Diana Wynne Jones - Dalemark 2 by Drowned Ammet

Author:Drowned Ammet
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-09-08T19:54:15+00:00

Part Four

The Holy Islands

11

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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 Page 80

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.

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