left o' us!'

'With hot water and soap!' said Miss Level. 'I mean it! I'll run the water and I. . . I'll put some rope over the edge so you can climb in and out, but you will get clean. I'm a wi- a hag, and you'd better do what I say!'

'Oh, all reet!' said Rob. 'We'll do it for the big wee hag. But ye're no' tae peek, OK?'

'Peek?' said Miss Level. She pointed a trembling finger. 'Get into that bathroom now!' Miss Level did, however, listen at the door. It's the sort of thing a witch does. There was nothing to hear at first but the gentle splash of water, and then: "This is no' as bad as I thought!'

'Aye, very pleasin'.'

'Hey, there's a big yellow duck here. Who 're ye pointin' that beak at, yer scunner-' There was a wet quack and some bubbling noises as the rubber duck sank. 'Rob, we oughtae get one o' these put in back in the mound. Verra warmin' in the winter time.'

'Aye, it's no' that good for the ship, havin' tae drink oot o' that pond after we 've been bathin'. It's terrible, hearin' a ship try tae spit.'

'Ach, it'll make us softies! It's nae a guid wash if ye dinnae ha' the ice formin' on yer held!'

' Who 're you callin' a softie?' There followed a lot more splashing and water started to seep under the door. Miss Level knocked. 'Come on out now, and dry yourselves off!' she commanded. 'She could be back at any minute!' In fact it wasn't for another two hours, by which time Miss Level had got so nervous that her necklaces jingled all the time. She'd come to witching later than most, being naturally qualified by reason of the two bodies, but she'd never been very happy about magic. In truth, most witches could get through their whole life without having to do serious, undeniable magic (making shambles and curse-nets and dreamcatchers didn't really count, being rather more like arts-and-crafts, and most of the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense and the ability to look stern in a pointy hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a policeman. People saw the uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street you weren't allowed to back away muttering, 'Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do, you know, stray dogs and

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