“Your hunch pays off, Master,” he said, striding to the wall. Candlelight illuminated a group of dusty rectangles pinned there. “Maps?” With a reverent touch, Piemur brushed aside the accumulation of grit and ash to reveal a transparent coating that had protected its treasure for unknown Turns. “Maps!”
“What did they use?” Master Robinton whispered, softly brushing dust from another. “By the First Egg!” He turned with incredulous disbelief to his journeyman. “Not just outlines this time, but names! Landing! They called the Plateau ‘Landing.’ ”
“How original!”
“Monaco Bay, Cardiff! The biggest volcano is Garben. It’s all here, Piemur.”
“Even Paradise River!” Piemur had been following the coastline with his index finger, making a zigzagging trail in the dust as he moved it eastward. “Sadrid, Malay River, Boca…and would you look at this, they hadn’t got as far as Southern!”
Zair and Farli flitting back from their own explorations recalled them from their wonder.
“Quickly, Piemur. See if you can pry the nails up. We mustn’t let Breide find these!” Robinton had his beltknife out and was working on one of the larger maps. The nails popped easily out. “Roll them up. We’ll give them to Zair and Farli to convey for us. Quickly. Take a strip off your shirttail to tie them. It would be premature indeed for Toric to discover what a relatively small portion of Southern he has actually acquired. Then we’ve got to see if there’s anything else important on this site.”
“Breide was way off up at the other end, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’ll have seen the rodmen leaving without us. He’s a suspicious sort.”
“I’m amazed that he’s allowed here,” Piemur said, tying up his three maps.
“Better the rogue you know,” the Harper said. “Zair! Take this to Cove Hold. Quickly now!”
Zair clutched the tube, as long as the span of one wing, settled it to a balance between his claws, and promptly disappeared. Piemur gave Farli her burden and instructions, and she followed the bronze.
Distantly the harpers heard someone calling them. “Let’s see what’s to be seen,” Master Robinton said in an unnecessary whisper and moved to the door still half ajar. “What if there’s more that should be hidden?” Piemur asked, but he followed.
“If there is, I’ll think of something.”
They were in a corridor, with doors opening onto it. Quick glances inside each discovered nothing more promising than the usual discarded bits and pieces. At the end of the corridor there was a hall, filled with the debris of what must have been stairs before the collapse of the southern wall and seeping water had destroyed that end of the building. They both heard the unmistakable soft noises of tunnel snakes retreating.
“Do you think snakes breed in here like hunches, Piemur?” The Harper held his candle high, craning his neck to see up the stairwell. “How unusual! So much of what they built seems indestructible.”
“Maybe this was a temporary building, something to do with the flying ships.”
“I wonder what’s up there,” the Harper said, gesturing for Piemur to add his light. They saw glimpses of white root tendrils and the glisten of wet walls but nothing informative.
“Master Robinton!” The strident shout made the Harper wince.
“Let’s put a brave face on our disappointment, Piemur!”
As they retraced their steps, Piemur noticed a square placard on the door of the room by which they had entered the corridor. It came off easily. He held up his candle to see the usual bold letters, as bright as the day they had been first inscribed.
Breide came stumbling into the room. “Are you all right? Did you find anything?”
“Snakes for the main part,” Piemur replied glumly. “And this!” He held up the sign, which read “OUT TO LUNCH.”
The Benden and Fort Weyrleaders, Lord Holders Jaxom and Lytol, and Masters Fandarel, Wansor, and Sebell met at Cove Hold to view the new maps. A damp cloth had cleaned away the dust and grit, and Master Fandarel was in awe of the clear film that had protected the surfaces. Some of the numerals that had been printed on the covering had apparently faded, though Piemur’s careful washing had not blurred others.
There were two maps of the Southern Continent, each with different legends on them: the largest one was inscribed with the ancient names and showed clearly defined areas. A second showed the terrain in great detail, including hill and plain contours, and river and ocean depths. The third and smallest continental map, the labels done in minute lettering, had superscriptions of numerals below each name. The fourth map was of “Landing” itself, with each of the squares named and other sections marked INF, HOSP, WRHSE, and VET, AGRI, MECH, SLED REP. A fifth plate, which Piemur and N’ton suggested could represent the area to the south of the grid, indicated underground caves. The last one showed several sites, one clearly labeled MONACO BAY, another the pointed peninsula just east of Cove Hold, and the third Paradise River. The wide strand along the sea on both sides was covered with figures in orange, yellow, red, blue, and green.
“Ah, yes, Paradise River,” Master Robinton said in a fond voice and then cleared his throat. Piemur closed his eyes and held his breath. He was at the meeting only because he had been with the Harper when the maps had been found. “Lovely place. Piemur, we really must trace that river to its source.”
“Oh?” Lessa said, looking up from the maps to give her old friend a long look. “You are supposed to be taking it easy, Robinton.” A worried frown creased her forehead.
“Well, it’s really not that far away, as you can see for yourself,” Robinton replied, sounding slightly annoyed as he used finger and thumb to measure the distance between Cove Hold and Paradise River. “And I am also supposed to be supervising excavations and artifacts.”
“The excavations at the Plateau,” Lessa stated, eyeing the Harper suspiciously.
“It was Piemur who found these fascinating ruins on his way here,” Robinton replied, looking abused. “Inhabited.”
“Inhabited?” everyone echoed.
“Inhabited?” Lessa asked pointedly, her eyes wide.
“Only a pair of shipwrecked northerners and their baby son,” Piemur began and saw from the gleam in the Harper’s eye that he had made a good beginning. He glowered back before he returned Lessa’s inquiring stare. He was not certain why he was to become the culprit in the matter. He looked across the table at Jaxom, who shrugged helplessly. Lytol merely watched, his face unreadable. “A resourceful couple. They’ve survived two Turns or more.”
“These illegal sailings…”Lessa began, scowling and sitting back in her chair. She crossed her arms, emphasizing her dislike of such adventuring.
“Not at all,” Piemur replied. “They were on an authorized voyage from Keroon Beasthold, bringing Toric—I mean, Lord Toric—some breeding pairs. Five people survived the storm, but injuries killed one before they found out his name, and two died of fire-head the following spring.”
“And?” Lessa’s foot tapped, but Piemur noticed a gleam of interest in F’lar’s eyes and a sympathetic grin on N’ton’s face. Fandarel listened, one eye on the ambiguous chart before him, while Wansor could be heard tutting happily to himself, his nose a scant fingertip from the map he was assiduously studying.
“They repaired some dilapidated buildings they found on the riverbanks and have done pretty well for themselves, I think,” Piemur continued. “Knocked together a little skiff, tamed some runnerbeasts, planted a garden…”