“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 realised 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 bows.
“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: YNYHEN
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 recognised 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.
Mitt shouted out Libby Beer’s lesser name as he saw Al’s finger move.
With unbelievable speed, an apple from the table was in the air between Mitt and the gun. The bullet hit it. The apple burst all over the room, showering everyone with pulp, pips, and skin. The deflected bullet clanged into one of the lamps and broke its glass cover. Navis and his two guards put their arms up against a cascade of broken glass. After a stunned moment, everyone shook themselves and dusted off apple and glass.
Al looked from the gun to the broken lamp. “What did that?”
“I did,” said Mitt. “And I can do it as often as you’ve got bullets. We came here to fetch Ynen and his father away North, and you might as well let them come. You ready?” he said to Ynen and Navis.
Ynen and Navis were already standing up. They might have left then, in that shaken moment, had not Lithar cried out. “Oh lovely! How pretty! You do do tricks then! Look at this, Al. Isn’t it pretty?”
Everybody looked. It was irresistible. Lithar had a little apple tree growing on his knee. Its roots spread visibly over Lithar’s trouser leg, sucking up the moisture from the apple pulp on it. Its leaves turned from spring green to summer dark as they looked. There was another growing on the table, and several more coming up on the floor. Lithar was delighted.
“Do another trick,” he said. “These are beautiful.”
Mitt almost agreed with him. Hildy agreed entirely. She leaned over the tree on the table and watched it grow in astonishment.
“Very pretty,” said Al, giving Lithar’s knee a cursory look as he passed. He took Hildy by her arm so suddenly and hard that she yelled. “Now get out,” he said to Mitt. “You and your tricks. I give you a count of five before I break her arm, and a count of ten before I strangle her. One—two—”
Mitt could see Al meant it. He could see Hildy was too frightened to say the name he had told her. He could see Bence standing aside from the door to let him go. He could see Ynen staring at him helplessly.
“Four,” said Al.
“A larger apple tree?” Navis suggested. “Heavy apples?” Mitt looked at him and saw that he was as tense and helpless as Ynen.
If he’s that fond of Hildy, why does he try to hide it? Mitt thought irritably. He said Libby Beer’s great name, before Al could come to five. It was a name that rang and reverberated, and became more awesome after it was said. It swelled inside the stateroom.
The result was nothing like Mitt expected. The Wheatsheaf shook from stem to stern as if she had hit a rock. They all staggered. There was a creaking and a hard rending. Bence, as soon as he heard it, turned and dived out of the door. The two guards hastily followed him, dragging Ynen and Navis with them. Lithar said, “What’s happening?” and ambled out past Mitt with his tree flapping on his leg. But Mitt had to stay where he was because Al, though he was hanging on to the table with one hand, still had hold of Hildy’s arm.