nods, but everyone was watching the dust.
‘Sometimes things go wrong,’ said Petulia again. ‘Sometimes they’re dying but they
can’t leave because they don’t know the Way. She said that’s when they need you to
be there, close to them, to help them find the door so they don’t get lost in the dark.’
‘Petulia, we’re 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 it’s the last thing you can do for someone. She said there’s 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 it’s in
shadow but you should always remember it’s the same moon. And . . .
Annagramma?’
‘Yes?’
Petulia took a deep breath.
‘Don’t you ever dare interrupt me again as long as you live. Don’t you dare. Don’t you
darel I mean it.’
Chapter 13
ri7G Witclj
And then . . . there were the Trials themselves. That was the point of the day, wasn’t 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
Weatherwax’s 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 weren’t like that, as Petulia had said.
The point was to show what you could do, to show what you’d become, so that
people would go away thinking things like That Caramella Bottlethwaite, she’s
coming along nicely.’ It wasn’t a competition, honestly. No one won.
And if you believed that you’d 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 wasn’t 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.
‘.. .Di’n’t 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, that’s who!… Yes, that’s what I’m sayin’, any little fool could’ve opened the door
by luck, but it takes a real witch to bring her back, that’s 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 that’d be
wasted now, of course … Why did Mistress Weatherwax give the girl her hat, eh? What’s 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 I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles but it was easy to see that
their minds weren’t 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 you’ve got to do is, like,
stand up and admit it. Everyone knows you did it. I mean, no one’s ever, like, done
something like that at the Trials!’
‘And it’s about time the old bully lost,’ said Annagramma.
But she’s not a bully, Tiffany thought. She’s tough, and she expects other witches to be
tough> because the edge is no place for people who break. Everything with her is a kind
of test. And her Third Thoughts handed over the thought that had not quite made it
back in the tent: Granny Weatherwax, you knew the hiver would only come for me, didn’t
you? You talked to Dr Bustle, you told me. Did you just turn me into your trick for today? How much did you guess? Or know?
‘You’d win,’ said Dimity Hubbub. ‘Even some of the older ones would like to see
her taken down a peg. They know big magic happened. There’s not a whole
shamble for miles.’
So I’d win because some people don’t like somebody else? Tiffany thought. Oh, yes,
that’d really be something to be proud of. . .
‘You can bet she’ll stand up,’ said Annagramma. ‘You watch. She’ll explain how the
poor child got dragged into the Next World by a monster, and she brought her back.
That’s what I’d do, if I was her.’
I expect you would, Tiffany thought. But you’re not, and you’re not me, either.
She stared at Granny Weatherwax, who was waving away a couple of elderly
witches.
I wonder, she thought, if they’ve been saying things like ‘This girl needs taking
down a peg, Mistress Weatherwax.’ And as she thought that, Granny turned back
and caught her eye-
The mice stopped singing, mostly in embarrassment. There was a pause, and then
people started to clap, because it was the sort of thing you had to do.
A witch, someone Tiffany didn’t know, stepped out into the square, still clapping in
that fluttery, hands-held-close-together-at shoulder-height way that people use
when they want to encourage the audience to go on applauding just that little bit
longer.
‘Very well done, Doris, excellent work, as ever,’ she trilled. ‘They’ve come on
marvellously since last
year, thank you very much, wonderful, well done . . . ahem . . .’
The woman hesitated, while behind her Doris Trample crawled around on hands
and knees trying to urge her mice back into their box. One of them was having
hysterics.
‘And now, perhaps . . . some lady would like to, er . . . take the, er . . . stage?’ said the
mistress of ceremonies, as brightly as a glass ball about to shatter. ‘Anyone?’
There was stillness, and silence.
‘Don’t be shy, ladies!’ The voice of the mistress of ceremonies was getting more strained
by the second. It’s no fun trying to organize a field full of born organizers. ‘Modesty does
not become us! Anyone?’
Tiffany felt the pointy hats turning, some towards her, some towards Granny
Weatherwax. Away across the few. yards of grass, Granny reached up and brushed
someone’s hand from her shoulder, sharply, without breaking eye contact with Tiffany.
And we’re not wearing hats, thought Tiffany. You gave me a virtual hat once, Granny
Weatherwax, and I thank you for it. But I don’t need it today. Today, I know I’m a witch.
‘Oh, come now, ladies!’ said the mistress of ceremonies, now almost frantic. ‘This is
the Trials! A place for friendly and instructive contestation in an atmosphere of
fraternity and goodwill! Surely some lady . . . or young lady, perhaps. . . ?
Tiffany smiled. It should be ‘sorority’, not ‘fraternity’. We’re sisters, mistress, not
brothers.
‘Come on, Tiffany!’ Dimity urged. ‘They know you’re good!’
Tiffany shook her head.
‘Oh, well, that’s it,’ said Annagramma, rolling her eyes. ‘The old baggage has messed
with the girl’s head, as usual-‘
‘I don’t know who’s messed with whose head,’ snapped Petulia, rolling up her
sleeves. ‘But I’m going to do the pig trick.’ She got to her feet and there was a
general stir in the crowd.
‘Oh, I see it’s going to be- Oh, it’s you, Petulia,’ said the mistress of ceremonies,
slightly disappointed.
‘Yes, Miss Casement, and I intend to perform the pig trick,’ said Petulia loudly.
‘But, er, you don’t seem to have brought a pig with you,’ said Miss Casement, taken
aback.
‘Yes, Miss Casement. I shall perform the pig trick . . . without a pig!’
This caused a sensation, and cries of ‘Impossible!’ and ‘There are children here, you