“Shards!” Tieran groaned as he discovered that he had outgrown his latest hiding place. Hiding was second nature to him. He had always liked the caves and tunnels of his Benden Hold home, particularly when-he suppressed a pang of regret, fear, anger, sorrow-he had been with Bendensk, the watch-wher.
When he had first come to the College, it had been easier: He’d been small for his age and always won at hide-and-seek. Until one day he had realized that no one was looking for him anymore-that they were laughing instead. “Hideaway.” “No-nose.” “Scarface.”
After that he had spent more time with Wind Blossom. Truth be told, he loved to learn all the secrets she had to teach him. He was one of only five people on all of Pern who had looked at human DNA under the electron microscope. And he was one of three-no, two, now-who could trace a mutation back to its genes. Wind Blossom said that soon she would start him on proteomics, the study of proteins.
Tieran snorted. As if that would impress anyone! In fact, there was probably no one on Pern who knew what proteomics was, let alone what it was used for. It was all a waste. He was only here because she wanted him to be here, waiting until he was “ready” for the operations to fix his face.
The sob that threatened to break from his throat was throttled in the harshest of self-control. The boys he could handle; he’d learned enough of hand-fighting from M’hall and-he grimaced-his father. But the girls-lately Tieran had noticed them. Noticed them and noticed how quickly they looked away, walked away, grouped together, speaking in hushed voices.
Admit it, Tieran thought, no matter how great a surgeon you become, no matter what you do, even if Wind Blossom can perform a miracle, no girl is going to look at you.
Except maybe to laugh.
And now his last hiding place was too small. Tieran stifled a curse-not because he was afraid of swearing, but because he was afraid the curse might come out as a sob.
Voices approached in the dark. Tieran pulled himself into a shadowy nook.
“How did the boy take it, then?” Tieran recognized the rich tenor voice as that of Sandell, a student musician. Some Turns back they had played together-hide-and-seek.
“It was hard on him,” Emorra answered. “It must be hard to lose a father.”
“Don’t you remember yours?” Sandell asked.
“No.” Emorra paused. “In fact, it’s been Turns since I last asked mother about him. She never told me anything.”
Sandell laughed. “I’ll bet he was a musician, and that’s why she hates us.”
Emorra snorted. “That would explain where I got my talent.”
“And your looks,” Sandell added softly. From the sound of clothing and the soft noises, Tieran guessed that Sandell had taken Emorra in his arms. He peered around the corner. They were kissing!
Tieran ducked back again as Emorra pushed away from the journeyman.
“Not here,” Emorra said. “Someone might see us.”
Sandell laughed. “So let them!”
“No,” Emorra said firmly.
“Very well, Dean Emorra,” Sandell replied indulgently. “Your quarters or mine?”
Tieran relaxed as he heard them depart.
The loud sound of drums-he guessed it was Jendel up on the big drum-rattled out an attention signal. Tieran heard the response from the four outlying stations and, almost on top of their response, the College drums sounded out their message in deep commanding booms. It was the sign off for the evening; no other message would go out until morning, except in an emergency.
Tieran listened to the details, his throat clenched as he heard the report of his father’s death being passed on down to all the minor holds along the way equipped with either a drummer or a repeater station. The drums fell silent, were echoed by the repeater stations further on and, very faintly, by the stations beyond those, and then the sounds of evening took over the night air.
With a quick breath and a determined spring in his step, Tieran turned to the Drum Tower-his new hiding place.
FIVE
The wind was gusting as they weighed anchor. When they cleared the harbor, Wind Rider heeled so much that Baror called for them to reduce sail.
With the sail reset, Wind Rider still heeled over at a fierce angle, her bow breaking through the waves as she sped into the moonlit night.
Within an hour the offshore breeze had been supplanted by gusting winds, and the moons were lost in a haze of clouds. Five minutes after that the first of the rain fell upon them.
An hour later the ship was in a full gale, heeling hard over with two men fighting the helm and four men struggling to furl sail.
Colfet found Baror at the wheel with another man he’d never seen before. He shouted over the roar of the wind, “Where’s the captain? This sail’s all wrong for this weather, we’re heeling too hard. We need to alter course, too-see how she’s digging into the waves? We’ll broach to if we don’t.”
“The captain’s not here,” Baror replied, teeth wide in a grin.
“I can see that,” Colfet responded irritably. “Where is he?” He looked forward. “Is he forward with the sails?”
“No, you git, he’s not here,” Baror responded, his grin disappearing in a frown. “Left me in charge, seeing as you’ve got that bum wing.”
Another gust spun the ship and Baror gripped the wheel, calling to the other man to help out.
Colfet gestured at the new man. “Who’s he?”
Baror grinned. “New man I signed on at Half-Circle.” He waved at the new man. “Vilo’s his name.”
Another gust heeled the ship over as Wind Rider plowed into a wave.
“We’ve got to let her have her head!” Colfet called. “Get the sails off, put out a storm anchor, and ride it out!”
Baror shook his head. “No, we’ll keep our course. I’ll show that pansy Istan how real men sail.”
Colfet started to argue, but at that moment two men climbed up the hatchway. Both looked green and unseamanly. He started to make a rude comment to Baror but stopped as he got a good sight of the second man.
“Who’s on the pumps?” he asked.
“You might want to check on that,” Baror replied, keeping his eyes on the two landlubbers as they made their way toward him.
“All right,” Colfet said, heading for the hatchway. He nodded grimly at the two greenies as they passed him by. “Gentle night, isn’t it?” he asked with wry humor. The two made no attempt to respond.
Once they were out of sight, Colfet’s expression hardened. He paused at the top of the hatch, looking back at Baror and his cronies. “Baror!” he shouted. He had to repeat himself twice before he was heard. “We should trail the launch-in case anyone goes overboard.”
Baror grinned evilly. “Anyone overboard in this’ll stay overboard.”
“All the same.”
Baror squinted at him and then nodded. “All right. I’ll get some men to it.”
Colfet nodded and, watching his bandaged arm, plunged into the darkness belowdeck. Quickly and carefully he made his way down to the depths of the ship and sounded the well. He could hear the pumps in the distance and grunted with surprise as he discovered that Wind Rider had made less than a foot of water. Still, it wasn’t all good news-he’d never seen more than an inch before.