‘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. ‘I 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 ornamentation. 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:

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. ‘Um… 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—’