Steam rose from their coats, and blue light sparked from their ears as they shook themselves. They looked attentively at Tiffany.
The Queen gasped, and vanished.
‘Come by, Lightning!’ shouted Tiffany. ‘Away to me, Thunder!’ And she remembered the time when she’d run across the downs, falling over, shouting all the wrong things, while the two dogs had done exactly what needed to be done . . .
Two streaks of black and white sped away across the turf and up towards the clouds.
They herded the storm.
Clouds panicked and scattered, but always there was a comet streaking across the sky and they were turned. Monstrous shapes writhed and screamed in the boiling sky, but Thunder and Lightning had worked many flocks; there was an occasional snap of lightning-sparked teeth, and a wail. Tiffany stared upwards, rain pouring off her face, and shouted commands that no dog could possibly have heard.
Jostling and rumbling and screaming, the storm rolled off the hills and away towards the mountains, where there were deep canyons that could pen it.
Out of breath, glowing with triumph, Tiffany watched until the dogs came back and settled, once again, on the turf. And then she remembered something else: it didn’t matter what orders she gave those dogs. They were not her dogs. They were working dogs.
Thunder and Lightning didn’t take orders from a little girl.
And the dogs weren’t looking at her.
They were looking just behind her.
She’d have turned if someone had told her a horrible monster was behind her. She’d have turned if they’d said it had a thousand teeth. She didn’t want to turn round now. Forcing herself was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
She was not afraid of what she might see. She was terribly, mortally frightened, afraid to the centre of her bones of what she might not see. She shut her eyes while her cowardly boots shuffled her round and then, after a deep breath, she opened them again.
There was a gust of Jolly Sailor tobacco, and sheep, and turpentine.
Sparkling in the dark, light glittering off the white shepherdess dress and every blue ribbon and silver buckle of it, was Granny Aching, smiling hugely, glowing with pride. In one hand she held the huge ornamental crook, hung with blue bows.
She pirouetted slowly, and Tiffany saw that while she was a brilliant, glowing shepherdess from hat to hem, she still had her huge old boots on.
Granny Aching took her pipe out of her mouth, and gave Tiffany the little nod that was, from her, a round of applause. And then – she wasn’t.
Real starlit darkness covered the turf, and the night-time sounds filled the air. Tiffany didn’t know if what had just happened was a dream or had happened somewhere that wasn’t quite here or had only happened in her head. It didn’t matter. It had happened. And now—
‘But I’m still here,’ said the Queen, stepping in front of her. ‘Perhaps it was all a dream. Perhaps you have gone a little mad, because you are after all a very strange child. Perhaps you had help. How good are you? Do you really think that you can face me alone? I can make you think whatever I please—’
‘Crivens!’
‘Oh no, not them,’ said the Queen, throwing up her hands.
It wasn’t just the Nac Mac Feegles, but also Wentworth, a strong smell of seaweed, a lot of water and a dead shark. They appeared in mid-air and landed in a heap between Tiffany and the Queen. But a pictsie was always ready for a fight, and they bounced, rolled and came up drawing their swords and shaking sea water out of their hair.
‘Oh, ‘tis you, izzut?’ said Rob Anybody, glaring up at the Queen. ‘Face to face wi’ ye at last, ye bloustie ol’ callyack that ye are! Ye canna’ come here, unnerstand? Be off wi’ ye! Are ye goin’ to go quietly?’
The Queen stamped heavily on him. When she took her foot away, only the top of his head was visible above the turf.
‘Well, are ye?’ he said, pulling himself out as if nothing had happened. ‘I don’t wantae havtae lose my temper wi’ ye! An’ it’s no good sendin’ your pets against us, ‘cos you ken we can take ‘em tae the cleaners!’ He turned to Tiffany, who hadn’t moved. ‘You just leave this tae us, Kelda. Us an’ the Quin, we go way back!’
The Queen snapped her fingers. ‘Always leaping into things you don’t understand,’ she hissed. ‘Well, can you face these?’
Every Nac Mac Feegle sword suddenly glowed blue.
Back in the crowd of eerily lit pictsies a voice that sounded very much like that of Daft Wullie said:
‘Ach, we’re in real trouble noo . . .’
Three figures had appeared in the air, a little way away. The middle one, Tiffany saw, had a long red gown, a strange long wig and black tights with buckles on his shoes. The others were just ordinary men, it seemed, in ordinary grey suits.
‘Oh, ye are a harrrrrd wumman, Quin,’ said William the gonnagle, ‘to set the lawyers ontae us . . .’
‘See the one on the left there,’ whimpered a pictsie. ‘See, he’s got a briefcase! It’s a briefcasel Oh, waily, waily, a briefcase, waily . . .’
Reluctantly, a step at a time, pressing together in terror, the Nac Mac Feegles began to back away.
‘Oh, waily waily, he’s snappin’ the clasps,’ groaned Daft Wullie. ‘Oh, waily waily waily, ‘tis the sound o’ Doom when a lawyer does that!’
‘Mister Rob Anybody Feegle and sundry others?’ said one of the figures in a voice of dread.
‘There’s naebody here o’ that name!’ shouted Rob Anybody. ‘We dinnae know anythin’!’
‘We have heard a list of criminal and civil charges totalling nineteen thousand, seven hundred and sixty-three separate offences—’
‘We wasnae there!’ yelled Rob Anybody desperately. ‘Isn’t that right, lads?’
‘- including more than two thousand cases of Making an Affray, Causing a Public Nuisance, Being Found Drunk, Being Found Very Drunk, Using Offensive Language (taking into account ninety-seven counts of Using Language That Was Probably Offensive If Anyone Else Could Understand It), Committing a Breach of the Peace, Malicious Lingering—’
‘It’s mistaken identity!’ shouted Rob Anybody. ‘It’s no’ oour fault! We wuz only standing there an’ someone else did it and ran awa’!’
‘- Grand Theft, Petty Theft, Burglary, Housebreaking, Loitering With Intent To Commit a Felony—’
‘We wuz misunderstood when we was wee bairns!’ yelled Rob Anybody. ‘Ye’re only pickin’ on us cuz we’re blue! We always get blamed for every thin’! The polis hate us! We wasnae even in the country!’
But, to groans from the cowering pictsies, one of the lawyers produced a big roll of paper from his briefcase. He cleared his throat and read out: ‘Angus, Big; Angus, No’-As-Big-As-Big-Angus; Angus, Wee; Archie, Big; Archie, One-Eyed; Archie, Wee Mad—’
‘They’ve got oour names!’ sobbed Daft Wullie. They’ve got oour names\ It’s the pris’n hoose for us!’
‘Objection! I move for a writ of Habeas Corpus,’ said a small voice. ‘And enter a plea of Vis-nefaciem capite repletam, without prejudice.’
There was absolute silence for a moment. Rob Anybody turned to look at the frightened Nac Mac Feegles and said: ‘OK, OK, which of youse said that?’
The toad crawled out of the crowd, and sighed. ‘It suddenly all came back to me,’ it said. ‘I remember what I was now. The legal language brought it all back. I’m a toad now but. . .’ it swallowed, ‘once I was a lawyer. And this, people, is illegal. These charges are a complete tissue of lies based on hearsay evidence.’
It raised yellow eyes towards the Queen’s lawyers. ‘I further move that the case is adjourned sine die on the basis of Potest-ne mater tua suere, amice.’
The lawyers had pulled large books out of nowhere and were thumbing through them hastily. ‘We’re not familiar with counsel’s terminology,’ said one of them.
‘Hey, they’re sweatin’,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘You mean we can have lawyers on oour side as well?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said the toad. ‘You can have defence lawyers.’
‘Defence?’ said Rob Anybody. ‘Are you tellin’ me we could get awa’ wi’ it ‘cos of a tishoo o’ lies?’
‘Certainly,’ said the toad. ‘And with all the treasure you’ve stolen you can pay enough to be very innocent indeed. My fee will be—’
It gulped as a dozen glowing swords were swung towards him.
‘I’ve just remembered why that fairy godmother turned me into a toad,’ it said. ‘So, in the circumstances, I’ll take this case pro bono publico.’
The swords didn’t move.
‘That means for free,’ it added.
‘Oh, right, we like the sound o’ that,’ said Rob Anybody, to the sound of swords being sheathed. ‘How come ye’re a lawyer an’ a toad?’
‘Oh, well, it was just bit of an argument,’ said the toad. ‘A fairy godmother gave my client three wishes – the usual health, wealth and happiness package -and when my client woke up one wet morning and didn’t feel particularly happy she got me to bring an action for breach of contract. It was a definite first in the history of fairy godmothering. Unfortunately, as it turned out, so was turning the client into a small hand mirror and her lawyer, as you see before you, into a toad. I think the worst part was when the judge applauded. That was hurtful, in my opinion.’