Wintersmith

witch to know. So you washed the body and did a few secret and squelchy things and dressed them in their best clothes and laid them out with bowls of earth and salt beside them (no one knew why you did this bit, not even Miss Treason, but it had always been done) and you put two pennies on their eyes “for the ferryman” and you sat with them the night before they were buried, because they shouldn’t be left alone.
    Exactly why was never properly explained, although everyone got told the story of the old man who was slightly less dead than everybody thought and got up off the spare bed in the middle of the night and got back into bed with his wife.
    The real reason was probably a lot darker than that. The start and finish of things was always dangerous, lives most of all.
    But Miss Treason was a wicked ol’ witch. Who knew what might happen? Hang on, Tiffany told herself; don’t you believe the Boffo. She’s really just a clever old lady with a catalogue!
    In the other room Miss Treason’s loom stopped.
    It often did. But this evening the sudden silence it made was louder than usual.
    Miss Treason called out: “What do we have in the larder that needs eating up?”
    Yes, this is going to be a very odd night, Tiffany told herself.
    Miss Treason went to bed early. It was the first time Tiffany had ever known her not to sleep in a chair. She’d put on a long white nightdress, too, the first time Tiffany had seen her not in black.
    There was a lot still to do. It was traditional that the cottage should be left sparkling clean for the next witch, and although it was hard to make black sparkle, Tiffany did her best. Actually, the cottage was always pretty clean, but Tiffany scraped and scrubbed and polished because it put off the moment when she’d have to go and talk to Miss Treason. She even took down the fake spiderwebs and threw them on the fire, where they burned with a nasty blue flame. She wasn’t sure what to do with the skulls. Finally, she wrote down everything she could remember about the local villages: when babies were due, who was very ill and what with, who was feuding, who was “difficult,” and just about every other local detail she thought might be helpful to Annagramma. Anything to just put off the moment….
    At last there was nothing for it but to climb the narrow stairs and say: “Is everything all right, Miss Treason?”
    The old woman was sitting up in bed, scribbling. The ravens were perched on the bedposts.
    “I’m just writing a few thank-you letters,” she said. “Some of those ladies today came quite a long way and will be having a chilly ride back.”
    “‘Thank you for coming to my funeral’ letters?” asked Tiffany weakly.
    “Indeed. And they’re not often written, you may be sure of that. You know the girl Annagramma Hawkin will be the new witch here? I am sure she would like you to stay on. At least for a while.”
    “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Tiffany.
    “Quite,” said Miss Treason smiling. “I suspect the girl Weatherwax has arrangements in mind. It will be interesting to see how Mrs. Earwig’s brand of witchcraft suits my silly people, although it may be best to observe events from behind a rock. Or, in my case, under it.”
    She put the letters aside, and both the ravens turned to look at Tiffany.
    “You have been here with me only three months.”
    “That’s right, Miss Treason.”
    “We have not talked, woman to woman. I should have taught you more.”
    “I’ve learned a lot, Miss Treason.” And that was true.
    “You have a young man, Tiffany. He sends you letters and packages. You go into Lancre Town every week to send letters to him. I fear you live not where you love.”
    Tiffany said nothing. They’d been through this before. Roland seemed to fascinate Miss Treason.
    “I was always too busy to pay attention to young men,” said Miss Treason. “They were always for later and then later was too late. Pay attention to your young man.”
    “Erm…I did say he’s not actually my—” Tiffany began, feeling herself start to blush.
    “But do not become a strumpet like Mrs. Ogg,” said Miss Treason.
    “I’m not very musical,” said Tiffany uncertainly.
    Miss Treason laughed. “You have a dictionary, I believe,” she said. “A strange but useful thing for a girl to have.”
    “Yes, Miss Treason.”
    “On my bookshelf you will find a rather larger dictionary. An Unexpurgated Dictionary. A useful thing for a