A Hat Full Of Sky

across the few yards of grass, Granny reached up and brushed someone’s hand from her shoulder, sharply, without breaking eye contact with Tiffany. And we’re not wearing hats, thought Tiffany. You gave me a virtual hat once, Granny Weatherwax, and I thank you for it. But I don’t need it today. Today, I know I’m a witch.
    “Oh, come now, ladies!” said the mistress of ceremonies, now almost frantic. “This is the Trials! A place for friendly and instructive contestation in an atmosphere of fraternity and goodwill! Surely some lady…or young lady, perhaps…?”
    Tiffany smiled. It should be sorority , not fraternity . We’re sisters, mistress, not brothers.
    “Come on , Tiffany!” Dimity urged. “They know you’re good!”
    Tiffany shook her head.
    “Oh, well, that’s it,” said Annagramma, rolling her eyes. “The old baggage has messed with the girl’s head, as usual —”
    “I don’t know who’s messed with whose head,” snapped Petulia, rolling up her sleeves. “But I’m going to do the pig trick.” She got to her feet, and there was a general stir in the crowd.
    “Oh, I see it’s going to be—oh, it’s you, Petulia,” said the mistress of ceremonies, slightly disappointed.
    “Yes, Miss Casement, and I intend to perform the pig trick,” said Petulia loudly.
    “But, er, you don’t seem to have brought a pig with you,” said Miss Casement, taken aback.
    “Yes, Miss Casement. I shall perform the pig trick… without a pig! ”
    This caused a sensation, and cries of “Impossible!” and “There are children here, you know!”
    Miss Casement looked around for assistance and found none.
    “Oh well,” she said helplessly. “If you are sure, dear…”
    “Yes. I am. I shall use…a sausage!” said Petulia, producing one from a pocket and holding it up. There was another sensation.
    Tiffany didn’t see the trick. Nor did Granny Weatherwax. Their gaze was like an iron bar, and even Miss Casement instinctively didn’t step into it.
    But Tiffany heard the squeal, and the gasp of amazement, and then the thunder of applause. People would have applauded anything at that point, in the same way that pent-up water would take any route out of a dam.
    And then witches got up. Miss Level juggled balls that stopped and reversed direction in midair. A middle-aged witch demonstrated a new way to stop people from choking, which doesn’t even sound magical until you understand that a way of turning nearly dead people into fully alive people is worth a dozen spells that just go twing! And other women and girls came up one at a time, with big tricks and handy tips and things that went wheee! or stopped toothache or, in one case, exploded—
    —and then there were no more entries.
    Miss Casement walked back into the center of the field, almost drunk with relief that there had been a Trials, and made one final invitation to any ladies “or, indeed, young ladies” who might like to come forward.
    There was a silence so thick you could have stuck pins in it.
    And then she said: “Oh, well…in that case, I declare the Trials well and truly closed. Tea will be in the big tent!”
    Tiffany and Granny stood up at the same time, to the second, and bowed to each other. Then Granny turned away and joined the stampede toward the teas. It was interesting to see how the crowd parted, all unaware, to let her through, like the sea in front of a particularly good prophet.
    Petulia was surrounded by other young witches. The pig trick had gone down very well. Tiffany lined up to give her a hug.
    “But you could have won!” said Petulia, red in the face with happiness and worry.
    “That doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t,” said Tiffany.
    “You gave it away,” said a sharp voice behind her. “You had it in your hand, and you gave it all away. How do you feel about that, Tiffany? Do you have a taste for humble pie?”
    “Now you listen to me, Annagramma,” Petulia began, pointing a furious finger.
    Tiffany reached out and lowered the girl’s arm. Then she turned and smiled so happily at Annagramma that it was disturbing.
    What she wanted to say was: “Where I come from, Annagramma, they have the Sheepdog Trials. Shepherds travel there from all over to show off their dogs. And there’re silver crooks and belts with silver buckles and prizes of all kinds, Annagramma, but do you know what the big prize is? No, you wouldn’t. Oh, there are judges, but they don’t count, not for the big prize.