Drowned Ammet by Diana Wynne Jones

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 favored above others. And certainly the Holy Islands are a fair place, mild, fruitful, and full of fair havens.’”
    â€œThey 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?”
    â€œI didn’t know there were any anywhere,” said Ynen. “When are we getting our boat?”
    â€œI don’t know. But Father promised,” said Hildy.
    Later that day their cousin Harilla learned 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 learned 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.

5

    That autumn, when the Festival procession poured, scraping and banging and colorful, down to the harbor 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 harbor 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.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œIf 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.”
    â€œBut I might not be heard,” said Mitt. “No—I’d have to get myself taken. Then when Harchad comes to ask questions, I tell him the Free Holanders set me on to do it. But how can we get hold of some of that gun stuff?”
    â€œWe’ll get some,” said Milda. “We’ll think of a way. But you’ll have to do it before you’re old enough to hang. I couldn’t bear to think of you taken and hanged!” She was so excited that she