I Shall Wear Midnight

Tiffany turned round and was faced with the witch of nightmares: battered hat, wart-encrusted nose, claw-like hands, blackened teeth and — Tiffany looked down — oh yes, big black boots. You did not have to be very familiar with Boffo’s catalogue to see that the speaker was wearing the full range of cosmetics in the ‘Hag in a Hurry’ range (‘Because you’re Worthless’).

‘I think we should continue this conversation in my workshop,’ said the horrible hag, disappearing into the floor. ‘Just stand on the trapdoor when it comes back up, will you? Make some coffee, Derek.’

When Tiffany arrived in the basement, the trapdoor working wonderfully smoothly, she found what you would expect in the workshop of the company that made everything needed by a witch who felt she needed some boffo in her life. Rows of rather scary hag masks were hanging on a line, benches were full of brightly coloured bottles, racks of warts had been laid out to dry, and various things that went bloop were doing so in a big cauldron by the fireplace. It was a proper cauldron too.[19]

The horrible hag was working at a bench, and there was a terrible cackle. She turned round, holding a small square wooden box with a piece of string sticking out of it. ‘First-class cackle, don’t you think? A simple thread and resin arrangement with a sounding board because, quite frankly, cackling is a bit of a pain in the neck, don’t you think? I believe I can make it work by clockwork too. Let me know when you’ve seen the joke.’

‘Who are you?’ Tiffany burst out.

The hag had put the box on her workbench. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘where are my manners?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Tiffany, who was getting a bit fed up. ‘Perhaps the clockwork has run down?’

The hag grinned a black-toothed grin. ‘Ah, sharpness. I like that in a witch, but not too much.’ She held out a claw. ‘Mrs Proust.’

The claw was less clammy than Tiffany had expected. ‘Tiffany Aching,’ she said. ‘How do you do?’ Feeling that something further was expected of her, Tiffany added, ‘I used to work with Miss Treason.’

‘Oh yes, a fine witch,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘And a good customer. Very keen on her warts and skulls, as I recall.’ She smiled. ‘And since I doubt that you want to get hagged up for a girls’ night out, I must assume you need my help? The fact that your broomstick has about half the bristles needed for aerodynamic stability confirms my initial surmise. Incidentally, have you seen the joke yet?’

What should she say? ‘I think so …’

‘Go on then.’

‘I’m not going to say until I’m sure,’ said Tiffany.

‘Very wise,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘Well, let’s get your broomstick mended, shall we? It will mean a little stroll, and if I was you I would leave your black hat behind.’

Instinctively Tiffany grabbed at the brim of her hat. ‘Why?’

Mrs Proust frowned, causing her nose to very nearly catch her chin. ‘Because you might find … No, I know what we can do.’ She rummaged on the workbench and, without asking any permission, stuck something on Tiffany’s hat, right at the back. ‘There,’ she said. ‘No one will take any notice now. Sorry, but witches are a little bit unpopular at the moment. Let’s get that stick of yours repaired as soon as possible, just in case you need to leave in a hurry.’

Tiffany pulled off her hat and looked at what Mrs Proust had stuck in the hat band. It was a brightly coloured piece of cardboard on a string and it said: Apprentice witch hat with evil glitter. Size 7. Price: AM$2.50. Boffo! A name to conjure with!!!

‘What’s all this?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve even sprinkled evil glitter on it.’

‘It’s a disguise,’ said Mrs Proust.

‘What? Do you think any self-respecting witch would walk down the street wearing a hat like this?’ said Tiffany angrily.

‘Of course not,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘The best disguise for a witch is a rather cheap witch’s outfit! Would a real witch buy clothes from a shop that also does a pretty good trade in naughty Fido jokes, indoor fireworks, laughable pantomime wigs and — our best and most profitable line — giant inflatable pink willies, suitable for hen nights? That would be unthinkable! It’s boffo, my dear, pure, unadulterated boffo! Disguise, subterfuge and misdirection are our watchwords. All watchwords. And, Amazing value for money, they’re our watchwords too. No refunds under any circumstances, they’re important watchwords. As is our policy of dealing terminally with shoplifters. Oh, and we also have a watchword about people smoking in the shop, although that’s not a very important word.’

‘What?’ said Tiffany who, out of shock, had not heard the list of watchwords because she was staring at the pink ‘balloons’ hanging from the ceiling. ‘I thought they were piglets!’

Mrs Proust patted her hand. ‘Welcome to life in the big city, my dear. Shall we go?’