The Wee Free Men

about hedgehogs, eh?”
    “I did this one last summer,” said Tiffany.
    The man looked closer, and his grin faded. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I remember. You asked all those…little questions.”
    “I would like a question answered today,” said Tiffany.
    “Provided it’s not the one about how you get baby hedgehogs,” said the man.
    “No,” said Tiffany patiently. “It’s about zoology.”
    “Zoology, eh? That’s a big word, isn’t it.”
    “No, actually it isn’t,” said Tiffany. “ Patronizing is a big word. Zoology is really quite short.”
    The teacher’s eyes narrowed further. Children like Tiffany were bad news. “I can see you’re a clever one,” he said. “But I don’t know any teachers of zoology in these parts. Vetin’ry, yes, but not zoology. Any particular animal?”
    “Jenny Green-Teeth. A water-dwelling monster with big teeth and claws and eyes like soup plates,” said Tiffany.
    “What size of soup plates? Do you mean big soup plates, a whole full-portion bowl with maybe some biscuits, possibly even a bread roll, or do you mean the little cup you might get if, for example, you just ordered soup and a salad?”
    “The size of soup plates that are eight inches across,” said Tiffany, who’d never ordered soup and a salad anywhere in her life. “I checked.”
    “Hmm, that is a puzzler,” said the teacher. “Don’t think I know that one. It’s certainly not useful, I know that. It sounds made-up to me.”
    “Yes, that’s what I thought,” said Tiffany. “But I’d still like to know more about it.”
    “Well, you could try her. She’s new.”
    The teacher jerked his thumb toward a little tent at the end of the row. It was black and quite shabby. There weren’t any posters, and absolutely no exclamation marks.
    “What does she teach?” Tiffany asked.
    “Couldn’t say,” said the teacher. “She says it’s thinking, but I don’t know how you teach that . That’ll be one carrot, thank you.”
    When she went closer, Tiffany saw a small notice pinned to the outside of the tent. It said, in letters that whispered rather than shouted:

    I CAN TEACH YOU A LESSON YOU WON’T FORGET IN A HURRY .

CHAPTER 2
    Miss Tick
    T iffany read the sign and smiled.
    “Aha,” she said. There was nothing to knock on, so she added “Knock, knock” in a louder voice.
    A woman’s voice from within said: “Who’s there?”
    “Tiffany,” said Tiffany.
    “Tiffany who?” said the voice.
    “Tiffany who isn’t trying to make a joke.”
    “Ah. That sounds promising. Come in.”
    She pushed aside the flap. It was dark inside the tent, as well as stuffy and hot. A skinny figure sat behind a small table. She had a very sharp, thin nose and was wearing a large black straw hat with paper flowers on it. It was completely unsuitable for a face like that.
    “Are you a witch?” said Tiffany. “I don’t mind if you are.”
    “What a strange question to spring on someone,” said the woman, looking slightly shocked. “Your Baron bans witches in this country, you know that, and the first thing you say to me is ‘Are you a witch?’ Why would I be a witch?”
    “Well, you’re wearing all black,” said Tiffany.
    “Anyone can wear black,” said the woman. “That doesn’t mean a thing.”
    “And you’re wearing a straw hat with flowers in it,” Tiffany went on.
    “Aha!” said the woman. “That proves it, then. Witches wear tall pointy hats. Everyone knows that, foolish child.”
    “Yes, but witches are also very clever,” said Tiffany calmly. There was something about the twinkle in the woman’s eyes that told her to continue. “They sneak about. Probably they often don’t look like witches. And a witch coming here would know about the Baron, and so she’d wear the kind of hat that everyone knows witches don’t wear.”
    The woman stared at her. “That was an incredible feat of reasoning,” she said at last. “You’d make a good witch finder. You know they used to set fire to witches? Whatever kind of hat I’ve got on, you’d say it proves I’m a witch, yes?”
    “Well, the frog sitting on your hat is a bit of a clue, too,” said Tiffany.
    “I’m a toad, actually,” said the creature, which had been peering at Tiffany from between the paper flowers.
    “You’re very yellow for a toad.”
    “I’ve been a bit ill,” said the toad.
    “And you talk,” said Tiffany.
    “You only have my word for it,” said the toad, disappearing into the paper