A Hat Full Of Sky (15 page)

—did
not
lie in very expensive fragments.

Both he and Annagramma turned to Tiffany.

She was spinning the crystal globe on the tip of her finger.

“Quickness of the hand deceives the eye,” she said.

“But I heard it smash!” said Zakzak.

“Deceives the ear, too,” said Tiffany, putting the ball back on its stand. “I don’t want this,
but
”—and she pointed a finger—“I’ll take that necklace and that one and the one with the cats and that ring and a set of
those
and two, no, three of those and—what are these?”

“Um, that’s a Book of Night,” said Annagramma nervously. “It’s a sort of magical diary. You write down what you’ve been working on….”

Tiffany picked up the leather-bound book. It had an eye set in heavier leather on the cover. The eye rolled to look at her. This was a real witch’s diary, and much more impressive than some shamefully cheap old book bought off a peddler.

“Whose eye was it?” said Tiffany. “Anyone interesting?”

“Er, I get the books from the wizards at Unseen University,” said Zakzak, still shaken. “They’re not real eyes, but they’re clever enough
to swivel around until they see another eye.”

“It just blinked,” said Tiffany.

“Very clever people, wizards,” said the dwarf, who knew a sale when he saw one. “Shall I wrap it up for you?”

“Yes,” said Tiffany. “Wrap everything up. And now can anyone hear me? show me the clothes department…”

…where there were hats. There are fashions in witchery, just like everything else. Some years the slightly concertina’d look is in, and you’ll even see the point twisting around so much it’s nearly pointing at the ground. There are varieties even in the most traditional hat (Upright Cone, Black), such as the Countrywoman (inside pockets, waterproof), the Cloudbuster (low-drag coefficient for broomstick use), and, quite importantly, the Safety (guaranteed to survive 80 percent of falling farmhouses).

Tiffany chose the tallest upright cone. It was more than two feet high and had big stars sewn on it.

“Ah, the Sky Scraper. Very much your look,” said Zakzak, bustling around and opening drawers. “It’s for the witch on the way up, who knows what she wants and doesn’t care how many frogs it takes, aha. Incidentally, many ladies like a cloak
with that. Now, we have the Midnight, pure wool, fine knit, very warm, but”—he gave Tiffany a knowing look—“we currently have
very
limited supplies of the Zephyr Billow, just in, very rare, black as coal and thin as a shadow. Completely useless for keeping you warm or dry, but it looks
fabulous
in even the slightest breeze. Observe.”

He held up the cloak and blew gently. It billowed out almost horizontally, flapping and twisting like a sheet in a gale.

“Oh,
yes
,” breathed Annagramma.

“I’ll take it,” said Tiffany. “I shall wear it to the Witch Trials on Saturday.”

“Well, if you win, be sure to tell everyone you bought it here,” said Zakzak.

“
When
I win, I shall tell them I got it at a considerable discount,” said Tiffany.

“Oh, I don’t do discounts,” said Zakzak, as loftily as a dwarf can manage.

Tiffany stared at him, then picked up one of the most expensive wands from the display. It glittered.

“That’s a Number Six,” whispered Annagramma. “Mrs. Earwig has one of those!”

“I see it’s got runes on it,” said Tiffany, and
something about the way she said it made Zakzak go pale.

“Well, of
course
,” said Annagramma. “You’ve got to have
runes
.”

“These are in Oggham,” said Tiffany, smiling nastily at Zakzak. “It’s a very ancient language of the dwarfs. Shall I tell you what they
say
? They say ‘Oh What a Wally Is Waving This.’”

“Don’t you take that nasty lying tone with me, young lady!” said the dwarf. “Who’s your mistress? I know your type! Learn one spell and you think you’re Mistress Weatherwax! I’m not standing for this kind of behavior!
Brian!
”

There was a rustling from the bead curtains that led to the back of the shop, and a wizard appeared.

You could tell he was a wizard. Wizards never want you to have to guess. He had long flowing robes with stars and magical symbols on them; there were even some sequins. His beard would have been long and flowing if indeed he’d been the kind of young man who could really grow a beard. Instead, it was ragged and wispy and not very clean. And the general effect was also spoiled by the fact that he was smoking a cigarette, and had a mug of tea in his hand and a
face that looked a bit like something that lives under damp logs.

The mug was chipped, and on it were the jolly words
YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE MAGIC TO WORK HERE BUT IT HELPS
!

“Yeah?” he asked, adding reproachfully, “I
was
on my tea break, you know.”

“This young…lady is being awkward,” said Zakzak. “Throwing magic about. Talking back and being smart at me. The usual stuff.”

Brian looked at Tiffany. She smiled.

“Brian’s been to Unseen University,” said Zakzak with a “so there” smirk. “Got a
degree
. What he doesn’t know about magic could fill a book! These ladies need showing the way out, Brian.”

“Now then, ladies,” said Brian nervously, putting down his mug. “Do what Mr. Stronginthearm says and push off, right? We don’t want trouble, do we? Go on, there’s good kids.”

“Why do you need a wizard to protect you, with all these magical amulets around the place, Mr. Stronginthearm?” said Tiffany sweetly.

Zakzak turned to Brian. “What’re you standing there for?” he demanded. “She’s doing it again! I pay you, don’t I? Put a ’fluence on ’em or something!”

“Well, er…that one could be a bit of an awkward customer…” Brian said, nodding toward Tiffany.

“If you studied wizardry, Brian, then you know about conservation of mass, don’t you?” she said. “I mean, you know what
really
happens when you try to turn someone into a frog?”

“Well, er…” the wizard began.

“Ha! That’s just a figure of speech!” snapped Zakzak. “I’d like to see
you
turn someone into a frog!”

“Wish granted,” said Tiffany, and waved the wand.

Brian started to say, “Look, when I said I’d been to Unseen University, I meant—”

But he ended up saying,
“Erk.”

Take the eye away from Tiffany, up through the shop, high, high above the village until the landscape spreads out in a patchwork of fields, woods, and mountains.

The magic spreads out like the ripples made when a stone is dropped in water. Within a few miles of the place it makes shambles spin and breaks the threads of curse nets. As the ripples widen, the magic gets fainter, although it never dies and still can be felt by things far more
sensitive than any shamble….

Let the eye move and fall now on
this
woods,
this
clearing,
this
cottage….

There is nothing on the walls but whitewash, nothing on the floor but cold stone. The huge fireplace doesn’t even have a cooking stove. A black teakettle hangs on a black hook over what can hardly be called a fire at all; it’s just a few little sticks huddling together.

This is the house of a life peeled to the core.

Upstairs, an old woman, all in faded black, is lying on a narrow bed. But you wouldn’t think she was dead, because there is a big card on a string around her neck that reads:

I ATE’NT DEAD

…and you have to believe it when it’s written down like that.

Her eyes are shut, her hands are crossed on her chest, her mouth is open.

And bees crawl into her mouth, and over her ears, and all over her pillow. They fill the room, flying in and out of the open window, where someone has put a row of saucers filled with sugary water on the sill.

None of the saucers match, of course. A witch
never has matching crockery. But the bees work on, coming and going…busy as bees.

When the ripple of magic passes through, the buzz rises to a roar. Bees pour in through the window urgently, as though driven by a gale. They land on the still old woman until her head and shoulders are a boiling mass of tiny brown bodies.

And then, as one insect, they rise in a storm and pour away into the outside air, which is full of whirling seeds from the sycamore trees outside.

Mistress Weatherwax sat bolt upright and said, “Bzzzt!” Then she stuck a finger into her mouth, rootled around a bit, and pulled out a struggling bee. She blew on it and shooed it out of the window.

For a moment her eyes seemed to have many facets, just like a bee’s.

“So,” she said. “She’s learned how to Borrow, has she? Or she’s been Borrowed!”

Annagramma fainted. Zakzak stared, too
afraid
to faint.

“You see,” said Tiffany, while something in the air went
gloop
,
gloop
above them, “a frog weighs only a few ounces, but Brian weighs, oh, about a
hundred and twenty pounds, yes?
So
to turn someone big into a frog, you’ve got to find something to do with all the bits you can’t fit into a frog, right?”

She bent down and lifted up the pointy wizard’s hat on the floor.

“Happy, Brian?” she asked. A small frog, squatting in a heap of clothes, looked up and said,
“Erk!”

Zakzak didn’t look at the frog. He was looking at the thing that went
gloop, gloop
. It was like a large pink balloon full of water, quite pretty really, wobbling gently against the ceiling.

“You’ve killed him!” he mumbled.

“What? Oh, no. That’s just the stuff he doesn’t need right now. It’s sort of…
spare
Brian.”

“Erk,”
said Brian.
Gloop
went the rest of him.

“About this discount—” Zakzak began hurriedly. “Ten percent would be—”

Tiffany waved the wand. Behind her, the whole display of crystals rose in the air and began to orbit one another in a glittering and, above all,
fragile
way.

“That wand shouldn’t do that!” he said.

“Of course it can’t. It’s rubbish. But
I
can,” said Tiffany. “Ninety percent discount, did I hear you say? Think quickly, I’m getting tired. And the
spare Brian is getting…heavy.”

“You can keep it all!” Zakzak screamed. “For free! Just don’t let him splash! Please!”

“No, no, I’d like you to stay in business,” said Tiffany. “A ninety percent discount would be fine. I’d like you to think of me as…a friend….”

“Yes! Yes! I
am
your friend! I’m a very friendly person! Now please put him baaack! Please!” Zakzak dropped to his knees, which wasn’t very far.
“Please!
He’s not really a wizard! He just did evening classes there in fretwork! They hire out classrooms, that sort of thing. He thinks I don’t know! But he read a few of the magic books on the quiet and he pinched the robes and he can talk wizard lingo so’s you’d hardly know the difference! Please! I’d never get a
real
wizard for the money I pay him! Don’t hurt him,
please
!”

Tiffany waved a hand. There was a moment even more unpleasant than the one that had ended up with the spare Brian bumping against the ceiling, and then the whole Brian stood there, blinking.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” gasped Zakzak.

Brian blinked. “What just happened?” he asked.

Zakzak, beside himself with horror and relief, patted him frantically.

“You’re all there?” he said. “You’re not a balloon?”

“Here, get off!” said Brian, pushing him away.

There was a groan from Annagramma. She opened her eyes, saw Tiffany, and tried to scramble to her feet
and
back away, which meant that she went backward like a spider.

“Please don’t do that to me! Please don’t!” she shouted.

Tiffany ran after her and pulled her to her feet.

“I wouldn’t do anything to
you
, Annagramma,” she said happily. “You’re my friend! We’re
all
friends! Isn’t that
nice
please please stop me…”

You had to remember that pictsies weren’t brownies. In theory brownies would do the housework for you if you left them a saucer of milk.

The Nac Mac Feegle…wouldn’t.

Oh, they’d try, if they liked you and you didn’t insult them with
milk
in the saucer. They
were
helpful. They just weren’t good at it. For example, you shouldn’t try to remove a stubborn stain from a plate by repeatedly hitting it with your head.

And you didn’t want to see a sink full of them and your best china. Or a precious pot rolling
backward and forward across the floor while the Feegles inside simultaneously fought the ground-in dirt
and
each other.

But Miss Level, once she’d got the better china out of the way, found she rather liked the Feegles. There was something unsquashable about them. And they were entirely unamazed by a woman with two bodies too.

“Ach, that’s nothin’,” Rob Anybody had said. “When we wuz raidin’ for the Quin, we once found a world where there wuz people wi’ five bodies each. All sizes, ye ken, for doin’ a’ kinds of jobs.”

“Really?” said both of Miss Level.

“Aye, and the biggest body had a huge left hand, just for openin’ pickle jars.”

“Those lids can get very tight, it’s true,” Miss Level had agreed.