CHAPTER 2
Miss Tick
Tiffany read the sign and smiled.
“Aha,” she said. There was nothing to knock on, so she added “Knock, knock” in a louder voice.
A woman’s voice from within said: “Who’s there?”
“Tiffany,” said Tiffany.
“Tiffany who?” said the voice.
“Tiffany who isn’t trying to make a joke.”
“Ah. That sounds promising. Come in.”
She pushed aside the flap. It was dark inside the tent, as well as stuffy and hot. A skinny figure sat behind a small table. She had a very sharp, thin nose and was wearing a large black straw hat with paper flowers on it. It was completely unsuitable for a face like that.
“Are you a witch?” said Tiffany. “I don’t mind if you are.”
“What a strange question to spring on someone,” said the woman, looking slightly shocked. “Your Baron bans witches in this country, you know that, and the first thing you say to me is ‘Are you a witch?’ Why would I be a witch?”
“Well, you’re wearing all black,” said Tiffany.
“Anyone can wear black,” said the woman. “That doesn’t mean a thing.”
“And you’re wearing a straw hat with flowers in it,” Tiffany went on.
“Aha!” said the woman. “That proves it, then. Witches wear tall pointy hats. Everyone knows that, foolish child.”
“Yes, but witches are also very clever,” said Tiffany calmly. There was something about the twinkle in the woman’s eyes that told her to continue. “They sneak about. Probably they often don’t look like witches. And a witch coming here would know about the Baron, and so she’d wear the kind of hat that everyone knows witches don’t wear.”
The woman stared at her. “That was an incredible feat of reasoning,” she said at last. “You’d make a good witch finder. You know they used to set fire to witches? Whatever kind of hat I’ve got on, you’d say it proves I’m a witch, yes?”
“Well, the frog sitting on your hat is a bit of a clue, too,” said Tiffany.
“I’m a toad, actually,” said the creature, which had been peering at Tiffany from between the paper flowers.
“You’re very yellow for a toad.”
“I’ve been a bit ill,” said the toad.
“And you talk,” said Tiffany.
“You only have my word for it,” said the toad, disappearing into the paper flowers. “You can’t prove anything.”
“You don’t have matches on you, do you?” said the woman to Tiffany.
“No.”
“Fine, fine. Just checking.”
Again there was a pause while the woman gave Tiffany a long stare, as if making up her mind about something.
“My name,” she said at last, “is Miss Tick. And I am a witch. It’s a good name for a witch, of course.”
“You mean blood-sucking parasite?” said Tiffany, wrinkling her forehead.