oh dear
Half of Miss Level stepped forward.
‘Oh, I can see the problem,’ she said, peering down. ‘Your amulet with the little
owls on it is tangled up with your necklace of silver bats and they’ve both got caught
around a button. Just hold still, will you?’
‘Um, I’ve come to see if your new girl would like come to the sabbat tonight,’ said the
bent Petulia, her voice a bit muffled.
Tiffany couldn’t help noticing that Petulia had jewellery everywhere; later she found
that it was hard to be around Petulia for any length of time without having to unhook
a bangle from a necklace or, once, an earring from an ankle bracelet (nobody ever
found out how that one happened). Petulia couldn’t resist occult jewellery. Most of the
stuff was
to magically protect her from things, but she hadn’t found anything to protect her from
looking a bit silly.
She was short and plump and permanently red-faced and slightly worried.
‘Sabbat? Oh, one of your meetings,’ said Miss Level. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t
it, Tiffany?’
‘Yes?’ said Tiffany, not quite sure yet.
‘Some of the girls meet up in the woods in the evenings,’ said Miss Level. ‘For some
reason the craft is getting popular again. That’s very welcome, of course.’
She said it as if she wasn’t quite sure. Then she added: ‘Petulia here works for Old
Mother Blackcap, over in Sidling Without. Specializes in animals. Very good woman with
pig diseases. I mean, with pigs that’ve got diseases, I don’t mean she has pig
diseases. It’ll be nice for you to have friends here. Why don’t you go? There,
everything’s unhooked.’
Petulia stood up and gave Tiffany a worried smile.
‘Um, Petulia Gristle,’ she said, holding out a hand.
‘Tiffany Aching,’ said Tiffany, shaking it gingerly in case the sound of all the bangles
and bracelets jangling together deafened everyone.
‘Um, you can ride with me on the broomstick, if you like,’ said Petulia.
‘I’d rather not,’ said Tiffany.
Petulia looked relieved, but said: ‘Um, do you want to get dressed?’
Tiffany looked down at her green dress. ‘I am.’
‘Um, don’t you have any gems or beads or amulets or anything?’
‘No, sorry,’ said Tiffany.
‘Um, you must at least have a shamble, surely?’
‘Um, can’t get the hang of them,’ said Tiffany. She hadn’t meant the ‘um’, but around
Petulia it was catching.
‘Um . . . a black dress, perhaps?’
‘I don’t really like black. I prefer blue or green,’ said Tiffany. ‘Um
‘Um. Oh well, you’re just starting,’ said Petulia generously. ‘I’ve been Crafty for three
years.’
Tiffany looked desperately at the nearest half of Miss Level.
‘In the craft,’ said Miss Level helpfully. ‘Witchcraft.’
‘Oh.’ Tiffany knew she was being very unfriendly, and Petulia with her pink face was
clearly a nice person, but she felt awkward in front of her and she couldn’t work out
why. It was stupid, she knew. She could do with a friend. Miss Level was nice
enough, and she managed to get along with Oswald, but it would be good to have
someone around her own age to talk to.
‘Well, I’d love to come,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve got a lot to learn.’
The passengers inside the stagecoach had paid good money to be inside on the soft
seats and out of the wind and the dust and, therefore, it was odd that so many got out at
the next stop and went and sat on the roof.
The few who didn’t want to ride up there or
couldn’t manage the climb sat huddled together on the seat opposite, watching the new
traveller like a group of rabbits watching a fox and trying not to breathe.
The problem wasn’t that he smelled of ferrets. Well, that was a problem, but
compared to the big problem it wasn’t much of one. He talked to himself. That is, bits of
him talked to other bits of him. All the time.
‘Ah, it’s fair hoggin’ doon here. Ah’m tellin ye! Ah’rn sure it’s my turn to be up inna heidl’
‘Hah, at least youse people are all cushy in the stomach, it’s us in the legs that has tae do all the work!’
At which the right hand said: ‘Legs? Youse dinnae know the meanin’ of the word “work”!
Ye ought tae try being stuck in a glove! Ach, blow this forra game o’ sojers! Ah ‘m gonna stretch ma legs!’
In horrified silence the other passengers watched one of the man’s gloved hands drop
off and walk around on the seat.
‘Aye, weel, it’s nae picnic doon here inna troosers, neither. A’m gonna let some fresh air in
right noo!’
‘Daft Wullie, don ‘tyou dare do that-‘
The passengers, squeezing even closer together, watched the trousers with terrible
fascination. There was some movement, some swearing-under-the-breath in a place
where nothing should be breathing, and then a couple of buttons popped and a very
small red-headed blue man stuck his head out, blinking in the light.
He froze when he saw the people.
He stared.
They stared.
Then his face widened into a mad smile.
Touse folks all right?’ he said, desperately. ‘That’s greaaat! Dinnae worry aboout me,
I’m one o’ they opper-tickle aloosyon’s, ye ken?’
He disappeared back into the trousers, and they heard him whisper: ‘I’m thinkin’ I
fooled ’em easily, no problemo!’
A few minutes later, the coach stopped to change horses. When it set off again, it was
minus the inside passengers. They got off, and asked for their luggage to be taken off,
too. No thank you, they did not want to continue their ride. They’d catch the coach
tomorrow, thank you. No, there was no problem in waiting here in this delightful
little, er, town of Dangerous Corner. Thank you. Goodbye.
The coach set off again, somewhat lighter and faster. It didn’t stop that night. It
should have done, and the rooftop passengers were still eating their dinner in the last
inn when they heard it set off without them. The reason probably had something to do
with the big heap of coins now in the driver’s pocket.
Chapter 5
ClRClG
Tiffany walked through the woods while Petulia flew unsteadily alongside in a series
of straight lines. Tiffany learned that Petulia was nice, had three brothers, wanted
to be a midwife for humans as well as pigs when she grew up, and was afraid of pins. She also
learned that Petulia hated to disagree about anything. So parts of the conversation went
like this: Tiffany said, ‘I live down on the Chalk.’ And Petulia said, ‘Oh, where they
keep all those sheep? I don’t like sheep much, they’re so kind of. . . baggy.’
Tiffany said, ‘Actually, we’re very proud of our sheep.’
And then you could stand back as Petulia reversed her opinions like someone trying
to turn a cart round in a very narrow space: ‘Oh, I didn’t really mean I hate them. I
expect some sheep are all right. We’ve got to have sheep, obviously. They’re better
than goats, and woollier. I mean, I actually like sheep, really. Sheep are nice.’
Petulia spent a lot of time trying to find out what other people thought so that she
could think the same way. It would be impossible to have an argument with her.
Tiffany had to stop herself from saying ‘The sky is green’ just to see how long it
would take for Petulia to agree. But she liked her. You couldn’t not like her. She was
restful company. Besides, you couldn’t help liking someone who couldn’t make a
broomstick turn corners.
It was a long walk through the woods. Tiffany had always wanted to see a forest so big
that you couldn’t see daylight through the other side, but now she’d lived in one for a
couple of weeks it got on her nerves. It was quite open woodland here, at least
around the villages, and not hard to walk though. She’d had to learn what maples and
birches were, and she’d never before seen the spruces and firs that grew higher up the
slopes. But she wasn’t happy in the company of trees. She missed the horizons. She
missed the sky. Everything was too close.
Petulia chattered nervously. Old Mother Blackcap was a pig-borer, cow-shouter and
all-round veterinary witch. Petulia liked animals, especially pigs because they had
wobbly noses. Tiffany quite liked animals too, but no one except other animals
liked animals as much as Petulia.
‘So . . . what’s this meeting about?’ she said, to change the subject.
‘Urn? Oh, it’s just to keep in touch/ said Petulia. ‘Annagramma says it’s important to
make contacts.’
‘Annagramma’s the leader, then, is she?’ said Tiffany.
‘Um, no. Witches don’t have leaders, Annagramma says.’
‘Hmm,’ said Tiffany.
They arrived at last at a clearing in the woods, just as the sun was setting. There were
the remains of an old cottage there, now covered mostly in brambles. You might miss it