“I want to know what is happening!”
“She’s gone to get some other witches,” said the toad. “Uh…she doesn’t think you should—”
“You’d better tell me what you know, toad,” said Tiffany. “Miss Tick isn’t here. I am.”
“Another world is colliding with this one,” said the toad. “There. Happy now? That’s what Miss Tick thinks. But it’s happening faster than she expected. All the monsters are coming back.”
“Why?”
“There’s no one to stop them.”
There was silence for a moment.
“There’s me,” said Tiffany.
CHAPTER 4
The Wee Free Men
Nothing happened on the way back to the farm. The sky stayed blue, none of the sheep in the home paddocks appeared to be traveling backward very fast, and an air of hot emptiness lay over everything.
Ratbag was on the path leading up to the back door, and he had something trapped in his paws. As soon as he saw Tiffany, he picked it up and exited around the corner of the house urgently, legs spinning in the high-speed slink of a guilty cat. Tiffany was too good a shot with a clod of earth.
But at least there wasn’t something red-and-blue in his mouth.
“Look at him,” she said. “Great cowardly blob! I really wish I could stop him catching baby birds—it’s so sad!”
“You haven’t got a hat you can wear, have you?” said the toad, from her apron pocket. “I hate not being able to see.”
They went into the dairy, which Tiffany normally had to herself for most of the day.
In the bushes by the door there was a muffled conversation. It went like this:
“Whut did the wee hag say?”
“She said she wants yon cat to stop scraffin’ the puir wee burdies.”
“Is that a’? Crivens! Nae problemo!”
Tiffany put the toad on the table as carefully as possible.
“What do you eat?” she said. It was polite to offer guests food, she knew.
“I’ve got used to slugs and worms and stuff,” said the toad. “It wasn’t easy. Don’t worry if you don’t have any. I expect you weren’t expecting a toad to drop in.”
“How about some milk?”
“You’re very kind.”
Tiffany fetched some and poured it into a saucer. She watched while the toad crawled in.
“Were you a handsome prince?” she asked.
“Yeah, right, maybe,” said the toad, dribbling milk.
“So why did Miss Tick put a spell on you?”
“Her? Huh, she couldn’t do that,” said the toad. “It’s serious magic, turning someone into a toad but leaving them thinking they’re human. No, it was a fairy godmother. Never cross a woman with a star on a stick, young lady. They’ve got a mean streak.”