Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Tagetarl was stunned. Pinch poured a cup of klah and put it in his hand.
“Drink. You’re not awake yet. But that gives them more reason to try and put a stop to the Hall.”
“More reason? Stop the Hall?”
“The written word has a power all its own, that rumor can never replace. So you publish truth. The Abominators circulate rumor. A person can reread words and reestablish truth. Rumor can’t be caught, can’t be traced. It may be more fun to pass along but a book, a sheet of printed paper, that’s tangible and the sense of it doesn’t change when it’s passed from hand to hand. Drink the klah, Tagetarl,” Pinch said very gently, raising Tagetarl’s hand to bring his cup to his mouth.
The Master Printer managed one sip of the hot liquid. “What do I do? I’ll need guards. My apprentices aren’t going to be enough!”
Pinch raised hands to silence him. “Of course they aren’t. Nice
enough lads but not trained, though I suspect Marley’s a good man in a brawl, but my reinforcements here—” He gestured broadly at the young people who were quietly sipping klah. “—have a few tricks and they know one end of a brush from another. We’ve arrived timely, too, since Beauty was here and my suspicions have been confirmed by the Runners.” He grinned brightly at Tagetarl. “Dragonriders aren’t the only ones who can be where they’re needed when they’re needed.”
Tagetarl’s jaw dropped at what was almost a profane remark from a harper.
“Now you’ve finished your klah, boys and girls, we’ve a lot to do before daylight. Smear the retardant on anything wooden. The gloves may be clumsy but they’ll save your skin. Work quietly, if you please. I don’t want even to hear the slap of brushes on the wood. You’ve all had practice.”
While two of the group gathered the cups and set them in the sink, the others went out, collecting their supplies and quietly leaving by the kitchen porch. Tagetarl glanced out the window and, in the dim predawn light, could barely see the other side of the wide court.
“Stuff’s dark going on, dries transparent. Don’t worry,” Pinch said, rising to refill the kettle from the tap at the sink and put it back on the stove. As he swung his leg over the stool, he took a sheet from a pocket and smoothed it on the table in front of Tagetarl. “Seen him around here lately?”
Tagetarl frowned. “That’s the same man you drew the last time you were here. I thought he looked familiar. I thought it odd of him to ask for a copy of Teaching Ballads. I’d actually filled an order for Lord Kashman and had none in stock. Told him to come back in a sevenday.”
Pinch nodded as if that wasn’t news to him. “Tomorrow.”
“You mean, he plans to just walk in here …” Tagetarl was appalled when he remembered the incident. “I showed him through the Hall. It seemed only courteous.”
Pinch’s smile was sardonic. “I hope you limited it to the Hall.”
“I did, but I also mentioned how many apprentices I’m training.” Tagetarl slammed his forehead with his hand. How naïve of him! Had he lost all his Harper-trained acuity? He had seven
lads, none of them fully grown except Marley, and three girls, who were all of them light-boned, hired for their quick fingers. Add in the eight Pinch had brought—
“Don’t fret,” Pinch said soothingly. “You’d no cause—then—to suspect anything. No reason not to be courteous. You are, after all, offering a special service. Even if the Abominators don’t like it.”
Tagetarl swallowed, the hot klah cooling too rapidly in his belly to give him the comfort it usually did. “How many were there in that attack on the Healer Hall? Ten? No, fifteen.”
“I’d say there’d have to be at least ten for the job here,” Pinch said casually, as if that made no difference. “Had any other ‘curious’ visitors lately?”
Tagetarl buried his face in his hands, rubbing it and then scrubbing his scalp with his knuckles. “Quite likely and all of them seemed perfectly reasonable folk.”
“They may well be,” Pinch remarked amiably, “except those who get a notion that you’re a wicked tool of the Abominator because you can turn out whole books in days instead of months.”
Tagetarl groaned.
Pinch reached over and patted Tagetarl on the shoulder. “But we’ve warning and I know who—and what—to be looking for.”
“The three sketches you showed me?”
“I’m hoping all three will come to this party.” Pinch’s expression turned enigmatic.
“Party?” Tagetarl was livid.
“Evening exercise, if you prefer. Since they expect to surprise you, we’ll just prepare a few of our own.” He rose and Bista glided from her perch on the windowsill to his shoulder. “I’ll go give them a hand.” When Tagetarl started to rise, throwing off the last of this infamous shock, Pinch motioned to the kettle. “We’ll need a lot more klah. And don’t notice me walking about today, will you? The others’ll hide in the loft. Just don’t send anyone up there, will you? Fine. We brought food and water with us. No one will know we’re here.”
He started to leave, and then stopped, putting up a hand to steady his gold fire-lizard on his shoulder.
“There’s one more thing, Tag,” he went on. “You might just get an unexpected gift, like a skin of good wine. Don’t even sample it out of courtesy. Or any provisions offered in kind for books received.”
“What?” Tagetarl bristled at that. They did take fresh fruit or meat in return for printing. Would an Abominator stoop to poison? Then he remembered that Master Robinton had been drugged at the Ruatha Gather and abducted right in front of hundreds of people. “How many are involved?”
Pinch gave an indolent shrug. “Don’t know, but Abominators seem to work in groups. Since they intend to damage the Hall, they’ll bring enough brawn to smash stuff around. There are still persons,” and he heaved a sigh for those so misguided, “who’ll do any job that drops marks in their pockets.”
Tagetarl shuddered; he had a vivid picture of the Hall, paper burning, toner powder splotching the whitewashed walls, hammers smashing his presses, even if Pinch seemed certain that fire could be prevented.
“You are
not
reassuring me, Pinch!” he said in a caustic tone.
“While we want them to get
in
,” Pinch said, “to show that they had evil intentions, we want to keep them from getting out.” His grin was malicious. “That’ll be easier to do, you know.”
“No, I don’t know, but this is just the sort of adventure you enjoy!”
“You used to, too, in your younger days, Tag,” the Harper said with an unrepentant grin. “Until you got your Mastery and started a new Hall.” He rose before Tagetarl could marshal a stern rebuttal. “By the way, if you should hear someone whistling,” and he provided a trill, “that’s me. If you hear this one,” and the intervals of the five notes in the next warble were very odd indeed, like some of the quartet music Menolly liked to write for very experienced players, “that means someone suspicious close. Got ’em?”
“Of course,” Tagetarl replied with some heat. “I’m a MasterHarper. Which reminds me: where did you so handily assemble that crew of yours? One of the Halls?” There was something familiar about them that Tagetarl couldn’t place.
“Here and there,” Pinch replied enigmatically but added with
uncharacteristic candor, “Runners, a few of ’em are seafolk waiting for a ship, useful types. All vouched for, I assure you. Ran me ragged getting here in time. Quick over the roof, too.” He glanced outside. “Experienced with brushes … of all sorts.”
Then he and Bista were out of the kitchen before Tagetarl could ask anything else. Bewildered by Pinch and the imminent threat to his Hall, Tagetarl looked around, wondering how he was going to break this news to Rosheen. Well, if he washed the cups and put them away, she wouldn’t know at first glance that there had been early morning visitors.
“Come, my dear Tai,” F’lessan said as she entered the kitchen area at Honshu, “we will eat—and get down to business.” He rose and came to meet her.
She gave him a wary smile. He had a tendency to jump in different directions, as if he enjoyed catching her off balance. He probably did. She’d thought that, once Golanth had flown Zaranth, F’lessan would disengage from her, perhaps more kindly than others had. On the contrary, he had insisted that she remain at Honshu, that she choose a room as her own—though they mainly shared the large one he preferred, and had shown her every part of an installation that must have originally been designed to support a large population. She hadn’t known there were so many levels in the stone mountain. She loved the well-equipped machine and tool room, just off the ground level where the covered hulk of an Ancient’s sled was stored. The night of the Fireball, when so many displaced Monacans had found shelter at Honshu, had probably been the first time in centuries the Weyr-hold had been even half full.
He encouraged her to talk about her interest in astronomy and managed to bring texts from the Archives that she was certain Master Esselin did not realize he had borrowed. He was very conscientious about returning them.
“We’ve put it off long enough, I think!”
A sparkle in his eye was all the warning she had before he
swung her up in his arms and twirled around. She clung to his shoulders, not fearing that he would drop her, but so she had this excuse to touch him. She wasn’t yet accustomed to either his spontaneity or his preference for touching but she was learning to welcome them. His gray eyes echoed his smile. If she weren’t so familiar with the weather and worry lines on his face, she’d’ve thought him much younger than she knew him to be when he smiled like that. Such an open, merry smile!
“Put what off?” she said, humoring his mood. He wanted to surprise her, that was certain.
“It’s a beautiful clear night.” He paused tantalizingly, and then she knew what he meant and could not suppress a gasp of excitement. “Yes, tonight, my dear green, we can hook up the scope.”
Tai couldn’t suppress her crow of delight. “You got a monitor!”
“And the operating disks. Erragon copied them for us and supplied fresh blanks for the imager. He’s given us a search pattern to follow. As if we’d ever get enough exposures to do a thorough job.” His eyes flashed with determination. “All we need is the
right
one at the
right
time of night or piece of sky.”
He was right, of course, she knew, but with his merry grin and wide-open eyes, it was as if he was somehow going to succeed despite the odds against it. His was a personality of great contrast. She was fascinated by it and rebuked herself that she had ever considered him shallow. Over the last few sevendays, she had seen how seriously he took responsibilities, exuding an optimism that could fire those around him, and how he never shirked tasks, like the Benini Hold planting, which he could have delegated to another rider. He was certainly not the casual reckless weyrbred lad Mirrim had described.
“I can certainly help with the search patterns,” she said, noticing how easily he involved her in his schemes. “Erragon trusted me with comparisons and scannings.”
“I’d prefer scanning just you, Tai m’dear,” he said, kissing the hollow in her throat; his teasing lips were warm against flesh still chilled from her trip
between
. “But we’ll have to show Erragon results from Honshu or he’ll insist on dragging you back to Cove Hold.”
Slowly he let her down. She liked the feel of his body against
hers; F’lessan was so vital, so energetic, so—alive! He did not release her entirely, affectionately looping one arm across her shoulders.
“I also spent my day doing what Aivas used to call a refresher course,” he added with one of his mischievous grins. “I don’t think I paid as much attention to him the first time as I should have.”
She noticed how his eyes darkened with the knowledge of wasted opportunity. She touched his cheek in a brief caress. “If only we all knew then what we know now.”
“Ah, yes,” and his lips curved with a touch of bitterness.
Once again she was amazed that F’lessan was willing to show his regrets. He always appeared so self-confident. Still feeling a little embarrassed by such intimacy, she caught sight of the steaming pot on the range.
“You cooked?” And looked again. “That isn’t a Honshu pot.”
“No,” and he chuckled, giving her a hug as he guided her to the range. “I stopped off at Sagassy’s hold on the way back. I’d some nails for them from Landing’s Smithcrafthall. She insisted that I take this as a delivery fee.” He shrugged. “Remind me to return the pot.”
“I will,” she replied. “After I’m sure you’ve washed it properly.” She couldn’t resist teasing him as she picked up the wooden spoon to stir the stew. “Oh, you’ve nearly let it scorch!”
“Then it’s hot enough to eat.”
F’lessan pushed her out of the way, gesturing her to sit at the end of the table that she saw had been set for two, and began ladling the stew into the wide, deep bowls. Mirrim would never believe that F’lessan could be so useful. She pinched the bread loaf and it was fresh; there was a salad, too, as greens were beginning to flourish again along the coast. She poured wine from the skin into glasses while F’lessan brought heaped plates to the table.
“Sagassy said that Riller, Jubb, and Sparling have all seen signs of felines creeping back into the valley,” he said. “They haven’t run a check for missing stock but the herds have been spooky lately.” He blew on his spoon to cool the gravy-soaked meat. “Those sharding creatures may be hunting on this side of the ridge again.”
Eight families, gradually clearing enough land to grow essential crops as well as round up wild herdbeasts, had settled the valley that spread out north of Honshu. They protected their cluster of buildings and beastholds with dragon dung and firestone mash, the best deterrents for any pests in the south, apart from trundlebugs. Visiting dragons—and those staying at Honshu after the Fireball had added considerably to the perimeter—were encouraged to donate. Once the residues dried, there was little smell to aggravate human sensitivities, but what there was was sufficient to put off all but the hungriest predators.
She and F’lessan had hunted there during their first week together. She and Zaranth had just missed catching one of the cloudy-coats that wore such valuable pelts. There was so much else to do that they hadn’t been able to take time to hunt felines again.