“Are you Menolly?”asked a man tentatively. She looked up to see one of the minercraftsmen who’d shared her tier at the Impression.
“I’m Nicat, Masterminer of Crom Hold. Weyrwoman Lessa said that I was to have two fire lizard eggs.”
Beyond his stiff manner, Menolly could see he was restraining an eager impatience to hold fire lizard eggs of his own.
“Indeed I have sir, right here,” she said, smiling warmly at him and indicating the table-protected basket.
“Well, my word,” and his manner thawed visibly, “you’re taking no chances, are you.”
He helped her move the table and watched anxiously as she brushed back the top layer of sand and exposed the first of the eggs.
“Could I have a queen egg?” he asked.
“Master Nicat, Lessa explained to you that there’s no way of telling which is which among the fire lizard eggs,” said T’gellan, joining them to Menolly’s intense relief. “Of course, Menolly might have a way of telling…”
“She might?” Masterminer Nicat regarded her with surprise.
“She’s Impressed nine, you know.”
“Nine?” Master Nicat frowned at her now, and she could practically read his mind: Nine for a child, and only two for the Masterminer?
“Pick Master Nicat two of the best, Menolly! We don’t want him to be disappointed.” Although T’gellan’s face was sober, Menolly caught the expression in his eyes.
She managed to conduct herself with proper dignity and made a play of picking out just the right eggs for Masterminer Nicat, all the while being certain in her own mind that the queen egg was going to Masterharper Robinton only.
“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing Masterminer Nicat the furry pouch with its precious contents. “You’d best carry them in your riding jacket, against your skin, on the way home.”
“Then what do I do?” Master Nicat asked with humility as he held the sack in both hands against his chest.
Menolly looked at T’gellan, but both men were looking at her. She gulped.
“Well, I’d do exactly what we’re doing here. Keep them near the hearth in a strong basket with either hot sand or furs. The Weyrwoman said they’d be hatching in about a sevenday. Feed them as soon as they break their shells, as much as they can eat, and talk to them all the time. It’s important to…” She faltered; how could she tell this hard-faced man that you had to be affectionate and kind…
“You must reassure them constantly. They’re nervous when they’re first hatched. You saw the dragons today. Touch them and stroke them…” The Masterminer was nodding as he catalogued her instructions. “They must be bathed daily, and their skins must be oiled. You can always tell when a crack is developing from scaly patches on the hide. And they keep scratching themselves…”
Master Nicat turned questioningly to T’gellan. “Oh, Menolly knows what to do. Why, she has her fire lizards singing tunes along with her and all…”
T’gellan’s airy assurance did not sit too well with the Masterminer.
“Yes, but how do you get them to come to you?” he asked pointedly.
“You make them want to come back to you,” Menolly said so firmly that she rated one of the Miner’s daunting frowns.
“Kindness and affection, Master Nicat, are the essential ingredients,” T’gellan said with equal force. “Now I see that T’gran is waiting to escort you, and your fire lizards, back to Crom.” And he led the Masterminer off.
When T’gellan returned to Menolly, his eyes were dancing. “I’ll wager you my new tunic that one won’t keep a fire lizard. Cold clod, that’s what he is. Numbwit!”
“You shouldn’t have said that about my fire lizards singing with me.”
“Why not?” T’gellan was surprised at her criticism. “Mirrim hasn’t done that much with her three, and she’s had them longer. I told…Ah, yes, Craftmaster, F’lar did indeed say that you’re to have a fire lizard egg.”
And so the evening went, with lucky eager holders and craftsmen arriving to collect the precious fire lizard eggs. By the time only Masterharper Robinton’s eggs remained in the warm sands of the basket, Menolly had become resigned to hearing T’gellan’s wheeze that she had taught her fair of fire lizards to sing. Fortunately no one asked her to put it to the test, since her weary friends were curled up on their wall perches. They hadn’t roused from sleep for all the singing and laughter at the merry tables in the Bowl.
Harper Elgion was thoroughly enjoying the Impression Feast. He hadn’t realized how dour Half-Circle Hold was until this evening. Yanus was a good man, a fine Sea Holder to judge by the respect his holders accorded him, but he certainly knew how to take the joy out of living.
When Elgion had sat in the Hatching Ground, watching the young boys Impress, he’d determined that he’d find a fire lizard clutch of his own. That would alleviate the gloom at Half-Circle. And he’d see that Alemi got an egg, too. He’d heard from his neighbors in the tiers that the clutch being distributed this evening to the fortunate had been found down the coast from Half-Circle Sea Hold by T’gellan. Elgion had promised himself a chat with the bronze dragonrider; but T’gellan had had two passengers aboard Monarth when he’d collected Elgion at Half-Circle so there’d been no opportunity to talk. Elgion hadn’t seen the man since the Hatching. But he’d bide his time.
Meanwhile, Oharan, the Weyr Harper, had Elgion playing gitar with him to amuse the visitors.
Elgion had just finished another tune with Oharan and some of the other visiting harpers when he caught sight of T’gellan, assisting a craftsman to mount a green dragon. It was then that Elgion noticed that the visitors were thinning out and this rare evening was drawing to a close. He’d speak with T’gellan, and then seek out the Masterharper, too.
“Over here, man,” he said, beckoning to the bronze rider.
“Oh, Elgion, a cup of wine, please. I’m parched with talking. Not that it’ll do those cold clods much good. They’ve no feeling for fire lizards at all.”
“I heard you found the clutch. It wasn’t in that cave by the Dragon Stones, was it?” “By the Dragon Stones? No. Way down the coast in fact.”
“Then there wasn’t anything there?” Elgion was so bitterly disappointed that T’gellan gave him a long look.
“Depends on what you were expecting. Why? What did you think would be in that cave if it didn’t hold fire lizard eggs?”
Elgion wondered briefly if he would be betraying Alemi’s confidence. But it had become a matter of his professional honor to know if the sounds he’d heard from that cave had been made by pipes.
“The day Alemi and I saw the cave from the boat, I could have sworn I heard pipes. Alemi insisted it was wind over blowholes in the cliff, but there wasn’t that much wind that day.”
“No,” T’gellan said, seeing a chance to tease the Harper, “you heard pipes. I saw ’em when I searched the place.”
“You found pipes? Where was the player?”
“Sit down. Why’re you so excited?”
“Where’s that player?”
“Oh, here at Benden Weyr.”
Elgion sat down again, so deflated and disappointed that T’gellan forbore to tease him further. “Remember the day we rescued you from Thread? T’gran brought someone in as well.”
“The lad?”
“That was no lad. That was a girl. Menolly. She’d been living in the cave…Now, what’s the matter?”
“Menolly? Here? Safe? Where’s the Masterharper? I’ve got to find Master Robinton. Come, T’gellan, help me find him!”
Elgion’s excitement was contagious and though he was mystified, T’gellan joined the search. Taller than the young Harper, T’gellan spotted Master Robinton in deep conversation with Manora at a quiet table in the Bowl.