“Ah, Master Jol?” called someone from one of the trade wagons. “A moment of your time.”
“I’ll be back, lad, just you stay there. You, too, Debera. I’ve not finished with the pair of you yet, so I haven’t.” As Iantine and Debera exchanged stunned looks, he trotted off to see what was required of him, tucking the pencil behind his ear again and folding up his pad as he went.
“I don’t believe him,” Iantine said, shaking his head, feeling weak and breathless.
“Are you all right?” Debera asked, leaning across the table to him.
“Gob-smacked,” Iantine told her, remembering a favorite expression of his father’s. “Completely gob-smacked!”
Debera grinned knowingly. “I think I am, too. I never expected.”
“Neither did I!”
“Why? Don’t you trust traders?” Leopol asked, sounding slightly defensive.
Iantine gave a shaky laugh. “One can trust traders. It’s just I never expected such generosity.”
“How long were you in Bitra?” Debera asked tartly, giving a long look.
“Long enough,” Iantine said, grimacing, “to learn new meanings to the word ‘satisfactory’” Debera gave him a little frown.
“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head and patting her hand. “And thank you very much for introducing me to your cousin.”
“Once he saw that sketch, you really didn’t need me,” she remarked, almost shyly.
“I believe you ordered these,” said a baritone voice. Rider and artist looked up in astonishment as a trader deposited an armful of items on the table: two pads, one larger than the other, a neat square box which held a full glass bottle of ink, a sheaf of pens and a parcel of pencils. “Special delivery.” With a grin, he pivoted and went back the way he had come.
“Master Jol does pride himself on his quick service,” Leopol said with a wide grin.
“There now! You’re all set,” said Debera.
“I am indeed,” and the words came out of Iantine like a prayer.
Fort Hold and Bitran Borders - Early Winter VI
Lord Paulin’s message to the other Lords Holder and Weyrleaders received a mixed reception: not everyone was in favor of impeachment, despite the evidence presented.
Paulin was both annoyed and frustrated, having hoped for a unanimous decision so that Chalkin could be removed before his Hold was totally demoralized.
Jamson and Azury felt that the matter could wait until the Turn’s End Council meeting: Jamson was known to be conservative, but Paulin was surprised by Azury’s reservations. Those who lived in tropical zones rarely understood the problems of winter weather. To be sure, it would be more difficult to prepare Bitra Hold in full winter, which was Azury’s stated concern, but some progress could be made to prepare the Hold for the vernal onslaught of Threadfall.
Preparations ought to have begun - as in every other Hold two years ago: larger crops sowed, harvests stored and general maintenance done on buildings and arable lands, as well as the construction of emergency shelters on the main roads and for ground crews. Not to mention training holders how to combat Thread burrows.
There was the added disadvantage that Chalkin’s folk seemed generally dispirited anyhow - though that should not be used as an excuse for denying them news of the impending problem.
And who would succeed to the Hold? A consideration that was certainly fraught with problems.
In his response, Bastom had made a good suggestion: the appointment of a deputy or regent right away until one of Chalkin’s sons came of age - sons who would be specifically, and firmly, trained to Hold properly. Not that the new Holder had to be of the Bloodline, but following the precepts of inheritance outlined in the Charter would pacify the nervous Lords. To Paulin’s way of thinking, competence should always be the prime decider in succession, and that was not always passed on in the genes of Bloodlines.
For that matter, Paulin’s eldest nephew had shown a sure grasp of hold management. Sidny was a hard worker, a fair man, and a good judge of character and ability. Paulin was half tempted to recommend him for Fort’s leadership when he was gone. He had a few reservations about his son, Mattew, but Paulin knew that he tended to be more critical of his own Blood than others were.
He would definitely suggest Bastom’s idea to the Counciclass="underline" good practice for younger folk to have actual hands-on experience in running a Hold. Considering the state Bitra Hold was in, a team would be required. Such an expedient would certainly reduce the cry of ‘nepotism’, and give young men and women a chance to display initiative and ability.
When the last of the replies came in, Paulin gave the young green rider a message for M’shall at Benden Weyr on the result of the polling. The Weyrleader was sure to be as disappointed as he was. He tried to convince himself that they could still get Bitra Hold right and tight in time for Threadfall.
But the sooner it was done, the better. He hoped M’shall could get back to him about locating the Bitran uncle, and whether he was competent to take Hold. Otherwise a Search must be made of legitimate heirs to - -
“Fraggital!,” Paulin muttered, pushing back from his desk and sighing deeply in frustration. One could no longer do a quick search on the Bloodline Program for a comprehensive genealogy. Surely that was one program Clisser had printed out, and copied. “Well, we’ll need a copy of whatever form that program’s in,” he told himself, sighing again. To cheer himself up, he reviewed the progress report from the new mine.
They wanted permission to call the hold CROM, an acronym of the founders: Chester, Ricard, Otty and Minerva.
Paulin didn’t see a problem with that but, as a matter of form especially right now - the request should first be presented to the Council. During the Interval so many procedures had been relaxed and the leniency was now coming back to plague them, as in the case of Chalkin becoming Lord Holder. At least Paulin was consoled by the knowledge that it was his father, the late Lord Emilin, who had voted Fort on that score.
That evidence of bad judgment wasn’t Paulin’s error even if it was now up to him to rectify the situation.
There was an abrupt rapping of knuckles on his door and before he could respond, it swung open: the Benden Weyrleader, M’shall, brushed past Mattew to enter.
“We’ve got to do something NOW, Paulin,” the Weyrleader said, his expression grim as he hauled off his riding gauntlets and opened up his jacket.
“You got my message quickly enough… Bring klah, Matt,” Paulin asked, gesturing for his son to be quick.
M’shall’s face looked pinched with the cold of between and more.
“I got it. And that’s not the end of it. There’s rough weather in Bitra and people freezing to death because they will not leave the border,” M’shall announced.
“Will not? Or cannot?”
“More cannot than will not. Though Chalkin sent down orders that none of the ‘ungrateful dissenters’ could expect to reclaim their holdings - - - punishment for defying him. Way irrespective of the fact that he’s putting their lives at risk by his notion of Holding.
“How many are involved?” Paulin’s sense of alarm increased.
M’shall ruffled thick graying hair that had been pressed down by his helmet. “L’sur says there must be well over a hundred at the main border crossing into Benden with women, children and elderlies.
“There are as many or more at other border points and no shelter at any, bar what the guards are using. The refugees have all been herded into a makeshift pen. What’s more atrocious, L’sur saw several bodies hung up by the feet which seemed to have been used as target practice. Benden Weyr cannot ignore such barbarity, Paulin.”