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fingers worked like a loom.
    “Funny it should be a children’s toy now,” she said. “Aha…” She stared into the complex web she had created.
    “Can you see anything?” said Tiffany.
    “If I may be allowed to concentrate, child? Thank you….”
    Out in the road the sleeping dog woke, yawned, and pulled itself to its feet. It ambled over to the bench the two of them were sitting on, gave Tiffany a reproachful look, and then curled up by her feet. It smelled of old damp carpets.
    “There’s… something …” said Miss Tick very quietly.
    Panic gripped Tiffany.
    Sunlight reflected off the white dust of the road and the stone wall opposite. Bees hummed between the little yellow flowers that grew on top of the wall. By Tiffany’s feet the spaniel snorted and farted occasionally.
    But it was all wrong . She could feel the pressure bearing down on her, pushing at her, pushing at the landscape, squeezing it under the bright light of day. Miss Tick and her cradle of threads were motionless beside her, frozen in the moment of bright horror.
    Only the threads moved, by themselves. The egg danced, the glass glinted, the beads slid and jumped from string to string—
    The egg burst.
    The coach rolled in.
    It arrived dragging the world behind it, in a cloud of dust and noise and hooves. It blotted out the sun. Doors opened. Harnesses jingled. Horses steamed. The spaniel sat up and wagged its tail hopefully.
    The pressure went—no, it fled .
    Beside Tiffany, Miss Tick pulled out a handkerchief and started to wipe egg off her dress. The rest of the shamble had disappeared into a pocket with remarkable speed.
    She smiled at Tiffany but kept the smile as she spoke, making herself look slightly mad.
    “Don’t get up, don’t do anything, just be as quiet as a little mouse,” she said. Tiffany felt in no state to do anything but sit still; she felt like you feel when you wake up after a nightmare.
    The richer passengers got out of the coach, and the poorer ones climbed down from the roof. Grumbling and stamping their feet, trailing road dust behind them, they disappeared.
    “Now,” said Miss Tick, when the inn door had swung shut, “we’re…we’re going to go for a, a stroll. See that little woods up there? That’s where we’re heading. And when Mr. Crabber, the carter, sees your father tomorrow, he’ll say he—he dropped you off here just before the coach arrived and—and, and everyone will be happy and no one will have lied. That’s important.”
    “Miss Tick?” said Tiffany, picking up the suitcase.
    “Yes?”
    “What happened just now?”
    “I don’t know,” said the witch. “Do you feel all right?”
    “Er…yes. You’ve got some yolk on your hat.” And you’re very nervous, Tiffany thought. Thatwas the most worrying part. “I’m sorry about your dress,” she added.
    “It’s seen a lot worse,” said Miss Tick. “Let’s go.”
    “Miss Tick?” said Tiffany again as they trudged away.
    “Er, yes?”
    “You are very nervous,” said Tiffany. “If you told me why, that means there’s two of us, which is only half the nervousness each.”
    Miss Tick sighed. “It was probably nothing,” she said.
    “Miss Tick, the egg exploded!”
    “Yes. Um. A shamble, you see, can be used as a simple magic detector and amplifier. It’s actually very crude, but it’s always useful to make one in times of distress and confusion. I think I…probably didn’t make it right. And sometimes you do get big discharges of random magic.”
    “You made it because you were worried,” said Tiffany.
    “Worried? Certainly not. I am never worried!” snapped Miss Tick. “However, since you raise the subject, I was concerned. Something was making me uneasy. Something close, I think. It was probably nothing. In fact, I feel a lot better now we’re leaving.”
    But you don’t look it, Tiffany thought. And Iwas wrong. Two people means twice as much nervousness each.
    But she was sure there was nothing magical