"Burning's a good idea," said a voice from the edge of the clearing. Many of the people working turned to see who it was. Billin.
"Ah, Billin," said Wix. "I thought you were still down in Firstfield, giving a speech."
"The time for speeches is over."
"How clever," Wix said. "Now he realizes that."
"I just saw the ashes of our boats," said Billin, raising his voice to be heard by all. "I just saw the ruins of our last hope for peace! And I say to you —"
What he was going to say to them no one knew, because at that moment Wix strode forward and struck him so hard in the stomach that Billin's feet left the ground, and he collapsed, gasping, in the dirt.
"The ruins of our last hope for peace aren't on the beach, Billin!" Wix shouted. "The ruins are back in Firstfield, when you and the pebblebrained oxen who followed you wrecked the only compromise we could have had! It was you that caused the burning of our boats, Billin! So you can shut up for a few days, or I'll put you deep enough in the river that you'll be singing to the fishes for eternity!"
The silence rang out after Wix finished his impassioned speech. Then Billin groaned, and slowly dragged himself to his feet. Everyone got back to work. But when conversations resumed, they were more bitter than ever before.
When night fell, they gathered around the fire, staring at the flames. Some women from Noyock's Town and Linkeree's Bay brought food before dark. It wasn't enough, but it was something, and they swallowed their pride and ate it. Now they sat and watched the fence rails shrink in the fire.
"I've been thinking all day about what Billin said," Hoom said in one of the dismal lulls in the conversation. "And I think he's right. Burning's a good idea."
"And what do we burn, the whole city?" asked Wix, scornfully.
"No, no," Hoom said. "But the old people, they've hated the boats from the beginning, the boats have meant our freedom from them. They burned them." Hoom stood up and walked around the fire. He was no orator, but the very quietness of his speech made them listen all the more. "Well, there's a few things they've been using as weapons against us. The Warden, for instance." Someone laughed and said, "Does that mean we burn Noyock?"
Hoom smiled and shook his head. "Noyock's done us no harm. Just his office. There's something else, though. The History."
Several people snorted. The History, constantly held over their heads as "proof" that things must be done the old way.
"They burned our boats," Hoom said. "So let's burn their History. It's far less harm than they've done to us. You know what our fields will be like if we let them sit for a month, unharvested. My fruit trees will be bare, with the fruit rotting on the ground. They've destroyed our homes and our livelihoods — nobody could say we've been excessive if we destroy their stupid History."
A few chuckled, and the idea began to look more appealing.
Wix spoke up. "Easily said. But they're armed against us, and they'll fight to protect it. It's — it's a God–thing to them, they keep it for Jason. They'll fight."
"So," Hoom said, "we won't announce what we're after. Not a large number of us, either. We'll just wait until everybody's asleep at Noyock's house, and we'll break in, rush up the stairs, and burn the damn thing before they even know what we're about."
"Break in? Is it that easy?"
"It will be for me. I can get in," Hoom said. And so the plan was made. The crescent moon was high in the sky as they emerged from the forest, far to the west of their camp. Only one of them held a torch; the rest carried unlit torches and kindling wood. They walked in silence, and approached the tall house from the west, where it was less likely that anyone would be watching.
There were no lights in the house, and so they, set immediately to work. Wix pointed to a spot beside the house, and the kindling was laid down: Then Hoom, who carried the lit torch, ignited the kindling. As it flamed, they all put their torches in. After a few minutes, they were all ablaze. Then Hoom raised his torch, and they all followed him to the kitchen door.
Hoom knocked on the door, and they waited, all of them standing close to the wall, so that someone glancing out a window wouldn't see them so readily. But the household wasn't expecting danger that night — a soft voice asked, "Who is it?"
"Grandmother?" Hoom asked.
"Hoom," said the voice behind the door, in relief and delight. "You've come home," she said as she opened the door. But the door was barely ajar when Wix and Billin muscled through, forcing their way past Riavain. It only took her a moment to see what was happening and she cried out, "Fire! Help, fire! Quickly! They've come!"
No one stopped to silence her. Instead, Hoom led the way up the stairs to the second floor. As they reached it, several of his uncles and cousins emerged from their rooms, looking worried. "Where's the fire?" one of them asked, and Hoom said, "Downstairs, in the kitchen." For a moment the obvious ruse seemed to be working — the men headed for the stairs even as the torchbearers charged upward toward the third floor. But then they realized who was carrying torches, and ran back up the stairs, trying to overtake them.
On the third floor, no one was fooled. Aven and Noyock stood in front of the door of the library. "You're not coming in here," Noyock said. "This won't help you a bit."
"But burning boats will?" Hoom snarled, and Wix shouted, "Get out of the way." Dilna realized, though, that at this moment their attack would either succeed or fail — the men from the downstairs were right behind them, waiting, it seemed, for them to surrender. And talking would never get the door open.
"Talk is nothing!" Dilna shouted, and she swung her torch at the man behind her on the stairs. He recoiled instinctively — if he hadn't, the torch would have hit him in the head. But in recoiling, he lost his balance, and fell backward into the men behind him. Billin seized the opportunity, and while Dilna and a few others used their torches to keep the men on the stairs at bay, Billin rushed forward, swinging his torch at Aven and Noyock.
But they held their ground, and Billin faltered in his advance. This time it was Wix who recovered the momentum. "You've had fair warning," he snarled, and shoved his torch into Noyock's belly.
The pain of the blow drove the breath out of Noyock — and when Wix pulled the torch away, Noyock's shirt was on fire. He tried vainly to brush it off, but it spread quickly, and he screamed and fell to the floor, trying to smother the fire. Aven still blocked the door, and he was using his feet to try to keep Billin and Wix at bay.
"An ax!" someone shouted, and sure enough one of the uncles was brandishing a bronzeheaded ax. He was swinging it in a circle over his head, causing as much danger for his own side as for Dilna and the others defending the stair, and Dilna ducked under the blade and jammed the tip of her torch upward against the man's chin. He dropped the ax — it clattered on the floor next to Hoom. Hoom picked it up and swung it savagely at the door, right at Aven's head.
This time Aven ducked, just in time, and the axhead was buried in the door, splintering it. Aven tried to strike at Hoom while he pulled it free, but Billin was too quick, forcing him back.
With a roar the men on the stairs tried to rush past, just as the door gave way on the ax's second blow. Dilna and the others couldn't stop them — but the work was nearly done. Wix and Billin threw their torches into the room — Wix's sputtered on the floor, but Billin's landed on a shelf, instantly igniting the papers there. Then the stair landing was a melee, as Wix, Billin, and Hoom struggled to keep the older men from entering the room and putting out the fire.