No, or they wouldn’t have gone. Then Iantine caught Tisha’s sharp eye on his face and wondered if she had read his expression which he had tried to keep blank. Fortunately, the much-glamorized Chalkin stared out of the painting at them and Tisha’s first good look sent her into gales of laughter, with Leopol whooping nearly as loud.
The head woman had an infectious laugh under any condition: a mere chuckle from her would have anyone in her vicinity grinning in response. Iantine was in sore need of a good laugh and, if his inner anxieties kept him from joining in wholeheartedly, at least he was made to grin.
Tisha’s amusement alerted the rest of the weyrfolk to Iantine’s return, and the table was shortly surrounded by people having a good laugh over what Chalkin had considered to be a ‘satisfactory portrait’ of himself. He sated their curiosity by giving a brief report of what had happened.
Everyone was much relieved that Chalkin was not only no longer Bitra’s Lord, but also that he had been exiled far away from the Mainland.
“Too good for him, really,” someone said.
“Ah, but he’s lord of all he surveys, ain’t he? Suit him!”
“No-one was hurt?”
“Who’s going to take Hold there now, with so much to do close to Fall?” Iantine answered as circumspectly as he could, though he was amazed at how accurately the weyrfolk had guessed what had happened. They also seemed to know a great deal about a Hold that was not beholden to Telgar Weyr. He didn’t think he’d talked much about his uncomfortable stay at Bitra, so they must have had their information from other sources.
Weyrfolk did get to travel more than holders, so perhaps their level of information was more comprehensive.
Riders drifted in, early for the noontime meal but just as interested in what had happened at Bitra Hold. Some of the older ones remembered the wager that had cost Vergerin the Holding, and other details about that Bloodline that certainly showed them well informed.
Iantine was grateful for the klah and cookies Tisha had brought and equally pleased to have Leopol bring him bread, cheese and the sliced wherry meat that was being served for lunch. He did have a moment’s anxiety when he saw K’vin, at the edge of the crowd, gesturing for his attention. Maybe he shouldn’t have said a thing.
He told Leopol to take the notorious portrait to his quarters, bundled his pad under his arm - because he knew nothing would keep Leopol from looking all through it - and then made his way to K’vin.
Since he had obviously told all he was going to tell, he was allowed to pass, with good-natured mauling on his way.
“I’m sorry, Weyrleader, if I was speaking out of turn.”
K’vin regarded him with widened eyes. “Speaking out of turn? Ha, they had probably figured out everything on their own. What could you possibly tell them that they didn’t know?”
“How many people Chalkin had in those appalling cells,” Iantine said, blurting out the words before he realized what he was saying.
K’vin put a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. “I think I’ll have a few bad dreams over that myself,” and he gave a deep shudder.
“Perhaps you’d best get some rest.”
“No, I’d rather not, if you’d something else for me to do,” Iantine said truthfully. He didn’t even need to stop off at his own quarters as his tubes of oil and brushes were already in the Weyrleaders’ quarters.
K’vin’s solicitous expression brightened. “I’ve some time now, and you’ve the painting to finish of me… unless you’d rather redo Chalkin… but Bridgely made it very plain to me that he’d like you at Benden to do his commissions by Turn’s End. You’re much sought after, you know.”
Iantine made a disparaging noise in his throat, embarrassed by his notoriety. K’vin, grinning at his reaction, slapped him lightly on his back in affection.
“So what’s it to be?” the Weyrleader asked.
“You, of course. Did you…” and he hesitated, not wanting to be thought pushy, “did you like Zulaya’s portrait?” K’vin gave a low laugh and turned his face away. “You’ve done her proud, Iantine. Proud.”
“She’s easy. She’s beautiful,” Iantine said.
“Yes, isn’t she?” Something about the tone of his voice made Iantine wonder at such a response. They were Weyrleaders, together, weren’t they? They always made such a stance of a good partnership.
But Iantine was getting as good at hearing things that weren’t expressed as he was at seeing all that could be seen. Not his place to comment, though, despite a growing admiration for K’vin as Weyrleader.
Zulaya was a bit reserved, he knew from having spent so much time painting her, but she was much older than Iantine. And older than K’vin, too, for that matter.
“That gown was perfect for her,” Iantine remarked to break an awkward silence.
“Yes, she had it made for the last Hatching,” K’vin said and the smile he turned towards Iantine was easy, relaxed.
Iantine wondered if all he’d seen that morning hadn’t skewed his judgment. They were at the weyr stairs now and climbed up. At the top of the steep flight, Iantine was glad he wasn’t even out of breath.
“You’re in good shape,” K’vin said, with another friendly slap to his back to push him on into the high-ceilinged entrance to the weyr.
“I’d need to be, wouldn’t I?” Iantine replied with a droll laugh.
He paused briefly, his eyes seeking the weyrlings at the lake. Yes, Debera was there, oiling Morath. He’d have a chance to talk to her later: maybe even take dinner with her and show her Chalkin’s portrait before he made the changes.
Could he, he wondered as he watched K’vin change into the Gather clothes he wore for his portrait, add to that face what went on in that man’s miserable soul? Was he good enough to attempt such a portrayal?
Amid all the frantic preparations for Turn’s End, Clisser braved S’nan’s displeasure to request transport to the Telgar Engineering Hall to discuss the feasibility of the Stonehenge installation for Pern’s purposes. Well, Clisser kept his request to a need to discuss something vital with Kalvi since S’nan felt such bells, whistles and signals should be unnecessary if the Weyrs were kept on their toes during Intervals.
Jemmy had meticulously drawn a replica of the prehistoric stone circle, plus another of a reconstruction of what it had originally looked like, and such description as might be valuable to Kalvi and his team.
Kalvi took one quick, almost derisive glance at the drawings, and then a second, more respectful one.
“Eye Rock? Finger Rock? Solstice?” He gave Clisser a broad smile. “I do believe it will suffice and rather neatly.”
Then he frowned. “Couldn’t you have given me a little more time? Solstice is only two weeks off.
“I…” Clisser began.
“Sorry, friend,” Kalvi said with a self-deprecating smile, “you’d be busy with rehearsing and all that. Hmmm. Just leave it with me. I think we can contrive something.” and he riffled through Jemmy’s sketches. “Hmmm, yes, the lad has real talent.”
“Don’t you dare seduce him away from the College,” Clisser said, assembling as fierce a frown on his face as he gave to wayward students.
Kalvi grinned, pretending to recoil in terror but his eyes were on the drawings. “We’ll manage.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s what we’re good at.” Clisser left, reassured that he would not fail the Conclave on this matter.
Turn 5 End at Fort Hold and Telgar Weyr