It’s bad enough being dead. Waking up and seeing a Nac Mac Feegle standing on your chest and peering intently at you from an inch away only makes things worse.

Miss Level groaned. It felt as though she was lying on the floor.

‘Ach, this one’s alive, right enough,’ said the Feegle. ‘Told yez! That’s a weasel skull ye owe me!’

Miss Level blinked one set of eyes, and then froze in horror.

‘What happened to me?’ she whispered.

The Feegle in front of her was replaced by the face of Rob Anybody. It was not an improvement.

‘How many fingers am I holdin’ up?’ he said.

‘Five,’ whispered Miss Level.

‘Am I? Ah, well, ye could be right, ye’d have the knowin’ o’ the countin’,’ said Rob, lowering his hand. ‘Ye’ve had a wee bittie accident, ye ken. You’re a wee bittie dead.’

Miss Level’s head slumped back. Through the mist of something that wasn’t exactly pain, she heard Rob Anybody say to someone she couldn’t see:

‘Hey, I wuz breakin’ it tae her gently! I did say “wee bittie” twice, right?’

‘It’s as though part of me is… a long way off,’ murmured Miss Level.

‘Aye, you’re aboot right there,’ said Rob, champion of the bedside manner.

Some memories bobbed to the surface of the thick soup in Miss Level’s mind.

‘Tiffany killed me, didn’t she,’ she said. ‘I remember seeing that black figure turn round and her expression was horrible—’

‘That wuz the hiver,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘That was no’ Tiffany! She was fightin’ it! She still is, inside! But it didnae remember you ha’ two bodies! We got tae help her, mistress!’

Miss Level pushed herself upright. It wasn’t pain she felt, but it was the… ghost of pain.

‘How did I die?’ she said, weakly.

‘There was, like, an explosion, an’ smoke an’ that,’ said Rob. ‘Not messy, really.’

‘Oh, well, that’s a small mercy, anyway,’ said Miss Level, sagging back.

‘Aye, there was just this, like, big purple cloud o’, like, dust,’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Where’s my… I can’t feel… where’s my other body?’

‘Aye, that was what got blown up in that big cloud, right enough,’ said Rob. ‘Good job ye has a spare, eh?’

‘She’s all mithered in her heid,’ whispered Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘Take it gently, eh?’

‘How do you manage, only seeing one side of things?’ said Miss Level dreamily to the world in general. ‘How will I get everything done with only one pair of hands and feet? Being in just one place all the time… how do people manage? It’s impossible…’

She shut her eyes.

‘Mistress Level, we need ye!’ shouted Rob Anybody into her ear.

‘Need, need, need,’ murmured Miss Level. ‘Everyone needs a witch. No one cares if a witch needs. Giving and giving always… a fairy godmother never gets a wish, let me tell you…’

‘Mistress Level!’ Rob screamed. ‘Ye cannae pass oot on us noo!’

‘I’m weary,’ whispered Miss Level. ‘I’m very, very pished.’

‘Mistress Level!’ Rob Anybody yelled. ‘The big wee hag is lying on the floor like a dead person, but she’s cold as ice and sweatin’ like a horse! She’s fightin’ the beast inside her, mistress! An’ she’s losin’!’ Rob peered into Miss Level’s face, and shook his head. ‘Auchtahelweit! She’s swooned! C’mon, lads, let’s move her!’

Like many small creatures, Feegles are immensely strong for their size. It still took ten of them to carry Miss Level up the narrow stairs without banging her head more than necessary, although they did use her feet to push open the door to Tiffany’s room.

Tiffany lay on the floor. Sometimes a muscle twitched.

Miss Level was propped up like a doll.

‘How’re we gonna bring the big hag roound?’ said Big Yan.

‘I heard where ye has to put someone’s heid between their legs,’ said Rob, doubtfully.

Daft Wullie sighed, and drew his sword. ‘Sounds a wee bit drastic tae me,’ he said, ‘but if someone will help me hold her steady—’

Miss Level opened her eyes, which was just as well. She focused unsteadily on the Feegles and smiled a strange, happy little smile.

‘Ooo, fairies!’ she mumbled.

‘Ach, noo she’s ramblin’,’ said Rob Anybody.

‘No, she means fairies like bigjobs think they are,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘Tiny wee tinkly creatures that live in flowers an’ fly aroound cuddlin’ butterflies an’ that.’

‘What? Have they no’ seen real fairies? They’re worse’n wasps!’ said Big Yan.

‘We havnae got time for this!’ snapped Rob Anybody. He jumped onto Miss Level’s knee.

‘Aye, ma’am, we’s fairies from the land o’—’ He stopped and looked imploringly at Billy.

‘Tinkle?’ Billy suggested.

‘Aye, the land o’ Tinkle, ye ken, and we found this puir wee—’

‘—princess,’ said Billy.

‘Aye, princess, who’s been attacked by a bunch o’ scunners—’

‘—wicked goblins,’ said Billy.

‘—yeah, wicked goblins, right, an’ she’s in a bad way, so we wuz wonderin’ if ye could kinda tell us how tae look after her—’

‘—until the handsome prince turns up on a big white horse wi’ curtains roound it an’ wakes her with a magical kiss,’ said Billy.

Rob gave him a desperate look, and turned back to the bemused Miss Level.

‘Aye, what ma friend Fairy Billy just said,’ he managed.

Miss Level tried to focus. ‘You’re very ugly for fairies,’ she said.

‘Aye, well, the ones you gen’rally see are for the pretty flowers, ye ken,’ said Rob Anybody, inventing desperately. ‘We’re more for the stingin’ nettles and bindweed an’ Old Man’s Troosers an’ thistles, OK? It wouldna be fair for only the bonny flowers tae have fairies noo, would it? It’d prob’ly be against the law, eh? Noo, can ye please help us wi’ this princess here before them scunners—’

‘—wicked goblins—’ said Billy.

‘Aye, before they come back,’ said Rob.

Panting, he watched Miss Level’s face. There seemed to be a certain amount of thinking going on.

‘Is her pulse rapid?’ murmured Miss Level. ‘You say her skin is cold but she’s sweating? Is she breathing rapidly? It sounds like shock. Keep her warm, raise her legs. Watch her carefully. Try to remove… the cause…’ Her head slumped.

Rob turned to Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘A horse wi’ curtains roond it?’ he said. ‘Where did ye get all that blethers?’

‘There’s a big hoose near the Long Lake an’ they read stories tae their wee bairn an’ I go along an’ listen fra’ a mousehole,’ said Awf’ly Wee Billy. ‘One day I snuck in and looked at the pichurs, and there was bigjobs called k’nits wi’ shields and armour and horses wi’ curtains—’

‘Weel, it worked, blethers though it be,’ said Rob Anybody. He looked at Tiffany. She was lying down, so he was about as high as her chin. It was like walking around a small hill. ‘Crivens, it does me nae guid at all ta see the puir wee thing like this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘C’mon, lads, get that cover off the bed and put that cushion under her feet.’

‘Er, Rob?’ said Daft Wullie.

‘Aye?’ Rob was staring up at the unconscious riffany.

‘How are we goin’ taw get inta her heid? There’s got tae be somethin’ tae guide us in.’

‘Aye, Wullie, an’ I ken whut it’s gonna be, ‘cuz I’ve been usin’ mah heid for thinkin’!’ said Rob. ‘Ye’ve seen the big wee hag often enough, right? Well, see this necklet?’

He reached up. The silver horse had slipped around Tiffany’s neck as she lay on the floor. It hung there, amid the amulets and dark glitter.

‘Aye?’ said Wullie.

‘It was a present from that son o’ the Baron,’ said Rob. ‘An’ she’s kept it. She’s tried tae turn hersel’ intae some kind of creature o’ the night, but somethin’ made her keep this. It’ll be in her heid, too. ‘Tis important tae her. All we need tae do is frannit a wheelstone on it and it’ll tak’ us right where she is.’8