A Hat Full Of Sky

her cradle of threads were motionless beside her, frozen in the moment of bright horror.

Only the threads moved, by themselves. The egg danced, the glass glinted, the beads slid and jumped from string to string—

The egg burst.

The coach rolled in.

It arrived dragging the world behind it, in a cloud of dust and noise and hooves. It blotted out the sun. Doors opened. Harness jingled. Horses steamed. The spaniel sat up and wagged its tail hopefully.

The pressure went—no, it fled.

Beside Tiffany, Miss Tick pulled out a handkerchief and started to wipe egg off her dress. The rest of the shamble had disappeared into a pocket with remarkable speed.

She smiled at Tiffany, and kept the smile as she spoke, making herself look slightly mad.

‘Don’t get up, don’t do anything, just be as quiet as a little mouse,’ she said.

Tiffany felt in no state to do anything but sit still; she felt like you feel when you wake up after a nightmare.

The richer passengers got out of the coach, and the poorer ones climbed down from the roof. Grumbling and stamping their feet, trailing road dust behind them, they disappeared.

‘Now,’ said Miss Tick, when the inn door had swung shut, ‘we’re… we’re going to go for a—a stroll. See that little wood up there? That’s where we’re heading. And when Mr Crabber the carter sees your father tomorrow he’ll say he—he dropped you off here just before the coach arrived and—and—and everyone will be happy and no one will have lied. That’s important.’

‘Miss Tick?’ said Tiffany, picking up the suitcase.

‘Yes?’

‘What happened just now?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the witch. ‘Do you feel all right?’

‘Er… yes. You’ve got some yolk on your hat.’ And you’re very nervous, Tiffany thought. That was the most worrying part. ‘I’m sorry about your dress,’ she added.

‘It’s seen a lot worse,’ said Miss Tick. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Miss Tick?’ said Tiffany again as they trudged away.

‘Er, yes?’

‘You are very nervous,’ said Tiffany. ‘If you told me why, that means there’s two of us, which is only half the nervousness each.’

Miss Tick sighed. ‘It was probably nothing,’ she said.

‘Miss Tick, the egg exploded!’

‘Yes. Um. A shamble, you see, can be used as a simple magic detector and amplifier. It’s actually very crude, but it’s always useful to make one in times of distress and confusion. I think I… probably didn’t make it right. And sometimes you do get big discharges of random magic’

‘You made it because you were worried,’ said Tiffany.

‘Worried? Certainly not. I am never worried!’ snapped Miss Tick. ‘However, since you raise the subject, I was concerned. Something was making me uneasy. Something close, I think. It was probably nothing. In fact I feel a lot better now we’re leaving.’

But you don’t look it, Tiffany thought. And I was wrong. Two people means twice as much nervousness each.

But she was sure there was nothing magical about Twoshirts. It was just a bend in the road.

* * *

Twenty minutes later the passengers came out to get into the coach. The coachman did notice that the horses were sweating, and wondered why he could hear a swarm of flies when there were no flies to be seen.

The dog that had been lying in the road was found later cowering in one of the inn’s stables, whimpering.

The wood was about half an hour’s walk away, with Miss Tick and Tiffany taking turns to carry the suitcase. It was nothing special, as woods go, being mostly full-grown beech, although once you know that beech drips unpleasant poisons on the ground beneath it to keep it clear it’s not quite the timber you thought it was.

They sat on a log and waited for sunset. Miss Tick told Tiffany about shambles.

‘They’re not magical then?’ said Tiffany.

‘No. They’re something to be magical through.’

‘You mean like spectacles help you see but don’t see for you?’

‘That’s right, well done! Is a telescope magical? Certainly not. It’s just glass in a tube, but with one you could count the dragons on the moon. And… well, have you ever used a bow? No, probably not. But a shamble can act like a bow, too. A bow stores up muscle power as the archer draws it, and sends a heavy arrow much further than the archer could actually throw it. You can make one out of anything, so long as it… looks right.’

‘And then you can tell if magic is happening?’

‘Yes, if that’s what you’re looking for. When you’re good at it you can use it to help you do magic yourself, to really focus on what you have to do. You can use it for protection, like a curse-net, or to send a spell, or… well, it’s like those expensive penknives, you know? The ones with the tiny saw and the scissors and the toothpick? Except that I don’t think any witch has ever used a shamble as a toothpick, ha ha. All young witches should learn how to make a shamble. Miss Level will help you.’

Tiffany looked around the wood. The shadows were growing longer, but they didn’t worry her. Bits of Miss Tick’s teachings floated through her head: Always face what you fear. Have just enough money, never too much, and some string. Even if it’s not your fault it’s your responsibility. Witches deal with things. Never stand between two mirrors. Never cackle. Do what you must do. Never lie, but you don’t always have to be honest. Never wish. Especially don’t wish upon a star, which is astronomically stupid. Open your eyes, and then open your eyes again.

‘Miss Level has got long grey hair, has she?’ she said.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And she’s quite a tall lady, just a bit fat, and she wears quite a lot of necklaces,’ Tiffany went on. ‘And glasses on a chain. And surprisingly high-heeled boots.’

Miss Tick wasn’t a fool. She looked around the clearing.

‘Where is she?’ she said.

‘Standing by the tree over there,’ said Tiffany.

Even so. Miss Tick had to squint. What Tiffany had noticed was that witches filled space. In a way that was almost impossible to describe, they seemed to be more real than others around them. They just showed up more. But if they didn’t want to be seen, they became amazingly hard to notice. They didn’t hide, they didn’t magically fade away, although it might seem like that, but if you had to describe the room afterwards you’d swear there hadn’t been a witch in it. They just seemed to let themselves get lost.

‘Ah yes, well done,’ said Miss Tick. ‘I was wondering when you’d notice.’

Ha! thought Tiffany.

Miss Level got realer as she walked towards them. She was all in black, but clattered slightly as she walked because of all the black jewellery she wore, and she did have glasses, too, which struck Tiffany as odd for a witch. Miss Level reminded Tiffany of a happy hen. And she had two arms, the normal number.

‘Ah, Miss Tick,’ she said. ‘And you must be Tiffany Aching.’