Well, her story wasn't going to be the story of a little girl who got pushed around. There was no sense in that.

Except…he's not actually bad. The gods in the Mythology, they seemed to get the hang of being human—a bit too human, sometimes—but how could a snowstorm or a gale ever find out? He was dangerous and scary—but you couldn't help feeling sorry for him….

Someone hammered on Nanny Ogg's back door. It turned out to be a tall figure in black.

"Wrong house," said Tiffany. "No one here is even a bit sick."

A hand raised the black hood, and from its depths a voice hissed: "It's me, Annagramma! Is she in?"

"Mrs. Ogg's not up yet," said Tiffany.

"Good. Can I come in?"

At the kitchen table, over a cup of warming tea, Annagramma revealed all. Life in the woods was not going well.

"Two men came to see me about some stupid cow they both think they own!" she said.

"That'll be Joe Broomsocket and Shifty Adams. I left you a note about them, too," said Tiffany. "Whenever one or other of them gets drunk, they argue about that cow."

"What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Nod and smile. Wait until the cow dies, Miss Treason always said. Or one of the men," said Tiffany. "It's the only way."

"And a woman came to see me with a sick pig!"

"What did you do about it?"

"I told her I don't do pigs! But she burst into tears, so I tried Bangle's Universal Nostrum on it."

"You used that on a pig?" said Tiffany, shocked.

"Well, the pig witch uses magic, so I don't see why—" Annagramma began defensively.

"She knows what works!" said Tiffany.

"It was perfectly all right when I got it down out of the tree! She didn't have to make all that fuss! I'm sure the bristles will grow back! In time!"

"It wasn't a spotted pig, was it? And a woman with a squint?" Tiffany asked.

"Yes! I think so! Does it matter?"

"Mrs. Stumper is very attached to that pig," said Tiffany reproachfully. "She brings him up to the cottage about once a week. It's usually just an upset stomach. She feeds him too much."

"Really? Then I won't open the door to her next time," said Annagramma firmly.

"No, let her in. Really, it's all because she's lonely and wants to chat."

"Well, I should think I've got better things to do with my time than listen to an old lady who just wants to talk," said Annagramma indignantly.

Tiffany looked at her. Where did you start, apart from banging the girl's head on the table until the brain started working?

"Listen very carefully," she said. "I mean to her, not just to me. You've got no better use of your time than to listen to old ladies who want to talk. Everyone tells things to witches. So listen to everyone and don't say much and think about what they say and how they say it and watch their eyes…. It becomes like a big jigsaw puzzle, but you're the only one who can see all the pieces. You'll know what they want you to know, and what they don't want you to know, and even what they think no one knows. That's why we go around the houses. That's why you will go around the houses, until you're part of their lives."

"All this just to get some power over a crowd of farmers and peasants?"

Tiffany spun around and kicked a chair so hard that it broke a leg. Annagramma backed away quickly.

"What did you do that for?"

"You're clever—you guess!"

"Oh, I forgot…your father is a shepherd…"

"Good! You remembered!" Tiffany hesitated. Certainty was pouring into her brain, courtesy of her Third Thoughts. Suddenly she knew Annagramma.

"And your father?" she asked.

"What?" Annagramma instinctively drew herself up. "Oh, he owns several farms—"

"Liar!"

"Well, perhaps I should say he is a farmer—" the girl began, nervousness beginning to show.

"Liar!"

Annagramma backed away. "How dare you talk to me like—"

"How dare you not tell me the truth!"

In the pause that opened, Tiffany heard everything—the faint crackle of wood in the stove, the sound of mice in the cellar, her own breathing roaring like the sea in a cave….

"He works for a farmer, all right?" said Annagramma quickly, and then looked shocked at her own words. "We don't have any land, we don't even own the cottage. There's the truth, if you want it. Happy now?"

"No. But thank you," said Tiffany.

"Are you going to tell the others?"

"No. It doesn't matter. But Granny Weatherwax wants you to make a mess of all this, do you understand? She's got nothing against you…" Tiffany hesitated, then went on, "I mean, nothing more than she has against everyone. She just wants people to see that Mrs. Earwig's style of witchcraft doesn't work. This is just like her! She's not said a word against you, she's just let you have exactly what you wanted. It's like a story. Everyone knows that if you get exactly what you wish for, it all goes bad. And you wished for a cottage. And you're going to mess it up."

"I just need another day or two to get the hang—"

"Why? You're a witch with a cottage. You're supposed to be able to deal with it! Why take it on if you couldn't do it?"

You're supposed to be able to deal with it, sheep girl! Why take it on if you couldn't do it?

"So you're not going to help me?" Annagramma glared at Tiffany, and then her expression, most unusually, softened a bit and she said, "Are you all right?"

Tiffany blinked. It's horrible to have your own voice echo back at you from the other side of your mind.

"Look, I haven't got time," she said weakly. "Maybe the others can…help out?"

"I don't want them to know!" Panic cut curves on Annagramma's face.

She can do magic, Tiffany thought. She's just not good at witchcraft. She'll make a mess of it. She'll make a mess of people.

She gave in. "All right, I can probably spare some time. There's not many chores to do at Tir Nani Ogg. And I'll explain things to the others. They'll have to know. They'll probably help. You learn fast—you could pick up the basic stuff in a week or so."

Tiffany watched Annagramma's face. She was actually thinking about it! If she were drowning and you threw her a rope, she'd complain if it was the wrong color….

"Well, if they are just helping me…" Annagramma said, brightening up.

You could almost admire the girl for the way she could rearrange the real world in her head. Another story, thought Tiffany; it's all about Annagramma.

"Yes, we'll be helping you." She sighed.

"Perhaps we could even tell people that you girls are coming to me to learn things?" said Annagramma hopefully.

People said that you should always count up to ten before losing your temper. But if it was Annagramma you were dealing with, you had to know some bigger numbers, like perhaps a million.

"No," said Tiffany, "I don't think we'll do that. You are the one doing the learning."

Annagramma opened her mouth to argue, saw the look on Tiffany's face, and decided not to.

"Er, yes," she said. "Of course. Er…thank you."

That was a surprise.

"They probably will help," said Tiffany. "It won't look good if one of us fails."

To her amazement, the girl really was crying. "It's just that I didn't really think they were my friends…."

"I don't like her," said Petulia, who was knee-deep in pigs. "She calls me the pig witch."

"Well, you are a pig witch," said Tiffany, who was standing outside the pigpen. The big shed was full of pigs. The noise was nearly as bad as the smell. Fine snow, like dust, was falling outside.

"Yes, but when she says it, there's a good deal too much pig and not enough witch," said Petulia. "Every time she opens her mouth, I think I've done something wrong." She waved a hand in a pig's face and muttered a few words. The animal's eyes crossed and it opened its mouth. It got a large dose of green liquid from a bottle.