"Actually, there's no, you know, actual age limit," said Lucy Warbeck. "Nothing written down, anyway."
"How do you know that?" Annagramma snapped. "I asked Old Mrs. Pewmire," said Lucy. Annagramma's eyes narrowed. "You asked her? Why?" Lucy rolled her eyes. "Because I wanted to know, that's all. Look, everyone knows you're the oldest and the…you know, most trained. Of course you'll get the cottage."
"Yes," said Annagramma, watching Tiffany. "Of course."
"That's, um, sorted out, then," said Petulia, more loudly than necessary. "Did you have a lot of snow last night? Old Mother Blackcap said it was unusual." Tiffany thought: Oh dear, here we go…. "We often get it this early up here," said Lucy. "I thought it was a bit fluffier than usual," said Petulia. "Quite pretty, if you like that sort of thing."
"It was just snow," said Annagramma. "Hey, did any of you hear what happened to the new girl who started with Miss Tumult? Ran away screaming after an hour?" She smiled, not very sympathetically. "Um, was it the frog?" Petulia asked. "No, not the frog. She didn't mind the frog. It was Unlucky Charlie."
"He can be scary," Lucy agreed. And that was it, Tiffany realized, as the gossip ran on. Someone who was practically a kind of god had made billions of snowflakes that looked like her—and they hadn't noticed!…which was a good thing, obviously… Of course it was. The last thing she wanted was teasing and stupid questions, of course. Well, of course… …but…well…it would have been nice if they'd known, if they'd said "Wow," if they'd been jealous or frightened or impressed. And she couldn't tell them, or at least she couldn't tell Annagramma, who'd make a joke of it and almost but not exactly say that she was making it up. The Wintersmith had visited her and been…impressed. It was a bit sad if the only people who knew about this were Miss Treason and hundreds of Feegles, especially since—she shuddered—by Friday morning it would only be known by hundreds of little blue men. To put it another way: If she didn't tell someone else who was at least the same size as her and alive, she would burst. So she told Petulia, on the way home. They had to go the same way, and they both flew so slowly that at night it was easier to walk, since you didn't hit so many trees. Petulia was plump and reliable and already the best pig witch in the mountains, a fact that means a lot where every family owns a pig. And Miss Treason had said that soon the boys would be running after her, because a girl who knows her pigs would never want for a husband. The only problem with Petulia was that she always agreed with you and always said what she thought you wanted to hear. But Tiffany was a bit cruel and just told her all the facts. She got a few wows, which she was pleased with. After a while Petulia said: "That must have been very, um, interesting." And that was Petulia for you. "What shall I do?"
"Um…do you need to do anything?" said Petulia. "Well, sooner or later people are going to notice that all snowflakes are shaped like me!"
"Um, are you worried that they won't?" said Petulia, so innocently that Tiffany laughed. "But I've got this feeling that it's not going to stop with snowflakes! I mean, he is everything to do with wintertime!"
"And he ran away when you screamed…" said Petulia thoughtfully. "That's right."
"And then he did something sort of…silly."
"What?"
"The snowflakes," said Petulia helpfully. "Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly," said Tiffany, a bit hurt. "Not exactly silly."
"Then it's all obvious," said Petulia. "He's a boy."
"What?"
"A boy. You know what they are?" said Petulia. "Blush, grunt, mumble, wibble? They're pretty much all the same."
"But he's millions of years old and he acts like he's never seen a girl before!"
"Um, I don't know. Has he ever seen a girl before?"
"He must have! What about Summer?" said Tiffany. "She's a girl. Well, a woman. According to a book I've seen, anyway."
"I suppose all you can do is wait to see what he does next, then. Sorry. I've never had snowflakes made in my honor…. Er, we're here…." They'd reached the clearing where Miss Treason lived, and Petulia began to look a bit nervous. "Um…all these stories about her…" she said, looking at the cottage. "Are you all right there?"
"Was one of them about what she can do with her thumbnail?" asked Tiffany. "Yes!" said Petulia, shuddering. "She made that one up. Don't tell anyone, though."
"Why would anyone make up a story like that about themselves?" Tiffany hesitated. Pigs couldn't be fooled by Boffo, so Petulia hadn't run across it. And she was amazingly honest, which Tiffany was coming to learn was a bit of a drawback in a witch. It wasn't that witches were actually dishonest, but they were careful about what kind of truth they told. "I don't know," she lied. "Anyway, you have to cut through quite a lot of a person before anything falls out. And skin is quite tough. I don't think it's possible." Petulia looked alarmed. "You tried?"
"I practiced with my thumbnail on a big ham this morning, if that's what you mean," said Tiffany. You have to check things, she thought. I heard the story that Miss Treason has wolf's teeth, and people tell that to one another even though they've seen her. "Um…I'll come and help tomorrow, of course," said Petulia, nervously looking at Tiffany's hands in case there were going to be any more thumbnail experiments. "Going-away parties can be quite jolly, really. But, um, if I was you, I'd tell Mr. Wintersmith to go away. That's what I did when Davey Lummock started getting, um, too romantic. And I told him that I was, um, walking out with Makky Weaver—don't tell the others!"
"Isn't he the one who talks about pigs all the time?"
"Well, pigs are very interesting," said Petulia reproachfully. "And his father, um, has got the biggest pig- breeding farm in the mountains."
"That's something worth thinking about, definitely," said Tiffany. "Ouch."
"What happened?" said Petulia. "Oh, nothing. My hand really twinged there for a moment." Tiffany rubbed it. "Part of the healing, I suppose. See you tomorrow." Tiffany went indoors. Petulia carried on through the forest. From up near the roof came the sounds of a conversation. "Didja hear what the fat girl said?"
"Aye, but pigs are no' that interestin'."
"Oh, I dinna ken aboot that. A verra useful animal is the pig. You can eat every part o' it, ye ken, except for the squeal."
"Ach, ye're wrong there. Ye can use the squeal."
"Dinna be daft!"