“Oh,” said Mitt. This was too bad! It was not enough to decide to come back as a friend. It seemed to mean he was expected to act as a friend, and to Navis, of all people, here and now. Ynen, Mitt did not mind. But he did not want to see Al again either. He shot a surly look at the bows of Wind’s Road, where Old Ammet still lay, stiff and blond and bristly. It was all his fault.
But while he was looking, Mitt suddenly remembered, for no reason he clearly knew, the time when he had first seen Old Ammet in his other, better shape, standing by the bowsprit as Wind’s Road hung on the slope of that monster wave, trying to turn over and drown them all. For a moment he felt like Wind’s Road himself. But at that point he had already saved Ynen’s life by grabbing his ankle just in time. Mitt sighed. It seemed as if it was his way to make friends without knowing he had—just as he had with Siriol, or Hobin, for that matter. Perhaps even Hildy and Navis were friends, too, deep down where it did not show.
“We better make haste to Yeddersay then,” he said.
Riss looked dubiously up at the sail. He meant they were doing as much as the wind would let them.
“I’ll see to it,” said Mitt. He clambered sideways along to Old Ammet and gently, politely, touched the image on its shoulder. “Could you give us just a bit more wind, please?”
Hildy glowered after him. The pure annoyance on Mitt’s face when he first realized what his decision meant made her feel anything but trustful of him. She saw the water ahead ruffle and darken. Wind’s Road creaked. The sails tightened, and she heeled over with a much brisker rippling round her b
ows.
“Never fear,” Riss said, thinking Hildy was staring at Mitt because she was afraid of him. “He has been on Holy Island.”
“I wish he’d stayed there,” Hildy muttered.
Wind’s Road threaded among the Islands quickly now, accompanied by her own ruffle of wind. The sun was just touching the rim of the sea when she rounded Yeddersay, and there was Chindersay, and the piping came from Hollisay, loud and joyful behind them. And there, sure enough, was the Wheatsheaf, towering against the crimson sky, hardly moving at all, with her sails drooping and swinging about. They could have heard Bence bellowing easily on Hollisay.
“What are we going to do?” Hildy asked.
Mitt was not at all sure. “There are four things I can do, I suppose,” he said. Then he had a bad moment, thinking he had forgotten those names. But, when he examined the inside of his head, they were there all right, safely stuck.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing, I’ll bet!” Hildy said scornfully. Wind’s Road glided nearer the Wheatsheaf, and she saw that there happened to be two ropes dangling over her side, just where they would be within easy reach. Somebody trusted Mitt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been having a horrible time, you see.”
“You’re not the only one!” said Mitt, looking up at those ropes dangling over the steep side. Al was up there. Mitt was afraid the sight of him was going to drive those four strange names clean out of his head. It seemed to him that it would be as well to take precautions. As Riss was bringing Wind’s Road up alongside the Wheatsheaf, Mitt hurriedly leaned right over the side and came up again with his hand dripping wet. “See here,” he said to Hildy, “if I get in a fix, or you do, and if I don’t seem to know what to say, shout this out.” And he scrawled with his wet finger on the cabin roof, big crooked letters: YNYNEN.
Hildy looked at them. “But that’s—”
“Don’t say it!” Mitt said furiously. “Just keep it in your head, will you!”
Hildy saw that if she did not trust Mitt in this, she would have lied to Libby Beer, after all. “All right. I’ll remember.”
“Thanks,” said Mitt, and he swept his wet hand over the name, as Wind’s Road gently scraped against the side of the Wheatsheaf. The ropes hung head-high. Hildy and Mitt each seized one. There was no need to climb. The ropes went up with them, hauled by a dozen men above.
“What’s going on there?” bawled Bence.
One of the ship’s boats went down past Hildy as she went up. Another splashed into the water beyond Mitt, as he reached the rail. As they both set their feet on the decking, helped by any number of smiling island sailors, a third boat was going down. Mitt saw Bence stare, and then make for the ladder down to the deck where he and Hildy were.
“This is your way,” Bence’s steward said politely. Mitt and Hildy trotted beside him past masts and coils of rope, and past scores of sailors all busy getting down to the lowered boats, and arrived at the stateroom door just before Bence reached the bottom of his ladder. The steward opened the door for them, and they went in. Bence suddenly saw what his crew were doing and ran about shouting to them, instead.
Inside the stateroom the lamplight was not yet as bright as the sky. No one quite saw who they were until they were fully inside. Then Ynen was unable to stop himself calling out, “Mitt! Hildy, he’s not dead!” Al jumped to his feet. Lithar recognized them both and said amiably, “I wondered where you two had got to.”
“Bence!” bellowed Al.
“Mitt, I owe you an apology,” Navis said.
Mitt nodded at him as cordially as he could. He hoped that by keeping a friendly expression on his face, he might make himself like Navis. But the one Mitt was watching was Al. Hobin’s gun was in Al’s hand, and Mitt kept one eye on it, with a name waiting on his tongue.
“Bence!” yelled Al.
Bence arrived in the doorway, angry and sweating. “The flaming crew have got the boats out now!” he said. “They’re all rowing away.”
“Bence,” said Al, “how did they get here? Him particularly.”
“I don’t know!” Bence said, blustering a little. “They were on that boat again—Wind’s Road.”
“Then you can go by this road,” said Al. He brought Hobin’s gun up, over his forearm, and fired at Mitt.