He sat up and rubbed his hair back.
“It’s a message from Harper Kindan,” Terilar said. “He asks if you would trade him news about the Weyrs.”
The Masterharper of Pern looked up sharply at the drummer, who seemed nonplussed by his sudden keen look.
Zist rose, turning the glow over beside his bed. “Have someone rouse Master Jofri, Master Verilan, and Master Kelsa,” Zist ordered. “And please ask someone to bring us up some klah, if there’s any still hot.”
“Very well,” Terilar said, dashing away.
“So, Kindan wants to trade, does he?” Zist muttered to himself, mostly to hear a voice in the middle of the night. Masterharper Zist appreciated his ex-apprentice’s choice of words. It was clear from Terilar’s look that the drummer hadn’t taken any deeper meaning from Kindan’s message, just as it was clear to Zist that if Kindan “wanted to trade,” he didn’t know what was going on with the other Weyrs himself. And that meant that the Weyrleaders were being more close-mouthed than he had thought.
“You woke us up in the middle of the night to tell us that Kindan wants to trade?” Kelsa demanded as the rest of the harpers gathered in the Masterharper’s office. Her words ended abruptly in a great yawn. She glared at the Masterharper, gripped her mug of klah tightly, and took a long drink.
“I’ve got classes to teach in the morning, you know,” she added.
“This is morning,” Verilan added with a yawn of his own. He frowned thoughtfully at the Masterharper. “And you wouldn’t have woken us without a reason,” he added, “which means that Journeyman Kindan’s message has more meaning to you than I’m getting from it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Which is what you wanted to know-whether others could discern that message.”
“Well, I can’t,” Kelsa said. She glanced at Jofri. “You taught the lad, I suppose you know.”
“I do,” Jofri agreed, nodding. He looked at the Masterharper for permission, and explained, “Kindan’s message makes it plain that he doesn’t know what’s going on with the other Weyrs, at least not in detail.”
Verilan nodded slowly, as comprehension dawned. “The Weyrs aren’t talking to each other,” he surmised.
“But they can relay messages telepathically from dragon to dragon!” Kelsa protested.
“It’s not the same as a face-to-face meeting,” Jofri told her. “You’d have to know exactly what you want to ask.”
“And the questions could easily be misinterpreted,” Verilan said. When Kelsa looked at him inquiringly, he expanded, “Such as how many dragons did you lose, which some Weyrleaders might take to be criticism of their abilities.”
“Exactly,” Master Zist said. “So it’s up to us to find out more.”
“Very well, but what do I or Verilan have to do with that?” Kelsa demanded.
“I’m supposed to tell Master Zist what I’ve found in the Archives about sick dragons or fire-lizards,” Verilan predicted. Master Zist nodded in agreement. The Master Archivist made a face. “Sadly, I don’t have anything to report. We’ve searched back over two hundred Turns and have found no records of illnesses in either fire-lizards or dragons.”
“How about watch-whers?” Master Zist asked.
“We checked for all the related species,” Verilan replied, shaking his head. “And we’ve found nothing. I have hopes that we can go all the way back to the Records from the Crossing-most of them are in better shape, I’m sad to relate, than those from later times.”
“More grist for the mill,” Kelsa said with a laugh. “Turns of work for your lads, then.”
The Master Archivist shook his head. “They’d much rather be copying your songs than dusty old Records that mean nothing to them.”
“I suspect that in the days to come, your apprentices-and all the students at our Hall-will find their interest in preserving our old Records increasing,” Master Zist said.
Verilan nodded in agreement. “These times do make us appreciate the need to preserve our history.”
“So we know why him,” Kelsa persisted, “but why did you have to wake me?”
Master Zist looked at her as if the reason was obvious.
“Because he needs you to figure out a song our Weyr harpers can answer discreetly,” Verilan told her. “So that we can find out how the Weyrs are doing.”
“That’s assuming that the Weyr harpers haven’t succumbed themselves,” Jofri pointed out.
“Them, or their dragons?” Kelsa asked.
“It amounts to the same thing,” Master Zist replied. He added, with an apologetic shrug toward the Master Archivist, “And while our good Archivist here may have found nothing, I also felt that your expertise in the area of song might possibly aid us.”
Kelsa responded with a raised eyebrow.
“Master Verilan’s apprentices may well have concentrated their efforts on written Records,” the Masterharper explained. “But I want you, Kelsa, to search your memory, and your library, for any songs concerning lost fire-lizards or dragons.” It was his turn to shrug. “Who knows? Perhaps there, in our older songs, we might find a clue.”
M’tal had scarcely got in bed when shouts from outside his quarters disturbed him. Salina murmured in her sleep and moved away from the noise.
The shouts grew louder as they came closer, and M’tal could make out the words and the speaker.
“M’tal! What do you think you’re doing?” Tullea shouted as she strode through the entrance into his quarters, thrusting aside the sleeping curtain that he had drawn closed just moments before and allowing the dim light of the hall glows to enter the room.
The shouts could be heard in the Records Room next door. Kindan and Lorana both looked up, jolted out of their reading.
“What’s going on?” Lorana wondered.
“I don’t know,” Kindan answered, rising from his chair, “but it sounds like trouble.”
Lorana frowned, then stood up and followed him to the doorway. He gestured with a hand behind his back, telling her to stay put, as he craned his head around the corner and cocked an ear to listen.
Tullea glared at the Weyrleader from the doorway, demanding an answer.
“I was planning on getting a good night’s rest,” the Weyrleader responded irritably. “What have you in mind?”
Tullea stopped, thrust her hands onto her hips, and glared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
“You know what I mean,” she continued after a moment, her volume rising. “You’re trying to kill B’nik! Don’t think you can wriggle out of it.”
Salina had lost her battle for sleep and sat up blearily. “Tullea? What is it? What’s wrong with B’nik? Who’s trying to kill him?”
Tullea pointed a finger accusingly at M’tal. “He is!” she shouted. “And I’m sure you’re in on it, too. Or do you mean to tell me that you didn’t know your precious Weyrleader has ordered B’nik to lead the next Fall?”
Salina furrowed her brow and glanced at M’tal. She rubbed her eyes, bringing herself more alert.
“Next Fall? B’nik?” she repeated, digesting the news. M’tal nodded in confirmation. Salina looked up at Tullea and said, “I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?”
“What?” Tullea cried in disgust. “If he isn’t trying to get B’nik killed, he’s trying to discredit him in front of the whole Weyr.” She turned her attention back to M’tal. “You’re supposed to lead the Weyr, Weyrleader. You fly the Fall, do your duty.”
M’tal took a steadying breath.
“It is my duty to prepare the Weyr to fight Thread,” he agreed. “It is my duty to ensure the dragonriders are trained, ready, and able to meet that threat.”
Tullea nodded, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.