“We don’t stand much on ceremony here,” Zulaya said, gesturing for him to stay seated as K’vin pulled out one chair for her.
He carried the wine-skin from which he filled all the glasses.
Iantine took a polite sip - it was a nice crisp wine - but even the one sip made his stomach feel sourer.
“Messages have been sent, and acknowledgments received, that you’ve been rescued,” K’vin said, grinning over the last word. Master Domaize was becoming worried, so we saved him a messenger to Bitra.”
“That’s very good of you, Zulaya, K’vin,” Iantine said, thankful that part of his training at Hall Domaize had included knowing the important names in every Hold, Weyr and Hall.
“I certainly appreciated P’tero’s rescue.” Zulaya grinned. He’ll be dining out on that one for the rest of the year. But it proves the wisdom of sweep riding even during the Interval.”
“You should know,” Iantine blurted out, “that Lord Chalkin doesn’t believe there will be a Pass.”
“Of course not,” K’vin replied easily. “It doesn’t suit him to. Bridgely and M’shall would like a report from you, though, concerning your visit there.”
“You mean, there’s something that can be done about him?” Iantine was amazed. Lord Holders were autonomous within their borders; he hadn’t known there’d be any recourse.
“He may do himself in,” Zulaya said with a grim twist of her lips.
“That would be wonderful,” said Iantine. “Only,” and now honesty forced him to admit this, “he didn’t really do anything to me.”
“Our Weyr artist may not be trained,” K’vin said, “but Waine informed me that it doesn’t take seven weeks to do four miniatures.”
“I actually painted twenty-two to get four that they liked,” Iantine explained, clearing his throat grimly. “The hooker in the contract was the word ‘satisfactory’
“Ah,” Zulaya and K’vin said in chorus.
“I ran out of paint and canvas because I brought only what I thought I’d need.” He lifted his hands, then rubbed them because they were beginning to itch again. “Then the children all got measles and so, rather than have anything deducted from the fee for room and board, I agreed to freshen up the Hold murals… only I hadn’t brought that sort of paint and had to manufacture the colors.”
“Did he charge you for the use of the equipment?” Zulaya asked to Iantine’s astonishment.
“How did you know?” When she only laughed and waved at him to continue his telling.
Iantine went on, “So I excavated what I needed in the midden.”
“Good for you,” Zulaya clapped her hands, delighted by his resourcefulness.
“Fortunately, most of the raw materials for pigments are readily available. You only have to find them and make the colors up. Which I’d have to do anyhow. Master Domaize was good about passing on techniques like that.
“Then I finally got them to accept the miniatures, which weren’t exactly miniature size any more, by the way, just before the first blizzard snowed me in.” Iantine flushed; his narrative showed him to be such a ninny.
“So? What did you contract for then?” Zulaya shot K’vin a knowing look.
“I was a bit wiser. Or so I thought,” he said with a grimace and then told them the clauses he’d insisted on.
“He had you on the drudges’ level at Bitra?” Zulaya was appalled.
“And you a diploma’d artist? I would protest about that! There are certain courtesies which most Holds, Halls and Weyrs accord a student of a craft, and certainly to an artist!”
“So, when Lord Chalkin finally accepted his portrait, I made tracks away as fast as I could!” K’vin clapped him on the shoulder, grinning at the fervor with which that statement came out.
“Not that my conditions improved that much,” Iantine added quickly and then grinned, “until P’tero rescued me.” His throat kept clogging up and he had to clear it again. “I want to thank you very much for that. I hope I didn’t keep him from proper duties.”
“No, no,” K’vin said. “Mind you, I’m not all that sure why he was over Bitra, but it’s as well he was.”
“How are your hands?” Zulaya asked, looking down at him as he washed his itching fingers together.
“I shouldn’t rub the skin, should I?”
Zulaya spoke over her shoulder. “Leopol, get the numb weed for Iantine, please.” The young artist hadn’t noticed the boy’s discreet presence, but he was glad he didn’t have to walk all the way to the cubicle to get the salve.
“It’s just the after-effects of cold,” he said, looking at his fingers, and noticing what Tisha had - pigment under the nails. He curled his fingers, ashamed to be at a Weyr table with dirty hands.
And a deep shiver went down his spine.
“I was wondering, Iantine,” Zulaya began, “if you’d feel up to doing another portrait or two? The Weyr pays the usual rates, and no extras charged against you.”
Iantine protested. “I’d gladly do your portrait, Weyrwoman.”
“It is of yourself you were speaking, isn’t it?” That first shiver was followed by another which he did his best to mask.
“You’ll do it only if you are paid a proper fee, young man,” Zulaya said sternly.
“But…”
“No buts,” K’vin put in. “What with preparations for a Pass, neither Zulaya nor I have had the time to commission proper portraits. However, since you’re here… and willing?”
“I’m willing, all right, but you don’t know my work and I’m only just accredited.”
Zulaya caught his hands in hers, for he’d been wildly gesticulating in both eagerness and an attempt to disguise another spasm.
“Artist Iantine, if you managed to do four miniatures and two formal portraits, and refresh murals for Chalkin, you’re more than qualified. Didn’t you know that it took Macartor five months to finish Chalkin’s wedding-day scene?”
“And he had to borrow marks from an engineer to pay off the last of his ‘debt’?” K’vin added. “Here’s Waine to greet you. But you’re not to start work again until you’re completely recovered from the cold.”
“Oh, I’m recovered, I’m recovered,” Iantine said, standing up as the Weyrleaders did, determined to control the next set of shiverings.
After they had introduced him to the little man, Waine, they left him, circulating to other tables as the Weyr relaxed.
There was singing and guitar playing from one side of the room, cheerful noises, above a general level of easy conversation. That was something else which Iantine only now realized had been totally absent at Bitra Hold: music, talk, people relaxing after a day’s work.
“Heard you ran afoul of Chalkin?” Waine said, grinning and ducking his head. Then he brought from behind his back a sheaf of large-sized paper sheets, neatly tied together, and a handful of pencils. “Thought you might need em, like,” he said shyly. “Heard tell you used up all at Bitra.”
“Thank you,” Iantine replied, running his fingers appreciatively over the fine sheets and noticing that the pencils were of different weights of carbon. “How much do I owe you?”
Waine laughed, showing gaps in his teeth. “You been at Bitra too long, Artist man. I’ve colors, too, but not many. Don’t do more’n basics.”
“Then let me make you a range of paints,” Iantine said gratefully, gritting his teeth against yet another onslaught of ague. “You know where to find the raw stuff around here, and I’ll show you how I make the tints.”