A Hat Full Of Sky

it.
    Tiffany leaned back and screamed, and went on screaming as the broomstick tilted in the air and climbed up the waterfall. She’d known the word , certainly, but the word hadn’t been so big, so wet, and above all it hadn’t been so loud .
    The mist of it drenched her. The noise pounded in her ears. She held on to Miss Level’s belt as they climbed though spray and thunder and felt that she’d slip at any minute—
    —and then she was thrown forward, and the noise of the falls died away behind her as the stick, now once again going “along” rather than “up,” sped across the surface of a river that, while still leaping and foaming, at least had the decency to do it on the ground.
    There was a bridge high above, and walls of cold rock hemmed the river in on either side, but the walls got lower and the river got slower and the air got warmer again until the broomstick skimmed across calm fat water that probably didn’t know what was going to happen to it. Silver fish zigzagged away as they passed over the surface.
    After a while Miss Level sent them curving up across new fields, smaller and greener than the ones at home. There were trees again, and little woods in deep valleys. But the last of the sunlight was draining away, and soon all there was below was darkness.
    Tiffany must have dozed off, clinging to Miss Level, because she felt herself jerk awake as the broomstick stopped in midair. The ground was some way below, but someone had set out a ring of what turned out to be candle ends, burning in old jars.
    Delicately, turning slowly, the stick settled down until it stopped just above the grass.
    At this point Tiffany’s legs decided to untwist, and she fell off.
    “Up we get!” said Miss Level cheerfully, picking her up. “You did very well!”
    “Sorry about screaming and being sick,” Tiffany mumbled, tripping over one of the jars and knocking the candle out. She tried to make out anything in the dark, but her head was spinning. “Did you light these candles, Miss Level?”
    “Yes. Let’s get inside, it’s getting chilly—” Miss Level began.
    “Oh, by magic,” said Tiffany, still dizzy.
    “Well, it can be done by magic, yes,” said Miss Level. “But I prefer matches, which are of course a lot less effort and quite magical in themselves, when you come to think about it.” She untied the suitcase from the stick and said: “Here we are, then! I do hope you’ll like it here!”
    There was that cheerfulness again. Even when she felt sick and dizzy, and quite interested in knowing where the privy was as soon as possible, Tiffany still had ears that worked and a mind that, however much she tried, wouldn’t stop thinking. And it thought: That cheerfulness has got cracks around the edges. Something isn’t right here….

CHAPTER 3
    A Single-Minded Lady
    T here was a cottage, but Tiffany couldn’t see much in the gloom. Apple trees crowded in around it. Something hanging from a branch brushed against her as, walking unsteadily, she followed Miss Level. It swung away with a tinkling sound. There was the sound of rushing water, too, some way away.
    Miss Level was opening a door. It led into a small, brightly lit, and amazingly tidy kitchen. A fire was burning briskly in the iron stove.
    “Um…I’m supposed to be the apprentice,” said Tiffany, still groggy from the flight. “I’ll make something to drink if you show me where things are—”
    “No!” Miss Level burst out, raising her hands. The shout seemed to have shocked her, because she was shaking when she lowered them. “No, I, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said in a more normal voice, trying to smile. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll show you to your room and where things are, and I’ll bring you up some stew, and you can be an apprentice tomorrow. No rush.”
    Tiffany looked at the bubbling pot on the iron stove, and the loaf on the table. It was freshly baked bread, she could smell that.
    The trouble with Tiffany was her Third Thoughts. * They thought: She lives by herself. Who lit the fire? A bubbling pot needs stirring from time to time. Who stirred it? And someone lit the candles. Who?
    “Is there anyone else staying here, Miss Level?” she said.
    Miss Level looked desperately at the pot and the loaf and back to Tiffany.
    “No, there’s only me,” she said, and somehow Tiffany knew she was telling the truth. Or a truth, anyway.
    “In the morning?” said Miss Level, almost pleading. She looked so