“Is he now?” Iantine said with fervor. “Then let us see if kinship is useful in trading.”
“I can’t, of course, promise anything,” she said candidly as they moved towards the group. She found it hard to keep the sketch from fluttering. “Oh dear.”
“Roll it up,” he suggested. “Shall I do it for you?” he added.
“No, thank you, I can manage.” And she did, making a much tighter job of it than he would have done.
The conference was ending as they approached and the participants began to separate.
“Master Jol?” Debera said, her voice cracking slightly and not reaching very far. “Master Jol,” she repeated, projecting a firmer tone. Iantine wondered if she was afraid the trader wouldn’t recognize her at all.
I”s that Debera?” the trader said, peering at her as if he didn’t believe his eyes. Then a broad smile of recollection covered his face and he strode rapidly across the distance between them, hands extended.
Debera seemed to shy from such a warm welcome.
“My dear, I’d heard that you’d Impressed a dragon.” Iantine put a reassuring hand at her waist and gave her an imperceptible forward push.
“Yes, this is Morath,” and suddenly her manner became sure and proud. Dragon and rider exchanged one of those melting looks that Iantine found incredibly touching.
“Well, well, my greetings to you, young Morath,” he said, bowing formally to the dragonet, whose eyes began to whirl faster.
Debera gave her a reassuring little pat. “Master Jol is my mother’s cousin,” she explained to Morath.
“Which makes me yours as well, my lass,” Jol reminded her.
“And very proud to have dragon rider kin. Ah, you’re so like your mother. Did you know that?” Iantine watched as Debera’s expression turned sad.
“Ah, now, I didn’t mean to grieve you, child,” Jol said with instant dismay. “And how happy she would be to see you.” he paused and cleared his throat so that Iantine knew the trader was hastily amending what he had started to say, “here, a dragon rider.”
“And out of my father’s control,” Debera finished with droll bitterness. “Had you heard that too, Master Jol?”
“Oh, indeed,” Master Jol said, grinning even more broadly, his eyes twinkling with a slight hint of malice. “I was right pleased to hear that, indeed and I was.”
“Now, what can I do for you? Some Gather clothes, good lined boots - you’ll have come with little if I know your father.” Such plain speaking momentarily made Debera uneasy, but her dragonet crowded reassuringly against her.
“The Weyr has furnished me with everything I need, Master Jol.” she replied with quiet dignity.
“Master? Am I not cousin to you, young woman?” Jol asked with mock severity.
Now her smile returned. “Cousin, but I thank you, though I do have a favor to ask…
“And what might that be?”
Debera flipped open her sketch and showed it to the trader. “Iantine here did this of me. and he has one of you…” On cue, Iantine offered his sketch pad, open to the montage.
“Only Iantine’s used up his pad and, like me, hasn’t a sliver to spend.”
Master Jol reached for the pad, his manner altering instantly to a trader’s critical appraisal. But he had only cast an eye over the sketch when he paused, peering more closely at the artist.
“Iantine, you said?” And when both Debera and Iantine nodded, his smile quirked the line of his generous mouth.
“I place the name now. You’re the lad who managed to escape unscathed from Chalkin’s clutches.” Jol offered his free hand to Iantine. “Well done, lad! I’d had wind of your adventure.”
He winked, his expression approving. “But then we traders hear everything and learn to sift the fine thread of truth from the chaff of gossip.”
Then he turned back to the sketch, examining it carefully, nodding his head as his eyes went from one panel to the next.
He gave an amused sniff as he took a longer look at himself, pencil cocked behind his ear.
“You’ve got me to the life, pencil and all, and he touched the tool to be sure it was in place. May I?” he asked courteously, indicating a desire to look at the other pages.
“Certainly,” said Iantine, making a polite bow. He could have kicked himself when he swayed a bit on his feet.
“Here now, lad, I know you’re not long recovered from your ordeal,” Jol said, quickly supporting him. Let’s just take a seat so I can have a good look at everything this pad seems to have on offer.”
Ignoring Iantine’s protests, Jol led him to the table he had just left and pushed him onto a stool. Debera and Morath followed, Debera looking very pleased with this consideration.
And Jol went through the pad as thoroughly as Master Domaize would have done, making comments about those Weyr folk he knew, smiling and nodding a good deal. He also knew when Iantine had left a pose unfinished.
“Now, what is it you require, Artist Iantine?”
“More paper, mainly,” Iantine said in a tentative tone.
Jol nodded. “I believe I do have a pad of this quality paper, but smaller. I bring some in for Waine from time to time. I can, of course, get larger sheets.”
“It’s not as if I’ll be staying around the Weyr until your next round.”
Master Jol dismissed that consideration. “I’ve stores at Telgar Hold and can forward what you need in a day or two.” He gave Iantine a thoughtful glance. “You’ll not be leaving here all that soon, I’d say.” He took the pencil from behind his ear with one hand and the pad from its pouch at his belt with the other.
“Now, what exactly are your requirements, Artist Iantine?”
“Ah, He wants to make sketches of every rider and dragon in the Weyr,” said Leopol, who had eased himself unnoticed close enough to hear what was being said.
“So you’ve many commissions already, have you?” Master Jol asked approvingly, pencil poised over the fresh leaf of his pad.
“Well, no, not exactly, you see,” Iantine stammered.
“You’ve three I know of,” said Leopol. “P’tero for M’leng And the Weyrleaders.”
Iantine almost bit Leopol’s nose off. “The Weyrleaders’re different. I will do them in oils, but the sketches are to thank those in the Weyr who’ve been so kind to me.”
“Doing portraits of an entire Weyr is quite an undertaking, and Master Jol scribbled a line. “You’ll need a good deal of paper and plenty of pencils. Or would you prefer ink? I stock a very good quality. Guaranteed not to fade or blot.” He looked at Iantine expectantly.
“But I’ve only this sketch to trade with you,” Iantine said.
“Lad, you’ve credit with Jol Liliencamp Traders,” Jol told him gently, touching his pencil to Iantine’s shoulder and giving it a little push. “I’m not Chalkin, mind you. Not any way, shape or form.” And he gave a burst of such infectious laughter that Iantine grinned in spite of himself.
“Now, give me your requirements straight. But to ease your mind, if you’d finish off this,” and the pencil end tapped the montage, “in water color, I’m ready to give you two marks for it.
“Oh, and I’d like this one of T’dam giving his lecture…” he added, flipping to that page. “That’ll show some folks that dragon riders do nothing beyond glide about the skies. A mark and a half for that.”
“But… but…” Iantine floundered, trying to organize his thoughts as well as his needs. Debera was grinning from ear to ear and so was her dragon. “I’ve no water colors with me.” he began, wishing to indicate his willingness to finish the montage.
“Ah, but I just happen to have some, which is why I suggested them,” said Jol, beaming again. “Really, this meeting is most serendipitous,” he added, and his smile included Debera. “And this,” he touched the montage again in a very proprietary fashion, coloured up a bit and with glass to protect it, “will look very good indeed in my wagon office. Indeed it will. Advertising, I believe the ancestors called it.”