completely if you didn’t spot the rampant growth of lilac and the gooseberry bushes,
now a forest of thorns. Someone had lived here once, and had a garden.
Someone else, now, had lit a fire. Badly. And they had found that lying down flat to
blow on a fire because you hadn’t started it with enough paper and dry twigs was not a
good idea, because it would then cause your pointy hat, which you had forgotten to take
off, to fall into the smoking mess and then, because it was dry, catch fire.
A young witch was now flailing desperately at her burning hat, watched by
several interested spectators.
Another one, sitting on a log, said: ‘Dimity Hubbub, that is literally the most
stupid thing anyone has ever done anywhere in the whole world, ever.’ It was a sharp,
not very nice voice, the sort most people used for being sarcastic with.
‘Sorry, Annagramma!’ said Miss Hubbub, pulling off the hat and stamping on the
point.
‘I mean, just look at you, will you? You really are letting everyone down.’
‘Sorry, Annagramma!’
‘Um,’ said Petulia.
Everyone turned to look at the new arrivals.
‘You’re late, Petulia Gristle!’ snapped Annagramma. ‘And who’s this?’
‘Urn, you did ask me to call in at Miss Level’s to bring the new girl, Annagramma,’
said Petulia, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
Annagramma stood up. She was at least a head taller than Tiffany and had a face
that seemed to be built backwards from her nose, which she held slightly in the air.
To be looked at by Annagramma was to know that you’d already taken up too much of
her valuable time.
‘Is this her?’
‘Um, yes, Annagramma.’
‘Let’s have a look at you, new girl.’
Tiffany stepped forward. It was amazing. She hadn’t really meant to. But
Annagramma had the kind of voice that you obeyed.
‘What is your name?’
‘Tiffany Aching?’ said Tiffany, and found herself saying her name as if she was asking
permission to have it.
‘Tiffany? That’s a funny name,’ said the tall girl. ‘My name is Annagramma Hawkin.’
‘Um, Annagramma works for-‘ Petulia began.
‘- works with,’ said Annagramma sharply, still
looking Tiffany up and down.
‘Urn, sorry, works with Mrs Earwig,’ said Petulia. ‘But she-‘
1 intend to leave next year,’ said Annagramma. ‘Apparently, I’m doing extremely
well. So you’re the girl who’s joined Miss Level, are you? She’s weird, you know. The
last three girls all left very quickly. They said it was just too strange trying to keep track
of which one of her was which.’
‘Which witch was which,’ said one of the girls cheerfully.
‘Anyone can do that pun, Lucy Warbeck,’ said Annagramma without looking round.
‘It’s not funny, and it’s not clever.’
She turned her attention back to Tiffany, who felt that she was being examined as
critically and thoroughly as Granny Aching would check a ewe she might be thinking
of buying. She wondered if Annagramma would actually try to open her mouth and
make sure she had all her teeth.
‘They say you can’t breed good witches on chalk,’ said Annagramma.
All the other girls looked from Annagramma to Tiffany, who thought: Ha!, so
witches don’t have leaders, do they? But she was in no mood to make enemies.
‘Perhaps they do,’ she said quietly. This did not seem to be what Annagramma
wanted to hear.
‘You haven’t even dressed the part,’ said Annagramma.
‘Sorry,’ said Tiffany.
‘Urn, Annagramma says that if you want people to treat you like a witch you should
look like one,’ Petulia said.
‘Hmm,’ said Annagramma, staring at Tiffany as if she’d failed a simple test. Then she
nodded her head. ‘Well, we all had to start somewhere.’ She stood back. ‘Ladies, this
is Tiffany. Tiffany, you know Petulia. She crashes into trees. Dimity Hubbub is the one
with the smoke coming out of her hat, so that she looks like a chimney. That’s
Gertruder Tiring, that’s the hilariously funny Lucy Warbeck, that’s Harrieta Bilk, who
can’t seem to do anything about the squint, and then that’s Lulu Darling, who can’t
seem to do anything about the name. You can sit in for this evening. . . Tiffany, wasn’t
it? I’m sorry you’ve been taken on by Miss Level. She’s rather sad. Complete amateur.
Hasn’t really got a clue. Just bustles about and hopes. Oh, well, it’s too late now.
Gertruder, Summon the World’s Four Corners and Open the Circle, please.’
‘Er . . .’ said Gertruder, nervously. It was amazing how many people around
Annagramma became nervous.
‘Do I have to do everything around here?’ said Annagramma. ‘Try to remember,
please! We must have been through this literally a million times!’
‘I’ve never heard of the world’s four corners,’ said Tiffany.
‘Really? There’s a surprise,’ said Annagramma.
‘Well, they’re the directions of power, Tiffany, and I would advise you to do something
about that name, too, please.’
‘But the world’s round, like a plate,’ said Tiffany.
‘Urn, you have to imagine them,’ Petulia whispered.
Tiffany wrinkled her forehead. ‘Why?’ she said.
Annagramma rolled her eyes. ‘Because that’s the way to do things properly.’
‘Oh.’
‘You have done some kind of magic, haven’t you?’ Annagramma demanded.
Tiffany was a bit confused. She wasn’t used to people like Annagramma. ‘Yes,’ she
said. All the other girls were staring at her, and Tiffany couldn’t help thinking about
sheep. When a dog attacks a sheep, the other sheep run away to a safe distance and
then turn and watch. They don’t gang up on the dog. They’re just happy it’s not them.
‘What are you best at then?’ snapped Annagramma.
Tiffany, her mind still full of sheep, spoke without thinking. ‘Soft Nellies,’ she said. ‘It’s
a sheep cheese. It’s quite hard to make . . .’
She looked around at the circle of blank faces and felt embarrassment rise
inside her like hot jelly.
‘Urn, Annagramma meant what magic can you do best,’ said Petulia kindly.
‘Although Soft Nellies is good,’ said Annagramma
with a cruel little smile. One or two of the girls gave that little snort that meant they
were trying not to laugh out loud but didn’t mind showing that they were trying.
Tiffany looked down at her boots again. T don’t know,’ she mumbled, ‘but I did
throw the Queen of the Fairies out of my country.’
‘Really?’ said Annagramma. ‘The Queen of the Fairies, eh? How did you do that?’
‘I’m . . . not sure. I just got angry with her.’ And it was hard to remember
exactly what had happened that night. Tiffany recalled the anger, terrible anger, and
the world . . . changing. She’d seen it clearer than a hawk sees, heard it better than
a dog hears, felt its age beneath her feet, felt the hills still living. And she remembered
thinking that no one could do this for long and still be human.
‘Well, you’ve got the right boots for stamping your foot,’ said Annagramma. There were
a few more half-concealed giggles. ‘A Queen of the Fairies,’ she added. ‘I’m sure you did.
Well, it helps to dream.’
‘I don’t tell lies,’ mumbled Tiffany, but no one was listening.
Sullen and upset, she watched the girls Open the Corners and Summon the Circle,
unless she’d got that the wrong way round. This went on for some time. It would have
gone better if they’d all been sure what to do, but it was probably hard to know what to do when Annagramma was around, since
she kept correcting everyone. She was standing with a big book open in her arms.
‘. . . now you, Gertruder, go widdershins, no, that’s the other way, I must have told you
literally a thousand times, and Lulu – where’s Lulu? Well, you shouldn’t have been there!
Get the shriven chalice – not that one, no, the one without handles . . . yes. Harrieta,
hold the Wand of the Air a bit higher, I mean, it must be in the air, d’you understand?
And for goodness’ sake, Petulia, please try to look a little more stately, will you? I
appreciate that it doesn’t come naturally to you, but you might at least show you’re
making an effort. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, no invocation ever written
starts with “um”, unless I’m very much mistaken. Harrieta, is that the C a u l d ro n o f
t h e S e a ? D o e s i t e v e n lo o k l i k e a Cauldron of the Sea? I don’t think so, do you?
What was that noise?’
The girls looked down. Then someone mumbled: ‘Dimity trod on the Circlet of
Infinity, Annagramma.’
‘Not the one with the genuine seed-pearls on it?’ said Annagramma in a tight little
voice.
‘Um, yes,’ said Petulia. ‘But I’m sure she’s very sorry. Um . . . shall I make a cup of