The noise had already taken Agatha's attention away from the instructions, but it certainly didn't ready her for when Scarecrow called her a witch- she hadn't been called that before personally, Uncle Barry had always kept them away from the more superstitious villages and now she knew why, but she'd heard the stories about what could happen to someone who was just a little bit too strange in the wrong place. That word was charged with threat, and her hand clenched reflexively, hard enough that her fingers tore a hole in the paper.

Of course, in the very next moment a touch of reality reasserted itself. Scarecrow looked like he'd far prefer flight to fighting, and he certainly couldn't set fire to her here and now or anything. And even a moment's thought about where he could possibly have got that impression about her was telling, too- the second floor?

Agatha moaned unhappily, and clapped her hands to her face. She didn't remember seeing this guy specifically, but there had been a couple of figures she'd been too busy with other fights to pay attention to, hadn't there? And who knew if someone might have seen her foil and decided to try another way... "This is about last night, isn't it?"