The last reef he saw clearly for himself. It was a welling and a milling of yellow water. It was nearly light. Then it was full day. The sun was up, making the sea look as if it was scattered with broken glass. The mainsail was cloth of gold; the island ahead was half golden, and the birds circling it were stabs of dazzling white; and the mist over to the right was a molten bank. The only sign of Old Ammet was a tuft of sunlit straw beyond the mast. Libby Beer was back to a colored knobby thing, tied with string. And Mitt was so disappointed that he could think of nothing else.
Then he came to his senses. He bent down and whispered into the cabin, “Island ahead! Come and look!”
PART FOUR
The Holy Islands
17
There were sounds of heaving and stumbling inside. To Mitt’s disgust, it was Al who appeared, blinking and rubbing his bristly chin. Al glanced at the island. Then he calmly opened the locker and helped himself to the last hunk of cheesecake. Munching it, he surveyed the island again. Ynen and Hildy came out into the well. They looked first at the vanishing cheesecake, then at the island.
“That’s Tulfa Island,” Al said, with his mouth full.
“Are you sure?” asked Ynen. “I thought it was bigger than this.” The island was no more than a great rock, surrounded by drifting seabirds that kept up a long, melancholy crying.
“Positive,” said Al. “You want to turn into that mist there.”
“I’ll try,” Mitt said doubtfully. There was little wind now, and that fitful. He put the tiller over and hauled in the mainsail. Wind’s Road went dipping and swinging gently toward the mist that hid the land.
“Watch out!” said Ynen. “The land’s awfully close!” It was, too, Mitt realised. It was a low green hump in the mist, only about a hundred yards off. He put the tiller hard over again. Wind’s Road turned elegantly and leaned along outside the mist.”This must be wrong!“ Mitt said angrily to Al.”There’s no land this close to Tulfa. Do you know where we are or not?”
“I’ve a fair idea,” said Al. “Turn round again.” To do that would mean tacking. Besides, Mitt did not trust Al in the least. He hesitated, and looked over his shoulder, beyond Libby Beer. And he saw a tall ship gliding out of the mist. The sun was just catching her topsails and the gold on her many pennants. Mitt turned back again. “What the—?”
The silence of Ynen and Hildy almost warned him. Al had Hobin’s gun in his hand again. Mitt found himself looking into its six deadly black little muzzles. “You do what I say,” said Al. He came a step closer. Mitt resigned himself to being shot. He felt, very fiercely, that it was a pity. He would never be able to sort himself out now. On the other hand, he supposed he deserved it. He was afraid it would hurt.
Then, most unexpectedly, Al hit him instead. A great blow caught Mitt hard in the stomach, and he sat down, hawking and gasping, hard on the lockers, feeling very angry, rather foolish, and quite helpless. Wind’s Road yawed about in the douce breeze. Ynen put his hand out for the tiller and took it back again when the fat little gun pointed his way. There was no danger. Wind’s Road simply swung and creaked and drooped, rather as Mitt was doing.
The tall ship came gliding closer. They could hear the ropes of her many sails creaking, see the dew from the mist shining in drops on her canvas, and pick out every grain in the wheatsheaf carved on her prow. She stood over Wind’s Road like a house and took the last of the wind from her sails. Al grinned up at her tall side, highly pleased with himself.
“This has worked out wonderful,” he said. He jumped up on the cabin and ran along, shouting, “Hey, Wheatsheaf! Hey, there! Bence! Is Bence aboard that thing?”
The tall ship turned. Her creaking sails flapped gently against the wind, until she and Wind’s Road floated a yard or so apart. Mitt, holding his aching stomach, looked up to see a row of heads watching them, and a man on the highest part leaning over the rail to shout to Al.
“Al! Where did you take off to? There’s been no end of askings and botherings and wanting to know where you were. Want to come aboard?”
Al laughed heartily. “What do you think, Bence? I’m sick of this tub. See it gets stowed in harbor, will you, and throw us a rope.”
“What about them?” Bence asked, moving his head toward Hildy, Ynen, and Mitt.
“They can come with their tub,” said Al.
Orders were shouted high above Wind’s Road. Two small, agile men came over the side of the tall ship and descended on ropes like two rapid white headed spiders, until they landed lightly on Wind’s Road. While she was still dipping and swinging, they handed their ropes to Al. He took hold of them and was hauled up, with a heavy scramble or so, until he reached the ship’s rail, where a mass of hands reached out to pull him aboard. The tall ship turned at the same moment. Her sails creaked and filled. The air was loud with rippling for the few seconds it took her to vanish into the mist as quickly as she had come.
Hildy, Ynen, and Mitt were left bobbing in Wind’s Road with the two small brown sailors. But they seemed to be rid of Al. They gave long breaths of relief about that, even while they were looking dubiously at the sailors. Ynen hurriedly took hold of the tiller. Wind’s Road was his.
The sailors seemed in no hurry. They stood together by the mast, looking over Wind’s Road, down at Old Ammet, up at the poor tattered pennant, over beyond Ynen to Libby Beer, and exchanging small singing murmurs. Quite suddenly, they came briskly to the well and swung themselves down into it.
“Will you move out and give us some room, little ones?” one of them asked cheerfully. He had a soft singsong accent, the like of which none of them had heard before.
Ynen clenched his fingers round the tiller. “This is my boat.”
“Then you must continue to steer her,” said the sailor.
“But you must be guided by us. The road has hazards,” said the second sailor. “And will the other little ones go up before the mast to give us room?”
Mitt was so fascinated by the singing talk that he did not gather straightaway that the men were asking him to move. He got up, holding his stomach, and saw that Hildy still had not understood. Mitt nudged her, and she jumped, feeling as if she had been dreaming. They scrambled stiffly onto the roof of the cabin. The sailors settled on either side of Ynen as naturally as if they sailed Wind’s Road every day, and gave him gentle instructions what to do. Mitt and Hildy knelt on the cabin roof and stared, while Wind’s Road turned and heeled softly into the now-thinning mist.
They were little brown men with dark eyes and oddly light hair, as fair as light new rope. They felt safe, somehow. They were as warm and brown as the earth itself. Even Ynen felt lulled and peaceful with them. Mitt and Hildy could not shake off a feeling that they were dreaming—a good dream that they had dreamed several times before.