The Renegades of Pern (32 page)

“Well,
they
are clearly Master Fandarel’s responsibility,” Master Robinton said, dismissing Breide’s implicit and repeated argument. “He is so ingenious. These rods he designed especially for excavation work, for example, make it possible to tell, with a few strokes of the hammer, the depths of earth above a mound. I understand that he’s trying to develop a more efficient way of digging, a revolving scooping apparatus.”

Piemur admired the way the Harper handled Breide. The man’s persistence annoyed the journeyman. A person could not go anywhere on the Plateau without him popping up and asking questions.

“I really don’t see why you would want to bother with this,” Breide said as they came down the slope to the site in question. He was a man who sweated hard and wore a band on his forehead to keep the moisture from spilling over his brows into his eyes. He was perspiring freely and uncomfortably. Piemur wondered why he did not get himself one of the grass hats that some enterprising craftsman had been weaving as head protection.

“An hour, Master Esselin said,” Breide reminded them as if he had a timekeeper in his head.

“I’m sure we’re keeping you from other duties, Breide. Look, there, Piemur!” The Harper pointed to the south, where Smithcrafthall journeymen were trying to dig up a section of the massive grid that the ancients had laid. Something glinted brightly in the sunlight.

“They do seem to have raised something,” Piemur remarked, quick to catch the Harper’s intention. Breide, his attention caught by the sight of men wrestling with crowbars and shouting, trotted off to investigate.

Free of Breide’s unwelcome presence at last, the harpers neared their destination and scrutinized it carefully.

“I think Perschar’s right about levels,” Robinton said, taking off his hat and mopping his brow. They walked all around it, then stood off a ways and inspected it, the rodmen waiting patiently.

“I’d say three levels,” Piemur remarked judiciously. “A central tower on a wider base. The lip of the south wall has fallen in, which makes that side look like a natural slope.”

“How convenient,” Master Robinton said, grinning mischievously at his journeyman. “Then let us try the other end, which hasn’t collapsed and is out of Breide’s sight.” He gestured to the rodmen. “The ancients were rather big on windows. We’d best try here, where a corner might be.”

Piemur held the point of the rod at shoulder height while the hammer man tapped. The rod went in two handspans before they all heard the
thunk!
as it met resistance.

“Could be a rock,” the hammerman said with the shrug of experience. “Try it a little higher.”

Soon they had made a series of vertical thrusts, each meeting resistance within a finger joint of the others.

“If you ask me, you’ve got a wall in there,” the hammerer said. “Want to try for a window? Or d’you want us to get some diggers down here? We’re rodmen, you know.”

“I certainly appreciate that,” Master Robinton assured him. “Now, in your experience, where would a window be situated? That is, if indeed we’ve struck a wall.”

“Oh, you have, Master. And I’d say, if this is your ordinary sort of place, there’d be a window . . . here.” The man measured off ten handspans and, resting his fist on the place, turned for the Harper’s approval. “That is, a’ course, if this
is
your ordinary sort of place.”

“Clearly you don’t think it’s ordinary,” Master Robinton ventured.

“Not being so far away from all the rest of ’em, I’d say it isn’t.”

“Hour’s near up,” the rodman who had not spoken before said. Continual work on the Plateau had burned his skin a deep brown.

“Humor an old man and drive the rod in,” Robinton said, gesturing with uncharacteristic impatience.

The rod was set, and the fourth blow sunk it to its head.

“Got a hollow in there,” the hammerman said as the rodman struggled to pry the probe out. “Not a window. You crash in windows. Can hear it. Sorry about that.”

“Time’s up,” the other said and, settling the rod to his shoulder, began to hike back up to the main settlement.

“Want I should ask Master Esselin to send you some diggers?” the hammerer asked helpfully, wiping the inside of his grass hat with a colorful kerchief.

“We’ve hit a hollow, haven’t we?” The Masterharper said dispiritedly. “Well, it was just a hunch.” He sighed heavily, leaning back against a tree and fanning himself with his hat.

“Lots of people got hunches in this place,” the man replied. “Breeds ’em, you might say. Good day to you, Masterharper, Journeyman!” He resettled his own hat and followed in the other’s footsteps.

“I want to widen that hole, Piemur,” Master Robinton said when he was sure the men were out of earshot. “See what you can find.”

“They took the hammer with them.”

“There’s plenty of branches and rocks,” the Harper said, beginning to search.

Piemur found a sturdy stick and began to pound around the rod hole. The Harper kept ducking around the side of the hill, to be sure that the men were still trudging back to Master Esselin’s and that Breide was occupied with the Smith’s men. Then, becoming impatient, Piemur held the branch firmly and made a run at the wall. The branch knocked a substantial hole in the dirt and took Piemur off his feet. He brushed himself off and peered inside.

“It’s hollow all right, Master. And dark!”

“Good. Zair, come over here and be useful. Piemur, call Farli to help. They’re better diggers than anyone Esselin has.”

“Yes, but that’ll leave a hole for Breide to see.”

“Let’s worry about that when the time comes. My hunch is stronger than ever!”

“This place breeds ’em, you know!” Piemur muttered, but Zair and Farli busily began to dig. “Easy, easy!” he cried as clods of grass and dirt flew out in all directions.

“Can you see anything yet, Piemur?” Master Robinton asked from his post.

“Give us time!” Piemur could feel the sweat running down his back under the loose shirt he wore. I should get a sweatband like Breide’s, he thought, if the Harper plans more of this sort of activity. When the opening was large enough for entry, Piemur peered through. “Not enough light to see much, but this is definitely manmade. Shall I send Farli for a candle?”

“Do, please!” The Harper’s voice was full of pained entreaty. “How big is the hole?”

“Not big enough.” Piemur paused long enough to retrieve his thick branch before he renewed his efforts alongside Zair, battening the soil into the hollow in preference to removing it.

By the time Farli had returned with a candle in each claw, Piemur had an opening large enough to crawl through. The two fire-lizards, upside down on clawholds at the top of the hole, peered in. Their inquiring chirps echoed. Then Zair pushed off and Farli followed him, their chittering reassuring Piemur as he struggled to strike a sulfur stick ablaze and light a candle.

“Anything? Anything?” The Masterharper fairly jiggled with impatience, anxious to succeed without Breide’s interference.

“Give me a chance!” As the journeyman extended the candle inside, the flame bent and nearly went out before it straightened and illuminated the interior. “I’m going in.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“You’ll never make it! Well . . . don’t bring in half the hill with you!”

Piemur grabbed Master Robinton’s arm to steady him. They both heard the crunch of something under their feet. Adjusting their candles’ light, they saw the shimmer of glass shards littering the floor. The Harper toed a clear space and hunkered down to touch the floor.

“This is some kind of cement, I think. Not as smooth a job as in others.” As he rose, both candles flickered. “Air’s fresher in here than it usually is in long-enclosed places,” he remarked.

“That collapsed side may account for that. We should have looked on the side of the hill for fissures,” Piemur remarked.

“And let Breide come bouncing up for something to tell Toric?” The Harper snorted and began to look around, now that his eyes were accustomed to the dim light. Holding his candle high, Piemur took a few steps to his left, then uttered a suppressed “yipe!” of discovery.

“Your hunch pays off, Master,” he said, striding to the wall. Candlelight illuminated a group of dusty rectangles pinned there. “Maps?” With a reverent touch, Piemur brushed aside the accumulation of grit and ash to reveal a transparent coating that had protected its treasure for unknown Turns. “Maps!”

“What did they use?” Master Robinton whispered, softly brushing dust from another. “By the First Egg!” He turned with incredulous disbelief to his journeyman. “Not just outlines this time, but names! Landing! They called the Plateau ‘Landing.’ ”

“How original!”

“Monaco Bay, Cardiff! The biggest volcano is Garben. It’s all here, Piemur.”

“Even Paradise River!” Piemur had been following the coastline with his index finger, making a zigzagging trail in the dust as he moved it eastward. “Sadrid, Malay River, Boca . . . and would you look at this, they hadn’t got as far as Southern!”

Zair and Farli flitting back from their own explorations recalled them from their wonder.

“Quickly, Piemur. See if you can pry the nails up. We mustn’t let Breide find
these
!” Robinton had his beltknife out and was working on one of the larger maps. The nails popped easily out.

“Roll them up. We’ll give them to Zair and Farli to convey for us. Quickly. Take a strip off your shirttail to tie them. It would be premature indeed for Toric to discover what a relatively small portion of Southern he has actually acquired. Then we’ve got to see if there’s anything else important on this site.”

“Breide was way off up at the other end, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’ll have seen the rodmen leaving without us. He’s a suspicious sort.”

“I’m amazed that he’s allowed here,” Piemur said, tying up his three maps.

“Better the rogue you know,” the Harper said. “Zair! Take this to Cove Hold. Quickly now!”

Zair clutched the tube, as long as the span of one wing, settled it to a balance between his claws, and promptly disappeared. Piemur gave Farli her burden and instructions, and she followed the bronze.

Distantly the harpers heard someone calling them.

“Let’s see what’s to be seen,” Master Robinton said in an unnecessary whisper and moved to the door still half ajar.

“What if there’s more that should be hidden?” Piemur asked, but he followed.

“If there is, I’ll think of something.”

They were in a corridor, with doors opening onto it. Quick glances inside each discovered nothing more promising than the usual discarded bits and pieces. At the end of the corridor there was a hall, filled with the debris of what must have been stairs before the collapse of the southern wall and seeping water had destroyed that end of the building. They both heard the unmistakable soft noises of tunnel snakes retreating.

“Do you think snakes breed in here like hunches, Piemur?” The Harper held his candle high, craning his neck to see up the stairwell. “How unusual! So much of what they built seems indestructible.”

“Maybe this was a temporary building, something to do with the flying ships.”

“I wonder what’s up there,” the Harper said, gesturing for Piemur to add his light. They saw glimpses of white root tendrils and the glisten of wet walls but nothing informative.

“Master Robinton!”
The strident shout made the Harper wince.

“Let’s put a brave face on our disappointment, Piemur!”

As they retraced their steps, Piemur noticed a square placard on the door of the room by which they had entered the corridor. It came off easily. He held up his candle to see the usual bold letters, as bright as the day they had been first inscribed.

Breide came stumbling into the room. “Are you all night? Did you find anything?”

“Snakes for the main part,” Piemur replied glumly. “And this!” He held up the sign, which read “
OUT TO LUNCH
.”

The Benden and Fort Weyrleaders, Lord Holders Jaxom and Lytol, and Masters Fandarel, Wansor, and Sebell met at Cove Hold to view the new maps. A damp cloth had cleaned away the dust and grit, and Master Fandarel was in awe of the clear film that had protected the surfaces. Some of the numerals that had been printed on the covering had apparently faded, though Piemur’s careful washing had not blurred others.

There were two maps of the Southern Continent, each with different legends on them: the largest one was inscribed with the ancient names and showed clearly defined areas. A second showed the terrain in great detail, including hill and plain contours, and river and ocean depths. The third and smallest continental map, the labels done in minute lettering, had superscriptions of numerals below each name. The fourth map was of “Landing” itself, with each of the squares named and other sections marked
INF, HOSP, WRHSE, VET, AGRI, MECH
, and
SLED REP
. A fifth plate, which Piemur and N’ton suggested could represent the area to the south of the grid, indicated underground caves. The last one showed several sites, one clearly labeled
MONACO BAY
, another the pointed peninsula just east of Cove Hold, and the third Paradise River. The wide strand along the sea on both sides was covered with figures in orange, yellow, red, blue, and green.

“Ah, yes, Paradise River,” Master Robinton said in a fond voice and then cleared his throat. Piemur closed his eyes and held his breath. He was at the meeting only because he had been with the Harper when the maps had been found. “Lovely place. Piemur, we really must trace that river to its source.”

“Oh?” Lessa said, looking up from the maps to give her old friend a long look. “You are supposed to be taking it easy, Robinton.” A worried frown creased her forehead.

“Well, it’s really not that far away, as you can see for yourself,” Robinton replied, sounding slightly annoyed as he used finger and thumb to measure the distance between Cove Hold and Paradise River. “And I am also supposed to be supervising excavations and artifacts.”

“The excavations at the Plateau,” Lessa stated, eyeing the Harper suspiciously.

“It was Piemur who found these fascinating ruins on his way here,” Robinton replied, looking abused. “Inhabited.”