“He reports no loss of life,” Ongola said reassuringly, “and all but two of the boats have been refloated and can be repaired. The dolphins are recovering cargo. There is some heavy stuff, though, that divers will have to locate. Fortunately, they were in shallow water and the storm didn’t last long.” Ongola hesitated.
“Well, let me have it,” Paul said, pausing on a landing.
“There were no manifests, so there’s no way of checking that they’ve recovered everything.”
Paul regarded Ongola stolidly. “Does he have any idea how long that’s going to hold him up?” Ongola shook his head. “All the more reason, then, to reassign Wind Blossom’s personnel,” Paul said then. “When that’s done, I’ll have a word with Jim. It’s incredible that he’s got such an ill-assorted flotilla as far as he has! Through fog, Fall, and storm!”
Ongola agreed fervently.
While Carenath concentrated very carefully on chewing, Sean stood slightly to one side trying not to be anxious. Fire-dragonets flitted around the dragons, chirping what was obviously encouragement. Duke and some of the other bronzes had found pebbles that they masticated in demonstration.
The dragons and their riders had located the necessary phospherine bearing rock on an upland plateau halfway between the Malay River and Sadrid. Over the past few days, the confidence of the riders had improved as time and again they were able to teleport to and from given landmarks. Otto Hegelman had suggested that each rider keep a log, noting down reference points for later identifications. The notion had been enthusiastically adopted, although it was immediately necessary for them to request writing materials at the Malay River Stake. They had been surprised to find only children there, with Phas Radamanth’s sixteen-year-old daughter in charge.
“Everyone’s out fighting Thread, you know,” she said, cocking her head at them in what Tarrie later said was pure insolence.
“Desi gave us supplies for you,” Sean replied, stifling his resentment of her implied criticism and the current menial status of dragonriders. He gestured for Jerry and Otto to bring the cargo net into the house. “Would you have any notebooks we could have?”
“What for?”
“We’re doing a coastline survey,” Otto said pompously.
The girl looked surprised, then her face relaxed into a less antagonistic expression. “I guess so. There’s all that sort of stuff in the schoolroom over there. Who has time for lessons these days?”
“You’re most kind,” Jerry said, giving her a quick bow and a broad grin as they withdrew.
The incident had reinforced the riders’ determination to accomplish their purpose during their westward journey.
“It isn’t as if you can chew for him, Sean,” Sorka said, holding out another piece to Faranth. “How much do they need to eat?”
“Who knows how much stoking it takes to start a dragon’s fires?” Tarrie sang out cheerfully. “I’d say this – ” She hefted the stone in her hand. “ – is comparable to the pebble-size I used to feed my gold dragonet. Isn’t it, Porth?”
The queen obediently lowered her head and took the offering.
“The dragonets chew at least a handful before they can flame,” Dave Catarel said, but he was watching Polenth dubiously as the bronze worked his jaws with the same solemn contemplative look the others had. “Look, Sorka, your fair’s setting the example!”
Duke let go a fine long plume of fire, while Blazer took to the air, scolding him.
Just then Porth let out a squawk, her mouth opened, and a green-stained rock fell to the ground, just missing Tarrie’s foot. Porth snapped her mouth shut and moaned.
“What did she do?” Dave asked.
“She says she bit her tongue,” Tarrie replied. She patted Porth’s shoulder sympathetically. “She did, too. Look!” The green ichor, on the rock glistened in the sunlight. “Should I look, Sorka? She might have done herself damage.”
“What does Porth say?” Sorka asked with professional detachment. She could not recall ever having had to deal with self-inflicted dragonet bites.
“It hurts, and she’ll wait until it doesn’t before she chews any more rock.” Tarrie retrieved the offending piece and put it back in the pile they had gathered.
There was another draconic exclamation of pain, and Nora’s Tenneth followed Porth’s bad example. Sean and Sorka exchanged worried glances and continued to offer the firestone to their dragons.
Suddenly Polenth burped, and a tiny flame leapt beyond his nose. The startled bronze jumped backward.
“Hey, he did it!” Dave cried proudly. “Phew!” he added, waving the air from his face. “Stand upwind, folks. That stinks.”
Watch It!” Sean leapt sideways as Carenath belched, surprising everyone with a respectable tongue of flame that just missed searing his rider. Overhead the fire-lizards flew in congratulatory circles, alternately chirping or expelling flame, their eyes whirling bright blue with approval.
“Upwind and to one side, riders!” Sean amended. “Try it again, Carenath!” Sean offered a larger chunk.
“Jays, that’s awful!” Tarrie said as the wind blew the overpowering stench of the fire-making stone straight into her face. Choking, she ducked around Porth to escape it.
“Where there’s fire, there’s smell,” Jerry quipped. “No, Manooth, turn your head that way!”
Just as the brown dragon obeyed, a blast of flame erupted from his mouth and seared into charcoal one of the scrawny bushes that dotted the plateau.
Jerry pounded his dragon’s shoulder in exultation. “You did it! Manooth! Master blaster!”
The others returned to stoking their dragons with renewed enthusiasm. An hour later, all the males had produced flame, but none of the females had; though the golds had chewed and chewed, one after the other they had regurgitated an awful gray pastelike substance.
“As I recall the program,” Sean said as the gold riders stood disconsolately about, “the queens aren’t mature until they’re nearly three. The males are . . . well . . .” Sean cast about for a diplomatic phrase.
“Functional now,” Tarrie finished for him, none too pleased.
“Even seven recruits are going to be well received at Fort,” Otto said, for once not trying to sound pompous.
Sorka was frowning, though, an expression unusual enough to her that Tarrie inquired as to its cause.
“I was just thinking. Kit Ping was such a traditionalist . . .” Sorka regarded her husband for a long moment, until he ducked his head, unable to maintain the eye contact. “All right, Sean, you know every symbol in that program. Did Kit Ping introduce a gender discrimination?”
“A what?” Tarrie asked. The other queen riders gathered close, while the young men took discreet backward steps.
“A gender inhibition . . . meaning the queens lay eggs, and the other colors fight!” Sorka was disgusted.
“It may just be that the queens aren’t mature enough yet,” Sean said, temporizing. “I haven’t been able to figure out some of Kit Ping’s equations. Maybe the flame production is a mature ability. I don’t know why the queens all barfed. We’ll have to ask Pol and Bay when we get to Fort. But I tell you what, there’s no reason you girls can’t use flame-throwers. With wands a bit longer, you wouldn’t singe your dragon by mistake.”
His suggestion did much to mollify the queen riders for the time being, but Sean hoped fervently that Pol and Bay could give a more acceptable verdict. Seventeen dragons made a more impressive display than seven. And he was determined to impress when the dragon riders flew into Fort Hold. The only burdens dragons should ever carry again were their riders and firestone!