a judgment, with a room full of horrified people.
There was no rain yet, but when they set out the air was full of twigs and flying leaves. Miss Treason sat sidesaddle on the broom, hanging on for dear life, while Tiffany walked along towing it by means of a piece of clothesline.
The sunset sky was still red, and a gibbous moon was high, but the clouds were being whipped across it, filling the woods with moving shadows. Branches knocked together, and Tiffany heard the creak and crash as, somewhere in the dark, one fell to the ground.
“Are we going to the villages?” Tiffany yelled above the din.
“No! Take the path through the forest!” shouted Miss Treason.
Ah, thought Tiffany, is this the famous “dancing around without your drawers on” that I’ve heard so much about? Actually, not very much about, because as soon as anyone mentions it, someone else tells them to shut up, so I really haven’t heard much about it at all, but haven’t heard in a very meaningful way.
It was something people thought witches did, but witches didn’t think they did it. Tiffany had to admit she could see why. Even hot summer nights weren’t all that warm, and there were always hedgehogs and thistles to worry about. Besides, you just couldn’t imagine someone like Granny Weatherwax dancing around without—Well, you just couldn’t imagine it, because if you did, it would make your head explode.
The wind died down as she took the forest track, still towing the floating Miss Treason. But the wind had brought cold air with it and then left it behind. Tiffany was glad of the cloak, even if it was black.
She trudged on, taking different tracks when Miss Treason told her to, until she saw firelight through the trees, in a little dip in the land.
“Stop here and help me down, girl,” said the old witch. “And listen carefully. There are rules. One, you will not talk; two, you will look only at the dancers; three, you will not move until the dance is finished. I will not tell you twice!”
“Yes, Miss Treason. It’s very cold up here.”
“And will get colder.”
They headed for the distant light. What good is a dance you can only watch? Tiffany wondered. It didn’t sound like much fun.
“It isn’t meant to be fun,” said Miss Treason.
Shadows moved across the firelight, and Tiffany heard the sound of men’s voices. Then, as they reached the edge of the sunken ground, someone threw water over the fire.
There was a hiss, and a cloud of smoke and steam rose among the trees. It happened in a moment and left a shock behind. The only thing that had seemed alive here had died.
Dry fallen leaves crunched under her feet. The moon, in a sky swept clean now of clouds, made little silver shapes on the forest floor.
It was some time before Tiffany realized that there were six men standing in the middle of the clearing. They must have been wearing black; against the moonlight they looked like man-shaped holes into nothing. They were in two lines of three, facing each other, but were so still that after a while Tiffany wondered if she was imagining them.
There was the thud of a drumbeat: bom…bom…bom.
It went on for half a minute or so, and then stopped. But in the silence of the cold woods the beat went on inside Tiffany’s head, and perhaps that wasn’t the only head it thundered in, because the men were gently nodding their heads, to keep the beat.
They began to dance.
The only noise was of their boots hitting the ground as the shadow men wove in and out. But then Tiffany, her head full of the silent drum, heard another sound. Her foot was tapping, all by itself.
She’d heard this beat before; she’d seen men dancing like this. But it had been on warm days in bright sunshine. They’d worn little bells on their clothes.
“This is a Morris dance!” she said, not quite under her breath.
“Shush!” hissed Miss Treason.
“But this isn’t the right—”
“Be silent!”
Blushing and angry in the dark, Tiffany took her eyes off the dancers and defiantly looked around the clearing. There were other shadows crowding in, human or at least human shaped, but she couldn’t see them clearly and maybe that was just as well.
It was getting colder, she was sure. White frost was crackling across the leaves.
The beat went on. But it seemed to Tiffany that it wasn’t alone now, but had picked up other beats, and echoes