He began speaking in a shrill, expressionless voice, like that of a child repeating a lesson: “I have given the password, so you know from whom I come. I am to bid you go at once to Lud-in-the-Mist, and find a sailor, by name Sebastian Thug—he will probably be drinking at the tavern of the Unicorn—also a deaf-mute, commonly known as Bawdy Bess, whom you will probably find in the same place. You will have need of no other introduction than the words, By the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the West. You are to tell them that there is to be no more rioting, and that they are to keep the people quiet, for the Duke will send his deputy. And next you will go to Master Ambrose Honeysuckle and bid him remember the oath which he and Master Nathaniel pledged each other over wild-thyme gin, swearing to ride the wind with a loose rein, and to be hospitable to visions. And tell him that Lud-in-the-Mist must throw wide its gates to receive its destiny. Can you remember this?”
“Yes,” said Hazel in a low puzzled voice.
“And now just a trifle to the messenger for his pains!” and his voice became gay and challenging. “I am an orchard thief and the citizen of a green world. Buss me, green maid!” and before Hazel had time to protest he gave her a smacking kiss on the lips and then plunged into the night, leaving the echoes of his “Ho, ho, hoh!” like a silvery trail in his wake.
“Well, I never did!” exclaimed Mistress Ivy in amazement, adding with a fat chuckle, “It would seem that it isn’t only this side of the hills that saucy young fellows are to be found. But I don’t quite know what to make of it, my girl. How are we to know he really comes from the Mayor?”
“Well, auntie, we can’t know, of course, for certain—though, for my part, I don’t think he was a Dorimarite. But he gave the password, so I think we must deliver the messages—there’s nothing in them, after all, that could do any harm.”
“That’s true,” said Mistress Ivy. “Though I’m sure I don’t want to go trudging into Lud at this time of night on a fool’s errand. But, after all, a promise is a promise—and doubly so when it’s been given to somebody as good as dead.”
So they put on their pattens and cloaks, lighted a lantern, and started off to walk into Lud, as briskly as Mistress Ivy’s age and weight would allow, so as to get there before the gates were shut. Master Ambrose, as a Senator, would give them a pass to let them through on the way back.
The Unicorn was a low little tavern down by the wharf, of a not very savoury reputation. And as they peeped in at the foul noisy little den, Hazel had considerable difficulty in persuading Mistress Ivy to enter.
“And to think of the words we have to use too!” the poor woman whispered disconsolately; “they’re not at the best of times the sort of words I like to hear on a woman’s lips, but in a place like this you can’t be too careful of your speech … it’s never safe to swear at folks in liquor.”
But the effect produced by the words was the exact opposite of what she had feared. On first crossing the threshold they had been greeted by hostile glances and coarse jests, which, on one of the revellers recognizing them as two of the protagonists in the trial, threatened to turn into something more serious. Whereupon, to the terror of Mistress Ivy, Hazel had made a trumpet of her hands and shouted with all the force of her strong young lungs, “Sebastian Thug and Mistress Bess! By the Sun, Moon and Stars and the Golden Apples of the West!”
The words must indeed have contained a charm, for they instantly calmed the angry company. A tall young sailor, with very light eyes and a very sunburned face, sprang to his feet, and so did a bold-eyed, painted woman, and they hurried to Hazel’s side. The young man said in a respectful voice, “You must excuse our rough and ready ways when we first saw you, missie; we didn’t know you were one of us.” And then he grinned, showing some very white teeth, and said, “You see, pretty fresh things don’t often come our way, and sea-dogs are like other dogs and bark at what they’re not used to.”
Bawdy Bess’s eyes had been fixed on his lips, and his last words caused her to scowl and toss her head; but from Hazel they brought forth a little, not unfriendly, smile. Evidently, like her aunt, she was not averse to seafaring men. And, after all, sailors are apt to have a charm of their own. When on dry land, like ghosts when they walk, there is a tang about them of an alien element. And Sebastian Thug was a thorough sailor.
Then in a low voice Hazel gave the message, which Thug repeated on his fingers for the benefit of Bawdy Bess. He insisted on conducting them to Master Ambrose’s, and said he would wait outside for them and see them home.
Master Ambrose made them repeat the words several times, and questioned them closely about the messenger.
Then he took two or three paces up and down the room, muttering to himself, “Delusion! Delusion!”
Then he turned suddenly to Hazel and said sharply, “What reason have you to believe, young woman, that this fellow really came from Master Nathaniel?”
“None, sir,” answered Hazel. “But there was nothing for us to do but to act as if he did.”
“I see, I see. You, too, ride the wind—that’s the expression, isn’t it? Well, well, we are living in strange times.”
And then he sank into a brown
