“I jus’ thought I’d come to see who won,” she said. “join in the applause, and so on ...”

Letice advanced on her, wild with rage.

“Have you been getting into people’s heads?” she shrieked.

“An’ how could I do that, Mrs Earwig?” said Granny meekly. “Past all them lucky charms?”

“You’re lying!”

Nanny Ogg heard the indrawn breaths, and hers was loudest. Witches lived by their words.

“I don’t lie, Mrs Earwig.”

“Do you deny that you set out to ruin my day?”

Some of the witches at the edge of the crowd started to back away.

“I’ll grant my jam ain’t to everyone’s taste but I never —” Granny began, in a modest little tone.

“You’ve been putting a ’fluence on everyone!”

“I just set out to help, you can ask anyone —”

“You did! Admit it!” Mrs Earwig’s voice was as shrill as a gull.

“— and I certainly didn’t do any —”

Granny’s head turned as the slap came.

For the moment no one breathed, no one moved.

She lifted a hand slowly and rubbed her cheek.

“You know you could have done it easily!”

It seemed to Nanny that Letice’s scream echoed off the mountains.

The cup dropped from her hands and crunched on the stubble.

Then the tableau unfroze. A couple of her sister witches stepped forward, put their hands on Letice’s shoulders and she was pulled, gently and unprotesting, away ...

Everyone else waited to see what Granny Weatherwax would do. She raised her head.

“I hope Mrs Earwig is all right,” she said. “She seemed a bit ... distraught.”

There was silence. Nanny picked up the abandoned cup and tapped it with a forefinger.

“Hmm,” she said. “Just plated, I reckon. If she paid ten dollars for it, the poor woman was robbed.” She tossed it to Gammer Beavis, who fumbled it out of the air. “Can you give it back to her tomorrow, Gammer?”

Gammer nodded, trying not to catch Granny’s eye.

“Still, we don’t have to let it spoil everything,” Granny said pleasantly. “Let’s have the proper ending to the day, eh? Traditional, like. Roast potatoes and marshmallows and old stories round the fire. And forgiveness. And let’s let bygones be bygones.”

Nanny could feel the sudden relief spreading out like a fan. The witches seemed to come alive, at the breaking of the spell that had never actually been there in the first place. There was a general straightening up and the beginnings of a bustle as they headed for the saddlebags on their broomsticks.

“Mr Hopcroft gave me a whole sack of spuds,” said Nanny, as conversation rose around them. “I’ll go and drag ’em over. Can you get the fire lit, Esme?”

A sudden change in the air made her look up. Granny’s eyes gleamed in the dusk.

Nanny knew enough to fling herself to the ground.

Granny Weatherwax’s hand curved through the air like a comet and the spark flew out, crackling.

The bonfire exploded. A blue-white flame shot up through the stacked branches and danced into the sky, etching shadows on the forest. It blew off hats and overturned tables and formed figures and castles and scenes from famous battles and joined hands and danced in a ring. It left a purple image on the eye that burned into the brain —

And settled down, and was just a bonfire.

“I never said nothin’ about forgettin’,” said Granny.

When Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg walked home through the dawn, their boots kicked up the mist. It had, on the whole, been a good night.

After some while, Nanny said: “That wasn’t nice, what you done.”

“I done nothin’.”

“Yeah, well ... it wasn’t nice, what you didn’t do. It was like pullin’ away someone’s chair when they’re expecting to sit down.”

“People who don’t look where they’re sitting should stay stood up,” said Granny.

There was a brief pattering on the leaves, one of those very brief showers you get when a few raindrops don’t want to bond with the group.

“Well, all right,” Nanny conceded. “But it was a little bit cruel.”

“Right,” said Granny.

“And some people might think it was a little bit nasty.”

“Right.”

Nanny shivered. The thoughts that’d gone through her head in those few seconds after Pewsey had screamed —

“I gave you no cause,” said Granny. “I put nothin’ in anyone’s head that weren’t there already.”

“Sorry, Esme.”

“Right.”

“But ... Letice didn’t mean to be cruel, Esme. I mean, she’s spiteful and bossy and silly, but —”

“You’ve known me since we was girls, right?” Granny interrupted. “Through thick and thin, good and bad?”

“Yes, of course, but —”

“And you never sank to sayin’ "I’m telling you this as a friend", did you?”

Nanny shook her head. It was a telling point. No one even remotely friendly would say a thing like that.

“What’s empowerin’ about witchcraft anyway?” said Granny. “It’s a daft sort of a word.”

“Search me,” said Nanny. “I did start out in witchcraft to get boys, to tell you the truth.”

“Think I don’t know that?”

“What did you start out to get, Esme?”

Granny stopped, and looked up at the frosty sky and then down at the ground.

“Dunno,” she said, at last. “Even, I suppose.”

And that, Nanny thought, was that.

Deer bounded away as they arrived at Granny’s cottage.

There was a stack of firewood piled up neatly by the back door, and a couple of sacks on the doorstep. One contained a large cheese.

“Looks like Mr Hopcroft and Mr Poorchick have been here,” said Nanny.

“Hmph.” Granny looked at the carefully yet badly written piece of paper attached to the second sack: “Dear Misftresf Weatherwax, I would be moft grateful if you would let me name thif new championfhip variety Efme Weatherwax. Yours in hopefully good health, Percy Hopcroft." Well, well, well. I wonder what gave him that idea?”

“Can’t imagine,” said Nanny.

“I would just bet you can’t,” said Granny.

She sniffed suspiciously, tugged at the sack’s string, and pulled out an Esme Weatherwax.

It was rounded, very slightly flattened, and pointy at one end. It was an onion.

Nanny Ogg swallowed. “I told him not —”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh ... nothing ...”

Granny Weatherwax turned the onion round and round, while the world, via the medium of Nanny Ogg, awaited its fate. Then she seemed to reach a decision she was comfortable with.

“A very useful vegetable, the onion,” she said, at last. “Firm. Sharp.”

“Good for the system,” said Nanny.

“Keeps well. Adds flavour.”

“Hot and spicy,” said Nanny, losing track of the metaphor in the flood of relief. “Nice with cheese —”

“We don’t need to go that far,” said Granny Weatherwax, putting it carefully back in the sack. She sounded almost amicable. “You comin’ in for a cup of tea, Gytha?”

“Er ... I’d better be getting along —”

“Fair enough.”

Granny started to close the door, and then stopped and opened it again. Nanny could see one blue eye watching her through the crack.

“I was right though, wasn’t I,” said Granny. It wasn’t a question.

Nanny nodded.

“Right,” she said.

“That’s nice.”