The Sea and Little Fishes

And within this sisterhood — except that it wasn’t a sisterhood, it was a loose assortment of chronic non-joiners; a group of witches wasn’t a coven, it was a small war — there was always this awareness of position. It had nothing to do with anything the other world thought of as status. Nothing was ever said. But if an elderly witch died the local witches would attend her funeral for a few last words, and then go solemnly home alone, with the little insistent thought at the back of their minds: “I’ve moved up one.”

And newcomers were watched very, very carefully.

“Morning, Mrs Ogg,” said a voice behind her. “I trust I find you well?”

“How’d’yer do, Mistress Shimmy,” said Na

“We buried her last month, Mrs Ogg.”

Na

“Oh dear ...” she said.

“But I shall tell her you asked after her, anyway,” said Clarity. She glanced briefly towards the ring. “Who’s the fat girl on now? Got a backside on her like a bowling ball on a short seesaw.”

“That’s Agnes Nitt.”

“That’s a good cursin’ voice she’s got there. You know you’ve been cursed with a voice like that.”

“Oh yes, she’s been blessed with a good voice for cursin’,” said Na

Clarity’s head turned.

At the far edge of the field, a small pink shape sat alone behind the Lucky Dip. It did not seem to be drawing a big crowd.

Clarity leaned closer.

“What’s she ... er ... doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Na

“Esme? Nice about it?”

“Er ... yes,” said Na

Clarity stared at her. Na

The pointy hats were bunching up now. There were little groups of three or four. You could see the points come together, cluster in animated conversation, and then open out again like a flower, and turn towards the distant blob of pinkness. Then a hat would leave that group and head off purposefully to another one, where the process would start all over again. It was a bit like watching very slow nuclear fission. There was a lot of excitement, and soon there would be an explosion.

Every so often someone would turn and look at Na

“Hello, Mrs Ogg” he said.

Na

“What’s lucky about ’em?” she said, picking up a horseshoe.

“Well, I get two dollars each for them,” said Stronginthearm.

“And that makes them lucky?”

“Lucky for me,” said Stronginthearm. “I expect you’ll be wanting one too, Mrs Ogg? I’d have fetched along another box if I’d known they’d be so popular. Some of the ladies’ve bought two.”

There was an inflection to the word “ladies”.

“Witches have been buying lucky horseshoes?” said Na

“Like there’s no tomorrow,” said Zakzak. He frowned for a moment. They had been witches, after all. “Er ... there will be ... won’t there?” he added.

“I’m very nearly certain of it,” said Na

“Suddenly been doing a roaring trade in protective herbs, too,” said Zakzak. And, being a dwarf, which meant that he’d see the Flood as a marvellous opportunity to sell towels, he added, “Can I interest you, Mrs Ogg?”

Na

The atmosphere was changing. The sky was a wide pale blue, but there was thunder on the horizons of the mind. The witches were uneasy and with so many in one place the nervousness was bouncing from one to another and, amplified, rebroadcasting itself to everyone. It meant that even ordinary people who thought that a rune was a dried plum were begi

Na

Then Na

She thought she’d been careful to stay concealed, but she heard the straw rustle behind her. The committee had tracked her down.

“That’s your handwriting, isn’t it, Mrs Earwig?” she said. “That’s cruel. That ain’t ... nice.”

“We’ve decided you’re to go and talk to Miss Weatherwax,” said Letice. “She’s got to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“She’s doing something to people’s heads! She’s come here to put the ’fluence on us, right? Everyone knows she does head magic. We can all feel it! She’s spoiling it for everyone!”

“She’s only sitting there,” said Na

“Ah, yes, but how is she sitting there, may we ask?”

Na

“Well ... like normal. You know ... bent in the middle and the knees ...”

Letice waved a finger sternly.

“Now you listen to me, Gytha Ogg —”

“If you want her to go away, you go and tell her!” snapped Na

There was the piercing scream of a child.

The witches stared at one another, and then ran across the field to the Lucky Dip.

A small boy was writhing on the ground, sobbing.

It was Pewsey, Na

Her stomach turned to ice. She snatched him up, and glared into Gra

“What have you done to him, you —” she began.

“Don’twa