The Crown of Dalemark. Diana Wynne Jones

other. Mitt was embarrassed. He had only said it aloud because he still found it easier to read that way. Now he felt he had to say something. “How did you get past the landslip on the road?” he asked.

      “Landslip?” said Hestefan. “What landslip?”

      Mitt gave him up again and turned to Rith, who said in a worried whisper, “I think that girl, Fenna, has really hurt her head. Can you help me get her on a horse?”

      The Countess-horse was at that moment demonstrating that it was not carriage-trained. They had tried to back it into the shafts of the cart, where it divided its attention between trying to take bites out of anyone near and attempts to kick the splashboard in. Mitt ran and hauled it clear. “You good-for-nothing Countess, you!” He dragged it over to the injured girl, where the Singer-boy held it while Mitt and Rith heaved Fenna into its saddle. The chattering crowd seized Rith’s horse and backed that into the cart instead. Nobody thought of using the beautiful mare that belonged to Navis. Typical of Navis, that, Mitt thought, taking the reins from the boy. The lad looked as ill as Fenna. “Want me to boost you up behind her, Moril?” Mitt asked. He had gathered the boy’s name was Moril.

      Moril simply turned away and walked to the cart.

      “All right. Be like that then!” Mitt said to his back. All this running about made his backside feel as if it was on fire. It got worse when he set off leading the horse into Adenmouth. Fenna had to nudge him with her foot before Mitt noticed she was trying to speak to him.

      “Er – young hearthman. Sir.”

      Mitt looked up. She was pale, but she was dark and pretty, and she spoke with just a trace of a Southern accent, which made him try to smile at her. “Sorry. What?”

      “Don’t think too hard of Moril, sir,” Fenna said. “He loved our old horse. And I heard tell he had another horse killed by Southerners last year.”

      Well, he’s no call to take it out on me! Mitt thought. But he said politely, “Heard tell? I thought he was your brother.”

      “Oh no, sir,” Fenna said. “Moril is Clennen the Singer’s son. He’ll be a great Singer himself before long.”

      Rith grinned at Mitt round the nose of the Countess-horse. “These artists! You can tell what they’re like from the red hair. Sit straight, Fenna, or you’ll fall off.”

      It was not far to Adenmouth, just across another bend in the Aden, which then poured noisily past low grey houses crowded at the edge of a cove. Mitt was glad. By the time they had gone up the main street to the mansion, he was not sure he could have walked another step. Their arrival caused much confusion, for a good hundred more people came out of the houses to see what was wrong and then followed them into the courtyard of the mansion, where rows of trestle tables that had been set up for the Midsummer Feast all had to be moved to make way for the cart.

      Lady Eltruda was out on the hall steps, bellowing instructions in a voice like the Armsmaster’s. “Navis!” she yelled. “Get that thing through to the stables! Spannet, fetch the lawman! You!” she screamed at Mitt. “You in the Aberath livery! Bring that poor girl to me!”

      Before Mitt could move, Rith was dragging Fenna and the Countess-horse towards the steps, zigzagging between tables and shouting back. “Aunt! Aunt! I’m here! I got here, and I got my sign!”

      At this Lady Eltruda dashed down the steps, yelling, “Noreth, my dove! Noreth!” and flung her arms round Rith.

      Mitt stared. He felt terrible.

      

      THE CONFUSION CLEARED up surprisingly quickly. Mitt was almost alone in the yard, wondering what on earth to do now, when Navis put a hand on his shoulder.

      “Come to my room,” he said. “Tell me your news there.”

      Funny, Mitt thought, staring slightly downwards into Navis’s cool, clear-cut face. I don’t remember him being that small. Maybe I grew. “I would if I could walk,” he said.

      Navis smiled a little. “It’s not far. But I can’t carry you.”

      He turned and led the way. Mitt hobbled after him, protesting, “I do know how to ride! It’s just that I never did it for a whole day before!” They went through the hall, big enough, but a dark little place compared with the one at Aberath, and up a shallow flight of steps. Navis had a comfortable panelled room beyond, as good as one of Alk’s. Typical, Mitt thought, looking round. He must be well in with Lord Stair. “How did you know I got news?”

      “Hush a moment,” Navis said. Two serving-men came into the room. They were grinning rather and carrying a large bowl of something sour and strong. They dumped it where Navis pointed and then hung about, lingeringly, as if there was some joke. “Thank you,” Navis said, “but we’d like to be private now.”

      “What is this?” Mitt said suspiciously as the men left, still grinning.

      “Vinegar,” said Navis. “Take your leathers off and sit in it. Go on. It works.”

      Slowly, with misgivings, Mitt did as Navis said. He sat. Yelled. Tried to get out again and found himself held down by Navis’s unexpectedly strong hand. Vinegar spilt on the rugs, and Mitt went on yelling, even though he was sure the two men were standing outside the door loving every shriek. “Flaming Ammet!” he roared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

      “No,” said Navis, and he went on holding Mitt down until Mitt’s yells had given way to gasps and then to miserable panting. Then he let go and went to the half-open door. “That will be all,” he said, and closed the door.

      Mitt heard footsteps retreating. “Can I get out now?”

      “The longer you stay in, the sooner you’ll be able to ride again,” Navis said. “Tell me your news to take your mind off it.” It was on the tip of Mitt’s tongue to tell Navis he was as bad as Earl Keril, but he did not say it because he suddenly realised it was true. Navis, in his way, could be quite as ruthless as Keril. Earls’ blood will out! Mitt thought. He was wondering if he was going to be able to tell Navis anything after all when Navis added, “They wouldn’t have let you leave Aberath without very good reason, I’m sure.” Very strong bitterness came through his coolness.

      He feels just as caught as I do! Mitt thought. “Well, before I start, do you know where Hildy is?”

      “In Gardale,” said Navis. “Though, from the one letter she deigned to send, I wondered if she wasn’t in the moon.”

      “I got one of those,” Mitt said. “Total gibberish. And Ynen? You have any idea where Ynen is?”

      “No,” said Navis. There was a cold little silence before Navis said, “No. No one has bothered to tell me that. Is that why they let you see me? To bring me a threat?”

      “That may be part of it,” Mitt said. “They must have reckoned I’d tell you. Navis, they want me to kill that girl Noreth. And I tell you I rode most of the way here with her and she’s no madder than what I am!”

      “Sit still,” said Navis. “You’ll get vinegar everywhere.” He drew up a chair and sat facing Mitt in his bowl. “Tell me this carefully. Who wants you to?”

      “The Countess and Earl Keril,” said Mitt. “Talk about your past catching up with you! They found out all about me.”

      “Keril,” said Navis. “Keril. Then, Mitt, you are not the only one whose past has caught up with him. I once risked a good deal to send a message to Keril to warn him that his sons were prisoners in Holand. He must have taken it as a threat. What did he say?”

      Mitt sat in his bowl and told Navis