of a snake.
“The sheep girl is in trouble,” she said, in a voice full of unpleasant echoes and hisses. “So sad, so sad.”
“Well, er, we’d better run,” he managed, “whoever you are….”
The not-Tiffany gave him a smile. It was an uncomfortable one, with a bit of a smirk in it. They ran.
“How do you fight the bogles?” he panted when the Feegle army jogged through the caves.
“Ach, they dinna like the taste o’ us overmuch,” said Rob Anybody as the shadows parted. “It may be ’cuz we think aboot the drinkin’ a lot—it makes ’em squiffy. Keep movin’!”
And it was at this point that the bogles struck, although that was hardly the right word. It was more like running into a wall of whispers. Nothing grabbed; there were no claws. If thousands of tiny weak things like shrimps or flies were trying to stop someone, this would be how it felt.
But the ferryman was waiting. He raised a hand as Roland staggered toward the boat.
THAT WILL BE SIX PENNIES, he said.
“Six?” said Roland.
“Ah, we wasna doon here more’n two hour, an’ bang went sixpence!” said Daft Wullie.
ONE ONE-DAY ROUND TRIP, ONE ONE-WAY, said the ferryman.
“I don’t have that much!” Roland shouted. He was beginning to feel little tugs in his head now. Thoughts had to push hard to get as far as his mouth.
“Leave this tae me,” said Rob Anybody. He turned to look down on his fellow Feegles and banged on Roland’s helmet for silence.
“Okay, lads,” he announced. “We’re no’ leavin’!”
WHAT? said the ferryman. OH NO, YOU LEAVE! I’M NOT HAVING YOU DOWN HERE AGAIN! WE’RE STILL FINDING THE BOTTLES FROM LAST TIME! COME ON, GET ON THE BOAT THIS MINUTE!
“Crivens, we canna do that, pal,” said Rob Anybody. “We’re under a geas to help this lad, ye ken. Where he disna go, we dinna go!”
PEOPLE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO WANT TO STAY HERE! snapped the ferryman.
“Ach, we’ll soon ha’ the old place jumpin’ again,” said Rob Anybody, grinning.
The ferryman drummed his fingers on the pole. They made a clicking sound, like dice.
OH, ALL RIGHT THEN. BUT—AND I WANT TO BE CLEAR ON THIS—THERE IS TO BE NO SINGING!
Roland dragged the girl onto the boat. The bogles kept clear of that, at least, but as the ferryman pushed away from the shore, Big Yan kicked Roland on the boot and pointed upward. Scribbles of orange light, hundreds of them, were moving across the roof of the cavern. There were more of them on the opposite shore.
“How’s the Plan goin’, Mister Hero?” asked Rob Anybody quietly as he climbed down from the boy’s helmet.
“I’m waiting for the opportune moment,” said Roland haughtily. He turned to look at the not-Tiffany. “I’m here to get you out,” he said, trying not to look directly at her eyes.
“You?” said the not-Tiffany, as if the idea were amusing.
“Well, us,” Roland corrected himself. “Everything is—”
There was a bump as the boat grounded on the farther shore, where the bogles were as thick as standing corn.
“Off ye go, then,” said Big Yan.
Roland pulled the not-Tiffany along the path for a few steps, and stopped. When he blinked, the path ahead was a writhing orange mass. He could feel the little pulls on him, no stronger than a breeze. But they were in his brain, too. Cold, and nibbling. This was stupid. It couldn’t work. He wouldn’t be able to do it. He wasn’t any good at this sort of thing. He was wayward and inconsiderate and disobedient, just like his…aunts…said.
Behind him, Daft Wullie shouted, in his cheerful way, “Make yer aunties proud of ye!”
Roland half turned, suddenly angry. “My aunts? Let me tell you about my aunts—”
“No time, laddie!” shouted Rob Anybody. “Get on wi’ it!”
Roland looked around, his mind on fire.
Our memories are real, he thought. And I will not stand for this!
He turned to the not-Tiffany and said: “Don’t be afraid.” Then he held out his left hand and whispered, under his breath: “I remember…a sword….”
When he shut his eyes, there it was—so light he could barely feel it, so thin he could hardly see it, a line in the air that was made up mostly of sharpness. He’d killed a thousand enemies with it, in the mirror. It was never too heavy, it moved like part of him, and here it was. A weapon that chopped away everything that clung and lied and stole.
“Mebbe ye can make a Hero all in one go,” said Rob Anybody thoughtfully, as bogles scribbled themselves into existence