A Hat Full Of Sky

broomstick in low over the trees and landed it neatly in Mrs. Earwig’s garden. There really was nothing to it, she decided. You just had to want it to fly.
    Then she was sick again, or at least tried to be, but since she’d thrown up twice in the air, there wasn’t much left to be sick with. It was ridiculous! She wasn’t frightened of flying anymore, but her stupid stomach was!
    She wiped her mouth carefully and looked around.
    She’d landed on a lawn. She’d heard of them, but had never seen a real one before. There was grass all around Miss Level’s cottage, but that was just, well, the grass of the clearing. Every other garden she’d seen was used for growing vegetables, with perhaps just a little space for flowers if the wife had gotten tough about it. A lawn meant you were posh enough to afford to give up valuable potato space.
    This lawn had stripes.
    Tiffany turned to the stick and said, “Stay!” and then marched across the lawn to the house. It was a lot grander than Miss Level’s cottage, but from what Tiffany had heard, Mrs. Earwig was a more senior witch. She’d also married a wizard, although he didn’t do any wizarding these days. It was a funny thing, Miss Level said, but you didn’t often meet a poor wizard.
    She knocked at the door and waited.
    There was a curse net hanging in the porch. You’d have thought that a witch wouldn’t need such a thing, but Tiffany supposed they used them as decoration. There was also a broomstick leaning against the wall, and a five-pointed silver star on the door. Mrs. Earwig advertised .
    Tiffany knocked on the door again, much harder.
    It was instantly opened by a tall, thin woman, all in black. But it was a very decorative, rich, deep black, all lacy and ruffled, and set off with more silver jewelry than Tiffany imagined could exist. She didn’t just have rings on her fingers. Some fingers had sort of silver finger gloves, designed to look like claws. She gleamed like the night sky.
    And she was wearing her pointy hat, which Miss Level never did at home. It was taller than any hat that Tiffany had ever seen. It had stars on it, and silver hatpins glittered.
    All of this should have added up to something pretty impressive. It didn’t. Partly it was because there was just too much of everything , but mostly it was because of Mrs. Earwig. She had a long, sharp face and looked very much as though she was about to complain about the cat from next door widdling on her lawn. And she looked like that all the time. Before she spoke, she very pointedly looked at the door to see if the heavy knocking had made a mark.
    “Well?” she said, haughtily, or what she probably thought was haughtily. It sounded a bit strangled.
    “Bless all in this house,” said Tiffany.
    “What? Oh, yes. Favorable runes shine on this our meeting,” said Mrs. Earwig hurriedly. “Well?”
    “I’ve come to see Annagramma,” said Tiffany. There really was too much silver.
    “Oh, are you one of her girls?” said Mrs. Earwig.
    “Not…exactly,” said Tiffany. “I work with Miss Level.”
    “Oh, her ,” said Mrs. Earwig, looking her up and down. “Green is a very dangerous color. What is your name, child?”
    “Tiffany.”
    “Hmm,” said Mrs. Earwig, not approving at all. “Well, you had better come in.” She glanced up and made a tch! sound. “Oh, will you look at that? I bought that at the craft fair over in Slice, too. It was very expensive!”
    The curse net was hanging in tatters.
    “You didn’t do that, did you?” Mrs. Earwig demanded.
    “It’s too high, Mrs. Earwig,” said Tiffany.
    “It’s pronounced Ah-wij,” said Mrs. Earwig coldly.
    “Sorry, Mrs. Earwig.”
    “Come.”
    It was a strange house. You couldn’t doubt that a witch lived in it, and not just because every doorframe had a tall pointy bit cut out of the top of it to allow Mrs. Earwig’s hat to pass through. Miss Level had nothing on her walls except circus posters, but Mrs. Earwig had proper big paintings everywhere and they were all…witchy. There were lots of crescent moons and young women with quite frankly not enough clothes on, and big men with horns and, ooh, not just horns. There were suns and moons on the tiles of the floor, and the ceiling of the room Tiffany was led into was high, blue, and painted with stars. Mrs. Earwig (pronounced Ah-wij ) pointed to a chair with gryphon feet and crescent-shaped cushions.
    “Sit there,” she said. “I will tell Annagramma you are