“One can forgive almost anything except one’s own stupidities.” Despite the thick stone walls the screams and bellows continued, the sound altering slightly as Chalkin was hauled out of the Hold and down the courtyard steps.
Lady Nadona’s shrieks became earsplitting and then abruptly ceased, at which Paulin let out a sigh of relief. Irene might have knocked her out but she’d probably fainted. Either way the silence was welcome.
More shouting and confused orders! With an exasperated sigh, Paulin went to the shuttered window and threw it open on the most extraordinary scene: five men struggling to lift Chalkin to Craigath’s back while the dragon, eyes whirling violently with red and orange, craned his neck about to see what was happening. Abruptly Chalkin’s body relaxed and was shoved into position on Craigath’s neck. M’shall leaped to his back and waited while two other Weyrmen roped Chalkin to M’shall and then added the collection of sacks and bags which would accompany the former Lord Holder into exile.
Craigath took off with a mighty bound and brought his wide wings down only once before he disappeared between.
“An island exile?” Vergerin asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.
“Yes, but not the same one we sent the guards to. Fortunately, there’s a whole string of them.”
“Young Island would be the safest one,” Vergerin said dryly, sipping the wine. Then he made a face, looking down at the glass. “Wherever does he get his wines?”
Paulin smothered a laugh. “He’s got no palate at all. Or did you like the idea of your nephew on an active volcanic island?”
“He’s quick-witted enough to survive even that. Does Nadona stay on?”
“Her children are young, but you would be perfectly within your rights to relegate her to a secluded apartment and take over the education and discipline of the children.” Vergerin gave a shudder of revulsion.
“Oh, there might be something worth saving in them, you know,” Paulin said magnanimously.
“In Chalkin and Nadona’s get? Unlikely.” Then Vergerin walked to the cabinet where Hold records should be kept and, on the point of opening the doors, turned back to Paulin.
“Should I start right in? Or wait for the Conclave’s decision?”
“Since we didn’t know whether or not you had escaped Chalkin’s grasp, we decided to let competent younger sons and daughters see what order they could contrive. However, since you would know a lot more about this Hold than they could, would you take overall charge?”
Vergerin now exhaled and a smile of intense relief lit his features. “Considering what I know of the state of this Hold and the demoralization of its holders, I’ll need every bit of assistance I can muster.” He shook his head. “I don’t say my late brother was the best Holder in Pern, but he would never have countenanced the neglect much less Chalkin’s ridiculous notion that Thread couldn’t return because it would reduce the gaming he could do.”
There was a polite rap on the door and when Paulin answered, Irene poked her head in.
“We managed to get the kitchen staff to prepare some food. I can’t vouch for more than that the klah is hot and the bread fresh made.”
Vergerin looked down at himself. “I couldn’t possibly eat anything until I’ve washed.”
Irene grinned. “I thought of that and had a room, and a bath, prepared for you. Even some clean clothing.”
“Fresh bread and good hot klah will go down a treat,” said Paulin, gesturing for Vergerin to precede him out of the room.
“No, my Lord Holder, after you,” Vergerin said with a courtly gesture.
“Ah, but my soon-to-be Lord Holder, after you.”
“I didn’t realize I smelled that bad,” Vergerin said ruefully and led the way out.
He was looking about him now, Paulin noticed, as if assessing the condition of the place. He stopped so short that Paulin nearly bounced off him. Pointing to the inner wall where Chalkin’s portrait by Iantine was ostentatiously illuminated, he pivoted, eyes wide, his expression incredulous.
“My nephew never looked like that,” he said, laughter rippling through his tone.
Paulin chuckled, too, having his first good look at the representation. “I believe it took the artist some time to paint a… satisfactory portrait of your nephew.”
“With so little to work on… but I can’t have that hanging there,” Vergerin exclaimed. “It’s… it’s…”
“Ludicrous!” Paulin suggested. “Poor Iantine, to have had to prostitute his abilities to create that!”
“That will do for starters.” Paulin leaned close to Vergerin, trying not to inhale because the warmth of the Hall was increasing the pong of manure emanating from Vergerin’s clothing.
“I don’t think you’ll hurt the artist’s feelings by removing it from such a prominent place.”
“Would he consider repainting it to a closer likeness to the model?” Vergerin asked. “That would remind me of my youthful follies as well as how not to manage a Hold.”
“Iantine’s here - helped us get in, in fact. You can ask him yourself.”
“After I’ve had that bath,” Vergerin said and continued on his way to the stairs and cleanliness.
Younger sons and daughters were conveyed in from every major Hold, dressed and prepared to work hard. If some were disappointed that Vergerin had been found, they hid it well which did them no disservice.
By the time a substantial breakfast had been served, Vergerin had had a chance to speak to each of the eight young folk and decide what areas of responsibility they should assume.
Irene put a wing of Benden riders at Vergerin’s disposition to use in contacting the larger holdings in Bitra and announcing Chalkin’s impeachment and exile.
By then M’shall had returned. “I dumped him… and his packages, on Island 32. You’ll need to know that for the records. It’s rather a nice place. Too bad he gets it.”
“Did you have any trouble with him?” Paulin asked.
M’shall looked amused as he unbuckled his flight gear.
“With the wallop Bastom gave him? He was still unconscious when I left him. Near a stream.” M’shall made a face. “I should have dumped him in it. Serve him right for what he did to those he had in cold storage.”
By mid-morning matters seemed to be in Vergerin’s complete control and the Council members felt able to leave Bitra Hold.
Iantine begged a ride from K’vin for himself and Chalkin’s portrait.
“When are you coming to Benden Hold?” Bridgely wanted to know, catching the young portraitist coming down the courtyard steps.
“Lord Bridgely, I am sorry not to be ready quite yet,” Iantine said.
Bridgely jabbed his finger at the painting. “You’re not letting that take precedent, are you?” And he scowled.
“No, never,” Iantine said, recoiling slightly. Then his grin fled.
“Not that it will take me long to change the face on it. But it’s last on my list. I’ve to finish K’vin’s portrait, and a few more of the Telgar riders, and then I’ll come. I can probably make it after Turn’s End.”
“Well, I’ll give you until then, young man, but no longer,” Bridgely said, sounding aggrieved. Then he smiled to Iantine’s obvious anxiety. “Don’t worry about it, lad. I just want to know where my lady and I fit into your appointment calendar.”
With that he walked away.
K’vin was hiding his grin behind his gloved hand. “One can be too successful, you know,” he said. Then he gestured for Iantine to mount Charanth, while he held the painting which he passed up to the artist when he was settled. “I’m glad you’re going to fix this.”
“Lord Holder Vergerin specifically requested me to. And I must say, I’m glad to do the sitter - justice.”
“Justice?” K’vin laughed as he landed neatly between the bronze neck ridges. “I think that’s possibly a dirty word to Chalkin now!” Iantine grunted as the dragon suddenly launched himself.