“I see,” said Miss Tick, looking away. “Very well. In that case, please tell me…when you stopped outside my tent just now, you said ‘aha’ in what I considered to be a smug tone of voice. Were you thinking, ‘This is a strange little black tent with a mysterious little sign on the door, so going inside could be the start of an adventure,’ or were you thinking, ‘This could be the tent of some wicked witch like they thought Mrs. Snapperly was, who’ll put some horrible spell on me as soon as I go in’? It’s all right, you can stop staring now. Your eyes are watering.”
“I thought both those things,” said Tiffany, blinking.
“But you came in anyway. Why?”
“To find out.”
“Good answer. Witches are naturally nosy,” said Miss Tick, standing up. “Well, I must go. I hope we shall meet again. I will give you some free advice, though.”
“Will it cost me anything?”
“What? I just said it was free!” said Miss Tick.
“Yes, but my father said that free advice often turns out to be expensive,” said Tiffany.
Miss Tick sniffed. “You could say this advice is priceless,” she said. “Are you listening?”
“Yes,” said Tiffany.
“Good. Now…if you trust in yourself…”
“Yes?”
“…and believe in your dreams…”
“Yes?”
“…and follow your star…” Miss Tick went on.
“Yes?”
“…you’ll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy. Good-bye.”
The tent seemed to grow darker. It was time to leave. Tiffany found herself back in the square where the other teachers were taking down their stalls.
She didn’t look around. She knew enough not to look around. Either the tent would still be there, which would be a disappointment, or it would have mysteriously disappeared, and that would be worrying.
She headed home and wondered if she should have mentioned the little red-haired men. She hadn’t for a whole lot of reasons. She wasn’t sure, now, that she’d really seen them, she had a feeling that they wouldn’t have wanted her to, and it was nice to have something Miss Tick didn’t know. Yes. That was the best part. Miss Tick was a bit too clever, in Tiffany’s opinion.
On the way home she climbed to the top of Arken Hill, which was just outside the village. It wasn’t very big, not even as high as the downs above the farm and certainly nothing like as high as the mountains.
The hill was more…modest. There was a flat place at the top where nothing ever grew, and Tiffany knew there was a story that a hero had once fought a dragon up there and its blood had burned the ground where it fell. There was another story that said there was a heap of treasure under the hill, defended by the dragon, and another story that said a king was buried there in armor of solid gold. There were lots of stories about the hill; it was surprising it hadn’t sunk under the weight of them.
Tiffany stood on the bare soil and looked at the view.
She could see the village and the river and Home Farm and the Baron’s castle, and beyond the fields she knew, she could see gray woods and heathlands.
She closed her eyes and opened them again. And blinked, and opened them again.
There was no magic door, no hidden building revealed, no strange signs.
For a moment, though, the air buzzed and smelled of snow.
When she got home, she looked up incursion in the dictionary. It meant “invasion.”
An incursion of major proportions, Miss Tick had said.
And now little unseen eyes watched Tiffany from the top of the shelf….