“Ach, crivens,” muttered Wentworth.
“And what is it we don’t say?” said Tiffany. “We don’t say the—”
“—the crivens word,” Wentworth muttered.
“And we don’t say it in front of—”
“—in fron’ of Mummy,” said Wentworth.
“Good. And then when I’ve finished, we’ll have time to go down to the river.”
Wentworth brightened up.
“Weewee mens?” he said.
Tiffany didn’t reply immediately.
She hadn’t seen a single Feegle since she’d been home.
“There might be,” she said. “But they’re probably very busy. They’ve got to find another kelda, and…well, they’re very busy. I expect.”
“Weewee men say hit you in the head, fish face!” said Wentworth happily.
“We’ll see,” said Tiffany, feeling like a parent. “Now please go and get the eggs.”
When he’d wandered away, carrying the egg basket in both hands, Tiffany turned out some butter onto the marble slab and picked up the paddles to pat it into, well, a pat of butter. Then she’d stamp it with one of the wooden stamps. People appreciated a little picture on their butter.
As she began to shape the butter, she was aware of a shadow in the doorway and turned.
It was Roland.
He looked at her, his face even redder than usual. He was twiddling his very expensive hat nervously, just like Rob Anybody did.
“Yes?” she said.
“Look, about…well, about all that…about…” Roland began.
“Yes?”
“Look, I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t lie to anyone or anything,” he blurted out. “But my father just sort of assumed I’d been a hero, and he just wouldn’t listen to anything I said even after I told him how…how…”
“Helpful I’d been?” said Tiffany.
“Yes…I mean, no! He said, he said, he said it was lucky for you I was there, he said—”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Tiffany, picking up the butter paddles again.
“And he just kept telling everyone how brave I’d been and—”
“I said it doesn’t matter,” said Tiffany. The little paddles went patpatpat on the fresh butter.
Roland’s mouth opened and shut for a moment.
“You mean you don’t mind?” he said at last.
“No. I don’t mind,” said Tiffany.
“But it’s not fair!”