“Chalkin also refused to accept delivery of HNO3 tanks.” added Kalvi.
“Wouldn’t pay for them, you mean” M’shall said. “That’s what Telgar riders told mine.”
“Either way, there’ll be no ground crews.”
“I think he’s gone far enough to warrant impeachment,” Paulin said with slow deliberation.
“As a Lord Holder, it’s his duty to inform, and prepare his folk, for Threadfall. That’s why the Holder system was adopted: to give people a strong leader to supply direction during a Fall and to provide emergency assistance. By closing his borders, he’s also abrogated one of the basic tenets vouchsafed in the Charter: freedom of movement. He’s turned autonomy into despotism. I’ll send all Lord Holders and Professional Heads particulars…”
“Oh,” and he glanced at - Clisser in dismay, “we can’t make quick copies any more, can we?”
“One dragon rider could contact all the other Lord Holders,” M’shall suggested. “Or one messenger on this coast and another on ours. That makes only two copies needed.”
“I’ll request a rider from S’nan,” said Paulin, reaching for a pad.
“That’ll please S’nan no end,” M’shall said. He’s not been least bit pleased with Chalkin’s defiance. Simply isn’t done, you know,” and M’shall grinned as he mimicked S’nan’s prim tones.
“We must take action against Chalkin now,” Paulin stated, “rather than leave it until the next formal Conclave at Turn’s End. Time’s running out.”
Then he turned to Clisser. “Which reminds me, Clisser, any luck on finding some method of irrefutably determining the return of Thread?” Clisser jerked himself into alertness. “We’ve several possibilities,” he replied, trying to sound more positive than he was.
“What with the loss of computer access, it’s taking longer to sift through ways and means.”
“Well, keep at it…” and then Paulin touched Clisser’s shoulder and smiled, “along with everything else you’re doing.
“By the way, the teaching songs are very good indeed.” Then he put a finger in his ear, drilling it briefly as he grinned more broadly.
“The kids sing ’em all the time, not just in class.”
“That’s what we intended,” Clisser said with droll satisfaction. “Shall I wait for your message?”
“No need for that, my friend, but thanks for offering.”
“This I will take pleasure in penning.” And Fort’s Lord Holder grinned. “And I’ll remember to keep a copy for the Archives.
“By the way, wasn’t there some ancient way of making copies… something that would transfer the writing to the next page under?”
Clisser bowed his head briefly in thought. “Carbon copying, I think you mean. We don’t have it, but Lady Salda might have some ideas. We’ve got to figure a way to make multiple copies or else spend hours copying.” He gave a heavy sigh of regret.
“I’ll leave it to you then, Clisser,” said Paulin. “Thank you all. Now get out here, the lot of you,” and he grinned at the Benden leaders and Kalvi, “and enjoy the rest of the evening while I get on with this task. Not that I won’t enjoy it in some respects,” he added, picking up his pen and examining the tip.
At that polite dismissal, they all filed out of the office.
Clisser thought that Issony looked disappointed at not being able to recite his catalogue of complaints against Lord Chalkin; so he made sure that Issony had as much of the good wine as he wanted.
Telgar Weyr
Iantine asked to be allowed out again on the next sunny day, so he was in the Bowl when the travelling traders arrived. The entire complement of the caverns flocked out to greet them.
Iantine furiously sketched the various scenes around him: the big dusty carts with their multiple teams of the heavy-duty ox-types which had been bred for such work. They had been one of the last bio-engineering feats from Wind Blossom, whose grandmother had done such notable work creating the dragons of Pern.
Iantine had seen traders come and go on their routes since childhood, and fondly remembered the stellar occasions when the Benden trading group had arrived at their rather remote sheep hold. More specifically, he recalled the taste of the boiled sweets, flavored by the fruits which grew so abundantly in Nerat, which the traders passed out by the handful. Once, there’d been fresh citrus, a treat of unsurpassed delight to himself and his siblings.
For a remote holding, having travelers drop by was almost as good as a Gather. To Iantine’s surprise, weyrfolk were equally delighted. Despite the fact that they could usually find a dragon to convey them wherever they wanted to go, the arrival of the traders was even better than tithe trains.
(The tithe wagons were a different matter, since everyone had to pitch in to store the produce given to the support of the Weyr.) And traders brought the news of all the Holds and Halls along the way.
There were as many clusters of folks just talking, Iantine noticed, as examining goods in the stalls the Liliencamps set up. Tables and chairs were brought out from the Lower Cavern; klah and the day’s fresh bread and rolls were being served.
Leopol, always on hand for Iantine, brought over a midmorning snack and hunkered down to give the artist the latest news.
“They’ve been setting up sheltered halts,” he said between bits of his own sweet roll, “along the road to here. They won’t stop doing their routes just because Thread’s coming. But they gotta prepare for it. Half of what they got on those big wagons right now is materials for safe havens. Course, they can use what caves there are, but no more camping out in the open.”
“That’s going to cramp their style,” and he grinned broadly.
“But if ya gotta, ya gotta. See,” and one jam-stained finger pointed to a group of men and women seated with the two Weyrleaders.
“They were all hunched over maps spread out on the table. They’re checking the sites over so’s everyone here’ll know where they might be if they’re caught out in a Fall.”
“Who trades through Bitra?” Iantine asked with considerable irony.
Leopol snorted. “No-one in their right mind! Specially now.”
“Didja hear that Chalkin’s closed his borders to keep his own people in? Didja know that Chalkin doesn’t believe Thread’s coming?” The boy’s eyes widened in horrified dismay at such irreverence.
“And he never told his holders it is?”
“Actually I got that distinct impression while I was there,” Iantine said, “more from what wasn’t said and done than what was. I mean, even Hall Domaize was stocking food and supplies against Threadfall. They’d talk enough about odds and wagers at Bitra, but not a word about Thread.”
“Did they sucker you into any gaming?” Leopol’s avid expression suggested he yearned for a positive answer.
Iantine shook his head and grinned at his eager listener.
“In the first place, I’d been warned.”
“Isn’t everyone warned about Bitrans at Gathers?”
“And then, I didn’t have any spare marks to wager.”
“Otherwise you’d have lost your commission fer fair, Leopol murmured, his eyes still round with his unvoiced speculations of the disaster Iantine had avoided.
“I’d say Chalkin’s gambling in the wrong game if he thinks ignoring Thread will make it not happen,” Iantine said.
“Shelters are going to have to be huge,” he added, gesturing towards the solid beasts who were being led to the lake to drink.
Either they were accustomed to dragonets from coming to Telgar Weyr, or they were so phlegmatic they didn’t care.
However, the weyrlings had never seen them before in their short lives, so they reacted with alarm at the massive cart beasts, squealing with such fright that dragons, sleeping in the pale wintry sun on their weyr ledges, woke up to see what the fuss was about. Iantine grinned.