A Hat Full Of Sky

There is—there was a little old lady who was always at the front of the crowd, leaning on the hurdles with her pipe in her mouth with the two finest sheepdogs ever pupped sitting at her feet. Their names were Thunder and Lightning, and they moved so fast, they set the air on fire and their coats outshone the sun, but she never, ever put them in the Trials. She knew more about sheep than even sheep know. And what every young shepherd wanted, really wanted , wasn’t some silly cup or belt but to see her take her pipe out of her mouth as he left the arena and quietly say, ‘That’ll do,’ because that meant he was a real shepherd and all the other shepherds would know it, too. And if you’d told him he had to challenge her, he’d cuss at you and stamp his foot and tell you he’d sooner spit the sun dark. How could he ever win? She was shepherding. It was the whole of her life. What you took away from her you’d take away from yourself. You don’t understand that, do you? But it’s the heart and soul and center of it! The soul…and…center!”
    But it would be wasted, so what she said was: “Oh, just shut up, Annagramma. Let’s see if there’s any buns left, shall we?”
    Overhead, a buzzard screamed. She looked up.
    The bird turned on the wind and, racing through the air as it began the long glide, headed back toward home.
    They were always there.

    Beside her cauldron, Jeannie opened her eyes.
    “He’s comin’ hame!” she said, scrambling to her feet. She waved a hand urgently at the watching Feegles. “Don’t ye just stand there gawping!” she commanded. “Catch some rabbits to roast! Build up the fire! Boil up a load o’ water, ’cuz I’m takin’ a bath! Look at this place, ’tis like a midden! Get it cleaned up! I want it sparkling for the Big Man! Go an’ steal some Special Sheep Liniment! Cut some green boughs, holly or yew, mebbe! Shine up the golden plates! The place must sparkle! What’re ye all standin’ there for?”
    “Er, what did ye want us to do first, Kelda?” asked a Feegle nervously.
    “All of it!”
    In her chamber they filled the kelda’s soup-bowl bath and she scrubbed, using one of Tiffany’s old toothbrushes, while outside there were the sounds of Feegles working hard at cross-purposes. The smell of roasting rabbit began to fill the mound.
    Jeannie dressed herself in her best dress, did her hair, picked up her shawl, and climbed out of the hole. She stood there watching the mountains until, after about an hour, a dot in the sky got bigger and bigger.
    As a kelda, she would welcome home a warrior. As a wife, she would kiss her husband and scold him for being so long away. As a woman, she thought she would melt with relief, thankfulness, and joy.

CHAPTER 14
    Queen of the Bees
    A nd one afternoon about a week later, Tiffany went to see Granny Weatherwax.
    It was only fifteen miles as the broomstick flies, and as Tiffany still didn’t like flying a broomstick, Miss Level took her.
    It was the invisible part of Miss Level. Tiffany just lay flat on the stick, holding on with arms and legs and knees and ears if possible, and took along a paper bag to be sick into, because no one likes anonymous sick dropping out of the sky. She was also holding a large burlap sack, which she handled with care.
    She didn’t open her eyes until the rushing noises had stopped and the sounds around her told her she was probably very close to the ground. In fact Miss Level had been very kind. When she fell off, because of the cramp in her legs, the broomstick was just above some quite thick moss.
    “Thank you,” said Tiffany as she got up, because it always pays to mind your manners around invisible people.
    She had a new dress. It was green, like the last one. The complex world of favors and obligations and gifts that Miss Level lived and moved in had thrown up four yards of nice material (for the trouble-free birth of Miss Quickly’s baby boy) and a few hours’ dressmaking (Mrs. Hunter’s bad leg feeling a lot better, thank you). She’d given the black one away. When I’m old, I shall wear midnight, she’d decided. But for now she’d had enough of darkness.
    She looked around at this clearing on the side of a hill, surrounded by oak and sycamore on three sides but open on the downhill side with a wide view of the countryside below. The sycamores were shedding their spinning seeds, which whirled down lazily across a patch of garden. It was unfenced, even though some goats