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said Tiffany. “He said any witches found in the country wouldbe tied up and thrown in the pond. Er, you could be in danger,” she added, uncertainly.
    “I can untie knots with my teeth and I have a Gold Swimming Certificate from the Quirm College for Young Ladies,” said Miss Tick. “All that practice at jumping into the swimming pool with my clothes on was time well spent.” She leaned forward.
    “Let me guess what happened to Mrs. Snapperly,” she said. “She lived from the summer until the snow, right? She stole food from barns, and probably women gave her food at the back door if the men weren’t around? I expect the bigger boys threw things at her if they saw her.”
    “How do you know all this?” said Tiffany.
    “It doesn’t take a huge leap of imagination, believe me,” said Miss Tick. “And she wasn’t a witch, was she?”
    “I think she was just a sick old lady who was no use to anyone and smelled a bit and looked odd because she had no teeth,” said Tiffany. “She just looked like a witch in a story. Anyone with half a mind could see that.”
    Miss Tick sighed. “Yes. But sometimes it’s so hard to find half a mind when you need one.”
    “Can’t you teach me what I need to know to be a witch?” said Tiffany.
    “Tell me why you still want to be a witch, bearing in mind what happened to Mrs. Snapperly.”
    “So that sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” said Tiffany.
    She even buried the old witch’s cat, thought Miss Tick. What kind of child is this?
    “Good answer. You might make a decent witch one day,” she said. “But I don’t teach people to be witches. I teach people abou t witches. Witches learn in a special school. I just show them theway, if they’re any good. All witches have special interests, and I like children.”
    “Why?”
    “Because they’re much easier to fit in the oven,” said Miss Tick.
    But Tiffany wasn’t frightened, just annoyed.
    “That was a nasty thing to say,” she said.
    “Well, witches don’t have to be nice ,” said Miss Tick, pulling a large black bag from under the table. “I’m glad to see you pay attention.”
    “There really is a school for witches?” said Tiffany.
    “In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Miss Tick.
    “Where?”
    “Very close.”
    “It is magical?”
    “Very magical.”
    “A wonderful place?”
    “There’s nowhere quite like it.”
    “Can I go there by magic? Does, like, a unicorn turn up to carry me there or something?”
    “Why should it? A unicorn is nothing more than a big horse that comes to a point, anyway. Nothing to get so excited about,” said Miss Tick. “And that will be one egg, please.”
    “Exactly where can I find the school?” said Tiffany, handing over the egg.
    “Aha. A root vegetable question, I think,” said Miss Tick. “Two carrots, please.”
    Tiffany handed them over.
    “Thank you. Ready? To find the school for witches, go to a high place near here, climb to the top, open your eyes…” Miss Tick hesitated.
    “Yes?”
    “…and then open your eyes again.”
    “But—” Tiffany began.
    “Got any more eggs?”
    “No, but—”
    “No more education, then. But I have a question to ask you.”
    “Got any eggs?” said Tiffany, instantly.
    “Hah! Did you see anything else by the river, Tiffany?”
    Silence suddenly filled the tent. The sound of bad spelling and erratic geography filtered through from outside as Tiffany and Miss Tick stared into each other’s eyes.
    “No,” lied Tiffany.
    “Are you sure?” said Miss Tick.
    “Yes.”
    They continued the staring match. But Tiffany could outstare a cat.
    “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