“Don’t be surprised,” Mirrim told Menolly with just a touch of condescension. “These greedy guts will eat what’s offered from anyone. But that doesn’t mean that they’ll look to whoever feeds them. Besides, with nine…” She rolled her eyes so expressively that T’gellan chuckled.
“She’s jealous, so she is, Menolly.”
“I am not. Three’s quite enough, though…I would’ve liked a queen. Let’s see if Beauty will come to me. Grall does.”
Mirrim concentrated on coaxing Beauty to accept a piece of meat while T’gellan teased her, rather unfairly Menolly thought; but Mirrim returned his jibes with a few tart remarks of her own in a way that Menolly would never have dared address an older man, much less a dragonrider.
She was very tired, but it was pleasant to sit in the big kitchen cavern, listening to T’gellan, watching Mirrim coax Beauty, though it was Lazybones who finally ate from her hand. There were other small groups, chatting late over their evening meal, the women pairing with dragonriders. Menolly noticed wineskins being passed. She was surprised, at first, because the Sea Hold served wine only on very special occasions. T’gellan sent one of the weyrboys to get him cups and a skin and insisted that Menolly, as well as Mirrim, have a cup.
“Good Benden wine is not to be refused,” he told her, filling her cup. “There, now, isn’t that the best you’ve ever tasted?”
Menolly forebore to mention that, barring wine laced with fellis juice, it was the first. Living was certainly conducted on different rules in the Weyr.
When the Weyr’s Harper began to play softly, more for his own pleasure than to entertain anyone in the cavern, Menolly did not restrain her fingers from tapping the rhythm. It was a song she liked, though she felt his chords were dull, which was why she began to hum her harmony when it did not discord with his. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing until Mirrim looked up with a smile on her face.
“That was just lovely, Menolly. Oharan? Come over here; Menolly has a new harmony for that one.”
“No, no, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” demanded T’gellan, and poured a bit more wine in her glass. “A little music would give us all heart. There’re faces around here as long as a wet Turn.”
Timidly at first, because of the older injunction against singing in front of people, Menolly joined her voice to Harper Oharan’s baritone.
“Yes, I like it, Menolly. You’ve got a sure sense of pitch,” said Oharan so approvingly that she started to worry again.
If Yanus knew she was singing at the Weyr…But Yanus wasn’t here and he would never know.
“Say, can you harmonize to this one?” And Oharan broke into one of the older ballads, one in which she had always sung a counter-tune against Petiron’s melody.
Suddenly there were other voices humming along, softly but surely. Mirrim looked around, stared suspiciously at T’gellan, and then pointed at Beauty.
“She’s humming in tune. Menolly, however did you teach her to do that? And the others…some of them are singing, too!” Mirrim was wide-eyed with amazement.
Oharan kept on playing, nodding at Mirrim to be quiet so they could all hear the fire lizards while T’gellan craned his head and cocked his ears, first at Beauty, then at Rocky and Diver and Brownie who were near him.
“I don’t believe it,” said T’gellan.
“Don’t scare them! Just let them do it,” said Oharan in a low voice as he modulated his chords into another verse.
They finished the song with the fire lizards humming obediently along with Menolly. Mirrim demanded then to know how on earth Menolly had gotten h er lizards to sing with her.
“I used to play and sing for them in the cave, you know, to keep us company. Just little twiddles.”
“Just little twiddles! I’ve had my three much longer, and I never even knew they liked music.”
“Just shows that you don’t know all there is to know, doesn’t it, young Mirrim?” teased T’gellan.
“Now that isn’t fair,” Menolly interceded and then hiccuped. To her embarrassment she hiccuped again.
“How much wine have you been giving her, T’gellan?” demanded Mirrim, frowning at the bronze rider.
“Certainly not enough to put her in her cups.”
Menolly hiccuped again.
“Get her some water!”
“Hold your breath,” Oharan suggested.
T’gellan brought water and, with quick sips, Menolly managed to stop her hiccuping. She kept insisting that she didn’t feel the wine, but she was very tired. If some one would watch the eggs…it was so late…With solicitous help, T’gellan and Oharan supported her to her sleeping chamber, Mirrim fussing at them that they were two great big numbwits who hadn’t a lick of sense between them.
Menolly was very glad to lie down and let Mirrim remove the slippers and the new clothes and cover her. She was asleep before the fire lizards had disposed themselves about her for the night.
Chapter 12
Dragonman, Dragonman,
Between thee and thine,
Share me that glimpse of love
Greater than mine.
Mirrim roused Menolly early the next morning, impatiently shushing the fire lizards who hissed at her rough shaking of their mistress.
“Menolly, wake up. We need every hand in the kitchen. The eggs will Hatch today and half Pern’s invited. Turn over. Manora’s coming to look at your feet.”
“Ouch! You’re too rough!”
“Tell Beauty…ouch…I’m not hurting you. Beauty! Behave or I’ll tell Ramoth!”
To Menolly’s surprise, Beauty stopped diving at Mirrim and retreated with a squeak to the far corner of the room.
“You were hurting me,” said Menolly, too sleepy to be tactful.
“Well, I said I was sorry. Hmmm. Your feet really do look a lot better.”
“We won’t use such heavy bandages today,” said Manora, entering at that moment. “The slippers give enough protection.”
Menolly craned her head about as she felt Manora’s strong gentle fingers turn first one foot and then the other.
“Yes, lighter bandages today, Mirrim, and salve. Tonight, no bandages at all. Wounds must have fresh air, too, you know. But you’ve done a good job. The fire lizard eggs are fine this morning Menolly.”
With that she left, and Mirrim quickly set about dressing the feet. When she’d finished and Menolly rose to put on her clothes, her fingers lingering in the soft folds of the overshirt, Mirrim sank onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.
“What’s the matter with you?” Menolly asked.
“I’m getting all the rest I can while I can,” Mirrim replied. “You don’t know what a Hatching is like, with all those holders and crafters stumbling about the Weyr, poking here and there where they’re NOT supposed to be and getting scared of and scaring the dragons and the weyrlings and the hatchlings. And the way they eat!” Mirrim rolled her eyes expressively. “You’d think they’d never seen food and…” Mirrim flopped over on the bed and started to sob wildly.
“Mirrim, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s Brekke! Isn’t she all right? I mean, won’t she re-Impress? Sanra said that’s what Lessa hoped…”
Menolly bent to comfort her friend, herself upset by those heart-rending sobs. Mirrim’s words were garbled by her weeping, although Menolly gathered that Mirrim didn’t want her foster-mother to re-Impress and the reason was obscure. Brekke didn’t want to live, and they had to find some way to make her. Losing her dragon was like losing half herself, and it hadn’t been Brekke’s fault. She was so gentle and sensible, and she loved F’nor, and for some reason that was unwise, too.
Menolly just let Mirrim cry, knowing how much relief she had felt the day before when she’d wept, and hoping deep in her heart that there might be joyful tears, too, for Mirrim later that day. There had to be.