Wintersmith

And a meeting of witches, who were supposed to be clever, had handed her this steading that would be a hard job for anyone.
    It didn’t make sense.
    No, it didn’t make sense.
    “It only happens when there’s a difficult lambing,” said Tiffany, while her mind raced. “And that means it’s out in the dark and the cold and the rain. Artists never seem to be around then. It’s amazing.”
    “Why are you looking at me like that?” said Annagramma. “Like I’m not here!”
    Tiffany blinked. All right, she thought, how am I supposed to deal with this?
    “Look, I’ll come and help you with the laying out,” she said, as calmly as she could manage. “And I expect I can help with Mrs. Owslick. Or ask Petulia. She’s good. But you’ll have to do the watching by yourself.”
    “Sitting up all night with a dead person?” said Annagramma, and shivered.
    “You can take a book to read,” said Tiffany.
    “I suppose I could draw a circle of protection around the chair…” Annagramma muttered.
    “No,” said Tiffany. “No magic. Mrs. Earwig must have told you this?”
    “But a circle of protection—”
    “It draws attention. Something might turn up to see why it’s there. Don’t worry, it’s just to make the old people happy.”
    “Er…when you say that something might turn up…” Annagramma began.
    Tiffany sighed. “All right, I’ll sit up with you, just this once,” she said. Annagramma beamed.
    “And as for skulls,” said Tiffany, “just wait a moment.” She went upstairs and got the Boffo catalogue, which she’d hidden in her old suitcase. She came back with it carefully rolled up and handed it over. “Don’t look at it now,” she said. “Wait until you’re alone. You might find it gives you ideas. Okay? I’ll come and meet you around seven tonight.”
    When Annagramma had gone, Tiffany sat and counted under her breath. When she’d got to five, Nanny Ogg came and vigorously dusted a few ornaments before saying: “Oh, has your little friend gone?”
    “Do you think I’m being silly?” said Tiffany.
    Nanny stopped pretending to do housework. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, not havin’ listened,” she said, “but if I had been listenin’, I’d think you won’t get any thanks, that’s what I’d think.”
    “Granny shouldn’t have meddled,” said Tiffany.
    “Shouldn’t have, eh?” said Nanny, her face blank.
    “I’m not stupid, Nanny,” said Tiffany. “I’ve worked it out.”
    “Worked it out, have you? There’s a clever girl,” said Nanny Ogg, sitting down in her chair. “And what is it you’ve worked out then?”
    This was going to get difficult. Nanny was usually cheerful all the time. When she went solemn, like she was now, it could make you nervous. But Tiffany pressed on.
    “I couldn’t take on a cottage,” she said. “Oh, I can do most of the everyday stuff, but you need to be older to run a steading. There’s things people won’t tell you if you’re thirteen, hat or not. But Granny put it about that she was suggesting me, and so everyone saw it as a contest between me and Annagramma, right? And they chose her because she’s older and sounds really competent. And now it’s all falling apart. It’s not her fault she was taught magic instead of witchcraft. Granny just wants her to fail so that everyone will know that Mrs. Earwig is a bad teacher. And I don’t think that’s good.”
    “I wouldn’t be too quick to decide what it is Esme Weatherwax wants, if I was you,” said Nanny Ogg. “I won’t say a word, mind you. You go off and help your friend if you want, but you’ve still got to work for me, okay? That’s only fair. How’s the feet?”
    “They feel fine, Nanny. Thank you for asking.”

    More than a hundred miles away, Mr. Fusel Johnson knew nothing about Tiffany, Nanny Ogg, or indeed anything very much except for clocks and watches, which he made for a living. He also knew how to lime-wash a kitchen, which was an easy and cheap way to get a nice white look even if the stuff was a bit runny. And therefore he had no idea why several handfuls of the white powder fountained up out of the mixing bowl before he could add the water, hung in the air for a moment like a ghost, and vanished up the chimney. In the end he put it down to too many trolls moving into the area. This wasn’t very logical, but such beliefs generally aren’t.
    And the Wintersmith thought: Lime enough to make a man!

    That night Tiffany sat