‘Well, yes. I did. I mean . . . it was tiny! And if she could magic away a boy and a whole horse, why didn’t she magic away the men who came for her? It didn’t make any sense—!’
Miss Tick waved her into silence. ‘And then what happened?’
‘Then the Baron said no one was to have anything to do with her,’ said Tiffany. ‘He said any witches found in the country would be tied up and thrown in the pond. Er, you could be in danger,’ she added, uncertainly.
‘I can untie knots with my teeth and I have a Gold Swimming Certificate from the Quirm College for Young Ladies,’ said Miss Tick. ‘All that practice at jumping into the swimming pool with my clothes on was time well spent.’ She leaned forward. ‘Let me guess what happened to Mrs Snapperly,’ she said. ‘She lived from the summer until the snow, right? She stole food from barns and probably women gave her food at the back door if the men weren’t around? I expect the bigger boys threw things at her if they saw her.’
‘How do you know all this?’ said Tiffany. ‘It doesn’t take a huge leap of imagination, believe me,’ said Miss Tick. ‘And she wasn’t a witch, was she?’
‘I think she was just a sick old lady who was no use to anyone and smelled a bit and looked odd because she had no teeth,’ said Tiffany. ‘She just looked like a witch in a story. Anyone with half a mind could see that.’
Miss Tick sighed. ‘Yes. But sometimes it’s so hard to find half a mind when you need one.’
‘Can’t you teach me what I need to know to be a witch?’ said Tiffany.
‘Tell me why you still want to be a witch, bearing in mind what happened to Mrs Snapperly?’
‘So that sort of thing doesn’t happen again,’ said Tiffany.
She even buried the old witch’s cat, thought Miss Tick. What kind of child is this?
‘Good answer. You might make a decent witch one day,’ she said. ‘But I don’t teach people to be witches. I teach people about witches. Witches learn in a special school. I just show them the way, if they’re any good. All witches have special interests, and I like children.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re much easier to fit in the oven,’ said Miss Tick.
But Tiffany wasn’t frightened, just annoyed.
‘That was a nasty thing to say,’ she said.
‘Well, witches don’t have to be nice,’ said Miss Tick, pulling a large black bag from under the table. ‘I’m glad to see you pay attention.’
‘There really is a school for witches?’ said Tiffany.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ said Miss Tick.
‘Where?’
‘Very close.’
‘It is magical?’
‘Very magical.’
‘A wonderful place?’
‘There’s nowhere quite like it.’
‘Can I go there by magic? Does, like, a unicorn turn up to carry me there or something?’
‘Why should it? A unicorn is nothing more than a big horse that comes to a point, anyway. Nothing to get so excited about,’ said Miss Tick. ‘And that will be one egg, please.’
‘Exactly where can I find the school?’ said Tiffany, handing over the egg.
‘Aha. A root vegetable question, I think,’ said Miss Tick. ‘Two carrots, please.’
Tiffany handed them over.
‘Thank you. Ready? To find the school for witches, go to a high place near here, climb to the top, open your eyes . . .’ Miss Tick hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘. . . and then open your eyes again.’
‘But—’ Tiffany began.
‘Got any more eggs?’
‘No, but—’
‘No more education, then. But I have a question to ask you.’
‘Got any eggs?’ said Tiffany, instantly.
‘Hah! Did you see anything else by the river, Tiffany?’
Silence suddenly filled the tent. The sound of bad spelling and erratic geography filtered through from outside as Tiffany and Miss Tick stared into one another’s eyes.
‘No,’ lied Tiffany.
‘Are you sure?’ said Miss Tick.
‘Yes.’
They continued the staring match. But Tiffany could outstare a cat.
‘I see,’ said Miss Tick, looking away. ‘Very well. In that case, please tell me . . . when you stopped outside my tent just now you said “Aha” in what I considered to be a smug tone of voice. Were you thinking, This is a strange little black tent with a mysterious little sign on the door, so going inside could be the start of an adventure, or were you thinking, This could be the tent of some wicked witch like they thought Mrs Snapperly was, who’ll put some horrible spell on me as soon as I go in? It’s all right, you can stop staring now. Your eyes are watering.’
‘I thought both those things,’ said Tiffany, blinking.
‘But you came in anyway. Why?’
‘To find out.’
‘Good answer. Witches are naturally nosy,’ said Miss Tick, standing up. ‘Well, I must go. I hope we shall meet again. I will give you some free advice, though.’
‘Will it cost me anything?’
‘What? I just said it was free!’ said Miss Tick.
‘Yes, but my father said that free advice often turns out to be expensive,’ said Tiffany.
Miss Tick sniffed. ‘You could say this advice is priceless,’ she said. ‘Are you listening?’
‘Yes,’ said Tiffany.
‘Good. Now . . . if you trust in yourself . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘. . . and believe in your dreams . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘. . . and follow your star . . .’ Miss Tick went on.
‘Yes?’
‘. . . you’ll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy. Goodbye.’
The tent seemed to grow darker. It was time to leave. Tiffany found herself back in the square where the other teachers were taking down their stalls.
She didn’t look round. She knew enough not to look around. Either the tent would still be there, which would be a disappointment, or it would have mysteriously disappeared, and that would be worrying.
She headed home, and wondered if she should have mentioned the little red-haired men. She hadn’t for a whole lot of reasons. She wasn’t sure, now, that she’d really seen them; she had a feeling that they wouldn’t have wanted her to; and it was nice to have something Miss Tick didn’t know. Yes. That was the best part. Miss Tick was a bit too clever, in Tiffany’s opinion.
On the way home she climbed to the top of Arken Hill, which was just outside the village. It wasn’t very big, not even as high as the downs above the farm and certainly nothing like as high as the mountains.
The hill was more . . . homely. There was a flat place at the top where nothing ever grew, and Tiffany knew there was a story that a hero had once fought a dragon up there and its blood had burned the ground where it fell. There was another story that said there was a heap of treasure under the hill, defended by the dragon, and another story that said a king was buried there in armour of solid gold. There were lots of stories about the hill; it was surprising it hadn’t sunk under the weight of them.
Tiffany stood on the bare soil and looked at the view.
She could see the village and the river and Home Farm, and the Baron’s castle and, beyond the fields she knew, she could see grey woods and heathlands.
She closed her eyes and opened them again. And blinked, and opened them again.
There was no magic door, no hidden building revealed, no strange signs.
For a moment, though, the air buzzed, and smelled of snow.
When she got home she looked up ‘incursion’ in the dictionary. It meant ‘invasion’.
An incursion of major proportions, Miss Tick had said.
And, now, little unseen eyes watched Tiffany from the top of the shelf. . .
Chapter 3
Hunt The Hag
Miss Tick removed her hat, reached inside and pulled a piece of string. With little clicks and flapping noises the hat took up the shape of a rather elderly straw hat. She picked up the paper flowers from the ground and stuck them on, carefully.
Then she said: ‘Phew!’
‘You can’t just let the kid go like that,’ said the toad, who was sitting on the table.
‘Like what?’
‘She’s clearly got First Sight and Second Thoughts. That’s a powerful combination.’
‘She’s a little know-it-all,’ said Miss Tick.
‘Right. Just like you. She’s impressed you, right? I know she did because you were quite nasty to her, and you always do that to people who impress you.’
‘Do you want to be turned into a frog?’
‘Well, now, let me see . . .’ said the toad sarcastically. ‘Better skin, better legs, likelihood of being kissed by a princess one hundred per cent improved . . . why, yes. Whenever you’re ready, madam.’