“No,” the Harper replied honestly. “It’s an unusual enough ability. Only Brekke and Lessa can hear other riders’ dragons—and then only with conscious effort. It could have something to do with moving from girlhood to womanhood. I’ll ask Lessa—she will not chide you, my dear,” he added when Aramina’s hands clenched nervously in his. “I’ll see to that.”
When the dragon took off and suddenly disappeared, the baby in Jayge’s arms was startled into crying, looking wide-eyed at his mother for reassurance.
“They’ll be back, lovey. Now it’s time for you to be in bed.”
“Are you truly glad you don’t hear dragons anymore, Ara?” Jayge asked much later, after they had lain in bed for long hours discussing their plans for Paradise River Hold. He raised himself on his elbow to see her face in the moonlight flooding in through the window.
“When I was a little girl, I loved to hear them talking. They didn’t know I was listening.” Her mouth curved in a little smile. “I could pretend to have conversations with them. It was exciting to know where they were going, or where they’d been, and desperately saddening when I knew who had been injured. But I used to pretend, and this used to be terribly important to me, that they knew who Aramina was.” The smile disappeared. “Mother was always very strict with us. Even when my father was working at Keroon Beasthold, she wouldn’t let me play with many of the cothold children, and we weren’t allowed in the main Hold. When we were forced to live in Igen low caverns, Mother got even stricter. We weren’t allowed to play with anyone. So the dragons became even more important to me. They were freedom, they were safety, they were so marvelous! And when the hunters started taking me with them, my hearing dragons was my way of getting a larger share of what was available in Igen low caverns.”
She was suddenly silent, and Jayge knew she was remembering the trouble that her ability to hear dragons had caused. Gently, to remind her he was there, he began to stroke her hair.
“It was a wonderful gift for a child to have,” she murmured. “But I grew up. And the gift became dangerous. Then you found me.” She began to fondle him, as she often did when she wished them to make love. He held her closely for a long moment, trembling with the gift that Aramina gave to him.
Perschar was more than willing to go to Paradise River. “Anything to get me away from Master Arnor’s precise journeyman. I detest having to measure everything before I draw it. My eye is quite keen, you know. It will be nice to have something other than squares and rectangles to draw. Did the ancients have no imagination at all?”
“Rather a lot,” Robinton replied. “They got here, you know.” He pointed downward, meaning Pern.
“Oh, yes, rather.” Perschar was hauling watercolored scenes of things other than straight lines out of his carrysack.
“Where’s this?” Piemur asked, nicking one out of the pile and holding it up.
“That hill?” Perschar craned his neck. “Oh, that’s down by the grid that Fandarel’s young men are trying to pry out of the ground.”
Master Robinton turned the drawing so that he could see it. “I don’t think that’s a real hill,” he mused.
“Of course it is. Trees, bushes—quite irregular. Nothing like the others. Too tall for their one-level buildings, and sort of—” He paused, his eye arrested suddenly by what the harpers had seen. “You know, it just could be,” He made gestures indicating several levels with his hands. “Well, don’t dig it all up until I get back, will you?”
After Perschar was handed over to P’ratan to be conveyed to Paradise River, Master Robinton propped the sketch up on his desk and stared at it. Piemur picked up a charcoal and, thriftily using a corner of a scrap leaf, did some alterations.
“Hmm, more than one level, huh?” Robinton murmured.
“It’s sort of halfway down the grid strip the flying ships used,” Piemur said.
“We could go have a look,” the Masterharper suggested. “I’d like to find something myself! Wouldn’t you?”
“Not if I have to dig it out by myself,” Piemur replied.
“Would I ask you to do something I wouldn’t do?” Master Robinton demanded, wide-eyed with an innocence that appeared remarkably genuine.
“Frequently! Fortunately there’re enough willing hands up at the Plateau, so I’ll see that I have help.”
P’ratan returned from Paradise River later that afternoon, apologizing for taking so long on a simple errand. “Rather a lot going on down at your Paradise now,” he told the harpers as they left Cove Hold for the beach to rouse Poranth. The old green tended to doze off whenever she was not moving. “He’s got Temma, Nazer, and their youngster, and the young holder traded some of those things he’s got stored for Master Garm to sail some holdless Craftsmen down. There’s talk now of setting up a seahold. Told ‘em to get in touch with Crafthalls. They’ve usually got a few journeymen’d like to change around for the experience. Place is bustlin’ now. Nice to see.”
Fortunately Poranth was of the opinion that it did not matter where she did her dozing and conveyed them to the Plateau. As she circled lazily for a landing, Piemur noted that the work was progressing systematically: Minercraftmaster Esselin was in charge of the excavations, using the larger building F’lar had discovered as storage for the artifacts so far uncovered, and Lessa’s building as an onsite office. Several more in her section had been dug out and were being used as living quarters for the diggers and rodmen. At least one building in each immediately adjacent section had been cleared enough to permit inspection.
Master Robinton and Piemur found Master Esselin in his office and begged the loan of several workers. Breide, Toric’s ubiquitous representative, hurried in to hear what was going on.
“The hill, you say?” Master Esselin said, consulting his map. “Which hill? What hill? There’s no hill down on my list for excavating. I really can’t divert men from my schedule to dig out a hill.”
“Which hill?” Breide asked. He and Master Esselin had an uneasy truce. Breide, blessed with an unusually sharp and copious memory, could remember such details as how many teams to excavate which shaped mound, how much water and how many meals they needed, and exactly where what had been found in which building. He knew which Crafthall and hold had sent men and supplies, and how many hours they had worked. He was useful, and he was a nuisance.
Silently Master Robinton unrolled Perschar’s sketch and presented it to them.
“That hill?” Master Esselin was clearly not impressed by its potential. “It’s not even on the list.” But he looked inquiringly at Breide.
“A few sample rod holes, including the walk to and from the site!” Breide said in the flat voice of the slightly deaf. “It would take about an hour.” He shrugged, waiting for Esselin’s decision.
“It’s a hunch,” Master Robinton said. He spoke with so much winning confidence that Breide gave him a sharp glance.
“Two rodmen, for an hour,” Master Esselin conceded and, according Master Robinton a respectful bow, left his office to give the necessary orders.
“I should think, Master Robinton, that those flying ships would have a priority,” Breide said as he followed the two harpers, the rodmen resignedly plodding after them.
“Well, they are clearly Master Fandarel’s responsibility, “ Master Robinton said, dismissing Breide’s implicit and repeated argument. “He is so ingenious. These rods he designed especially for excavation work, for example, make it possible to tell, with a few strokes of the hammer, the depths of earth above a mound. I understand that he’s trying to develop a more efficient way of digging, a revolving scooping apparatus.”