The Fancy Plains were long and jumbled, covered with pink grass over light yellow earth and scattered with large, colourful rocks in all sorts of interesting shapes; stars and moons and hearts and diamonds and more besides, some as small as a bunch of bananas, some as big as a hundred bunches of bananas. There were trees, too, their trunks straight and their tops round, and some of them bore fruit, perfectly round apples and perfectly unround pears.
Mushrooms grew here, too, like the one Little Witch’s house was built on, although none of the others had houses on them. Mostly they were tall and thin, coloured purple or pink or light green, some with spots, some with stripes, some just a single colour.
All in all it was a cluttered place, not very tidy at all, but Little Witch didn’t mind so much. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t mind, as clutter usually bothered her, but in this place, on these Fancy Plains, all of the clutteredness seemed somehow okay; for a start, it was difficult even to imagine how one might go about arranging the plains to be neater.
She especially didn’t mind how untidy the Fancy Plains were when she was striding determinedly through them, as she was now. There was no path, but the way to Mushroom Valley was clear; you just walked towards the area with the most mushrooms. Towards So Long Beach and the Forgotten Forest there were hardly any—from Little Witch’s house, for example, not even a single other mushroom could be seen—but now there were dozens around her and dozens more further ahead. The scent around Little Witch was strong but not unpleasant, like jasmine and barley and green leaves and damp grass.
“I should have gone home first,” Little Witch said, just to herself, as she passed through a clump of dozens of mushrooms that were twisted like spiral towers, blue and purple in colour. “Now I’m going to have to carry this basket until I find my hat.”
The basket in question was her special pie-carrying picnic basket, and it still had half a starberry pie in it, as well as a bottle of mint lemonade that she hadn’t had time to share with The Boy before the Magnetic Winds’ shenanigans had distracted her. She was glad of it now, though, and as hills rose around her and the ground sloped down beneath her feet, Little Witch stopped and uncorked the lemonade and had a long drink.
After she’d had enough lemonade and had put the cork back in the bottle and the bottle back in her basket, Little Witch looked around and nodded to herself. This was Mushroom Valley, she was sure of it. She’d come here in the past, to collect mushrooms for cooking or potions or just because they were interesting, but she’d never gone further into the valley than the very outskirts. The mushrooms grew taller and odder the further in you went, and there was always a mistiness about the place that carried with it the suggestion that there might be something lurking about, just outside of your view. Even the sky seemed dimmer here, possibly because of the mist, and even on a sunny day like today it was difficult to see more than a short distance ahead of yourself—or behind or to the sides, for that matter.
Little Witch tried to ignore all this as she pushed forward, making her way between the tall, twisting mushrooms, ignoring the little sharp shock she felt every time she saw a sudden odd shape—it was always just a mushroom, but even when you were ninety-nine percent sure of something being what it was, it could still be quite scary when it suddenly loomed at you from out of the mist. She wondered, as she walked, whether the Magnetic Winds could even come through such a place, it was always so still and silent here, the mist blocking out sound, the ground underfoot a kind of spongy green-blue moss that seemed to eat noise, certainly there never appeared to be any kind of wind around.
“But then I suppose the Magnetic Winds could simply blow over the valley,” Little Witch considered, out loud, mostly to hear her voice, but in fact this didn’t make her feel better at all, because speaking in a quiet, lonely place like Mushroom Valley seemed out of place and somehow wrong, her voice sounding very small amongst the blue and purple mushrooms that spiralled up so high that their tops disappeared into the mist, impossible to see from the ground. It was getting harder to find a path, now, the mushrooms clumping closer together, their bases thicker, and several times Little Witch found she had to double back on herself, having come to a dead end; a wall formed of mushrooms all growing tight against each other, even winding into and around one another, putting Little Witch in mind of twisting, spiralling serpents.
Still, she pushed on. The mist closed in even further and the mushrooms grew closer and taller and twistier than ever and at one point she let out a yelp as she thought she saw something reaching for her, but she knew she couldn’t give up now. That’s my best most favourite hat that the Magnetic Winds stole, she told herself. There’s not another hat like it in all the world, and I’m certainly not letting it just be stolen. What kind of a witch would I be, if I let just any old wind take my hat as it pleased? Not any kind of a witch at all!
This bolstered Little Witch’s spirits a little as she walked along, although not so much as to take away the nervous little shaky feeling inside her. The mist was getting thicker now and it was almost like night the sun was so dim, and with every step Little Witch took odd shapes loomed at her from ahead, and though she told herself over and over that they were just mushrooms, that they couldn’t possibly hurt her, this didn’t really help at all—and now there was something else, something new, a glow coming from ahead of her, a pale, white glow through the mist, and Little Witch stared at it for a moment before turning to the right, taking another path—and it’s not that I’m scared, she thought to herself, as she squeezed between two tall, soft mushrooms, it’s just that I’m sensible, and any sensible person would certainly not choose to walk towards an eldritch glow in this kind of place. They’d do just as I’m doing and find another path, one which didn’t involve such potential trouble.
But now the glow was behind Little Witch, and the path she’d taken was difficult and slow, the mushrooms seemed to crowd together in front of her, blocking her progress, and even finding two that were far enough apart to squeeze between was difficult. Every time she glanced back the glow behind her seemed to be closer, and there was a shape behind the glow, an oddly smooth shape, and anyone or anything with a shape THAT smooth can’t be someone I’d like to meet, Little Witch reasoned, as she searched along a wall of mushrooms trying to find a gap, I’m almost certain that—
Little Witch let out a yelp as she felt something touch her shoulder. She ran forwards but there were small, smooth-capped mushrooms littering the mossy floor of the valley here and her foot caught on one, and she tripped, and though she wasn’t hurt at all by the fall it meant that whatever the smooth odd glowy thing was it had almost certainly caught her now. The choice before Little Witch was clear; remain fallen on her hands and knees in a position that could in no way be thought of as ‘dignified’, or push herself up and turn to face her pursuer with at least the appearance of bravery. And so Little Witch pushed herself up and she took a deep breath, because she could sense that her pursuer was very close behind now, and she put on her bravest expression and she turned to face whatever it was—
“Hello, young lady. Are you lost?”
The Boy was in his second basement, searching through box after box for something that might serve as a helmet. He’d tried wooden bowls, but they were too light and too shallow, and slipped off easily. He’d tried a plastic bucket, but the handle was uncomfortable under his chin. He’d even tried a large orange and blue shell that he’d found washed up on So Long Beach one day sometime in the past, but it wasn’t the right shape for a helmet and besides which smelled strongly of pepper and made The Boy sneeze.
“Maybe this will do,” The Boy said, pulling a bright pink bowl from the depths of a box. It was, like his old helmet, a sieve, only not a metal one, a plastic one. It balanced adequately on his head, and with a handy piece of string threaded through a hole on either side seemed as if it would stay there. Pink wasn’t The Boy’s favourite colour, but at a time like this he couldn’t afford to be picky.
After putting on his coconut-shell elbow protectors and thick woollen leggings and his cardboard breastplate, and after tying another handy bit of string around his platter shield so he could wear it on his back, and putting on his sturdy belt so he could carry his wooden sword at his side, and after filling a large pouch with as many ripe gumdrop berries as he could fit inside it, and dumping part of his pin badge collection out of another pouch so that it would be empty in case he found himself in need of a handy pouch to put things in, and after getting both of these pouches onto his belt10, The Boy stood ready to set out.
“I’m going now,” he said, to the funny little bearded man. “I hope you’ll be okay here by yourself.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” said the funny little bearded man. “Don’t worry about your tree house or your clearing, I’ll make sure to defend it against any wild growths that dare to come close. And I won’t be lonely, because I have my friendly little mouse to keep my company, here in my pocket.”
“The bees will give you honey if you ask politely,” The Boy said. “And you can eat any of the ripe gumdrop berries, and there are vegetables in the garden over there.”
“I’m sure I won’t go hungry!” said the funny little bearded man. “And keeping your home safe while you’re away is a fine purpose indeed.”
“I’m glad I could help you with that,” said The Boy, somewhat loftily. “And if you like, you can play with any of my things inside the house.”
“Very kind of you,” said the funny little bearded man. “And it’s good that you’ve found a purpose, too.”
“Have I?” asked The Boy.
“It seems that you must have,” said the funny little bearded man. “Because you seem very purposeful indeed. Finding your friend in order to help her is a good purpose, I think.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said The Boy. “Anyway, I should be setting off now. The longer I stay here the harder it will be to catch up to Little Witch. Goodbye for now, I expect I’ll be back sometime, although I can’t be sure when.”
“Goodbye,” said the funny little bearded man. “I hope you find your friend quickly.”
“So do I,” said The Boy, and with one long last look around his clearing, he set out in search of Little Witch.
Little Witch walked slowly through the mists of Mushroom Valley, following after the smooth glowy light. Its light felt warm where it touched her skin, and up close it wasn’t really so frightening at all. Somewhat ‘fuzzy’, in fact, putting one in mind of puppies and kittens.
“I’m very sorry to have startled you,” the light said, after some time. “Although I can understand why you were nervous. These mists can seem a little creepy at times, even on a sunny day like today.”
“It doesn’t seem as if it would make much difference how sunny it is,” said Little Witch. “Considering that the mists are so thick above that the light doesn’t reach down here.”
“Well now, that’s not quite right,” said the light, as it led Little Witch along a path made of very low, very flat mushrooms coloured green and blue, the spots on their surface shining dully with each step. “Because when it’s night around here you can’t see anything at all, and even on a cloudy day it’s hard to find your way around. That’s why I live here, you see. I’m a Guiding Light. It’s amazing how many people come here without a torch or lantern or glowberry or something else to light their way.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t expect it to get so dark and gloomy and maze-like,” said Little Witch. “I’ve only come to the outskirts of Mushroom Valley before.”
“Why did you come deeper this time?” the light asked. “Curiosity?”
“No, I’m chasing my hat,” Little Witch said. “It was stolen by the Magnetic Winds and taken over this valley towards whatever lies on the other side.”
“Oh, I understand now,” said the light. “That seems a reasonable enough reason to come here.”
For a while after that neither Little Witch nor the light said anything, the path winding through walls of tall, thick white mushrooms, until they reached a steep hill covered in moss.
“This is the edge of the valley,” said the light. “From here you can follow along this hill until you reach Mossdown Tump. I’m not sure what’s there, but if the winds passed over this valley that’s where they would have blown next.”
Little Witch gave a little curtsy.
“Thank you very much for guiding me here,” she said. “I appreciate your help and apologise for running away.”
“No, that’s all right,” said the light, and it bobbed up and down in a polite sort of way. “Almost everyone runs away when they first see me, I’m quite used to it. Good luck finding your hat!”
“Thank you,” said Little Witch, and with that the light drifted away.
After waving to the light until she couldn’t see it any more, Little Witch began along the edge of the valley, using the steep mossy hill beside her as a guide—it was much too steep to climb, but its presence was somewhat comforting. It seemed as if the mist was clearer here too, and getting clearer as she walked along, and the mushrooms grew smaller and thinner and less frequent and certainly a lot less clumpy, and before long Little Witch was wondering why she ever felt scared of a mushroom at all, although almost immediately after thinking that there loomed a particularly twisted and unusually large mushroom from the mists to her right, which gave her a start and reminded her that ANYTHING could be pretty jolly frightening when it loomed at you from an eerie mist, even a mushroom.
After that, though, there wasn’t really anything to be frightened of at all, although as the mists cleared further Little Witch realised that the sun was going down, that it was nearing evening, and it was getting a touch chilly. She pulled her thick cloak around herself as she hurried on, wondering just what Mossdown Tump would be like, and it was as she was wondering this that she realised that the steep mossy hillside she’d been following was no longer steep, although it was mossier than ever. In fact, it wasn’t even much of a ‘hill’ any more, it rose up to just over twice Little Witch’s height and was very round and smooth, almost plump. Looking around, through the thinning mist, by the light of the setting sun Little Witch could see that there were other plump little hilly mounds around her, too, dozens of them, and not a mushroom in sight, but instead everywhere there was this thick, rich moss, brilliant green in colour.
“Well,” Little Witch said, her voice quiet in the thinner-than-before-but-still-very-much-present mist, “this simply MUST be Mossdown Tump.”
Without further thought or hesitation Little Witch continued onwards, making her way between the little round hills, not totally sure where she was going but figuring that ‘forward’ was as good a direction as any.
After some time she noticed a certain solidity to the mist in front of her, and after walking between a few more of the hilly mounds she realised that it was a great sheer cliff, which she reached a few minutes later. It was formed of angular dark grey rock, moss covering it in large patches, and it stretched up high above, disappearing into the darkening mist. With little else to do Little Witch turned right and started following the cliff, figuring that heading left at this point would, if her instinct was correct, just lead her towards So Long Beach, and she was almost certain the Magnetic Winds wouldn’t be blowing her hat out to sea. After all, didn’t everyone know that the Magnetic Winds blew from the ocean, not to the ocean?
“Yes,” Little Witch answered her own question, out loud so as to not feel so lonely. “Everyone certainly does know that.”
The mist was beginning to thin more and more now, so even as the sun continued to set and its light continued to grow dimmer Little Witch didn’t have any trouble seeing as she walked along beside the cliff. She was getting a little hungry, though, so she took out a slice of starberry pie from her basket and ate it as she walked, and she followed this with a few swallows of mint lemonade11.
Shortly after this she became aware of something odd about the cliff. Every so often there was a small indentation in its side, like a little ledge carved into its surface, roughly circular in shape with a flat bottom. Upon these carved ledges were small statues a little like snowmen, except made of a light brown stone rather than snow. Their expressions were all basically the same—closed eyes and a vaguely smiling
mouth—but a quirk of the carver’s tools had made some of the statues seem cheeky, others thoughtful, still others secretly amused. Some of the statues had bright red scarves wrapped around their ‘necks’, and one had a small pair of round spectacles perched upon its ‘head’.
Little Witch thought that the statues were adorable, cute and friendly and comforting—though Mossdown Tump was a good sight less eerie than Mushroom Valley, it was still a quiet, lonely sort of place, and any company, even little carved stone men, was quite welcome.
The sun was very close to setting now, and the light was fading fast, although even as Little Witch realised this so too did she realise something else; that there was a bluish glow in the air around her, not nearly enough to (for example) read by, but more than enough to see her way forward, to make out the statues in the cliff, and to see where the cliff gave way to a sort of natural grotto.
There were trees; this is what Little Witch noticed first. She hadn’t seen any kind of foliage since well before entering Mushroom Valley (she didn’t really think mushrooms or moss counted), and so the sudden presence of several huge, ancient oak trees was almost startling. They stood over a small stone shrine like guardians, thick grey branches overhanging but not touching, and as Little Witch walked nearer she saw that from the branches had been hung numerous green ribbons, and on the end of each ribbon was a tiny tarnished bell, although no wind blew, and so no sound was made.
The shrine itself was old and worn, though noticeably clear of moss. It was little more than a few flat pieces of stone wedged into the earth with another atop to act as a roof, and beneath was a round, flat-topped stone that held a small wooden bowl. Inside the bowl was a small amount of cooked rice, as well as some kind of dark green vegetable cut into thin strips.
“Good evening. I hope you’re not planning on disturbing that bowl.”
Little Witch looked up from the shrine, to see a small, bald-headed man smiling at her from beside one of the trees. He was dressed in a mossy brown robe and had on a bright red scarf, and he wore small round spectacles.
“Of course I wasn’t,” Little Witch said. “That would be just so rude.”
“Come then, come away,” said the bald-headed man, firmly but not unkindly. “Let us not bother those who are eating.”
“I don’t see anyone eating,” said Little Witch.
“Come away anyway, indulge the habits and beliefs of a mossy old monk.”
Little Witch frowned, but she stepped carefully around the shrine without disturbing it.
“Are you hungry yourself?” the monk asked her. “I have rice boiling, and pickled moss.”
“Pickled moss?” said Little Witch.
“Yes, it’s not very nice, but you’re welcome to it. Come sit with me a while. You can eat some of my rice and politely spit out some of my boiled moss and then perhaps I can help you find your hat.”
Little Witch frowned again. “How did you know I’m looking for my hat?”
“You’re missing one, aren’t you?” said the monk. “Certainly, your head is bare.” He turned and began walking towards a small wooden shelter—it was covered in moss and blended in with the scenery so much that Little Witch had quite failed to see it before. “Come this way. You probably don’t want to be wandering around directionless after dark, in any case.”
After some consideration, Little Witch found that she agreed.
The Boy stood looking up at Cliff Face, somewhat defiantly.
“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me where Little Witch went, Mr Face,” The Boy said. “I need to find her. It’s important.”
“I believe you when you say that,” said Cliff Face. “And I have every intention of telling you where she went. But, as you can see, the sun is going down. Soon it will be dark. And upon consideration, The, I would have to say that setting out after dark is not a wise thing to do. For now you should go home and sleep. I will tell you where Little Witch went tomorrow morning.”
“The time of day doesn’t matter,” The Boy said. “What matters is that I have to chase her and find her as quickly as possible, and seeing as you know where it is she went, you can help me do that. I have to say, not helping me seems a bit rude.”
“Well—” Cliff Face began, but The Boy (somewhat rudely) interrupted him:
“If it’s getting dark here then it’s also getting dark wherever Little Witch is. She’s probably lonely and a little bit frightened, although she’d never admit to that, and maybe cold and hungry—”
“She was carrying a picnic basket,” Cliff Face said. “I think it probably had food inside. And she was wearing one of her thick warm cloaks, so I don’t think she’ll be terribly cold. Also, I’ve always considered Little Witch to be a brave and sensible sort of person, so I find it hard to imagine her being frightened.”
The Boy kicked at the stump-table, making a loud thud.
“Then even if she isn’t hungry, and even if she isn’t cold, and even if she ISN’T frightened then she’s certainly lonely.”
“She might have met someone along the way,” Cliff Face reasoned.
“Even if she’s met someone, that someone isn’t going to be her best friend,” said The Boy. “Because I’m her best friend and I’m standing here talking to you. So even if she’s not alone, she’s still going to be feeling lonely.”
“Ah,” said Cliff Face. “But you don’t KNOW that—”
“I DO know that,” The Boy said, calmly. Cliff Face frowned, with an accompanying grinding noise.
“But, as you just said, you are standing here talking to me,” he said. “You can’t KNOW how Little Witch is feeling—”
“Yes, I can,” said The Boy. “Because I’m her best friend, and I know that if she’s in a new place, at night, whether by herself or with someone she met along the way, then she WILL be feeling lonely.”
Cliff Face considered this.
“Hmm,” he said.
Then, “Ah.”
This followed by, “I see.”
The Boy continued to look up at Cliff Face, his expression just as defiant as ever.
“So,” he said, “could you please tell me where she went?”
Cliff Face looked down at The Boy solemnly.
“Do you promise to be careful?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” replied The Boy.
“Do you promise not to fall off any high ledges or trip over any hazardous rocks?” Cliff Face asked.
“Yes, I do,” replied The Boy.
“Do you promise to keep a wary eye about yourself?” Cliff Face asked.
At this, The Boy was forced to hesitate.
“What’s a ‘wary eye’?” he asked, wondering if he’d have room in his pockets for one.
“What I meant,” said Cliff Face, “was that I want you to be aware of your surroundings and to look twice before leaping into anything.”
“Oh,” said The Boy. “If that’s what you meant then yes, I promise I’ll keep a ‘wary eye’ about myself.”
Cliff Face nodded rockily.
“I suppose I can’t ask anything more of you,” he said. “It seems that you’re determined to go after Little Witch.”
“Yes,” said The Boy. “I am.”
“Well,” said Cliff Face. “In that case, I suppose I must tell you where your best friend went.”
Little Witch sat inside the mossy little monk’s mossy little hut, wondering what The Petite Book Of Proper Behaviour might have to say about how best to remove an awful-tasting piece of pickled moss from your mouth12.
“Spit it upon the floor,” said the monk, noting Little Witch’s crisis-of-politeness. “It won’t be noticed.”
Little Witch followed the monk’s suggestion, although with some reddening of cheek and a small thrill of shame. The floor of the monk’s little hut was covered in moss, and the hut was lit only by a large jar of fireflies, and so the small bit of half-chewed pickled moss couldn’t even be seen.
“You see?” said the monk, his eyes fixed on Little Witch as she ate some rice. He took a sip of tea, and then he spoke again: “Tell me about your hat.”
“Well,” said Little Witch, after properly chewing and swallowing her mouthful of rice, “it’s tall and pointy and purple and has a feature buckle at the front—”
“No, no, no,” said the monk, waving an irritated hand at Little Witch. “Not what it looks like. What it is.”
“It’s a hat,” said Little Witch, blankly.
“No one wanders through Mushroom Valley and Mossdown Tump at night for just a hat,” said the monk. “No one but a fool, anyhow. You’re not a fool, are you?”
“Certainly not,” said Little Witch, drawing herself up rather haughtily.
“Certainly not,” the monk repeated. “And so I say again, tell me about your hat.”
Little Witch pursed her lips a little, and ate some more rice, and took a sip of moss tea, which was better than the pickled moss but only by a little, and then she answered:
“I don’t remember where I got it from,” she said. “Which means that I’ve had it for longer than I can remember. I have other hats but none of them are as tall or as pointy or as purple as this one, and none of them have a feature buckle on the front. It’s my best most favourite hat, you see.”
“Ah,” said the monk, though nothing further, his eyes still upon Little Witch. She shifted a little in her seat (which was wooden but covered in soft, thick moss, and surprisingly comfortable for that).
“I suppose I don’t feel so much like myself without it,” she said. “My other hats are fine, but they’re not my ‘me’ hats. Some of them I wear around the house when I’m just by myself, and some of them I wear when I’m out in my garden looking after my herbs, and some of them I wear when I’m eating cakes. But I can wear my best most favourite hat anywhere, at any time, with anyone. And it makes people know I’m a witch. That’s important too. Being a witch isn’t something you should have to tell people. They should just know.”
“Ah,” said the monk, nodding sagely.
“And besides all of that, anyway,” Little Witch continued, “is the fact that it was STOLEN, by those cheeky Magnetic Winds. Really, I can’t just let that happen. I refuse to live in a world where any old wind can steal a person’s hat without punishment.”
“Punishment, eh?” said the monk. He took another small sip of tea, then looked at Little Witch expectantly.
“Well,” she said, after a moment, “I suppose it doesn’t have to be a particularly harsh punishment. After I get my hat back I suppose I’ll just give the Magnetic Winds a talking-to and probably a stern look.”
“Ah,” said the monk. “So getting your hat back is the most important thing.”
“Yes, of course it is,” said Little Witch. “And I suppose I’ll retrieve The’s helmet if I happen to see it, even though he didn’t so much as consider coming with me.”
“How inconsiderate of him,” said the monk. He took yet another small sip of his tea. “I wonder why that was.”
“Oh, probably he just wasn’t thinking,” said Little Witch, airily but with a touch of irritation. “He does that quite often, you know. Doesn’t think, I mean. Just bubbles along without thinking or particularly caring, oblivious to everything except whatever it is he’s decided to be interested in that day.”
“Ah,” said the monk. “It sounds as if you know him well.”
“He IS my best friend,” said Little Witch. She frowned. “But none of this is helping me get my hat back. Have you seen it?”
“Have I seen it,” the monk repeated, slowly, as if examining each word as he said it. “Have I seen it. By ‘it’ you mean your hat. My answer is ‘no’.”
“Well then,” said Little Witch, standing, stooping automatically so that the tip of her hat didn’t crush up against the low roof of the hut, forgetting that she wasn’t actually wearing it, “I should be setting out—”
“Sit down and exercise a little patience,” said the monk. To her surprise, Little Witch found herself doing so, sitting once more, her hands crossed in her lap. Though the monk’s voice was rather flat and unassuming and without any kind of authority to it, she found it difficult to ignore him. “Listen to what I said to you. You are a witch, you are supposed to be good at noticing things.”
“I am good at noticing things,” said Little Witch. “In
fact, I—oh, I see. You didn’t ‘see’ my hat. Did you hear it, then?”
“Did I hear your hat?” the monk asked, as if pondering some great mystery. After a moment he shook his head. “No.”
“You had better not be wasting my time,” Little Witch said.
“I promise you that I am not wasting your time,” said the monk. Little Witch frowned.
“Is this some sort of riddle, then?” she asked. “Or a test of some kind?”
“Many things can be seen as tests,” said the monk. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”
Little Witch clucked her tongue. Although ordinarily she enjoyed riddles and puzzles, and indeed often liked to exchange them with The Boy (or, in fact, anyone who would listen), at this moment she wasn’t in the mood.
“Fine,” she said, and for a time she sat and thought, arms crossed. The monk watched her, perhaps smiling, perhaps not; in the dim golden glow of the fireflies it was hard to tell. Eventually, Little Witch spoke again: “You didn’t see my hat, and you didn’t hear it, either. I suppose I have to assume that you’re telling the truth about that. I also suppose that I have to get these three questions out of the way; have you touched, smelt or tasted my hat?”
“Goodness, but I hope not,” said the monk, with a little chuckle. “It would be quite rude to taste another person’s
hat—at least, not without gaining their permission first.”
“I don’t like repeating myself,” said Little Witch, a bit crabbily, “but you’re forcing me to; are you just wasting my time?”
“No, I am not.”
Little Witch sighed, then sat forward.
“Did you hear something about my hat?” she asked, talking quicker now.
“No.”
“Did you … did you READ something about my hat?”
“No.”
A pause, then: “Did you see the shadow of my hat?”
“Oh, a clever question. Regrettably the answer is an unclever ‘no’.”
Little Witch puffed out an irritated breath. She opened her mouth to ask something else, then shut it again, a suspicious frown slowly coming to her face.
“There’s no wind here,” she said, after a moment’s careful thought. “It’s completely still, it has been since Mushroom Valley. The bells tied to your trees outside don’t make any noise.”
“Ordinarily they don’t, no,” said the monk, a little smile upon his face.
“But if there was a wind blowing past, then you’d hear them, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I think that I probably would.”
“In that case,” said Little Witch, enjoying the moment now that she felt sure she had the solution to this puzzle in the palm of her hand, “did you hear the thief who took my hat?”
“Aha,” said the monk, and the little smile became a big one. “Even without a hat, you are certainly a witch. Yes, is the answer to your question. Yes, I certainly DID hear the thief who took your hat.”
In response to which Little Witch smiled; smugly, proudly, and triumphantly.
10Which meant having to take his belt off again in order to thread the pouches onto it, a process that turned out to be quite fiddly and difficult to get exactly right, and then after that The Boy couldn’t find his sword again and had to spend some time searching for it, eventually discovering that he’d absently put it down in a large box he kept interesting sticks in—all in all the whole pouch affair delayed The Boy by at least half an hour.
11Although she’d eaten the pie as she’d walked along, Little Witch stopped to drink the mint lemonade. The Petite Book Of Proper Behaviour had some very strong words on the subject of ‘walking and drinking at the same time’, but strangely enough had absolutely nothing to say on the subject of ‘walking and eating at the same time’. Little Witch had, once upon a time, puzzled over this, but in the end she’d decided to take the book at face value. Thus she sometimes ate-and-walked, but never drank-and-walked.
12“Take a napkin, if such a thing is about, or a handkerchief from your pocket (see Chapter Four, ‘Essential Accoutrements For The Modern Young Lady’), taking care all the while to smile in such a way that your teeth are not bared (see Chapter Six, ‘Presenting The Correct Air Of Decorum’), and, when attention is upon something other than yourself, daintily raise the napkin (or handkerchief) to your mouth and gently push the Offending Morsel into it, using a swift but forceful movement of the tongue, rather than any kind of spitting action (this can produce an Unpleasant Sound and attract Undue Attention) (see Chapter Thirteen, ‘Noises Improper For The Modern Young Lady To Produce’). With a Practised Motion (see Chapter Three, ‘Preparation Prevents Improper Behaviour’) fold the napkin (or handkerchief) and lower it beneath the level of the table. Do not be tempted to flick the recently-expelled morsel onto the floor, even if there is a small dog (such as a terrier) present; small dogs (such as terriers) cannot be counted upon to consume such ‘scraps’ and indeed may have been trained to detect the discarding of unwanted food and alert their master (or mistress) with a short, sharp, accusatory yap (see Chapter Seventeen, ‘Animals Are Not To Be Trusted’). Instead, keep the napkin (or handkerchief) in your hand until such time as you can discretely and properly tuck it into your pocket. Subsequent to this, you can excuse yourself from the table at an Appropriate Moment (see Chapter Twelve, ‘The Importance Of Proper Timing’) and, acting upon your own initiative, dispose of the Offending Morsel in a manner of your own choosing. Whatever happens, do not be tempted to spit the morsel into the face of your host (or cook, if present), as this is certainly not Proper Behaviour.”
- Excerpt from The Petite Book Of Proper Behaviour
~ 4 ~
Of Pursuit
