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Big Yan went silent, then said slowly, ‘Weel, we may be pests, ye ken, but a puir bairn has nae reason tae dread Feegles.’ He rose to his full height of seven inches – Big Yan was very tall for a Feegle, with the scars on his forehead typical of the taller-than-average, who can find doorways somewhat challenging – and loomed over the elf from the rafters.
Tiffany ignored him, turning back to Nightshade. ‘Am I right?’ she demanded. ‘You want to return to Fairyland? What do you say?’
Cunning flickered across Nightshade’s sharp little face. ‘We are like bees,’ she said at last. ‘The Queen has all the power . . . until she gets older, and then a new queen kills her to take the hive.’ A wave of anger was suddenly visible. ‘Peaseblossom,’ she hissed. ‘He does not believe that the world has changed. It was he who threw me from my people.’ A contemptuous sneer crossed her lips. ‘He, who is so powerful he can spoil beer. When we could once destroy worlds . . .’
‘I could give you some help with your little friend Peaseblossom,’ Tiffany said slowly. ‘I would settle for you as Queen of the Elves again if you could make all the elves go back once more to their own land and stay there. But if you and your race should come here for the purpose of making humans your slaves, well, you may think you have seen me angry, but then you will know the real meaning of the word rage.’
As she said that everything about her flickered in fire. And she remembered facing the Queen before. Land under wave. Knowing where she had come from, where she was going. And that she could no longer be fooled. Knowing that no matter how many people dreamed, invited the elves to come into the world, she would be there, awake, holding firm.
‘If you break your vow, the last things you will see are Thunder and Lightning,’ she threatened. ‘Thunder and Lightning in your head and you will die of the thunder. That is a promise, elf.’
From the look of terror that flickered across Nightshade’s face, Tiffany knew that the elf understood.
She brought Nightshade some porridge in the morning.
The elf looked up at Tiffany as she took the bowl, and said, ‘You could have killed me yesterday . . . I’d have killed me. Why didn’t you? You know I am an elf, and we are merciless.’
‘Yes,’ said Tiffany, ‘but we are human, and we do know mercy. I also know I’m a witch, and I’m doing my job.’
‘You are clever, Tiffany Aching, the little girl I almost killed on the hill when the thunder and lightning became solid and hurtful, all teeth and bite.’ Nightshade was puzzled. ‘What am I now but a ragged pauper? Friendless, but you, one girl, you took me in when you had no reason to.’
‘I did have a reason,’ said Tiffany. ‘I’m a witch, and I thought it possible.’ She sat down on a milk churn, and said, ‘You must understand that elves are seen as vindictive, callous, spiteful, untrustworthy, self-centred, undeserving, unwelcome nuisances – and that’s being nice. I’ve heard much worse language used about them, especially from people whose children have been taken away, I can tell you. But nothing stays the same – our world, our iron, your court, your glamour. Did you know, Nightshade, that in Ankh-Morpork goblins
have jobs, and are considered to be useful members of the community?’
‘What?’ said the Queen. ‘Goblins? But you humans hate goblins – and their stink! I thought the one we captured was lying!’
‘Well, maybe they do stink a bit, but so do their masters, because for some of them a stink is money,’ said Tiffany, ‘and a goblin who can repair a locomotive can stink as much as he likes. What do you elves have to offer us? You are just . . . folklore now. You’ve missed the train, in fact, and you have only mischief left, and silly tricks.’
‘I could kill you with a thought,’ said Nightshade with a sly look.
‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany, holding up a hand to halt the Feegles, each of whom wanted to be the one to get the first fist in. ‘I hope you don’t do so. It would be your last.’ She looked at the elf, whose sharp little face was quivering with upset as she found herself surrounded by those she did not understand. ‘Oh, please don’t cry. An elf who has been a queen – an elf who wants to be a queen again – surely shouldn’t cry.’
‘A queen shouldn’t, but I am a remnant of a queen, lost in the wilderness.’
‘No, you are in a hay barn. Do you understand the meaning of manual labour, lady?’
Nightshade looked puzzled. ‘No. What does it mean?’
‘It means earning a living by working. How are you with a shovel?’
‘I don’t know. What is a shovel?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany again. ‘Look, you can stay here until you are better, but you must work hard at something. You could try.’
A boot bounced off the ground beside her, one of her father’s, a hole at the toe, and another trying out of sympathy to join in at the heel. ‘I cannae abide boots on my feet, ye ken,’ said Wee Mad Arthur, ‘but if ye recall I wuz raised by shoemakers, and they tol’ me a tale o’ the elves. Yon scunner ye ha’ there might ha’ a talent for it, ye ken.’
Nightshade turned the boot gingerly over in her hands. ‘What is this?’ she said.
‘A boot,’ said Tiffany.
‘An’ ye’ll get one reet noo up yer backside if I ha’ anythin’ tae dae wi’ it,’ Big Yan growled.
Tiffany took the boot from the elf and put it down. ‘We’ll talk later, Nightshade,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your suggestion, Wee Mad Arthur, and yes, I do know the storyfn1 but I think it is just that, a story.’
‘Weel, I tol’ ye, Wee Mad Arthur, you shouldnae have listened to that load o’ old cobblers,’ said Rob.
It was a day of old sheets and old boots and ‘make do and mend’. And oh dear, Tiffany thought, she had to check on baby Tiffany, and drop in on Becky Pardon and Nancy Upright – Miss Tick felt that both girls might be of use if she wanted to take on a trainee in the Chalk. But she couldn’t ask the girls to move in while she had Nightshade at the farm, not unless she gave them each a horseshoe necklace so they would be protected by the iron. It would have to wait . . .
