Wintersmith

they’d finished supper. It barged the door out of Tiffany’s hands when she opened it and blew around the room, making the cords hum on the loom.
    “Are you sure about this, Miss Treason?” she said, trying to push the door shut.
    “Don’t you say that to me! You will not say that to me! The dance must be witnessed! I have never missed the dance!” Miss Treason looked nervous and edgy. “We must go! And you must wear black.”
    “Miss Treason, you know I don’t wear black,” said Tiffany.
    “Tonight is a night for black. You will wear my second-best cloak.”
    She said it with a witch’s firmness, as if the idea of anyone disobeying had never crossed her mind. She was 113 years old. She’d had a lot of practice. Tiffany didn’t argue.
    It isn’t that I have anything against black, Tiffany thought as she fetched the second-best cloak, but it’s just not me. When people say witches wear black, they actually mean that old ladies wear black. Anyway, it’s not as if I’m wearing pink or something….
    After that she had to wrap Miss Treason’s clock in pieces of blanket, so that the clonk-clank became clonk-clank . There was no question of leaving it behind. Miss Treason always kept the clock close to her.
    While Tiffany got herself ready, the old woman wound the clock up with a horrible graunching noise. She was always winding it up; sometimes she stopped to do it in the middle of a judgment, with a room full of horrified people.
    There was no rain yet, but when they set out the air was full of twigs and flying leaves. Miss Treason sat sidesaddle on the broom, hanging on for dear life, while Tiffany walked along towing it by means of a piece of clothesline.
    The sunset sky was still red, and a gibbous moon was high, but the clouds were being whipped across it, filling the woods with moving shadows. Branches knocked together, and Tiffany heard the creak and crash as, somewhere in the dark, one fell to the ground.
    “Are we going to the villages?” Tiffany yelled above the din.
    “No! Take the path through the forest!” shouted Miss Treason.
    Ah, thought Tiffany, is this the famous “dancing around without your drawers on” that I’ve heard so much about? Actually, not very much about, because as soon as anyone mentions it, someone else tells them to shut up, so I really haven’t heard much about it at all, but haven’t heard in a very meaningful way.
    It was something people thought witches did, but witches didn’t think they did it. Tiffany had to admit she could see why. Even hot summer nights weren’t all that warm, and there were always hedgehogs and thistles to worry about. Besides, you just couldn’t imagine someone like Granny Weatherwax dancing around without—Well, you just couldn’t imagine it, because if you did, it would make your head explode.
    The wind died down as she took the forest track, still towing the floating Miss Treason. But the wind had brought cold air with it and then left it behind. Tiffany was glad of the cloak, even if it was black.
    She trudged on, taking different tracks when Miss Treason told her to, until she saw firelight through the trees, in a little dip in the land.
    “Stop here and help me down, girl,” said the old witch. “And listen carefully. There are rules. One, you will not talk; two, you will look only at the dancers; three, you will not move until the dance is finished . I will not tell you twice!”
    “Yes, Miss Treason. It’s very cold up here.”
    “And will get colder.”
    They headed for the distant light. What good is a dance you can only watch? Tiffany wondered. It didn’t sound like much fun.
    “It isn’t meant to be fun,” said Miss Treason.
    Shadows moved across the firelight, and Tiffany heard the sound of men’s voices. Then, as they reached the edge of the sunken ground, someone threw water over the fire.
    There was a hiss, and a cloud of smoke and steam rose among the trees. It happened in a moment and left a shock behind. The only thing that had seemed alive here had died.
    Dry fallen leaves crunched under her feet. The moon, in a sky swept clean now of clouds, made little silver shapes on the forest floor.
    It was some time before Tiffany realized that there were six men standing in the middle of the clearing. They must have been wearing black; against the moonlight they looked like man-shaped holes into nothing. They were in two lines of three, facing each other, but were so still that after a while Tiffany