Lithar’s clothes were nearly as rich as Harchad’s, but he looked nothing like so well in them. He had a mop of fairish hair over the brown face of a Holy Islander and a long, long chin. He seemed quite well built, but he sat in a strange, hunched way which creased his clothes in all directions. When he looked toward them, Ynen, Hildy, and Mitt were uncertain how old he was, because his face was oddly lined, old and young at once. Like Mitt’s face, Hildy thought, and she looked at Mitt to compare the two. But Mitt was young and undernourished, whereas—
With a horrible jolt, Hildy realized Lithar was a near imbecile. It was as if her whole future, and her whole past, too, fell away and left just herself—a small girl with untidy hair—alone in a sunny smoke-filled room. Hildy had not realized how much she had built on Lithar and the Holy Islands. She seemed to have founded on them everything which made her into Hildrida and not one of her cousins. It was not exactly her fault, but she had done the building. And it was all unreal. It had not even gone; it had just never been.
It was the same with Mitt. He took one look at Lithar, and one look at Hildy, and he knew that what was happening to Hildy now had happened to him in Holand. But he had not admitted it. Everything he had thought of as being Mitt—the fearless boy with the free soul, the right-thinking freedom fighter—had fallen to pieces there, as thoroughly as Canden in his dream, or Old Ammet in the harbor, and he had been left with what was real. And it had frightened him to death. Mitt thought his face must be as yellow pale as Hildy’s. I hope neither of them are fools enough to say who they are, he thought. We better all make off North, quick.
“Who are you?” Lithar asked, with a surprised wag of his long chin.
Mitt and Ynen opened their mouths to begin on two separate false stories, but Al got in first. “Little present I brought you,” he said, without turning round. “Don’t you like it?”
Lithar giggled. “Well—not terribly, Al. Unless they do tricks. Are you acrobats or something?” he asked them. “Untidy children, aren’t they?” he said to Bence.
Al hitched his chair round and leaned close to Lithar, in a way that could only be described as possessive. “They’re untidy because they’ve been at sea. Forgot to take their hairbrushes with them. But you know who they are? Who she is? She’s your little betrothed. Harl’s niece, from Holand. The brat with the long nose is her brother.”
Hildy said, “How did you—?”
Al grinned at her. “You sit on top of the cabin, little lady, boasting for half a day how you was betrothed to Lithar, and then you ask me how I know! Be reasonable!”
“I thought you were asleep,” said Hildy.
“Not me,” said Al. “Too seasick. Well, Lithar? Aren’t you going to thank me?”
Lithar, to help himself absorb what Al said, had put a forkful of food in his mouth. It looked like some of the tastiest sea fry Mitt had ever seen. He and Ynen looked at it longingly. They were ravenous. Lithar chewed, wagging his brown boot toe of a chin. “I suppose she’ll grow,” he said discontentedly, with his mouth full. “But I don’t want her brother.”
“Yes, you do,” said Al. He went back to eating sea fry, too, but paused to wave his loaded fork to Bence. Mitt thought it was cruel. “Here, Bence,” Al said. “Tell us that news from Holand you gave me on the boat.” Bence raised his eyebrows and looked at Hildy and Ynen as if he did not want to say anything in front of them. Al angrily waved another forkful at him. “Get on with it!”
Bence was the ruddy, hairy kind of man who looks strong-minded but is really rather weak. He was obviously well under Al’s thumb. “I just wondered—” he said. “Well, the news from Holand is that the old Earl was shot some days back, and his sons had a set-to over the earldom. Harl, the eldest son, killed Harchad, the second son, and family. And Navis, the third son, and family took fright and ran away. That’s all I heard, Al.”
Hildy and Ynen stared desolately at one another, while Al laughed loudly and pointed his fork at Lithar. “Understand?” Lithar nodded intelligently and plainly did not understand. “Harl,” Al explained, “has come out on top. But Navis isn’t dead, or not yet. You’ve got Navis’s family here. You want the girl, anyway. She’s worth alliance, and bargains and a lot of money. But you want the boy, too. He’s a nuisance to Harl. Harl’s got boys of his own, and he’ll pay high to be rid of this one. And if the unexpected happens, and Navis comes out on top, then you’ve done him a favor instead, see? Don’t worry about the girl. She’ll grow.”
“Sure to. They all do,” Bence said heartily.
Lithar’s lined face was riven with bewilderment, but he gave Hildy a formal smile, still with his mouth full, and Ynen a doubtful nod. Then he pointed his fork at Mitt. “But who are you? Al keeps not talking about you.”
“I’m just a nobody,” Mitt said quickly.
Al tipped his chair back and looked at him. “Don’t be too sure of that. Murderer, aren’t you?”
Lithar was delighted. “Oh? Like you, Al?”
“No—though he flaming near got in my way,” said Al. “I bear you a grudge for that,” he told Mitt. “Harl’s going to want him, too, Lithar. He had a go at killing Hadd. It didn’t come to much, but he’ll make someone to blame—satisfy a crying need nicely, you might say. You offer to send him back for a price.”
Lithar cocked his long face intently. “How much should I ask?”
Mitt wanted to say something, but he was in such terror that his mind was blank. How had Al known? He must have given himself away just as Hildy had, thinking Al was asleep, and his red and yellow breeches were on him to prove it.
Ynen looked at Mitt’s face and knew exactly how he felt. Ynen felt bad. They had promised Mitt to take him North. Something Al had said came into Ynen’s mind and combined with the way those sailors had behaved. “I don’t think you should,” he said to Lithar. “His name’s Alhammitt.”
“Half Holand’s called that,” Al said swiftly and loudly.
But Lithar looked at him reproachfully. “Now, Al. That isn’t a name we take chances with in the Holy Islands. You should know that. I can’t send him to Holand. I’m a god-fearing man.”
“You’re a superstitious ass,” said Al. “You send him.”
“I can’t,” said Lithar, and he smiled pleadingly, as if he wanted Al to forgive him.
Al’s square face lost all its expression. He laid down his fork and picked up Hobin’s gun again. It was empty. Al must have used all the remaining shots demonstrating it to Lithar. He grunted. Then he looked up in annoyance, beca
use the door of the room opened. A little brown woman with white hair came in. She was a slim, upright person in a green-embroidered island dress.