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Granny? said Tiffany, as the light began to grow brighter. It brought back tiredness with it, too. Yes?
What exactly happened just then?
What do you think happened? Light burst in upon them. Someone was wiping Tiffanys forehead with a damp cloth. She lay, feeling the beautiful coolness. There were voices around her, and she recognized the chronic-complainers tones of Annagramma: . . . And she was really making a fuss in Zakzaks. Honestly, I dont think shes quite right in the head! I think shes literally gone cuckoo! She was shouting things and using some kind of, oh, I dont know, some peasant trick to make us think shed turned that fool Brian into a frog. Well, of course, she didnt fool me for one minute- Tiffany opened her eyes and saw the round pink face of Petulia, screwed up with concern. Urn, shes awake! said the girl. The space between Tiffany and the ceiling filled up with pointy hats. They drew back, reluctantly, as she sat up. From above, it must have looked like a dark daisy, closing and opening. Where is this? she said. Urn, the First Aid and Lost Childrens Tent, said Petulia. Urn . . . you fainted when Mistress Weather-wax brought you back from . . . from wherever youd gone. Everyones been in to see you!
She said youd, like, dragged the monster into, like, the Next World! Lucy Warbeck said, her eyes gleaming. Mistress Weatherwax told everyone all about it!
Well, it wasnt quite- Tiffany began. She felt something prod her in the back. She reached behind her, and her hand came back holding a pointy hat. It was almost grey with age and quite battered. Zakzak wouldnt have dared try to sell something like this, but the other girls stared it like starving dogs watching a butchers hand. Urn, Mistress Weatherwax gave you her hat, breathed Petulia. Her actual hat.
She said you were a born witch and no witch should be without a hat! said Dimity Hubbub, watching. Thats nice, said Tiffany. She was used to secondhand clothes. Its only an old hat, said Annagramma. Tiffany looked up at the tall girl and let herself smile slowly. Annagramma? she said, raising a hand with the fingers open. Annagramma backed away. Oh no, she said. Dont you do that! Dont you do that!
Someone stop her doing that!
Do you want a balloon, Annagramma? said Tiffany, sliding off the table. No! Please! Annagramma took another step back, holding her arms in front of her face, and fell over a bench. Tiffany picked her up and patted her cheerfully on a cheek. Then I shant buy you one, she said. But please learn what “literally” really means, will you? Annagramma smiled in a frozen kind of way. Er, yes, she managed. Good. And then we will be friends. She left the girl standing there, and went back to pick up the hat. Urn, youre probably still a bit woozy, said Petulia. You probably dont understand.
Ha, I wasnt actually frightened, you know, said Annagramma. It was all for fun, of course. No one paid any attention. Understand what? said Tiffany. Its her actual hatV the girls chorused. Its, like, if that hat could talk, what stories it would have to, you know, tell, said Lucy Warbeck. It was just a joke, said Annagramma to anyone who was listening. Tiffany looked at the hat. It was very battered, and not extremely clean. If that hat could talk, it would probably mutter. Wheres Granny Weatherwax now? she said. There was a gasp from the girls. This was nearly as impressive as the hat. Um . . . she doesnt mind you calling her that? said Petulia. She invited me to, said Tiffany. Only we heard you had to have known her for, like, a hundred years before she let you call her that. . . said Lucy Warbeck. Tiffany shrugged. Well, anyway, she said. Do you know where she is?
Oh, having tea with the other old witches and yakking on about chutney and how witches today arent what they were when she was a girl, said Lulu Darling. What? said Tiffany. Just having teal The young witches looked at one another in puzzlement. Um, theres buns too, said Petulia. If thats important.
But she opened the door for me. The door into -out of the . . . the desert! You cant just sit down after that and have bunsY Um, the ones I saw had icing on, Petulia ventured, nervously. They werent just homemade-
Look, said Lucy Warbeck, we didnt really, you know, see anything? You were just standing there with this, like, glow around you and we couldnt get in and then Gran- Mistress Weatherwax walked up and stepped right in and you both, you know, stood there? And then the glow went zip and vanished and you, like, fell over.
What Lucys failing to say very accurately, said Annagramma, is that we didnt actually see you go anywhere. Im telling you this as a friend, of course. There was just this glow, which could have been anything. Annagramma was going to be a good witch, Tiffany considered. She could tell
herself stories that she literally believed. And she could bounce back like a ball. Dont forget, I saw the horse, said Harrieta Bilk. Annagramma rolled her eyes. Oh yes, Harrieta thinks she saw some kind of horse in the sky. Except it didnt look like a horse, she says. She says it looked like a horse would look if you took the actual horse away and just left the horsiness, right, Harrieta?
I didnt say that! snapped Harrieta. Well, pardon me. Thats what it sounded like.
Urn, and some people said they saw a white horse grazing in the next field, too, said Petulia. And a lot of the older witches said they felt a tremendous amount of-
Yes, some people thought they saw a horse in a field but it isnt there any more, said Annagramma in the singsong voice she used when she thought it was all stupid. That must be very rare in the country, seeing horses in fields. Anyway, if there really was a white horse, it was grey. Tiffany sat on the edge of the table, staring at her knees. Anger at Annagramma had jolted her to life, but now the tiredness was creeping back. I suppose none of you saw a little blue man, about six inches high, with red hair? she said quietly. Anyone? said Annagramma, with malicious cheerfulness. There was a general mumbling of no. Sorry, Tiffany, said Lucy. Dont worry, said Annagramma. He probably just rode away on his white horse! This is going to be like Fairyland all over again, thought Tiffany. Even I cant remember if it was real. Why should anyone believe me? But she had to try. There was a dark doorway, she said slowly, and beyond it was a desert of black sand and it was quite light although there were stars in the sky, and Death was there. I spoke to him You spoke to him, did you? said Annagramma. And what did he say, pray?
He didnt say “pray”, said Tiffany. We didnt talk about much. But he didnt know what an egress was.
Its a small type of heron, isnt it? said Harrieta. There was silence, except for the noise of the Trials outside. Its not your fault, said Annagramma in what was, for her, almost a friendly voice. Its like I said: Mistress Weatherwax messes with peoples heads.
What about the glow? said Lucy. That was probably ball lightning, said Annagramma. Thats very strange stuff.
But people were, like, hammering on it! It was as hard as ice!
Ah, well, it probably felt like that, said Annagramma, but it was . . . probably affecting peoples muscles, maybe. Im only trying to be helpful here, she added. Youve got to be sensible. She just stood there. You saw her. There werent any doors or deserts. There was just her. Tiffany sighed. She just felt tired. She just wanted to crawl off somewhere. She just wanted to go home. Shed walk there now if her boots werent suddenly so uncomfortable.
While the girls argued, she undid the laces and tugged one off. Silver-black dust poured out. When it hit the ground it bounced, slowly, curving up into the air again like mist. The girls turned, watching in silence. Then Petulia reached down and caught some of the dust. When she lifted her hand, the fine stuff flowed between her fingers. It fell as slowly as feathers. Sometimes things go wrong, she said, in a faraway voice. Mistress Blackcap told me. Havent any of you been there when old folk are dying? There were one or two nods, but everyone was watching the dust. Sometimes things go wrong, said Petulia again. Sometimes theyre dying but they cant leave because they dont know the Way. She said thats when they need you to be there, close to them, to help them find the door so they dont get lost in the dark.
Petulia, were not supposed to talk about this, said Harrieta, gently. No! said Petulia, her face red. It is a time
to talk about it, just here, just us! Because she said its the last thing you can do for someone. She said theres a dark desert they have to cross, where the sand-
Hah! Mrs Earwig says that sort of thing is black magic, said Annagramma, her voice as sharp and sudden as a knife. Does she? said Petulia dreamily as the sand poured down. Well, Mistress Blackcap said that sometimes the moon is light and sometimes its in shadow but you should always remember its the same moon. And . . . Annagramma?
Yes? Petulia took a deep breath. Dont you ever dare interrupt me again as long as you live. Dont you dare. Dont you darel I mean it. Chapter 13 ri7G Witclj And then . . . there were the Trials themselves. That was the point of the day, wasnt it? But Tiffany, stepping out with the girls around her, sensed the buzz in the air. It said: Was there any point now? After what had happened? Still, people had put up the rope square again, and a lot of the older witches dragged their chairs to the edge of it, and it seemed that it was going to happen after all. Tiffany wandered up to the rope, found a space and sat down on the grass with Granny
Weatherwaxs hat in front of her. She was aware of the other girls behind her, and also a buzz or susurration of whispering spreading out into the crowd. . . . She really did do it, too . . . no, really . . . all the way to the desert. . . saw the dust. . . her boots were full, they say . . . Gossip spreads faster among witches than a bad cold. Witches gossip like starlings. There were no judges, and no prizes. The Trials werent like that, as Petulia had said. The point was to show what you could do, to show what youd become, so that people would go away thinking things like That Caramella Bottlethwaite, shes coming along nicely. It wasnt a competition, honestly. No one won. And if you believed that youd believe that the moon is pushed around the sky by a goblin called Wilberforce. What was true was that one of the older witches generally opened the thing with some competent but not surprising trick which everyone had seen before but still appreciated. That broke the ice. This year it was old Goodie Trample and her collection of singing mice. But Tiffany wasnt paying attention. On the other side of the roped-off square, sitting on a chair and surrounded by older witches like a queen on her throne, was Granny Weatherwax. The whispering went on. Maybe opening her eyes had opened her ears, too, because Tiffany felt she could hear the whispers all around the square. . . . Dint have no trainin, just did it. . . did you see that horse?. . . 1 never saw no horse!. . . Di n tjust open the door, she stepped right in!. . . Yeah, but who was it fetched her back?Esme Weatherwax, thats who!. . . Yes, thats what Im sayin, any little fool couldve opened the door by luck, but it takes a real witch to bring her back, thats a winner, that is. . . fought the thing, left it there!. . . 7 didn t see you doing anything, Violet Pulsimone! That child. . . Was there a horse or not? . . . Was going to do my dancing broom trick, but thatd be wasted now, of course . . . Why did Mistress Weatherwax give the girl her hat, eh? Whats she want us to think? She never takes off her hat to no one! You could feel the tension, crackling from pointy hat to pointy hat like summer lightning. The mice did their best with Im Forever Blowing Bubbles but it was easy to see that their minds werent on it. Mice are highly strung and very temperamental. Now people were leaning down beside Granny Weatherwax. Tiffany could see some animated conversations going on. You know, Tiffany, said Lucy Warbeck, behind her, all youve got to do is, like, stand up and admit it. Everyone knows you did it. I mean, no ones ever, like, done something like that at the Trials!
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