Still playing instinctively, Kindan scanned the small crowd to pick up snippets of conversation.
“Caravan coming in to pick up our coal—” It was true: With the snow melting, there should be a trader caravan in any day now to take the last six months’ worth of mined coal.
“—hope they bring some apprentices—” Natalon had sent a drum message to the MasterMiner in Crom asking for more apprentices.
“—no use, they’ll be the worst, or who’d let them go?”
Kindan sighed, as that last comment made too much sense. Any apprentices that could be freed to go to a new mine would never be the best apprentices—they’d be kept on by their Masters at the current mines. Some of them would just be young and eager, but others might even be more trouble than they were worth: lazy or shiftless.
“—without a watch-wher, how are we going to be safe?” Kindan’s ears pricked up at that snippet of conversation, trying to identify the speaker.
“—there’s been too many accidents, especially since—” Kindan guessed that the speaker was about to say “the cave-in,” but the voice had slipped away from him in the general noise of the hall. Kindan agreed with whoever had said that; there’d been minor accidents once or twice a week since the cave-in that had killed his father and Dask. Partly, as Kindan had heard Natalon tell Zist one late evening when they both thought him asleep, because they were working hard with few people, and partly because it was just the nature of working underground where any carelessness could easily result in an injury.
Kindan searched the crowd and spotted Panit, one of Tarik’s old cronies, stumping about with a cast on his foot. The old miner had not been paying attention and had let a trolley get away from him and run over his foot.
“At the end of the day, it’s the head miner who’s to blame, isn’t it?” Panit asked a small knot of worried-looking miners gathered around him. Kindan stiffened. “Maybe the problem’s not watch-whers, but leadership.”
Kindan strained to see the reactions of the other miners but only succeeded in losing his beat. With a quick flourish, he jumped back into it, but not before several heads turned in his direction, Panit’s being one of them.
“When you’re listening in,” Master Zist murmured in Kindan’s ear, appearing suddenly at his side, “it’s important not to be noticed.”
Kindan managed a sickly smile in return. “Sorry,” he muttered back.
Master Zist nodded. He thrust a mug and a plate of snacks at Kindan and said, “Take a break.”
Not long after that, the Gather broke up. Kindan and the Harper were the last to leave, bowed under the weight of their instruments and the length of their day.
Kindan could never remember how he got into his bed that night.
“Master Zist! Master Zist!” Dalor’s cry woke Kindan far too soon. He stirred groggily, frightened by the tone of Dalor’s voice.
“Eh? What is it?” Master Zist called out from his room as Kindan tumbled into the kitchen.
“It’s my mother,” Dalor said, face pale with fright. “The baby’s coming early.”
The Harper emerged from his room, still in his bedclothes. He took one look at Dalor and turned decisively to Kindan. “Go run to Margit’s and get her up here.” He turned back to Dalor, “I’ll be along as soon as I get some clothes on. You get on back. Start the cook boiling water, if she hasn’t already.” His tone turned softer as he took in the look on Dalor’s face. “It’ll be all right, lad. Now off with you!”
The moment Dalor was out of earshot, Kindan told the Harper, “Margit’s not much at midwifery. Silstra did most of that, and Harper Jofri.”
“Journeyman Jofri learned his healing after I’d thrown him out of my singing class,” Master Zist said. Then he sighed. “And I learned my singing after the MasterHealer threw me out of his healing class.”
Kindan looked alarmed. The Harper made shooing motions with his hands. “Get off, now! Well cope.”
Kindan chivvied Margit along as fast as he could when he woke her but she was not to be hurried. They reached Jenella’s room in time to hear Milla, who was standing in the doorway, wail, “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”
“No, it’s not,” Margit said matter-of-factly. “It’s a month before normal time, and that’s close enough.” She drew herself closer to the baker and said harshly, “And if you can’t get yourself under control, you’ll go back to the kitchen.”
Milla, who wouldn’t miss the excitement for gold, sniffed and drew herself up, but closed her mouth.
Kindan, carrying Margit’s work things, followed her into the room. Natalon was holding Jenella’s hand. Master Zist had arranged sheets and blankets discreetly and placed himself to receive the baby.
Margit shouldered the Harper aside to make her own inspection. Satisfied, she went to Jenella’s side. “You’re fine, dear, just fine,” she assured her. “When the next contraction comes, just bear on down. You know the drill.”
Dalor stirred uncomfortably from his spot in the room. Master Zist glanced at him, eyes narrowed, and then turned to Kindan. “Lad, get Swanee to cook some towels in boiling water. We’ll need to clean the baby when it arrives. Take Dalor to help you.”
Kindan gave the Harper a quizzical look, then enlightenment dawned and he grinned. Dragging a reluctant Dalor after him, he left the room.
Out of earshot, Kindan said to the other boy, “If we work it right, we can get your sister in to substitute for you some of the time.”
“Oh, please,” said a figure appearing out of the shadows. It was Nuella. “I’d like to be there; Mother will want me.”
“But if Margit or Milla—” Dalor protested.
“They won’t know if there’s only one of you in the room at a time and you wear the same clothes,” Kindan said. “Not in all the excitement.”
“That will only work if you wear my cap,” Dalor said, pulling the cap he usually wore off himself and stuffing it on Nuella’s head.
“And put your hair under it,” Kindan said. Nuella took the cap off, twirled her hair up into a bun and stuffed the cap back on.
“Perfect!” Dalor said. “You look just like me.”
“But if you forget the cap or it falls off, you’ll be caught out,” Kindan warned. Dalor looked frightened.
Nuella settled the matter, telling Kindan, “When you go down, be sure to have the cook sterilize the sharpest knife she has—she’ll moan, but don’t listen—that’ll be to cut the cord. Have her put it on one of the boiled rags so it stays sterile.”
Kindan started down to the kitchen wondering just when Dalor’s sister had taken charge.
All the same, his plan worked perfectly. Kindan deftly managed it so that Dalor and Nuella switched off every quarter hour. After Jenella’s first wide-eyed recognition of her daughter and Nuella’s subtle nod in Kindan’s direction, Jenella calmed down with a grateful smile and clasped Nuella’s hand tightly.
When the baby came, Margit deliberately stepped away to let Master Zist receive it. Kindan got the distinct impression that she wanted to place the burden—figuratively and literally—in the Harper’s big hands. And that’s how it turned out. One moment the Harper was leaning in, calling soothing words to Jenella, and the next moment there was a little snuffle and a slight mewing sound.
“Kindan, come here with that knife,” Master Zist ordered. When Kindan came around, he saw the small newborn still attached by its umbilical cord.
“Make a loop with the cord,” Master Zist instructed. As Kindan complied, the Harper said to Natalon, “Come cut the cord and welcome your new daughter into the world.”
Natalon, with a proud look at his wife and a big smile on his face, cut the cord. Margit took the baby from Master Zist, quickly wiped it off with the sterile towels, and looked up for blankets to wrap the baby in.