Drowned Ammet (19 page)

It was not surprising that they felt much the same about Mitt. They stared at Mitt's young-old face and his lank, dull-colored hair. They saw his bony hand was gripping a gun that looked like a collector's piece, that his pea jacket was ragged, and that green mud was peeling from his long, skinny legs. They knew he must be riffraff from the waterfront. They suspected he was a thief, too. They thought he was disgusting.

“Well, we know what the soldiers were after. And where all the mud came from,” said Hildy.

“Are you badly hurt?” Ynen asked her. He felt very helpless. He dared not let go of the tiller to help Hildy, nor did he dare turn straight round and head back to Holand, much as he wanted to, for fear this disgusting stowaway loosed off with his gun again.

“No. I'm all right,” said Hildy, and struggled to her feet. “He missed me, of course.”

“I was not aiming to hit you,” Mitt said with great scorn. “You ran into me like a whole herd of cows. You want to look out. This is a hasty kind of gun.”

“I like that!” said Hildy.

“If it's that hasty, why don't you put it away?” Ynen suggested.

Mitt ignored him. He looked up at the sail and the streaming flag at the masthead. It was a fair wind for the North, all right. The land was low blue hummocks to his right. It took Mitt only one glance to spot Hoe Point nearly a mile astern. The hump Ynen had taken for Hoe Point was Canderack Head. Mitt was impressed. It was still an hour off sundown, too. He could not help grinning.

“Well, well,” he said. “A good fast boat you got here. All set for the North, aren't we?”

Ynen's face went rather whiter as he grasped what the stowaway might be planning. “We're not going to take you North,” he said. “If that's what's in your mind.”

“Not got much choice, have you?” said Mitt. He pretended to rub the gun on his sleeve. He did not really rub it, because he was very much afraid it would go off again. “I've got this gun, haven't I?”

“You can shoot me if you want,” said Ynen. “But I'm not taking you North.” He wondered if it would hurt very much and thought that it probably would. He could only hope he would die quickly.

“Ynen, don't be an idiot!” said Hildy.

“He thinks I wouldn't dare,” said Mitt. “Well, I would. Because I happen to be a desperate man.” That sounded good. And it had the advantage of being true. Mitt began to enjoy himself. “If you won't take me North,” he said, “I wouldn't kill you. I'd just put a bullet in your leg. Maybe both legs.” He was pleased to see Hildy glaring at him. “Then in her,” he said. “And then it would be rather a pleasure to knock this boat about a bit—scrape off the pretty paint, carve silly pictures in the decking, and so on.”

As Mitt had hoped it would, this threat truly upset Ynen. “You dare touch my boat, you guttersnipe!”

“He doesn't know any better,” said Hildy.

“I thought that would worry you,” Mitt said in high glee. “All you've got to do to stop me is carry on as you are. Just keep sailing North.”

Ynen and Hildy exchanged a miserable look. They seemed to have gone from perfect happiness to a nightmare in a matter of seconds. Hildy wondered what had possessed her to lead Ynen into this. She had known there were revolutionaries at large. They should have stayed in the Palace. Ynen was thinking mostly of that current and how he could persuade the boy that
Wind's Road
simply could not take him all the way North.

“Look here,” Ynen said, trying to sound fair and reasonable. “We can't go North. We have to be back in Holand tonight or people will worry. What do you say to our landing you somewhere on the way back? How about—” Ynen looked over at the land and could not help feeling extremely uneasy about the shape of it. “Hoe Point?” he said doubtfully.

Mitt gave what he hoped was an evil laugh. “Go on! You couldn't get back to Holand tonight even if you went this second! You're in a nice fast northerly current, and in this wind you'll be lucky if you make it back by morning. Hoe Point is where that current starts, and that's Hoe Point back there, you flaming amateur! Look at your chart if you don't believe me.” He saw he had demoralized them. Ynen's face was warm pink, and he was staring at Hildy as if the end of the world had come. Mitt was so pleased that he added, “I was sailing out of Holand before you were born.” That was a mistake. Hildy gave him a jeering look. Mitt scowled at her. “Just sail North and don't give me any trouble,” he said. “And you won't have any trouble from me. I can't say fairer than that, can I?”

Hildy sighed to cover up her thoughts. Unpleasant as this boy was, he did bluster rather. To judge by Ynen's face, he was right about the current, but that did not mean he had thought of everything. “I suppose we'd better humor him, Ynen,” she said. She stared hard at Ynen, slowly shutting her eyes and opening them, to show him that the boy would have to sleep sometime.

Mitt knew that, too. Even a sweet boat like
Wind's Road
would take three or four days to reach North Dalemark waters. No one could stay awake that long. Mitt was tired to death already. He felt his only course was to keep these children thoroughly intimidated by being as rough and dangerous and brutal as he could. He seemed to have made a fairly good start. So, while Ynen was nodding gravely at Hildy to show her he understood, Mitt roared out, “Right, then. Now that's settled, go and get out your eatables. I'm starving. Hurry up!”

Hildy gave him a poisonous look. But it was fully suppertime, and she was hungry herself. She got up and dragged one of the sacks of pies out of the locker. Ynen took a careful breath, hoping it was not his last, and said, “I'd rather you didn't speak to my sister like that.”

“What's she done to deserve any better?” Mitt said nastily. “You watch it.” He was annoyed to see the two of them exchanging a look which was anything but intimidated. “Come on. What's in that sack?”

He was relieved to see it was pies. He had been wondering how he could eat and still keep hold of Hobin's gun. He was afraid that if he let go of it for a moment, he would find himself being pushed overboard. But he could eat a pie with one hand.

The pies were scarcely as tempting as they had been. Gravy had run and juice had leaked, and then mingled and soaked back into other pastry. But Mitt was not in a state to care. He had not properly eaten anything since breakfast. He intended to go on with the intimidation by eating with great gobbling noises and huge slurpings, but as soon as he had a pie in his hand, he forgot everything but how hungry he was. He only thought of eating. He was hardly able to attend to the splendid, unusual tastes, he was so frantic for food. He ate five steak pies, a pheasant patty, six oyster puffs, a chicken flan, four cheesecakes, and nine fruit tarts. He thought, as he drew at last to a gentle halt, that his gluttony had served to intimidate the children almost as well as making noises. They were staring, looking thoroughly chastened. Mitt managed, with no effort at all, to produce a monstrous belch, to make sure they knew exactly how rough and foul he was.

In fact, Ynen and Hildy were simply awed. They had not known it was possible to be so hungry.

That explains those thin legs, Hildy thought, looking at them. The sun was melting down into the sea, in a buttery haze. By its strong yellow light, Hildy saw that most of the mud had flaked off the boy's legs, showing him to be wearing odd old-fashioned breeches, with one leg red and the other yellow. The sight gave Hildy such a jolt that she burst out, “I know who you are! You threw that bomb Father kicked away!”

12

Mitt looked from Hildy to Ynen. He saw the likeness now. His huge meal had left him slow and almost unbearably sleepy. His first thought was that it was funny. Hadd ruined him. Navis spoiled all his plans. And now these were Navis's children who were willy-nilly rescuing him. He chuckled. “Now that's what I call justice,” he said. “Navis is your pa then?”

Hildy stuck her chin up and did her best to overawe Mitt. “Yes,” she said haughtily. “And I'll have you know that I am betrothed to Lithar, Lord of the Holy Islands.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ynen said uncomfortably. “You sound just like the cousins.”

Hildy had been imitating her cousin Irana boasting of her betrothal. She was annoyed with Ynen for noticing. She turned her back on him and looked hopefully at Mitt, hoping she had upset him by it at least.

Mitt laughed. “Betrothed!” People got betrothed at Lydda's age, when they were eighteen and grown-up. Hildy was only a little girl in pigtails. “Bit young for that, aren't you?” Then the implications struck him. He was quite as alarmed as Hildy could have hoped, but he kept on laughing. He dared not let them see he was upset. This girl was important, all right. He remembered Milda telling him about Lithar. That made certain that ships would pursue them from Holand, and more ships would be out to meet them from the Holy Islands. Mitt knew he was going to have to make them take this boat right out into the ocean. It was going to take days, and even then he might be caught. Just to think of it made him feel tired. “Well, it's your business,” he said. “Doesn't worry me.” He stood up. “I'm off for a visit to that silly bucket in the cupboard. The one with roses on. No tricks while I'm gone now.”

Ynen's face was pink in the yellow light. “They aren't roses. They're poppies,” he said.

“Roses,” said Mitt. “And with a golden rim, too. Amazing the way your kind has to have things pretty!” He went into the cabin.

Ynen shouted after him, “Your kind built this boat!” Then, as soon as Mitt was at the end of the cabin, he whispered to Hildy, “What are we going to
do
?”

Now that Mitt had laughed at Hildy for being betrothed, she was determined to get the better of him. “I've got an idea,” she whispered, “to make him go to sleep.”

“Then we'll turn round,” Ynen agreed. “What idea?”

“What are you whispering about?” Mitt yelled.

They dared not whisper anymore. Ynen looked at the long splintered groove in
Wind's Road
's planking and shivered. It was getting hard to see now. The sun had swum down below the horizon, leaving a yellow sky spread with straight black clouds. The sea was a melting, lighter yellow, as if the light had soaked into it. Hildy's face was dark. “We're saying we ought to have a light at the masthead,” he called. “It's the law.”

“Haven't you noticed?” Mitt bawled. “I got nothing to do with the law.”