‘Yes! Yes! I am your friend! I’m a very friendly person! Now please put him baaack! Please!’ Zakzak dropped to his knees, which wasn’t very far. ‘Please! He’s not really a wizard! He just did evening classes there in fretwork! They hire out classrooms, that sort of thing. He thinks I don’t know! But he read a few of the magic books on the quiet and he pinched the robes and he can talk wizard lingo so’s you’d hardly know the difference! Please! I’d never get a real wizard for the money I pay him! Don’t hurt him, please!’

Tiffany waved a hand. There was a moment even more unpleasant than the one which had ended up with the spare Brian bumping against the ceiling, and then the whole Brian stood there, blinking.

‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’ gasped Zakzak.

Brian blinked. ‘What just happened?’ he said.

Zakzak, beside himself with horror and relief, patted him frantically. ‘You’re all there?’ he said. ‘You’re not a balloon?’

‘Here, get off!’ said Brian, pushing him away.

There was a groan from Annagramma. She opened her eyes, saw Tiffany and tried to scramble to her feet and back away, which meant that she went backwards like a spider.

‘Please don’t do that to me! Please don’t!’ she shouted.

Tiffany ran after her and pulled her to her feet. ‘I wouldn’t do anything to you, Annagramma,’ she said happily. ‘You’re my friend! We’re all friends! Isn’t that nice please please stop me…’

You had to remember that pictsies weren’t brownies. In theory, brownies would do the housework for you if you left them a saucer of milk.

The Nac Mac Feegle… wouldn’t.

Oh, they’d try, if they liked you and you didn’t insult them with milk in the saucer. They were helpful. They just weren’t good at it. For example, you shouldn’t try to remove a stubborn stain from a plate by repeatedly hitting it with your head.

And you didn’t want to see a sink full of them and your best china. Or a precious pot rolling backwards and forwards across the floor while the Feegles inside simultaneously fought the ground-in dirt and each other.

But Miss Level, once she’d got the better china out of the way, found she rather liked the Feegles. There was something unsquashable about them. And they were entirely unamazed by a woman with two bodies, too.

‘Ach, that’s nothin’,’ Rob Anybody had said. ‘When we wuz raidin’ for the Quin, we once found a world where there wuz people wi’ five bodies each. All sizes, ye ken, for doin’ a’ kinds of jobs.’

‘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.