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'- witch in a hundred who can do that!' she said. 'That's Borrowing, that is! It's better than any circus trick! It's putting -'
'- your mind somewhere else! You have to -'
'- learn how to protect yourself before you ever try it! And she just invented it because she didn't have a mirror? The little fool, why didn't she -'
'- say? She walked out of her own body and left it there for anything to take over! I wonder what -'
'- she thought she was -'
'- doing?' After a while Rob Anybody gave a polite cough. 'We're better at questions about fightin', drinkin' and stealin'/ he mumbled. 'We dinna have the knowin' o' the hagglin'.'
Chapter 7 MattGR of BuiaN Something that called itself Tiffany flew across the treetops. It thought it was Tiffany. It could remember everything -nearly everything - about being Tiffany. It looked like Tiffany. It even thought like Tiffany, more or less. It had everything it needed to be Tiffany... ... except Tiffany. Except the tiny part of her that was . . . me. It peered from her own eyes, tried to hear with her own ears, think with her own brain. A hiver took over its victim not by force, exactly, but simply by moving into any space, like the hermit elephant* It just *The hermit elephant of Howondaland has a very thin hide, except on its head, and young ones will often move into a small mud hut while the owners are out. It is far too shy to harm anyone, but most people quit their huts pretty soon after an elephant moves in. For one thing, it lifts the hut off the ground and carries it away on its back across the veldt, settling it down over any patch of nice grass that it finds. This makes housework very unpredictable. Nevertheless, an entire village of hermit elephants moving across the plains is one of the finest sights on the continent. took you over because that was what it did, until it was in all the places and there was no room left... Except - - it was having trouble. It had flowed through her like a dark tide but there was a place, tight and sealed, that was still closed. If it had the brains of a tree, it would have been puzzled. If it had the brains of a human, it would have been frightened. . . Tiffany brought the broomstick in low over the trees, and landed it neatly in Mrs Earwig's garden. There really was nothing to it, she decided. You just had to want it to fly. Then she was sick again or, at least, tried to be, but since she'd thrown up twice in the air there wasn't much left to be sick with. It was ridiculous! She wasn't frightened of flying any more, but her stupid stomach was! She wiped her mouth carefully and looked around. She'd landed on a lawn. She'd heard of them, but had never seen a real one before. There was grass all round Miss Level's cottage, but that was just, well, the grass of the clearing. Every other garden she'd seen was used for growing vegetables, with perhaps just a little space for flowers if the wife had got tough about it. A lawn meant you were posh enough to afford to give up valuable potato space. This lawn had stripes. Tiffany turned to the stick and said, 'Stay!' and then marched across the lawn to the house. It was a lot grander than Miss Level's cottage but, from what Tiffany had heard, Mrs Earwig was a more senior witch. She'd also married a wizard, although he didn't do any wizarding these days. It was a funny thing, Miss Level said, but you didn't often meet a poor wizard. She knocked at the door and waited. There was a curse-net hanging in the porch. You'd have thought that a witch wouldn't need such a thing, but Tiffany supposed
they used them as decoration. There was also a broomstick leaning against the wall, and a five-pointed silver star on the door. Mrs Earwig advertised. Tiffany knocked on the door again, much harder. It was instantly opened by a tall, thin woman, all in black. But it was a very decorative rich, deep black, all lacy and ruffled, and set off with more silver jewellery than Tiffany imagined could exist. She didn't just have rings on her fingers. Some fingers had sort of silver finger gloves, designed to look like claws. She gleamed like the night sky. And she was wearing her pointy hat, which Miss Level never did at home. It was taller than any hat that Tiffany had ever seen. It had stars on it, and silver hatpins glittered. All of this should have added up to something pretty impressive. It didn't. Partly it was because there was just too much of everything, but mostly it was because of Mrs Earwig. She had a long sharp face and looked very much as though she was about to complain about the cat from next door widdling on her lawn. And she looked like that all the time. Before she spoke, she very pointedly looked at the door to see if the heavy knocking had made a mark. 'Well?' she said, haughtily, or what she probably thought was haughtily. It sounded a bit strangled. 'Bless all in this house,' said Tiffany. 'What? Oh, yes. Favourable runes shine on this our meeting,' said Mrs Earwig hurriedly. 'Well?'
'I've come to see Annagramma,' said Tiffany. There really was too much silver. 'Oh, are you one of her girls?' said Miss Earwig. 'Not . . . exactly,' said Tiffany. 'I work with Miss Level'
'Oh, her,' said Mrs Earwig, looking her up and down. 'Green is a very dangerous colour. What is your name, child?'
'Tiffany.'
'Hmm,' said Mrs Earwig, not approving at all. 'Well, you had better come in.' She glanced up and made a tch! sound. 'Oh, will you look at that? I bought that at the craft fair over in Slice, too. It was very expensive!' The curse-net was hanging in tatters. 'You didn't do that, did you?' Mrs Earwig demanded. 'It's too high, Mrs Earwig,' said Tiffany. 'It's pronounced Ah-wij,' said Mrs Earwig coldly. 'Sorry, Mrs Earwig.'
'Come.' It was a strange house. You couldn't doubt that a witch lived in it, and not just because every doorframe had a tall pointy bit cut out of the top of it to allow Mrs Earwig's hat to pass through. Miss Level had nothing on her walls except circus posters, but Mrs Earwig had proper big paintings everywhere and they were all... witchy. There were lots of crescent moons and young women with quite frankly not enough clothes on, and big men with horns and, ooh, not just horns. There were suns and moon on the tiles of the floor, and the ceiling of the room Tiffany was led into was high, blue and painted with stars. Mrs Earwig (pronounced Ah-wij) pointed to a chair with gryphon's feet and
crescent-shaped cushions. 'Sit there,' she said. 'I will tell Annagramma you are here. Do not kick the chairlegs, please.' She went out via another door. Tiffany looked around - the hiver looked around • -and thought: I've got to be the strongest. When I am strongest, I shall be safe. That one is weak. She thinks you can buy magic. 'Oh, it really is you,' said a sharp voice behind her. 'The cheese girl.' Tiffany stood up. - the hiver had been many things, including a number of wizards, because wizards sought power all the time and sometimes found, in their treacherous circles, not some demon who was so stupid that it could be tricked with threats and riddles, but the hiver, which was so stupid that it could not be tricked at all. And the hiver remembered- Annagramma was drinking a glass of milk. Once you'd seen Mrs Earwig, you understood something about Annagramma. There was an air about her that she was taking notes about the world in order to draw up a list of suggestions for improvements. 'Hello,' said Tiffany. 'I suppose you came along to beg to be allowed to join after all, have you? I suppose you might be fun.'
'No, not really. But I might let you join me,' said Tiffany. 'Are you enjoying that milk?' The glass of milk turned into a bunch of thistles and grass. Annagramma dropped it hurriedly. When it hit the floor, it became a glass of milk again, and shattered and splashed. Tiffany pointed at the ceiling. The painted stars flared, filling the room with light. But Annagramma stared at the spilled milk. 'You know they say the power comes?' said Tiffany, walking around her. 'Well, it's come to me. Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to be . . . in my way? I should clean up that milk, if I was you.' She concentrated. She didn't know where this was coming from, but it seemed to know exactly what to do. Annagramma rose a few inches off the floor. She struggled and tried to run, but that only made her spin. To Tiffany's dreadful delight, the girl started to cry. 'You said we ought to use our power,' said Tiffany, walking around her as Annagramma tried to break free. 'You said if we had the gift, people ought to know about it. You're a girl with her head screwed on right.' Tiffany bent down a bit to look her in the eye. 'Wouldn't it be awful if it got screwed on wrong?' She waved a hand and her prisoner dropped to the ground. But while Annagramma was unpleasant she wasn't a coward, and she rose up with her mouth open to yell and a
hand upraised- 'Careful,' said Tiffany. 1 can do it again.' Annagramma wasn't stupid either. She lowered her hand and shrugged. 'Well, you have been lucky,' she said grudgingly. 'But I still need your help,' said Tiffany. 'Why would you need my help?' said Annagramma sulkily. - We need allies, the hiver thought with Tiffany's mind. They can help protect us. If necessary, we can sacrifice them. Other creatures will always want to be friends with the powerful, and this one loves power - To start with,' said Tiffany, 'where can I get a dress like yours?' Annagramma's eyes lit up. 'Oh, you want Zakzak Stronginthearm, over in Sallett Without,' she said. 'He sells everything for the modern witch.'
'Then I want everything,' said Tiffany. 'He'll want paying,' Annagramma went on. 'He's a dwarf. They know real gold from illusion gold. Everyone tries it out on him, of course. He just laughs. If you try it twice, he'll make a complaint to your mistress.'
'Miss Tick said a witch should have just enough money,' said Tiffany. That's right,' said Annagramma. 'Just enough to buy everything she wants! Mrs Earwig says that just because we're witches we don't have to live like peasants. But Miss Level is old-fashioned, isn't she? Probably hasn't got any money in the house.' And Tiffany said, 'Oh, I know where I can get some money. I'll meet you please help me! here this afternoon and you can show me where his place is.'
'What was that?' said Annagramma sharply. 'I just said I'd stop me! meet you here this-' Tiffany began. 'There it was again! There was a sort of ... odd echo in your voice,' said Annagramma. 'Like two people trying to talk at once.'
'Oh, that,' said the hiver. That's nothing. It'll stop soon.' It was an interesting mind and the hiver enjoyed using it - but always there was that one place, that little place that was closed; it was annoying, like an itch that wouldn't go away . . . It did not think. The mind of the hiver was just what remained of all the other minds it had once lived in. They were like echoes after the music is taken away. But even echoes, bouncing off one another, can produce new harmonies. They clanged now. They rang out things like: Fit in. Not strong enough yet to make enemies. Have friends . . . Zakzak's low-ceilinged, dark shop had plenty to spend your money on. Zakzak was indeed a dwarf, and they're not traditionally interested in using magic, but he certainly knew how to display merchandise, which is what they are very good at. There were wands, mostly of metal, some of rare woods. Some had shiny crystals stuck on them, which of course made them more expensive. There were bottles of coloured glass in the 'potions' section and, oddly enough, the smaller the bottle, the more expensive it was. That's because there's often very rare ingredients, like the tears of some rare snake or something,' said Annagramma. 'I didn't know snakes cried,' said Tiffany.
'Don't they? Oh, well, I expect that's why it's expensive.' There was plenty of other stuff. Shambles hung from the ceiling, much prettier and more interesting than the working ones that Tiffany had seen. Since they were made up complete, then surely they were dead, just like the ones Miss Level kept for orna- mentation. But they looked good - and looking good was important. There were even stones for looking into. 'Crystal balls,' said Annagramma as Tiffany picked one up. 'Careful! They're very expensive!' She pointed to a sign, which had been placed thoughtfully amongst the glittering globes. It said: Lovely to look at Nice to hold If you drop it You get torn apart by wild horses Tiffany held the biggest one in her hand and saw how Zakzak moved slightly away from his counter, ready to rush forward with a bill if she dropped it. 'Miss Tick uses a saucer of water with a bit of ink poured into it,' she said. 'And she usually borrows the water and cadges the ink, at that.'
'Oh, a fundamentalist/ said Annagramma. 'Letice -that's Mrs Earwig - says they let us down terribly. Do we really want people to think witches are just a bunch of mad old women who look like crows? That's so gingerbread-cottagey! We really ought to be professional about these things.'
'Hmm,' said Tiffany, throwing the crystal ball up into the air and catching it again with one hand. 'People should be made to fear witches.'
'Well, er, certainly they should respect us,' said Annagramma. 'Urn ... I should be careful with that, if I was you . . .'
'Why?' said Tiffany, tossing the ball over her shoulder. That was finest quartz!' shouted Zakzak, rushing around his counter. 'Oh, Tiffany,' said Annagramma, shocked but trying not to giggle. Zakzak rushed past them to where the shattered ball lay in hundreds of very expensive fragmen- - 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 pedlar. '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% 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!'
