A Hat Full Of Sky

there’s a big yellow duck here. Who’re ye pointin’ that beak at, yer scunner—”
    There was a wet quack and some bubbling noises as the rubber duck sank.
    “Rob, we oughta get one o’ these put in back in the mound. Verra warmin’ in the wintertime.”
    “Aye, it’s no’ that good for the ship, havin’ tae drink oout o’ that pond after we’ve been bathin’. It’s terrible, hearin’ a ship try tae spit.”
    “Ach, it’ll make us softies! It’s nae a guid wash if ye dinna ha’ the ice formin’ on yer heid!”
    “Who’re you callin’ a softie?”
    There followed a lot more splashing, and water started to seep under the door.
    Miss Level knocked.
    “Come on out now, and dry yourselves off!” she commanded. “She could be back at any minute!”
    In fact, it wasn’t for another two hours, by which time Miss Level had got so nervous that her necklaces jingled all the time.
    She’d come to witching later than most, being naturally qualified by reason of the two bodies, but she’d never been very happy about magic. In truth, most witches could get through their whole lives without having to do serious, undeniable magic (making shambles and curse nets and dream catchers didn’t really count, being rather more like arts and crafts, and most of the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense, and the ability to look stern in a pointy hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a policeman. People saw the uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street, you weren’t allowed to back away, muttering, “Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do, you know, stray dogs and road safety….” You were there, you had the hat, you did the job. That was a basic rule of witchery: It’s up to you.
    She was two bags of nerves when Tiffany arrived back, and stood side by side holding hands with herself to give herself confidence.
    “Where have you been, dear?”
    “Out,” said Tiffany.
    “And what have you been doing?”
    “Nothing.”
    “I see you’ve been shopping.”
    “Yes.”
    “Who with?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Ah, yes,” Miss Level trilled, completely adrift. “I remember when I used to go out and do nothing. Sometimes you can be your own worst company. Believe me, I know—”
    But Tiffany had already swept upstairs.
    Without anyone actually seeming to move, Feegles started to appear everywhere in the room.
    “Well, that could ha’ gone better,” said Rob Anybody.
    “She looked so different!” Miss Level burst out. “She moved differently! I just didn’t know what to do! And those clothes!”
    “Aye. Sparklin’ like a young raven,” said Rob.
    “Did you see all those bags? Where could she have got the money? I certainly don’t have that kind of—”
    She stopped, and both of Miss Level spoke.
    “Oh, no—”
    “—surely not! She wouldn’t—”
    “—have, would she?”
    “I dinna ken whut ye’re talkin’ aboot,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy, “but whut she would dae isna the point. That’s the hiver doin’ the thinkin’!”
    Miss Level clasped all four hands together in distress. “Oh dear…I must go down to the village and check!”
    One of her ran toward the door.
    “Well, at least she’s brought the broomstick back,” muttered the Miss Level who stayed. She started to wear the slightly unfocused expression she got when both her bodies weren’t in the same place.
    They could hear noises from upstairs.
    “I vote we just tap her gently on the heid,” said Big Yan. “It canna give us any trouble if it’s gone sleepies, aye?”
    Miss Level clenched and unclenched her fists nervously. “No,” she said. “I’ll go up there and have a serious talk with her!”
    “I told yez, mistress, it’s not her,” said Awf’ly Wee Billy wearily.
    “Well at least I’ll wait until I’ve visited Mr. Weavall,” said Miss Level, standing in her kitchen. “I’m nearly there…ah…he’s asleep. I’ll just eease the box out quietly…. If she’s taken his money, I’m going to be so angry—”

    It was a good hat, Tiffany thought. It was at least as tall as Mrs. Earwig’s hat, and it shone darkly. The stars gleamed.
    The other packages covered the floor and the bed. She pulled out another one of the black dresses, the one covered in lace, and the cloak, which spread out in the air. She really liked the cloak. In anything but a complete dead calm, it floated and billowed as if whipped by a gale. If you