“At a profit, I’m sure.”
Iantine considered that for a moment. “I was lucky to find any place to wait out the storm. And he did share.” He shrugged briefly, and a dejected look crossed his features as he sighed. “Anyway, it was he who suggested I make a sign in the snow to attract any dragon rider I’m just lucky one saw me.” He nodded thanks to P’tero.
“No problem,” the blue dragon rider said airily. “Glad I came.” He leaned towards Tisha across the table. “He’d’ve been frozen solid in another day!”
“Were you long waiting?”
“Two days after the storm ended, but I spent the nights with ol’ Fendler. If you’re hungry enough, even tunnel snake tastes good,” Iantine added.
“Ah, the poor laddie,” said Tisha and called out orders for a double portion of stew to be brought immediately, and bread and sweetening and some of the fruit that had been sent up from Ista.
By the time Iantine had finished the meal, he felt he had made up for the last four days. His feet and hands were tingling despite the numb weed and salve. When he stood to go and relieve himself, he wobbled badly and clutched at the chair for support.
“Have a care, lad, filling the stomach was only half your problem,” Tisha said, moving to support him with far more alacrity than her bulk would suggest. She gestured for P’tero to lend a hand.
“I need to…” Iantine began.
“Ach, it’s on the way to the sleeping cavern,” Tisha told him and drew one of his arms over her shoulder. She was as tall as he.
P’tero took up the packs again and between them, they got him to the toilet room. And then into a bed in an empty cubicle. Tisha checked his feet again, applied another coat of numb weed and tiptoed out. Iantine only made sure that his packs - and the precious fee were in the room with him before he fell deeply asleep.
While he slept, messages went out - to Hall Domaize and to Benden Weyr and Hold, since Iantine nominally looked to Benden. Although Iantine had taken no lasting harm, M’shall recognized yet another instance of Chalkin taking unfair advantage. Irene had already sent in a substantial list of abuses and irregularities in Chalkin’s dealings generally with folk who had no recourse against his dictates. He held no court in which difficulties could be aired, and had no impartial arbiters to make decisions.
The big traders, who could be counted on for impartial comment, bypassed Bitra and could cite many examples of unfair dealings since Chalkin had assumed the Holding fifteen years before. The few small traders who ventured in Bitra rarely returned.
Following that Oather and its decision to consider deposing Chalkin, M’shall had his sweep riders check in every minor bold to learn if Chalkin had duly informed his people of the imminence of Thread. None had, although Lord Chalkin had increased his tithe on every household. The manner in which he was conducting this extra tithe suggested that he was amassing supplies for his own good, not that of the Hold.
Those in more isolated situations would certainly have a hard time obtaining even basic food supplies. That constituted a flagrant abuse of his position as Lord Holder.
When Paulin read M’shall’s report, he asked if Chalkin’s holders would speak out against him. M’shall had to report that his initial survey of the minor holders indicated a severe lack of civic duty.
Chalkin had his folk so cowed, none would accuse him - especially this close to a Pass, for he had still had the power to turn objectors out of their holds.
“They may change their minds once Thread has started,” K’vin remarked to Zulaya.
“Too late, I’d say, for any decent preparations to be made.” K’vin shrugged. “He’s really not our concern - for which I, for one, am thankful. At least we rescued Iantine.”
Zulaya gave a wry chuckle. “That poor lad! Starting his professional career at Bitra, Not the best place.”
“Maybe that’s all he could aspire to,” K’vin suggested.
“Not if he’s from Hall Domaize,” Zulaya said tartly. “Wonder how long it’ll take his hands to recover?”
“Thinking of a new portrait?” K’vin asked, amused.
“Well, he’s down an eighth of what he needs,” she said.
K’vin gave her a wide-eyed look. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” she said with an edge to her voice. “He needs something in his pocket of his own. I admire a lad who’d endure Bitra for any reason. And Iantine’s was an honorable one in wanting to pay the transfer fee.”
“Wear that red Hatching dress when you sit for him,” K’vin said. Then he rubbed his chin. “You know, I might have my portrait done, too.” Zulaya gave him a long look.
“The boy may find it as hard to leave Telgar Weyr as it was Bitra. With a much fuller pouch and no maintenance subtracted And soap and hot water and decent food,” Zulaya said.
“According to Tisha, he’ll need feeding up. He’s skin and bones.”
When the singing woke Iantine, he was totally disoriented.
No-one had sung a note at Bitra Hold. And he was warm!
The air was redolent of good eating odors, too. He sat up.
Hands, feet and face were stiff, but the tingling was gone. And he was exceedingly hungry.
The curtain across the cubicle rustled and a boy’s head popped through.
“You’re awake, Artist Iantine?” the lad asked.
“Indeed, I am,” and Iantine looked around for his clothes.
Someone had undressed him and he didn’t see his own clothes.
“I’m to help you if you need it,” the boy said, pushing half-way through the curtains. “Tisha laid out clean clothes.” He wrinkled a snub nose.
“Yours were pretty ripe,” she said.
Iantine chuckled. “They probably were. I ran out of soap for washing three weeks ago.”
“You waz at Bitra. They charge for everything there,” and the boy threw up both arms in disgust. “I’m Leopol,” he added.
Then he lifted the soft slippers from the pile on the Stool.
“Tisha said you’d better wear these, not your boots. And you’re to use the salve first.” He held up the lidded jar.
“Dinner’s ready.” Leopol then licked his lips.
“And you must wait your meal until I’m ready, huh?”
Leopol nodded solemnly and then grinned. “I don’t mind. I’ll get more because I waited.”
“Is food in short supply at this Weyr?” Iantine asked jokingly as he began to dress in the clean gear.
Odd how important simple things, like freshly laundered clothing, assumed the level of luxury when you’ve had to do without.
Leopol helped him spread the salve on his feet. They were still tender to the touch and even the act of applying the salve made them suddenly itchy. Fortunately the numb weed or whatever it was, reduced that sensation.
When he had relieved himself again and gingerly washed face and hands, he and Leopol made their way to the Lower Cavern where the evening meal was in progress.
The lad led him to a side table near the hearth which had been set for two. Instantly cooks descended with plates overflowing with food, wine for him and klah for Leopol.
“There now, Artist man,” the cook said, nodding appreciation as Iantine attacked the roast meat, eat first and then the Weyrleaders would like a few words with you, if you’re not too tired.” Iantine murmured thanks and understanding and addressed himself single-mindedly to his food. How long had it been since he’d eaten a decent meal?
He would have had additional servings of the main course, but his stomach felt uneasy: too much good food after several days of semi-fasting, probably. Leopol brought him a large serving of the sweet course, but he couldn’t finish it all because the back of his throat felt raw and sore. He would have gone back to his bed then, but he saw the Weyrleaders advancing on him. Leopol made a discreet exit, grinning reassurance at him. Iantine tried to stand in courtesy to his hosts, but he wobbled on his numbed feet and dropped back into the chair.