“Dragons are ticklish?” Bridgely asked, startled.
“Their bellies, yes.”
Dolphins flowed from under the dragon now, leaping up in the air and diving neatly back into the water as they sped off after the sloop.
“So what do we do now? Beard Jamson again?” asked M’shall, stroking the bronze’s neck affectionately. He was amused to see that Richud had retrieved his pole and was evidently baiting his hook.
“We’d probably have to drag Jamson down to Benden so he can see for himself, as you had to, Azury,” Bridgely said, shivering as he thought of having to return to the frigid High Reaches.
Take the pictures, suggested Craigath, to his rider’s astonishment. Dragons did not often offer unsolicited opinions, but then M’shall considered Craigath very intelligent.
“What pictures?” he asked.
“Pictures?” echoed Bridgely. “What pictures?”
Maruth says there are pictures. At Telgar.
“At Telgar?”
“Oh, that young painter,” M’shall and Bridgely said in unison.
“What painter?” Azury wanted to know.
Bridgely explained.
“Very good idea, if Jamson will accept the proof as genuine,” the Southern Boll Holder said, skeptically.
Which was exactly what happened.
“How can you be sure these are accurate?” asked the High Reaches Lord Holder when he had leafed through the vivid and detailed drawings on Iantine’s pad. “I think the whole matter has been exaggerated out of all proportion.” He closed the pad halfway on the stark sketch of the hanging men.
“And you won’t even accept my word, Jamson?” Azury said. “I’ve just been there and spoken to these people…” He riffled through the pages and came to one of a holder he’d interviewed.
“That fellow, for instance. I spoke to him myself, and I’ve no trouble accepting the truth of his story. He was four nights in an animal pen with no food and only the moisture he could get from snow, with his wife and elderly parents. Incidentally, they died of exposure despite all that Benden Weyr could do to try to revive them.”
“I do not see why, Azury,” Jamson said at his most pompous, “you do not content yourself with running your own Hold. Leave Chalkin to run his. He has the right.”
“But not the right to inflict atrocities on any of his people.” Azury’s reply was heated.
Jamson regarded him coldly. “A few lazy holders.”
“A FEW?” Bridgely exploded in frustration which, even as he did so, he knew defeated his purpose. “A few hundred is more like it, Jamson. And for that many we should all stir ourselves!”
“Well, I for one shall not, Bridgely. And that’s final.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat there, glaring at his visitors.
“Jamson,” Azury said in a very controlled, calm voice as he pushed Bridgely to one side and leaned across the desk towards Jamson huddled in his furs. “I, too, was skeptical when Bridgely came to me, unwilling to believe his report, much less his solution to the problem. One does not lightly impugn the honor of a peer. and I could not understand why Bridgely was so agitated over a few insignificant holders. Then, too, Bitra is too far to affect anything in my Hold.
“Though I quite took his point that Thread must not be allowed to burrow unchecked anywhere on the northern continent. So I conceived that it was my duty, my responsibility, to personally investigate the allegations.
“I have the witness of my own eyes and ears now. As well as the disparity between what the guards told me and the evidence of my own eyes. The Bitran situation is dire and must be rectified. We cannot, as intelligent, responsible leaders, allow such a situation to fester and spread. It affects the very roots of our society, the strength of the Charter, the fundamentals on which this whole society is based. We cannot ignore it as the internal problem of an autonomous Holding.
“You as an honorable Lord Holder owe it to yourself to investigate the situation. Then you can come to a considered judgment. At least, set your own doubts to rest by going, as I did, to Benden and gather first-hand information.”
“I have no doubts,” Jamson said. “The Charter clearly states that a Lord Holder has autonomy within his borders.
“What he does is his business, and that’s that. I should certainly protest against anyone poking his nose in my business. So I suggest you take your meddling noses and spurious charges out of here, right now!” This time he rang a hand bell and, when his oldest son opened the door in response, he said, “They’re leaving. See them out.” Bridgely took in a deep breath, but a sudden short blow to his midriff by Azury robbed him of wind to speak and he was helpless as the Southern Boll Holder dragged him out of the room.
“No matter what you said, he’s not in a mood to listen,” Azury told him, straightening Bridgely’s jacket in a tacit apology.
“Lord Azury’s right, I’m afraid,” M’shall agreed.
“You came about Bitra?” the son asked, leaning against the heavy office door to be sure it was tightly closed. “I’m Gallian, his eldest and acting steward.”
“You’ve heard?”
“Hmmm, the door was a bit ajar,” said Gallian, not at all penitent about eavesdropping, “and during your last visit too.”
“Father’s memory’s slipping a bit, so one of us tries to be nearby for important visits. He sometimes gets details muddled.”
“Any chance you can unmuddle this visit to get his cooperation?”
“May I see the sketches?” He held out one hand.
“Certainly,” Bridgely said and put the pad in his hand.
“Awful,” Gallian said, shaking his head as he viewed the distressing scenes and peering briefly with intent gaze at one or two.
“And these are accurate?” he asked Azury.
“Yes, inasmuch as I verified the condition of some of these people now at Benden Weyr,” Azury replied.
The bell jangled. Gallian thrust the pad at Azury.
“I’ll do what I can. And not because I already consider Chalkin a thief and a cheat. I must go. See yourselves out, can you?”
“We can and will.”
“What could the boy do?” M’shall wanted to know as they ran quickly down the steps to the front door and out into the icy air.
“One can never tell,” Azury admitted. “Shards, but it’s colder than between here. Get me back to my sun as fast as possible.”
“Would a stop at Fort Hold be too much to expect from you?” asked Bridgely, grinning at the southerner’s chattering teeth.
“No, and I expect it’s a tactical necessity in this struggle with Chalkin.”
M’shall nodded approvingly and, vaulting to Craigath’s back, lent a hand to the other two to mount.
The ambient temperature at Fort Hold was not warm but a decided improvement over High Reaches. Warmer still was the greeting Paulin gave them, insisting on a hot mulled wine when he heard of their adventures.
“I don’t expect Jamson will change his mind, especially now he has been specifically asked to do so,” Paulin said when his guests were settled near the good fire he had on his office hearth. “Jamson’s always been perverse.”
“Then the son is unlikely to be able to alter him?” Bridgely suggested humor. K’vin knew that Zulaya found it amusing to sit for a portrait at all, and was twitting him about what he should wear to be immortalized. K’vin also knew about Iantine’s project to do miniatures of all the riders. Ambitious, considering there were close to six hundred in the Weyr at the moment. On the one hand, K’vin was grateful these would be the gallery, while on the other hand, he dreaded those who would become casualties.
“Will it make it any easier not to have pictures?” Zulaya had asked the other night when she had required him to tell her why he was so preoccupied. “We have nothing to remind us of the first occupants of this Weyr. I think I would have liked that. Gives a continuity to life and living.”