Kindan made his way to the First Stairs, those on the south nearest the Hatching Grounds, climbed down to the Second Level, turned right, and entered the second opening, into the Records Room.
“Find anything?” he asked as he spied K’tan. The Weyr healer was propped against one side of the opening to the Bowl below, an old parchment angled toward it to get more light. Kindan realized that the healer’s head was on his chest and his eyes closed at the same moment that his words startled the dozing man into wakefulness.
“Huh? Ah, Kindan,” K’tan said, shaking himself and gesturing with the parchment to the light outside. “I was trying to get more light and must have dozed off.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kindan replied. “You haven’t slept in a sevenday and you practically live here. Does your dragon know you still exist?”
K’tan gave him a sour look at the gibe. “Drith, at least, has manners.”
Kindan saw the pitcher of klah on the table in the center of the room, felt the side of it-cold-and shook his head.
“At the very least you should be drinking warm klah,” he rebuked the healer.
“It was warm,” K’tan replied absently, placing another Record on one stack and pulling a new one in front of him.
“When? Yesterday?” Kindan grabbed the tray with the pitcher and carried it and the half-empty mugs back down the corridor to the service shaft. He placed the tray in the down shaft, rang the service bell, and shouted, “Klah and snacks for two!”
A moment later he heard Kiyary’s muffled voice drift back up to him: “On the way, Kindan! I’ve sent extra, just in case.”
Kindan waited until a fresh tray arrived on the up shaft, grabbed it, and shouted down, “Thank you!”
Back in the Records Room, he poured a fresh mug of klah and handed it to K’tan, who had moved from the window to a chair but was still nodding off.
“Thanks,” K’tan said. He took a sip from the mug, eyes widening as he tasted the fresh, hot klah, and said again with more enthusiasm, “Thanks!”
“Did you find anything?” Kindan asked after pouring himself a mug and choosing a snack.
“Nothing,” the healer said, frowning. He reached for a snack. For a moment the two chewed in silence.
“I did notice that the holders seem to get sick much more often than weyrfolk,” K’tan said at last.
Kindan cocked his head at him encouragingly, still chewing.
“Yes,” K’tan went on. “I made notes. It seems that there’s some sort of illness among the holders and crafters once every twenty Turns.”
“Well, we’re good for another four or five Turns at least, what with the Plague behind us,” Kindan commented.
“It didn’t affect the dragonfolk,” K’tan said.
“You dragonfolk are a hearty lot,” Kindan agreed. “I wonder if it’s the thin air-”
He cut himself off, as his words sunk in. K’tan’s eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully.
“Are you thinking that if thin air is good for riders, thinner air might be better for dragons?” the healer asked.
“Or worse for whatever ails them,” Kindan suggested. He mulled the idea over and then shrugged it off. “Well, it’s a thought.”
“Worth keeping,” K’tan replied, finding a stylus and making a note on his slate.
“If thin air is good, what about between?” Kindan mused.
K’tan shook his head. “The illness seems to disorient the dragons-they would never come back from between.”
Kindan frowned and gestured to the records. “You’ve seen nothing about dragon illnesses?”
“I’ve only gone back fifty Turns, Kindan,” K’tan said. “There might be something more.”
“At the Harper Hall, I found that Records over fifty Turns were very hard to read.”
“And they’re probably better kept there than these here,” K’tan said with a wave toward a stack of Records.
“Wouldn’t it make sense, then, to check the Records at the Harper Hall?” Lorana asked from the doorway, startling the other two.
“I’m sorry,” she added, “but I heard you from the Weyrwoman’s quarters.”
“Were we too loud?” K’tan asked.
“No,” Lorana answered. “Not loud enough to wake Salina, at least.” She smiled.
Kindan gestured to the table. “Come in, there’s hot klah and fresh snacks.”
“Did you hear much of our deliberations?” K’tan asked, adding, when Lorana nodded, “And do you have any other insights?”
Lorana entered the room and took a seat at the table. Kindan passed her a mug, which she cradled in her hands, enjoying the warmth.
“I thought Kindan’s idea about thin air might make some sense,” she said, sipping her klah. “Also, cold kills germs, too.”
“So if we could get our sick dragons to cold high places-”
“Without killing them,” Kindan interjected.
“-without killing them,” K’tan agreed, accepting Kindan’s amendment with a nod, “then perhaps…”
Lorana shrugged. “It depends on the infection.”
“We don’t know enough about this infection,” Kindan swore.
Kindan and Lorana sighed in dejected agreement.
“But what about the fire-lizards?” Lorana asked. “Have they ever gotten sick?”
“Not according to those records,” K’tan said with a wave of his hand.
“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong Records,” Kindan suggested. “Maybe we should be looking at the Harper Hall-”
“Or Fort Weyr,” Lorana interjected. When the other two responded with questioning looks, she explained, “Isn’t Fort Weyr the oldest? Wouldn’t the oldest Records of dragons-and fire-lizards-be there?”
K’tan and Kindan exchanged looks.
“She’s right, you know,” Kindan said.
“Mmph,” K’tan agreed. “But the Weyrs are closed to anyone but their own now.”
Kindan pushed his mug away and reached for a Record. “Maybe we’ll find our answers here,” he said dubiously.
The next day, M’tal dispatched watch riders to every Hold, major and minor, with orders to report any signs of Thread. P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had the weyrlings bag more sacks of firestone.
“With any luck, the weather will hold either too wet or too cold for the first Threadfalls,” M’tal told the watch riders. “Keep an eye out for drowned Thread or black dust, and let us know immediately.”
“We have Threadfall charts that should tell us when the next Threadfall will occur once we’ve charted the first,” Kindan added. “But at the beginning of a Pass, Thread often falls out of pattern.”
“So watch out for it,” M’tal concluded. “Report in to me or Lorana if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
“And if you see fire-lizards, stay clear of them,” K’tan warned. “But let us know of any sightings, too,” he continued. His voice dropped as he added, “We’re not sure if there are any fire-lizards left.”
“Good flying!” M’tal called, making the arm gesture to disperse the watch riders. Eighteen riders and their dragons rose high above the Bowl and then blinked out, between, to their destinations.
Gaminth, M’tal said to his dragon, warn the watch-whers.
It is done, Gaminth reported. A few moments later the bronze dragon added, Lorana wonders if you will introduce her to the watch-whers.
M’tal picked Lorana out of the crowd and made his way over to her. “That’s a good idea,” he told her. “But I’m not sure if there’s time.”