Drowned Ammet by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

the Festival, no boats were allowed in or out of the harbor, and all were searched by soldiers every few hours. At the same time Harchad had all the tenements on the waterfront knocked down, and a large rubbly space cleared in front of the harbor. This was more serious. The street where Mitt was supposed to join the procession vanished. They had hastily to choose the next inland. Milda and Mitt were furious. They had lived in one of those tenements.
    â€œThe whole lot down, just to keep his nasty old pa safe!” said Mitt. “Talk about callous tyranny!”
    â€œThey should have come down years back,” said Hobin. “They were nothing but rats and bedbugs. And ‘callous tyranny’ is the kind of talk I’m not having.”
    â€œBut those poor people are turned out in the street!” Milda protested.
    â€œWell, it’s cleaner there,” said Hobin. He was combing his hair and getting ready for a Guild meeting. “Anyway, to my certain knowledge, three trades have offered them room in their guildhalls, Gunsmiths included. But there’s new houses being built for them, back in the Flate.”
    â€œThe Earl’s building them houses?” Mitt asked incredulously.
    â€œNo,” said Hobin. “Would the Earl do a thing like that? No. It’s one of the sons—Navis, I think.” He put on his good jacket and went away downstairs, as far as Mitt could see, rather annoyed with Navis for stealing the Gunsmiths’ thunder.
    â€œHe’ll come back talking of Waywold,” Mitt said as the door slammed. “You see. Still, it won’t matter you going back there after tomorrow.”
    â€œMitt, I’m nervous!” said Milda. “All our planning!”
    Mitt felt pleasantly excited, no more. “Don’t you trust me or something?” he said. “Come on. Let’s have a look at those clothes.”
    Milda laughed excitedly as she fetched the red and yellow costume from its hiding place under her newest carpet. “I don’t think you know the meaning of fear, Mitt! Honest, I don’t! Here, now. See if they fit.”
    It was a strange and rather ridiculous costume. The breeches, which came halfway down Mitt’s thin calves, had one yellow leg and the other red. The jacket was red and yellow in the opposite halves. Mitt was a bit thin for the jacket. But he buttoned it up and added the jaunty cap, which had a double crown like a cock’s crest. “How do I look?”
    Milda was delighted. “Oh, you do look handsome! You look just like a merchant’s son!”
    Mitt looked in the little mirror, all prepared to agree. He felt very fine. And he had rather a shock. He looked good, it was true. But there were things in his face one never saw in the smooth faces of wealthy boys—lines which made it look old and shrewd. It was the knowing face of the poor city boys who ran about in the streets, fending for themselves. And yet—this was the thing which shocked Mitt most—it was a babyish face, too. Under the lines there were empty curves, emptier than in any boy’s face he had ever seen, and his eyes stared as round and wide as his baby sisters’. Mitt made haste to alter it by putting on his most jokey smile. The empty cheeks puckered, and the eyes leered long and sly. Mitt flipped the crest of his cap. “Cock-a-doodle-do!” he said. “Roll on, Festival!” Then he turned away from the mirror and did not look in it again.

7

    On the day of the Festival, Ham called for Hobin soon after dawn. That’s got rid of him! Mitt thought, hearing them clattering away downstairs. To tell the truth, he had not slept as well as usual. But since this was a holiday, he stayed in bed another good hour. I reckon they’ll be questioning me all tonight, he thought. I better get all the rest I can. But when Milda called him, he was very glad to jump up and put his own holiday clothes on, on top of