Miss Tick folded her hands, sniffed, and smiled a smile with no humor in it at all.
“Easily explained,” she said. “Mrs. Snapperly must have had a really big oven, eh?”
“No, it was really quite small,” said Tiffany. “Only ten inches deep.”
“I bet Mrs. Snapperly had no teeth and talked to herself, right?” said Miss Tick.
“Yes. And she had a cat. And a squint,” said Tiffany. And it all came out in a rush: “And so after he vanished, they went to her cottage and they looked in the oven and they dug up her garden and they threw stones at her old cat until it died and they turned her out of her cottage and piled up all her old books in the middle of the room and set fire to them and burned the place to the ground and everyone said she was an old witch.”
“They burned the books,” said Miss Tick in a flat voice.
“Because they said they had old writing in them,” said Tiffany. “And pictures of stars.”
“And when you went to look, did they?” said Miss Tick.
Tiffany suddenly felt cold. “How did you know?” she said.
“I’m good at listening. Well, did they?”
Tiffany sighed. “Yes, I went to the cottage next day, and some of the pages, you know, had kind of floated up in the heat? And I found a part of one, and it had all old lettering and gold and blue edging. And I buried her cat.”
“You buried the cat?”
“Yes! Someone had to!” said Tiffany hotly.
“And you measured the oven,” said Miss Tick. “I know you did, because you just told me what size it was.” And you measure soup plates, Miss Tick added to herself. What have I found here?
“Well, yes. I did. I mean…it was tiny! And if she could magic away a boy and a whole horse, why didn’t she magic away the men who came for her? It didn’t make any sense!”
Miss Tick waved her into silence. “And then what happened?”
“Then the Baron said no one was to have anything to do with her,” said Tiffany. “He said any witches found in the country would be tied up and thrown in the pond. Er, you could be in danger,” she added, uncertainly.
“I can untie knots with my teeth and I have a Gold Swimming Certificate from the Quirm College for Young Ladies,” said Miss Tick. “All that practice at jumping into the swimming pool with my clothes on was time well spent.” She leaned forward.
“Let me guess what happened to Mrs. Snapperly,” she said. “She lived from the summer until the snow, right? She stole food from barns, and probably women gave her food at the back door if the men weren’t around? I expect the bigger boys threw things at her if they saw her.”
“How do you know all this?” said Tiffany.
“It doesn’t take a huge leap of imagination, believe me,” said Miss Tick. “And she wasn’t a witch, was she?”
“I think she was just a sick old lady who was no use to anyone and smelled a bit and looked odd because she had no teeth,” said Tiffany. “She just looked like a witch in a story. Anyone with half a mind could see that.”
Miss Tick sighed. “Yes. But sometimes it’s so hard to find half a mind when you need one.”
“Can’t you teach me what I need to know to be a witch?” said Tiffany.
“Tell me why you still want to be a witch, bearing in mind what happened to Mrs. Snapperly.”
“So that sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” said Tiffany.
She even buried the old witch’s cat, thought Miss Tick. What kind of child is this?
“Good answer. You might make a decent witch one day,” she said. “But I don’t teach people to be witches. I teach people about witches. Witches learn in a special school. I just show them the way, if they’re any good. All witches have special interests, and I like children.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re much easier to fit in the oven,” said Miss Tick.