“That is not a lot of help!”
“Best advice there is,” said the toad. “Now put me back—the cold makes me lethargic.”
Reluctantly, Tiffany put the creature back in her apron pocket, and her hand touched Diseases of the Sheep.
She pulled it out and opened it at random. There was a cure for the Steams, but it had been crossed out in pencil. Written in the margin, in Granny Aching’s big, round, careful handwriting was:
This dunt work. One desert spoonfull of terpentine do.
Tiffany closed the book with care and put it back gently so as not to disturb the sleeping toad. Then, gripping the pan’s handle tightly, she stepped into the long blue shadows.
How do you get shadows when there’s no sun in the sky? she thought, because it was better to think about things like this than all the other, much worse things that were on her mind.
But these shadows didn’t need light to create them. They crawled around on the snow of their own accord, and backed away when she walked toward them. That, at least, was a relief.
They piled up behind her. They were following her. She turned and stamped her foot a few times, and they scurried off behind the trees, but she knew they were flowing back when she wasn’t looking.
She saw a drome in the distance ahead of her, standing half hidden behind a tree. She screamed at it and waved the pan threateningly, and it lumbered off quickly.
When she looked around, she saw two more behind her, a long way back.
The track led uphill a little, into what looked like a much thicker mist. It glowed faintly. She headed for it. There was no other way to go.
When she reached the top of the rise, she looked down into a shallow valley.
There were four dromes in it—big ones, bigger than any she’d seen so far. They were sitting down in a square, their dumpy legs stretched out in front of them. Each one had a gold collar around its neck, attached to a chain.
“Tame ones?” Tiffany wondered, aloud. “But—”
Who could put a collar around the neck of a drome? Only someone who could dream as well as they could.
We tamed the sheepdogs to help us herd sheep, she thought. The Queen uses dromes to herd dreams.
In the center of the square formed by the dromes the air was full of mist. The hoof tracks, and the tracks of Roland, led down past the tame dromes and into the cloud.
Tiffany spun around. The shadows darted back.
There was nothing else nearby. No birds sang, nothing moved in the woods. But she could make out three more dromes now, their big round soggy faces peering at her around tree trunks.
She was being herded.
At a time like this it would be nice to have someone around to say something like “No! It’s too dangerous! Don’t do it!”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t. She was going to commit an act of extreme bravery and no one would know if it all went wrong. That was frightening, but also…annoying. That was it—annoying. This place annoyed her. It was all stupid and strange.
It was the same feeling she’d had when Jenny had leaped out of the river. Out of her river. And the Queen had taken her brother. Maybe it was selfish to think like that, but anger was better than fear. Fear was a damp cold mess, but anger had an edge. She could use it.
They were herding her! Like a—a sheep!
Well, an angry sheep could send a vicious dog away, whimpering.
So…
Four big dromes, sitting in a square.
It was going to be a big dream.
Raising the pan to shoulder height, to swipe at anything that came near, and suppressing a dreadful urge to go to the toilet, Tiffany walked slowly down the slope, across the snow, through the mist…