How could you describe the feeling of being everywhere and everything? Tiffany wondered. She didn’t try.
“I…thought I heard a voice, or maybe two voices,” she mumbled. “Er, they asked me who I was.”
“Int-ter-rest-ting,” said Miss Treason. “Two voices? I will consider the implications. What I can’t understand is how he found you. I will think about that. In the meantime, I expect it would be a good idea to wear warm clothing.”
“Aye,” said Rob Anybody, “the Wintersmith canna abide the heat. Oh, I’ll be forgettin’ my ain heid next! We brought a wee letter from that hollow tree down in the forest. Gi’ it to the big wee hag, Wullie. We picked it up on the way past.”
“A letter?” said Tiffany, as the loom clacked behind her and Daft Wullie began to pull a grubby, rolled-up envelope from his spog.
“It’s from that wee heap o’ jobbies at the castle back hame,” Rob went on, as his brother hauled. “He says he bides fine and hopes ye do likewise, an’ he’s lookin’ forward to you bein’ back hame soon, an’ there’s lots o’ stuff about how the ships are doin’ an’ suchlike, no’ verra interestin’ in ma opinion, an’ he’s writ S. W. A. L. K. on the bottom, but we havena worked out what that means yet.”
“You read my letter?” said Tiffany in horror.
“Oh, aye,” said Rob with pride. “Nae problem. Billy Bigchin here gave me a wee hint with some o’ the longer words, but it was mostly me, aye.” He beamed, but the grin faded as he watched Tiffany’s expression. “Ach, I ken you’re a wee bitty upset that we opened yon envelope thingy,” he explained. “But that’s okay, ’cuz we glued it up again wi’ slug. Ye wouldna ever know it’d been read.”
He coughed, because Tiffany was still glaring at him. All women were a bit scary to the Feegles, and witches were the worst. At last, when he was really nervous, Tiffany said: “How did you know where that letter would be?”
She glanced sideways at Daft Wullie. He was chewing the edge of his kilt. He only ever did this when he was frightened.
“Er…would you accept a wee bittie lie?” Rob said.
“No!”
“It’s interestin’. There’s dragons an’ unicorns in it—”
“No. I want the truth!”
“Ach, it’s so boring. We go to the Baron’s castle an’ read the letters ye sent him, an’, an’ ye said the postman knows to leave letters tae you in the hollow tree by the waterfall,” said Rob.
If the Wintersmith had got into the cottage, the air couldn’t have been any colder.
“He keeps the letters fra’ ye in a box under his—” Rob began, and then shut his eyes as Tiffany’s patience parted with a twang even louder than Miss Treason’s strange cobwebs.
“Don’t you know it’s wrong to read other people’s letters?” she demanded.
“Er…” Rob Anybody began.
“And you broke into the Baron’s cast—”
“Ah, ah, ah, no, no, no!” said Rob, jumping up and down. “Ye canna get us on that one! We just walked in through one of them little wee slits for the firin’ o’ the arrows—”
“And then you read my personal letters sent personally to Roland?” said Tiffany. “They were personal!”
“Oh, aye,” said Rob Anybody. “But dinna fash yersel’—we willna tell anyone what was in ’em.”
“We ne’er tell a soul what’s in yer diary, after all,” said Daft Wullie. “Not e’en the bits wi’ the flowers ye draw aroound them.”
Miss Treason is grinning to herself behind me, Tiffany thought. I just know she is. But she’d run out of nasty tones of voice. You did that after talking to the Feegles for any length of time.
You were their Kelda, her Second Thoughts reminded her. They think they have a solemn duty to protect you. It doesn’t matter what you think. They’re going to make your life sooo complicated.
“Don’t read my letters,” she said, “and don’t read my diary, either.”
“Okay,” said Rob Anybody.
“Promise?”
“Oh, aye.”
“But you promised last time!”
“Oh, aye.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Oh, aye, nae problemo.”
“And that’s the promise of an untrustworthy, lying, stealing Feegle, is it?” said Miss Treason. “Because ye believe ye’re deid already, do ye no’? That’s what ye people think, right?”
“Oh, aye, mistress,” said Rob Anybody. “Thank ye for drawin’ ma attention tae that.”
“In fact, Rob Anybody, ye ha’ nae intention o’ keepin’ any promise at all!”
“Aye, mistress,” said Rob proudly. “Not puir wee weak promises like that. Becuz, ye see, ’tis oor solemn destiny to guard the big wee hag. We mus’ lay