A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [96]
“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 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 dare! I mean it.”
CHAPTER 13
The Witch Trials
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 of 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 bootswere 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 that 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.
“…Din’t have no trainin’, just did it…. Did you see that horse?…I never saw no horse!…Din’t just 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!…I 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 lighting.
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 high-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,