A Hat Full Of Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

around the walls.
    “Mebbe I could kind o’ ease my way inta it gently,” he protested as his heels left little grooves in the packed-earth floor of the mound. “Mebbe I could just do one o’ they commeras or full stoppies—”
    “You’re the Big Man, Rob Anybody, so it’s fittin’ ye should be the first tae do the writin’,” said Jeannie. “I canna hae a husband who canna even write his ain name. I showed you the letters, did I not?”
    “Aye, wumman, the nasty, loopy, bendy things!” growled Rob. “I dinna trust that Q,that’s a letter than has it in for a man. That’s a letter with a sting, that one!”
    “You just hold the pencil on the paper and I’ll tell ye what marks to make,” said Jeannie, folding her arms.
    “Aye, but ’tis a bushel of trouble, writin’,” said Rob. “A word writ doon can hang a man!”
    “Wheest, now, stop that! ’Tis easy!” snapped Jeannie. “Bigjob babies can do it, and you’re a full-growed Feegle!”
    “An’ writin’ even goes on sayin’ a man’s wurds after he’s deid !” said Rob Anybody, waving the pencil as if trying to ward off evil spirits. “Ye canna tell me that’s right!”
    “Oh, so you’re afeared o’ the letters, is that it?” said Jeannie artfully. “Ach, that’s fine. All big men fear something. Take the pencil off ’f him, Wullie. Ye canna ask a man to face his fears.”
    There was silence in the mound as Daft Wullie nervously took the pencil stub from his brother. Every beady eye was turned to Rob Anybody. His hands opened and shut. He started to breathe heavily, still glaring at the blank paper. He stuck out his chin.
    “Ach, ye’re a harrrrd wumman, Jeannie Mac Feegle!” he said at last. He spat on his hands andsnatched back the pencil stub from Daft Wullie. “Gimme that tool o’ perdition! Them letters won’t know whut’s hit them!”
    “There’s my brave lad!” said Jeannie, as Rob squared up to the paper. “Right, then. The first letter is an R. That’s the one that looks like a fat man walking, remember?”
    The assembled pictsies watched as Rob Anybody, grunting fiercely and with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, dragged the pencil through the curves and lines of the letters. He looked at the kelda expectantly after each one.
    “That’s it,” she said at last. “A bonny effort!”
    Rob Anybody stood back and looked critically at the paper.
    “That’s it?” he asked.
    “Aye,” said Jeannie. “Ye’ve writ your ain name, Rob Anybody!”
    Rob stared at the letters again. “I’m gonna go to pris’n noo?” he asked.
    There was a polite cough from beside Jeannie. It belonged to the toad. He had no other name, because toads don’t go in for names. Despite sinister forces that would have people think differently, no toad has ever been called Tommy the Toad, for example. It’s just not something that happens.
    This toad had once been a lawyer (a human lawyer; toads manage without them) who’d been turned into a toad by a fairy godmother who’d intended to turn him into a frog but had been a bit hazy on the difference. Now he lived in the Feegle mound, where he ate worms and helped them out with the difficult thinking.
    “I’ve told you, Mr. Anybody, that just having your name written down is no problem at all,” he said. “There’s nothing illegal about the words Rob Anybody . Unless, of course”—and the toad gave a little legal laugh—“it’s meant as an instruction!”
    None of the Feegles laughed. They liked their humor to be a bit, well, funnier.
    Rob Anybody stared at his very shaky writing. “That’s my name, aye?”
    “It certainly is, Mr. Anybody.”
    “An’nothin’bad’s happenin’at a’,” Rob noted. He looked closer. “How can you tell it’s my name?”
    “Ah, that’ll be the readin’ side o’ things,” said Jeannie.
    “That’s where the lettery things make a sound in yer heid?” asked Rob.
    “Exactly so,” said the toad. “But we thought