Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Tai wouldn’t have asked for this much, she mused as she picked up a clean fork and started on the roast tubers, her favorite.
The wine was the best she’d ever tasted and so was the food.
“How’s the hand?” F’lessan asked after they’d eaten in hungry silence for a few minutes.
“My hand?” Tai looked down at it. “Oh, truly nothing now. My thanks again. And I usually do keep numbweed handy. I just didn’t … today.” In truth she had a big jar among the supplies in her weyr, but she did not have one small enough to fit in her belt pouch.
“How’d you do it?”
“Oh, probably when I was scrubbing Zaranth this afternoon. She hunted today and needed a good wash.” Hunting and bathing Zaranth had taken longer than Tai had planned. Knowing that the Archives were more likely to be unoccupied on Turnover days, she’d been anxious to get there—and not careful enough to avoid barnacle-covered rocks when rinsing the stiff brush she used on Zaranth’s hide.
“That can happen,” he said with rueful agreement. “Are you weyred along the coast or inland?”
Tai tried not to freeze at the question: bronze riders with an eye to mating with Zaranth the next time she was “ripe” always wanted to know where she could be found. Zaranth wasn’t even close to her cycle. “Coast,” she replied quickly. Almost too quickly. “Do you spend a lot of time at Honshu?”
“Coast, huh? See much of the Monaco dolphins?”
She made herself relax. She was being overly suspicious. “Yes, I do.” She smiled. Thinking of her dolphin friends always made her smile. It seemed to have a similar effect on F’lessan, who grinned back at her. He had such a merry smile. Just as Mirrim said he had.
“Natua has a new calf. She showed him off to Zaranth and me,” she said, quite willing to talk about dolphins.
“She did?” F’lessan was really interested. It showed in the way his eyes sparkled and his whole face lit up. “Golanth and I must take the time to admire him.”
“She’ll show him off to anyone, she’s so proud.”
“I’m better acquainted with the Cove Hold and Readis’s pods, you see,” he confided in her.
“I know,” she replied.
“Quite likely,” he said, shooting her a teasing glance. “Dolphins
like nothing better than to gossip. They can spread news faster than Runners. We have too many animals on this planet who can talk back to us humans.”
She gave him a startled look and then let herself chuckle. “I suppose we should be grateful that fire-lizards can’t talk.”
“A large mercy,” he agreed. “It’s bad enough they sing!”
“But they add such beautiful descants.”
“I suppose so,” he replied amiably.
She knew that Lessa, his mother, had a prejudice against fire-lizards. Mirrim had said it was because no one had known how to control the creatures when they were first brought to Benden. Did F’lessan share her bias? She didn’t know what to say to change the subject. He spared her by speaking first.
“What has you so interested in Rukbat system charts?”
“Ah!” She was grateful for the change in topic. “Well, I’m close enough, being at Monaco Bay, and I was an apprentice …” She floundered a moment.
“So you said …”
“So I’m often asked to check out figures on the original charts, which are much too valuable to be anywhere else.”
“Good Master Esselin.” F’lessan’s tone was facetious.
She flushed. “He doesn’t really approve of me, even if Master Stinar entrusts me to take
Yoko
updates to Cove Hold, because I’m only a green rider.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘
only
a green rider,’ Tai. A wing never has enough green riders,” he replied so staunchly that she was startled enough to catch his eyes. “That’s the Wingleader in me talking. Besides which, Master Esselin is a pompous old hairsplitter! Ignore him.”
“I can’t. And weren’t you hoping to avoid him, too?”
“Whenever I can. He,” he told her, dropping his tone to a whisper as he leaned across the table to her, “doesn’t approve of
me
being in Honshu.”
“But you found it,” she said, surprised.
“Yes,” he said, nodding with an air of mischievous satisfaction. “And I take great care of its treasures.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“So you
have
heard some good of me?”
She knew he was teasing her; she knew she was often too solemn. Even Mirrim said she shouldn’t be quite so conscientious, but that was just how she was. She just didn’t know how to respond to levity. As if he hadn’t noticed her uncertainty, he reached for the skin.
“More wine,” he said briskly.
She hadn’t realized her glass was empty and obediently held it out.
“Does Erragon let you stand any night watches with him at Cove Hold?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m a good timekeeper.”
Conscientious
was what Erragon called her, just like Mirrim.
“Time is a critical factor in astronomy,” he replied.
She was surprised that he knew that.
“Did you study much astronomy?”
“Not as much as I should have, but I’ll catch up.” He wasn’t teasing now. He was quite serious. “And to good advantage, since we must look beyond our traditional duties. I like people who think ahead.”
“You certainly are, with Honshu.”
His expression altered again, as if he, too, had considered his future—which put another dimension to the outwardly lighthearted dragonrider. He grinned, impulsively covering her hand with a reassuring pressure.
“Yes, I’ve plans for Honshu.” Then, in another abrupt change, he added, “I’ll just get us second servings before the roasts are all gone.”
She wouldn’t have had the nerve to go back for more to eat, but F’lessan took her plate before she could protest. Slightly awed, she watched as he chatted with the cook while the man carved generous slices from the roast.
All the tables around them were filled now with boisterous diners, enjoying the excellent Turnover meal. Though several called cheerfully to F’lessan as he made his way back, he returned the greetings without stopping to chat. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected based on Mirrim’s tales of some of his pranks at Benden Weyr. Well, that had been Turns ago, before he’d Impressed. He did have a serious side to his nature, along with that most amazing
sparkle in his eyes. She should be wary of such a sparkle. Mirrim had said he had been very much a bronze rider! Maybe she should slip away while she had a chance. But that seemed very discourteous. She had barely touched the second glass he’d poured.
A bright chord of music cut through conversations and she saw that harpers were ranged on the platform, ready to entertain the diners. Moreover, there’d be new music for a Turnover. She’d intended to stay that long. She reached out for Zaranth’s mind, but the green was obviously enjoying herself on the heights with the other dragons.
F’lessan deftly placed the dish before her. It was piled so high she wondered where she’d put all that food.
“I brought you some of the things I like, too. Fresh from the ovens.” He topped off their wineglasses. “With music! Good!”
He had no trouble putting away his second helping of Turnover food. Nor did she, but then, her parents had raised her to “eat what’s on your plate and be thankful.” She took a hasty sip of the white Benden; she hadn’t thought of her family recently. Her life with them had been so different from the one she now had—even before she had Impressed Zaranth. Zaranth—and Monaco Weyr—was her family now, and closer to her than she had ever been to her bloodkin.
Determinedly she concentrated on something else and the music caught her up. Sometime during the first round of songs, their plates were removed and a basket of southern fruit, northern nuts, and sweet cakes was deposited on the table. Klah was also being served and F’lessan, she noticed, drank more of that than the wine, which he continued to savor in sips.
It was expected that the diners would join in the chorus of the ballads. When F’lessan opened his mouth to join in, she was astonished.
He
complained about fire-lizards?
They
could harmonize, and were supplying descants from wherever they were perched. He couldn’t even find the melodic line! He wasn’t quite a monotone, but so near to one that she hoped the lusty voices around them drowned him out. Yet he was—well, not exactly singing, although he bellowed out the right words—carrying on as if he didn’t care. He merely waved to those at the nearest table,
who were grimacing at him and vigorously indicating that he should either shut his mouth or go elsewhere.
Should she try to drown him out? She had an alto range but at least she sang on pitch and with reasonable musicality. He was gesturing broadly—urgently—for her to sing. His merry eyes caught hers, and from the mischief in them, she suddenly realized that he knew very well how badly he sang and didn’t care. That he was willing to show such a defect in a culture that apotheosized music, and certainly encouraged vocal talents, astonished her. Mirrim might criticize his fickleness and breezy attitudes to weyrmates, but why hadn’t she mentioned his flawed voice?
Now, still lofting his hearty non-tone, he cupped his ear to indicate that he couldn’t hear her singing. Out of pique, she took a deep breath and joined in—hopefully loud enough to cover his performance. Vigorously, he approved her efforts, amiably marking out the tempo with both hands. He
did
have a good sense of timing. At the rousing end of the final chorus, he closed his mouth but applauded enthusiastically.
“Why do you sing, when you know you can’t?” she demanded in a low voice.
“Because I do know all the words,” he replied, not at all abashed.
She had to laugh and waved her hands helplessly. This group of harpers had finished their stint and F’lessan stood up, surveying other tables, waving to someone who waved back, though he made no effort to leave her side. Then suddenly he was hailed.
“Thought we heard your bellow, F’lessan!”
Tai saw the unmistakable figures of T’gellan and Mirrim making their way toward them. That wouldn’t do at all! While the bronze rider was urging them to join him, Tai got to her feet and, pausing only to take her wineglass with her—the white Benden was too good to be abandoned—she slipped into the shadows and away.
She heard him welcoming the bronze and green riders.
“T’gellan, Mirrim, you’ll never guess who I met at the—”
His voice broke off as he realized that she had gone. She halted in the darkness, waiting for him to identify her. She’d never hear the last of it from Mirrim.
“Geger,” he called after a beat. “D’you have more white Benden?”
Tai hurried away.
That was silly
, Zaranth said.
You know how Mirrim can be
.
Why would she object?
You know Mirrim
, Tai replied.
You’re silly
. Then Zaranth asked wistfully.
Do we have to go now?
No, love. I want to listen to the music. I can do that from any part of the Square
.
You’ll have to stand. Everyone who can be is at Landing’s Turnover
.
Don’t tell Golanth where I am
, Tai said, remembering the proximity of the two dragons on the heights.
Why not?
Just don’t
.
Oh! As you wish
. Zaranth sounded confused.
It’s all right
.
Tai found herself a place to stand at the edge of the throng and listened to the splendid music. She made her glass of Benden white last through the concert. It really was the best wine she’d ever tasted.
It was when she was making her way back to the heights that she heard the crashing. Glass? Rather a lot of glass, by the sound of it. An accident? She ought to see what was happening. That was much too much noise for a simple mishap.
Lessa, Ramoth’s rider and Benden’s Weyrwoman, emerged into the winter night air, shivering as the crisp cold struck. At least the blizzard blanking out High Reaches and a good bit of Tillek Hold had not marred this last night of Benden’s Turnover. She wrapped the long fur-lined coat about her and wished she’d put her gloves on, too, though the basket of hot pastries, which Manora had pressed on her as they left, kept her right hand warm. When F’lar finished closing the panel on the rousing chorus of the latest Harper ballad, she slipped her left hand between his elbow and
the rough hide of his jacket. He slung the wineskin over his left shoulder and pressed her hand tighter to his side.
Out of habit they both glanced across the Bowl, which was eerily silent. Opposite them, on the ledges to the Weyrwoman’s quarters, they could see their dragons in the moonlight. Blue-green, two pairs of dragon eyes winked open and followed the progress of their partners across the flat, frosted Bowl.
Belior, its brightness better than a glowbasket, lit the eastern arc of the huge double crater, throwing the entrances to the individual weyrs into darkness. The moon illuminated the watchdragon and his rider, striding up and down the Rim to keep warm.
“Don’t dally, girl,” F’lar murmured, shrugging into the warmth of his jacket and lengthening his stride.
“If I had a Harper mark for every time I’ve crossed the Bowl,” Lessa said.
“Add those to mine and we’d be as rich as Toric.”
Lessa gave a snort and, her breath misting before her, quickened her steps. Maybe they should have gone south, where Turnover could be conducted on sun-warmed beaches and the more temperate southern night. But Benden Weyr had been home to her for thirty-five Turns now, and F’lar’s for all of his sixtythree. Although they had made their traditional appearances at Benden Hold on Turnover First Night and heard marvelous music at Ruatha on the second, they preferred to end the celebration here. She was glad enough to be able to enjoy some quiet time after the frenetic pace of this Turnover Past.
She wondered if, at the end of this Pass—“After,” as people referred to it—he would want to leave Benden. Or maybe, if he could not bear to leave the splendor of the Weyr, at least spend the worst of the cold months in the south. Maybe not
in
Honshu, which F’lessan had repeatedly invited them to share, but nearby.