Drowned Ammet

Navis winced a little and kept his eyes studiously on his book. But like the lady-in-waiting, he assumed that Hildrida had already heard about her betrothal, and he was heartily relieved. “Then, if you’re not sorry, I suppose you’re glad,” he said. “Whoever told you has saved me a great deal of trouble. You may run away and boast now if you wish.”

Hildy was taken aback at not being scolded. But it seemed to her that her father was washing his hands of her, just as he always did, and she wanted to do battle with him instead. “I never boast,” she said. “But I could. We didn’t sink her.”

Navis was puzzled enough to take his eyes off his book and look at Hildy. “What are you talking about?”

“What did you send for me for?” Hildrida countered.

“Why, to tell you that you’ve just been betrothed to the Lord of the Holy Islands,” said her father. “What did you think it was for?”

“Betrothed?” said Hildy. “Without asking me!” It was such a bombshell that, for the moment, she clean forgot she had been sailing. “Why wasn’t I told?”

Navis found himself facing a blazing white daughter, out in the open, as it were, without a book to hide behind. “I am telling you,” he said, and hastily picked up his book again.

“When it’s too late!” Hildrida said, before he could find his place again. “When it’s done. You might have asked me if I minded, even if I’m not important. I’m a person too.”

“Most people are,” Navis said, rather desperately scanning his page. He wished he had not chosen to read the Adon. The Adon said things like “Truth is the fire that fetches thunder,” which sounded unpleasantly like a description of Hildrida. “And you are very important now,” he added. “You’re forming an alliance with Lithar for us.”

“What’s Lithar like? How old is he?” Hildrida demanded.

Navis found his place and put his finger on it. “I’ve only met him once.” It was hard to know what else to say. “He’s only a young man – twenty or so.”

“Only—!” Words nearly failed Hildy. “I’m not going to be betrothed to an old man like that! I’m too young. And I’ve never met him!”

Navis hastily got his book in front of his face again. “Time will cure both those objections.”

“No, it won’t!” stormed Hildrida. “And if you go on reading, I’ll – I’ll hit you and then tear that book up!”

Realising that strong measures were necessary, Navis laid his book down. “Now listen, Hildy. This is something that happens to all our family. Your cousin Harilla is being betrothed to the Lord of Mark, and what’s her name – Harchad’s daughter – to one of the—”

Hildy interrupted with a screech. Her father could call her Hildy all he liked – usually only Ynen did – but the thought of being lumped in with the dreadful girl cousins was too much for her. “Just you un-betroth me!” she said. “And do it at once, or you’ll be sorry!”

“You know I can’t,” said her father. “It’s your grandfather’s doing, not mine.”

“Then he’ll be sorry too!” Hildy proclaimed, and swept to the door.

Navis called after her. It was easier talking to her back. “Hildrida! Don’t make an undignified scene, there’s a good girl. It won’t do any good. I advise you to go to the library instead and read about the Holy Islands. You’ll find they’re rather interesting.”

Hildy paused, with her hand on the doorknob. Islands were places surrounded by water, weren’t they? Perhaps she could turn this bombshell to some advantage at least. “I ought to learn to sail, oughtn’t I, if I’m going to the Holy Islands?” she said.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Navis said. Rather relieved to find her no longer raging, he added consolingly, “But you won’t be going for some years yet.”

“Then I’ve got time to learn,” said Hildy. “If I promise not to make a fuss, will you get me a boat of my own?”

“Er – if you like,” said Navis.

“I do like. But you must give the boat to Ynen too, because he never gets anything,” said Hildy. “Or I shall make a fuss to Grandfather and all over the Palace.”

By this time Navis’s one desire was to be left in peace with his book again. “Yes, yes,” he said. “If you run away like a good girl and don’t make a scene, you and Ynen shall have the best boat money can buy. Will that do for you?”

“Yes, thank you, Father,” Hildy said, primly and bitterly, and swept out.

The Palace people kept out of her way. Even her cousins, when they saw Hildrida marching, white, upright and staring like a mask out of the Sea Festival, knew better than to cross her path. They all knew Hildrida had inherited her temper from Grandfather Hadd himself. Only Ynen dared go near her, and he dared not say a word. Hildy swept to her own room. There she collected all the ornaments, from the gilded clock to the gold-painted chamber pot, put them in a heap on the floor, and broke them with the poker. Ynen crouched on the window seat, wincing at the carnage. He still dared not say a word when Hildy flung aside the poker, somewhat bent, and went to sit by her dressing table, where she stared long and earnestly at the thin white face in the mirror. She had left the mirror unsmashed on purpose.

“I am a person,” she said at last. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes,” said Ynen. “What happened, Hildy?”

“And not a Thing,” said Hildy. “What’s happened is I’m betrothed. And nobody told me, just like a Thing. Do you think I should sit quiet and not mind and be a Thing? The girl cousins are betrothed too.”

“They’ll make a fuss,” Ynen predicted. “Have you been forbidden to go sailing?”

“No,” said Hildy. “We’re getting a boat out of it. You have to get between the Islands somehow. I think I shall go to the library now.” And she got up and went. Ynen went with her. He was still mystified, but he was used to that. He knew he would have to be very patient and tactful if he was to hear more about this promised boat.

The library was very tall and built of speckled marble, with a domed window in its high ceiling. Hildrida, looking very small, followed by the even smaller Ynen, marched across to the librarian. “Give me all the books you have on the Holy Islands,” she said.

Rather astonished, the librarian went away obediently. He returned shortly with one big old volume and one small newish one. “Here we are. Not too much, I’m afraid. I advise you to take the little book. It’s easy, and it has pictures.”

Hildrida gave him a scathing look and took the big book. She marched to the nearest table and opened it. Rather helplessly, the librarian gave Ynen the small book and left them to it.

“This book is all pictures,” Ynen said dolefully. “Read me yours.”

“Quiet,” Hildy said severely. “I’m concentrating.” But she did not like to think of Ynen sitting humbly there with nothing to do, and, besides, the book was the difficult, old kind that is easier to read aloud. So she read, “Indeed men say that the Holy Isles been of all places in the South marks the sole place where enchantment abides.”

“I like that,” said Ynen. “What are marks?”

“The old name for earldoms. Quiet. ‘Of legends that do there pertain, there is said by some to be a certain enchanted Bull which appears, no man can say how, now on one Isle, now upon another. By some it is said that this Beast may grant wishes, and certainly to see it is deemed by all a great good fortune. Further, there may be heard in clear weather a strange piping among the Islands, most piercing and pleasant to hear, though no piper can be seen, and which goeth like the Bull from Island to Island. This has been heard by many, and many good ships been foundered following the sound. Withal come the horses of the sea, and, it is said, at times the Sea himself in the likeness of an old fellow of the Islands, who will oft speak fair with those that meet him, but oftentimes be rough and violent. For this reason, the men of the Islands count themselves holy and favoured above others. And certainly the Holy Islands are a fair place, mild, fruitful and full of fair havens.”’

“They sound wonderful,” said Ynen. “I’d like to go there.”

Hildy shut the book. “You shall,” she said. “You can come with me when I go. I think I shan’t make an undignified scene after all. I’m important. There’s no magic Bulls in Mark, are there?”

“I didn’t know there were any anywhere,” said Ynen. “When are we getting our boat?”

“I don’t know. But Father promised,” said Hildy.

Later that day their cousin Harilla learnt that she was betrothed to the Lord of Mark and lay on the stairs, drumming her heels and screaming, while everyone near ran for smelling salts and made a great to-do. Hildy managed to smile a little. It was a dry, stretched smile, but very dignified. And as, one by one, her four other girl cousins learnt of their betrothals and promptly followed Harilla’s example, Hildy’s smile grew more and more dignified. She was still not exactly glad to be betrothed, but she did almost feel it was worth it when the yacht Wind’s Road was towed into the West Pool.

Navis kept his promise lavishly. He had heard of the smashed ornaments, of course, but knowing Hildrida’s temper, he felt she had shown great self-control. Wind’s Road was twice the size of the cousins’ boat – Navis did not think his children were old enough to sail alone, so he provided space for a crew, as befitted the grandchildren of an earl – and she was sheer beauty, from the golden ears of wheat carved on her prow to the rosy apples decorating her stern. Her hull was blue, her cabin white and gold, and her canvas snowy. She carried two foresails too, to Ynen’s joy. In fact, Hildy felt that the look of pure bliss on Ynen’s face almost made up for any number of betrothals.

(#ulink_ca0248b9-3540-5b1e-b028-9d25dfb9131b)

THAT AUTUMN, WHEN the Festival procession poured, scraping and banging and colourful, down to the harbour to drown Poor Old Ammet, it was guarded by soldiers with the new guns. Mitt did not like watching it. Each Festival brought back his nightmares about Canden falling to pieces in the doorway. But the tenement was so near the harbour that it was hard to avoid watching. This year Dideo came to lean out of the window between Mitt and Milda, with his netted eyes wistfully on those new guns.

“The stuff they use in those,” he explained, “can blow a man up, used right. Years back I used to sail with a man who could get the stuff, and we went after fish with it. You might call it unfair to the fish, but I know to this day how to make a bomb. And I was thinking that a bomb in the midst of Old Ammet could rid the world of Hadd and give us uprising all over Holand in one moment.”

Mitt and his mother exchanged a long, startled look over Dideo’s gnarled hat. That was it! What an idea! They discussed it excitedly as soon as the procession was over and Dideo gone.

“If you were to get a bomb and throw it at old Haddock – you do throw bombs, do you?” said Milda. “You could shout out that Dideo and Siriol set you on.”