“In the first place, we wouldn’t be landing anywhere. And I don’t mean for whole wings to go, Kev,” B’nurrin said, “not like it makes sense to do with the first actual Falls we do get - wherever that actually is…”
“And you’re hoping S’nan doesn’t get first go,” Zulaya said with a malicious grin.
“Too right on that,” B’nurrin agreed in a sour tone. He really gets up my nose, you know. I don’t see any harm in having a look. I mean…” He paused, steeling himself a moment and staring straight into K’vin’s eyes, “I’ll be frank.
“I’m scared I’ll be needing clean pants half a dozen times the first Fall I have to lead.
“I’ve wondered about that myself,” K’vin admitted drolly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was rather surprised to notice a fleeting expression of approval on Zulaya’s face. “Surely B’ner had never mentioned that even as a remote possibility”?
“So, I figure, if I get a good look at it before I have to act brave and unconcerned - - -“
“Anyone who isn’t concerned about Thread’s a damn fool,” Zulaya put in.
“Agreed.” B’nurrin nodded at her, grinning. “So, will you join me?”
“Because if two of us go, neither of us will be as much to blame?” K’vin asked, one eye on Zulaya’s face.
B’nurrin scratched his jaw. “Yes, I guess that’s the size of it.”
“We’re the first you’ve asked?”
B’nurrin gave a snort. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t suggest it again to S’nan after the way he’s clapped my ears back twice now. I figured you were more likely to than D’miel, though, you know, I think M’shall might come. If the weather’s wrong at Fort and High Reaches, Benden’s might be the first actual Fall we meet.”
“M’shall might just be amenable at that,” Zulaya said, “though he’s the last one of the whole lot of you to doubt his abilities.”
“That’s true enough,” said B’nurrin, “then his enthusiasm got the better of him. But look at it this way, even if old S’nan gets to fight this Pass’s first Fall over Fort, we’ll have been to one before him, so to speak.” The Igen Weyrleader grinned with such boyish delight in the scheme that K’vin had to chuckle.
“How long is there between Southern’s first and ours?” he asked.
He was astonished to see that Zulaya was already unrolling Telgar Weyr’s Thread chart onto the table.
“Roughly two weeks,” she said.
“So we could have gone and seen and not jeopardized the readiness of our own Weyrs,” B’nurrin said, adding one more argument in favor of his idea.
“The first possible Fall over Fort is number seven. Number four is over the Landing Site,” Zulaya went on, tapping her finger on the various Thread corridors. “Five’s no good, but six starts offshore of the mouth of Paradise River, not far from where we just were.”
“What about the first three?” B’nurrin asked, craning his neck to see. “Oh, not really as good for good coordinates, are they?”
Then he looked up in a direct challenge at K’vin. “Will you join me?”
“I’d like to,” K’vin said decisively, pointedly not looking in Zulaya’s direction.
“I think I would, too,” she said, surprising both men. When they regarded her in amazement, “Well, queens’ wings fly a lot lower into danger than the rest of the Weyr does. Makes it quicker for me to change my pants, but that doesn’t mean I want to have to.” Then, when they grinned with relief at her, “So, does Shanna want to come, too?”
Grinning even more broadly, B’nurrin said, “Only if you were going.”
“At least one of you at Igen Weyr has some sense,” said Zulaya. “Let’s just sit on the idea for a few days. Just to be sure.”
“Who will know, if we don’t mention it?” B’nurrin asked, swiveling around to pointedly regard a sleeping Meranath.
Paulin took Jamson with him to Bitra Hold. The older Lord Holder was still furious with his son for voting High Reaches Hold in the impeachment. But he had been unable to fault his son’s management during his two-month convalescence. This had indeed restored Jamson to vigorous health, if not tolerance.
The change in Bitra was obvious from the moment Magrith dropped to the courtyard and Vergerin hurried down the steps to greet his guests.
He had been alerted.
S’nan had insisted on being allowed to convey the two Lords Holder for he had been as stunned by the impeachment as Jamson.
“My word!” the Fort Weyrleader said, staring about him.
Magrith was staring too, and Paulin had to suppress a grin since the dragon was looking in one direction, his rider in the other.
The courtyard was neat and the recent snow swept from the paving which showed fresh cement grouting. The road, in either direction, was no longer bordered by straggling bushes and weed trees. The row of cot holds sported fresh roof slates, repaired chimneys and painted metal shutters, all obviously in good working order. Although some of the upper windows were already shuttered tight, the facade was no longer festooned with dead vine branches. Sunlight glinted off solar panels that had been cleaned and repaired.
Piled under a newly built shed were HNO3 tanks, racked for easy usage, with the hoses and nozzles hung properly on pegs. Kalvi had told Paulin that he’d been asked to deliver the Bitran consignment within a week of Vergerin taking Hold. And the following week he had sent his best teachers to instruct in their use and maintenance.
Vergerin wore a good tunic over his trousers, but they were made of stout material and he had obviously been working before his guests arrived. He greeted Paulin affably and responded courteously to the introduction to Jamson, whose response was frosty.
“You’ve done a lot since you took over, Vergerin,” Paulin said, giving the man the encouragement of his public support. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible, frankly.”
“Well,” and Vergerin grinned in the most charming way, “I found Chalkin’s hoard, so I’ve been able to hire in craftsmen.”
“Even the nearest holders aren’t accustomed to me yet and timid?”
“Scared, more likely,” said Paulin dryly.
“That, too, I’m sure, but I’ve done what I can to supply them with materials to make their own repairs. The Hold was in an appalling state, you know.”
Jamson grunted, but his eyes widened as he saw the quiet order and cleanliness of the first reception room. S’nan made approving noises deep in his throat and even ran a finger across the wide table with its attractive arrangement of winter berries and leaves. A drudge, in livery so new the creases hadn’t been lost, was hurrying across the hall with a heavy tray.
“My office is quite comfortable,” and Vergerin gestured for them to enter.
Paulin noticed that the heavy wooden door gleamed with oil and the brass door plates were polished to a high gloss.
The interior had been totally replaced, with work-tops, tidy shelving and bookcases. A scale map of Bitra Hold was nailed up on the interior wooden wall; beneath that was the northern continent and, oddly enough, the Steng Valley. Did Vergerin plan to reopen the mines there? A fire burned on the hearth, three upholstered chairs cozily arranged, while a low table evidently awaited the tray. Polished metal vases on the deep window-ledge held arrangements of bright orange berries and evergreen boughs: altogether a different room under Vergerin’s management.
“There’s klah, an excellent broth which I do recommend, and wine, mulled or room temperature,” Vergerin said, gesturing for his three guests to take the comfortable chairs.
“You’ve a new cook as well, Vergerin?” Paulin asked, and pointed to the steaming pitcher when Vergerin grinned.” I’ll sample the broth, then.” Jamson didn’t mind if he did, too, but S’nan wanted the klah.