Wintersmith

Tiffany. “It contains…er…things.”
    “What sort of things?” said Granny Weatherwax.
    “Well, technically…everything,” said Tiffany. “Everything that grows.”
    She showed them the picture in the book. All sorts of fruits, vegetables, and grain were spilling from the Cornucopia’s wide mouth.
    “Mostly fruit, though,” said Nanny. “Not many carrots, but I suppose they’re up in the pointy end. They’d fit better there.”
    “Typical artist,” said Granny. “He just painted the showy stuff in the front. Too proud to paint an honest potato!” She poked at the page with an accusing finger. “And what about these cherubs? We’re not going to get them too, are we? I don’t like to see little babies flying through the air.”
    “They turn up a lot in old paintings,” said Nanny Ogg. “They put them in to show it’s Art and not just naughty pictures of ladies with not many clothes on.”
    “Well, they’re not fooling me ,” said Granny Weatherwax.
    “Go on, Tiff, give it a go,” said Nanny Ogg, walking around the table.
    “I don’t know how!” said Tiffany. “There aren’t any instructions!”
    And then, too late, Granny shouted: “You! Come out of there!”
    But with a flick of her tail the white kitten trotted inside.
    They banged on the horn. They held it upside down and shook it. They tried shouting down it. They put a saucer of milk in front of it and waited. The kitten didn’t return. Then Nanny Ogg prodded gently inside the Cornucopia with a mop, which to no one’s great surprise went farther inside the Cornucopia than there was Cornucopia on the outside.
    “She’ll come out when she’s hungry,” she said reassuringly.
    “Not if she finds something to eat in there,” said Granny Weatherwax, peering into the dark.
    “I shouldn’t think she’ll find cat food,” said Tiffany, examining the picture closely. “There may be milk, though.”
    “You! Come out of there this minute!” Granny commanded in a voice fit to shake mountains.
    There was a distant meep .
    “Perhaps she’s got stuck?” said Nanny. “I mean, it’s like a spiral, growing smaller at the end, right? Cats ain’t very big at goin’ backward.”
    Tiffany saw the look on Granny’s face and sighed.
    “Feegles?” she said to the room in general. “I know there are some of you in this room. Come out, please!”
    Feegles appeared from behind every ornament. Tiffany tapped the Cornucopia.
    “Can you get a little kitten out of here?” she asked.
    “Just that? Aye, nae problemo,” said Rob Anybody. “I wuz hopin’ it was gonna be something difficult !”
    The Nac Mac Feegles disappeared into the Horn at a trot. Their voices died away. The witches waited.
    They waited some more.
    And some more.
    “Feegles!” shouted Tiffany into the hole. She thought she heard a very distant, very faint “Crivens!”
    “If it can produce grain, they might have found beer in there,” said Tiffany. “And that means they’ll only run out when the beer runs out too!”
    “Cats can’t feed on beer!” snapped Granny Weatherwax.
    “Well, I’m fed up with waiting,” said Nanny. “Look, there’s a little hole in the pointy end, too. I’m going to blow into it!”
    She tried to, at least. Her cheeks went big and red and her eyes bulged, and it was pretty clear that if the horn didn’t blow, then she would—at which point, the horn gave up. There was a distant and unmistakably curly rumbling noise, which got louder and louder.
    “I can’t see anything yet,” said Granny, looking into the wide mouth of the horn.
    Tiffany pulled her away just as You galloped out of the Cornucopia with her tail straight out and her ears flattened. She skidded across the table, leaped onto Granny Weatherwax’s dress, scrambled onto her shoulder, and turned and spat defiance.
    With a cry of “Crivvvvvvvvens!” Feegles poured out of the horn.
    “Behind the sofa, everyone!” yelled Nanny. “Run!”
    Now the rumble was like thunder. It grew and grew and then—
    —stopped.
    In the silence, three pointy hats rose from behind the sofa. Small blue faces rose from behind everything.
    Then there was a noise very similar to pwat! and something small and wizened rolled out of the mouth of the Horn and dropped onto the floor. It was a very dried-up pineapple.
    Granny Weatherwax brushed some dust off her dress.
    “You’d better learn to use this,” she said to Tiffany.
    “How?”
    “Don’t you have any