Wintersmith

grin.
    “Weel, all the big hags is doin’ it too,” he said. “The wee fat one’s thieved fifteen ham rolls!” he added admiringly.
    “That’d be Nanny Ogg,” said Tiffany. “Yes, she always carries a string bag up her knicker leg.”
    “Ach, this is no’ a proper wake,” said Rob Anybody. “There should be singin’ an’ boozin’ an’ the flexin’ o’ the knees, no’ all this standin’ aroond gossipin’.”
    “Well, gossiping’s part of witchcraft,” said Tiffany. “They’re checking to see if they’ve gone batty yet. What is the flexin’ o’ the knees?”
    “The dancin’, ye ken,” said Rob. “The jigs an’ reels. ’Tis no’ a good wake unless the hands is flingin’ an’ the feets is twinklin’ an’ the knees is flexin’ an’ the kilts is flyin’.”
    Tiffany had never seen the Feegles dance, but she had heard them. It sounded like warfare, which was probably how it ended up. The flyin’ o’ the kilts sounded a bit worrying, though, and reminded her of a question she had never quite dared to ask up until now.
    “Tell me…is there anything worn under the kilt?”
    From the way the Feegles went quiet again, she got the feeling that this was not a question they liked being asked.
    Rob Anybody narrowed his eyes. The Feegles held their breath.
    “Not necessarily,” he said.

    At last the funeral was over, possibly because there was nothing left to eat and drink. Many of the departing witches were carrying small packages. That was another tradition. A lot of things in the cottage were the property of the cottage, and would pass on to the next witch, but everything else got passed on to the soon-to-be-late witch’s friends. Since the old witch would be alive when this happened, it saved squabbling.
    That was the thing about witches. They were, according to Granny Weatherwax, “people what looks up.” She didn’t explain. She seldom explained. She didn’t mean people who looked at the sky; everyone did that. She probably meant that they looked up above the everyday chores and wondered, “What’s all this about? How does it work? What should I do? What am I for?” And possibly even: “Is there anything worn under the kilt?” Perhaps that was why odd, in a witch, was normal…
    …but they’d squabble like polecats over a silver spoon that wasn’t even silver. As it was, several were waiting impatiently by the sink for Tiffany to wash some big dishes that Miss Treason had promised to them, and which had held the funeral roast potatoes and sausage rolls.
    At least there was no problem with leftovers. Nanny Ogg, a witch who’d invented Leftover Sandwiches Soup, was waiting in the scullery with her big string bag and a bigger grin.
    “We were going to have the rest and potatoes for supper,” said Tiffany angrily, but with a certain amount of interest. She’d met Nanny Ogg before and quite liked her, but Miss Treason had said, darkly, that Nanny Ogg was “a disgusting old baggage.” That sort of comment attracts your attention.
    “Fair enough,” said Nanny Ogg as Tiffany placed her hand on the meat. “You did a good job here today, Tiff. People notice that.”
    She was gone before Tiffany could recover. One of them had very nearly said thank you! Amazing!
    Petulia helped her bring the big table indoors and finish the tidying up. She hesitated, though, before she left.
    “Um…you will be all right, will you?” she said. “It’s all a bit…strange.”
    “We’re supposed to be no strangers to strangeness,” said Tiffany primly. “Anyway, you’ve sat up with the dead and dying, haven’t you?”
    “Oh, yes. Mostly pigs, though. Some humans. Um…I don’t mind staying, if you like,” Petulia added in a leaving-as-soon-as-possible voice.
    “Thank you. But after all, what’s the worst that can happen?”
    Petulia stared at her and then said, “Well, let me think…a thousand vampire demons, each one with enormous—”
    “I’ll be fine,” said Tiffany quickly. “Don’t you worry at all. Good night.”
    Tiffany shut the door and then leaned on it with her hand over her mouth until she heard the gate click. She counted to ten to make sure that Petulia had got some distance and then risked taking her hand away. By then the scream that had been patiently waiting to come out had dwindled to something like “Unk!”
    This was going to be a very strange night.
    People died. It was sad, but they did. What did you do next? People expected the local