A Hat Full Of Sky

sheep much—they’re so kind of…baggy.”
    Tiffany said, “Actually, we’re very proud of our sheep.”
    And then you could stand back as Petulia reversed her opinions like someone trying to turn a cart around in a very narrow space: “Oh, I didn’t really mean I hate them. I expect some sheep are all right. We’ve got to have sheep, obviously. They’re better than goats, and woolier. I mean I actually like sheep, really. Sheep are nice.”
    Petulia spent a lot of time trying to find out what other people thought so that she could think the same way. It would be impossible to have an argument with her. Tiffany had to stop herself from saying “the sky is green” just to see how long it would take for Petulia to agree. But she liked her. You couldn’t not like her. She was restful company. Besides, you couldn’t help liking someone who couldn’t make a broomstick turn corners.
    It was a long walk through the woods. Tiffany had always wanted to see a forest so big that you couldn’t see daylight through the other side, but now that she’d lived in one for a couple of weeks, it got on her nerves. It was quite open woodland here, at least around the villages, and not hard to walk through. She’d had to learn what maples and birches were, and she’d never before seen the spruces and firs that grew higher up the slopes. But she wasn’t happy in the company of trees. She missed the horizons. She missed the sky. Everything was too close.
    Petulia chattered nervously. Old Mother Blackcap was a pig borer, cow shouter, and all-around veterinary witch. Petulia liked animals, especially pigs, because they had wobbly noses. Tiffany quite liked animals too, but no one except other animals liked animals as much as Petulia.
    “So…what’s this meeting about?” she said, to change the subject.
    “Um? Oh, it’s just to keep in touch,” said Petulia. “Annagramma says it’s important to make contacts.”
    “Annagramma’s the leader, then, is she?” said Tiffany.
    “Um, no. Witches don’t have leaders, Annagramma says.”
    “Hmm,” said Tiffany.
    They arrived at last at a clearing in the woods, just as the sun was setting. There were the remains of an old cottage there, now covered mostly in brambles. You might miss it completely if you didn’t spot the rampant growth of lilac and the gooseberry bushes, now a forest of thorns. Someone had lived here once, and had had a garden.
    Someone else, now, had lit a fire. Badly. And they had found that lying down flat to blow on a fire because you hadn’t started it with enough paper and dry twigs was not a good idea, because it would then cause your pointy hat, which you had forgotten to take off, to fall into the smoking mess and then, because it was dry, catch fire.
    A young witch was now flailing desperately at her burning hat, watched by several interested spectators.
    Another one, sitting on a log, said: “Dimity Hubbub, that is literally the most stupid thing anyone has ever done anywhere in the whole world, ever.” It was a sharp, not very nice voice, the sort most people used for being sarcastic with.
    “Sorry, Annagramma!” said Miss Hubbub, pulling off the hat and stamping on the point.
    “I mean, just look at you, will you? You really are letting everyone down.”
    “Sorry, Annagramma!”
    “Um,” said Petulia.
    Everyone turned to look at the new arrivals.
    “You’re late , Petulia Gristle!” snapped Annagramma "And who’s this?”
    “Um, you did ask me to stop in at Miss Level’s to bring the new girl, Annagramma,” said Petulia, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
    Annagramma stood up. She was at least a head taller than Tiffany and had a face that seemed to be built backward from her nose, which she held slightly in the air. To be looked at by Annagramma was to know that you’d already taken up too much of her valuable time.
    “Is this her?”
    “Um, yes, Annagramma.”
    “Let’s have a look at you, new girl.”
    Tiffany stepped forward. It was amazing. She hadn’t really meant to. But Annagramma had the kind of voice that you obeyed.
    “What is your name?”
    “Tiffany Aching?” said Tiffany, and found herself saying her name as if she was asking permission to have it.
    “Tiffany? That’s a funny name,” said the tall girl. “ My name is Annagramma Hawkin.”
    “Um, Annagramma works for—” Petulia began.
    “—works with ,” said Annagramma sharply, still looking Tiffany up and down.
    “Um, sorry,