Hobin shook his head. “At Siriol’s, isn’t she? We’d best keep her out of this. Mitt, what kind of fool do you think I am to get taken in by someone like Ham? And what did you think you were aiming to do?”
Mitt swallowed. “I—I came for a gun. I was going to make it like robbers broke in. Honest, Hobin, I wasn’t meaning to get you into trouble.”
“No, I mean out there on the waterfront,” said Hobin.
“Oh,” said Mitt.
“You do take me for a fool, don’t you?” said Hobin. “I can tell my gunpowder to a grain. I knew it was you taking it, but I never thought it was you who was going to use it. Who was the one that shot the Earl? Another of your precious fishermen?”
“I don’t know. Hands to the North, I suppose. Hobin,” said Mitt, “let me have a gun. Then I’ll go away and never bother you again. Please. Everything went wrong.”
“I saw it go wrong,” said Hobin. “I was right by you when you chucked your fizz-bang. And it was lucky for them, after that Navis kicked it away, that none of them caught you. Then there was nothing I could do but hope you’d have the sense not to trust those fishermen to get you away. Because you’re in really bad trouble, Mitt. And it’s not funny. Not this time.”
“I know!” said Mitt. “I know! There’ll be spies here by tomorrow asking for me.”
“Tomorrow!” said Hobin. “You must be joking! They’ll be here by sundown. I give them till then to notice it was one of my guns shot the Earl.”
“One of yours? How can you tell?” Mitt wished Hobin would come away from the back door. He felt trapped.
“It had to be one of mine to throw straight over that distance,” said Hobin. “And it fired first time. Now do you see why I keep well in with the arms inspectors? Or was that what you were counting on?”
“No, I was not,” Mitt said wretchedly. “Why do you think I set Ham on you? What did you do with Ham, anyway?”
“Nothing, only gave him the slip,” said Hobin. “Being the fool he is, he’s still walking round in the Flate looking for me. No, I didn’t see you thinking that way, but I couldn’t help being riled over Ham. I could see through Ham easier than through that window.” Hobin pointed to the grimy glass and came away from the back door at last. Mitt eyed the distance and was wondering whether to dash for it when Hobin said, “What did you aim to do when you’d pinched a gun?”
Mitt heard keys jingle. He looked round to see Hobin unlocking the rack of guns. He could hardly believe it. He knew the risk Hobin was running. “Go out on the Flate,” he said. “See here, I don’t want you in trouble. Make it look as if I stole it.”
Hobin looked at him over his shoulder, almost as if he was amused. “You keep taking me for a fool, Mitt. I’m not giving you one of these. If a man can make one gun, he can make two, can’t he?” The whole rack of guns swung out from the wall. Hobin took two loose bricks out of the wall where it had been and reached into the space they left. While he was fumbling inside it, he said, “I wish you’d tell me what made you start on this freedom fighting nonsense, Mitt. Was it your father, or what?”
“I suppose it was,” Mitt admitted. It seemed like confessing to one spot when you had measles, but it was the best he could do. Like an admission of failure, he laid the crowbar gently down.
“I thought that was it.” Hobin wriggled the bricks back into place and swung the rack back to its usual position. He turned round carefully, carrying a strange, fat little gun. “And I hoped you’d grow up, Mitt,” he said. “You’ve got your own life to live.” Gently he spun the strange fat barrel of the gun round. Mitt had never seen a gun like it before. “Have you ever thought,” Hobin asked, “what kind of man leaves you and Milda on your own like that?”
This was such an untoward question that Mitt was quite unable to answer it. “What kind of gun is that?” he said.
“The one I had in my pocket while you were planting your banger,” said Hobin. “In case of trouble. I kept it loaded for you. But I can only let you have the six shots in it, so go easy on them. I can’t cheat the inspectors much more than you can.”
“Six shots?” said Mitt. “How do you do for priming?”
“You don’t. Ever thought what I did with those percussion caps I set you making?” Hobin said. “They’re in here, see, on the end of the cartridges, and the hammer fires them off. There’s a barrel for each shot. You spin the next one up after you’ve fired. It doesn’t throw far, or I wouldn’t let you have it. This is to get you out of trouble, not get you in it, see. If it wasn’t for Milda and the girls, I’d have kept you with me and sworn myself blue in the face you were with me all along, like I used to for Canden. But there’s them to consider, too. There you are.”
He put the gun in Mitt’s hands. Like all Hobin’s guns, it was beautifully balanced. Mitt hardly felt the weight of the chubby six-holed barrel at all. “What did you make this for?”
“Experiment,” said Hobin. “And because one of these days there’s going to be a real uprising here in the South. The earls can’t hold people down forever. So I’ve made ready. I hoped you’d be patient and be ready, too. But there. You’ll find your pea jacket on the stairs, and my belt to carry the gun in.”
Mitt went to the stair door. There, sure enough, were his old pea jacket and the belt. “You—you had this all ready,” he said awkwardly.
“What did you expect?” said Hobin. “Sometimes I think I’d make a better freedom fighter than any of you. I put a bit of thought into it. And I’ll give you some advice, too. Don’t go out in the Flate.”
Mitt stopped in the middle of fastening Hobin’s belt round himself. “Eh?”
“Eh?” said Hobin. “You’re all the same. Do what the other man did. You’ve got a brain, Mitt. Use it. They’ll expect you out in the Flate. You’ll be caught by tomorrow lunchtime if you go that way. What you want to do is go up along the coast and see if you can’t get a boat at Hoe or Little Flate. Or it’s worth looking at the West Pool.”
“Over those mucky dikes?” said Mitt.
“That won’t kill you, and it’s nearest. But I don’t know what guard they set over their boats there. See how you go. And if you get anywhere in Canderack or Waywold where there’s a gunsmith, go to him and tell him I sent you. They’ll all know me. Come on,” said Hobin. “I’ll give you a lift up over the wall.”
Mitt pushed the gun into the belt and put on his jacket. “But what are you going to tell them when they come—these spies?”