She forgave Mirrim all her little poses and attitudes, aware that that was how Mirrim had masked her intense anxiety and grief.
There was a rattling of the cubicle’s curtain, a squabble of fire lizard protest, and then Mirrim’s Tolly crawled under the curtain, his eyes whirling with indignation and worry. He saw Menolly stroking Mirrim’s hair and, raising his wings, made as if to launch himself at her when Beauty warbled sharply from the corner. Tolly sort of shook his wings, but when he leaped to the bed, he landed gently on the edge and remained there, his eyes first on Mirrim, then on Menolly. A moment later the two greens entered. They settled themselves on the stool, watchful but not obtrusive.
Beauty, in her corner, kept an eye on them all.
“Mirrim? Mirrim?” It was Sanra’s voice from the living cavern. “Mirrim, haven’t you finished Menolly’s feet yet? We need both of you! Now!”
As Menolly rose obediently, Mirrim caught her hand and squeezed it. Then she rose, shook her skirts out and marched from the cubicle, Menolly following more slowly behind her.
Mirrim had by no means exaggerated the amount of work to be done. It was just past sunrise, but obviously the main cooks had already been up for hours, judging by the breads—sweet, spiced and sour—cooling on long tables. Two weyrmen were trussing a huge herdbeast for the main spit and at the smaller hearths, wild wherries were being cleaned and stuffed for roasting later.
For added protection in the busy kitchen, someone had placed the small table over her fire lizard egg basket. They were doing fine, the sand nice and warm all around. Felena caught sight of her, told her to feed herself quickly from the sauce hearth and did she know anything flavorful to do with dried fish? Or would she prefer to help pare roots?
Menolly instantly elected to cook fish, so Felena asked what ingredients she’d need. Menolly was a little dismayed to learn the quantity she’d have to prepare. She had had no idea that so many people came to a Hatching: the number coming was more than lived at Half-CircleSea Hold.
The knack in making the fish stew tasty was in the long baking so Menolly applied herself to prepare the huge pots quickly, to give them enough time to simmer into succulence. She did so with such dispatch that there were still plenty of roots left to pare.
Excitement filled the air of the kitchen cavern. The mound of root vegetables in front of Menolly melted away as she listened to the chatter of the other girls and women. There was great speculation as to which of the boys, and the girls for the queen egg, would Impress the dragons to be hatched that day.
“No one has ever re-Impressed a dragon,” said one woman wistfully. “D’you think Brekke will?”
“No one’s ever been given the chance before.”
“Is it a chance we should take?” asked someone else.
“We weren’t asked,” said Sanra, glaring at the last speaker. “It’s Lessa’s idea, but it wasn’t F’nor’s or Manora’s…”
“Something has to help her,” said the first woman. “It tears my heart to see her lying there, just lying, like the undead. I mind me of the way D’namal went. He sort of…well…faded completely away.”
“If you’ll finish that root quickly, we can put this kettle on,” said Sanra, briskly rising. “Will all of this be eaten?” asked Menolly of the woman beside her.
“Yes, indeed, and there’ll be some looking for more,” she said with a complacent smile. “Impression Days are good days. I’ve a fosterling and a blood son on the Hatching Ground today!” she added with understandable pride. “Sanra!” she turned her head to shout over her shoulder, “just one more largish kettle will take what’s left.”
Then white roots had to be sliced finely, covered with herbs and placed in clay pots to bake. The succulent odors of Menolly’s fish concoction aroused compliments from Felena, who was in charge of the various hearths and ovens. Then Menolly, who was told to keep off her poor feet, helped decorate the spiced cakes. She giggled with the rest when Sanra distributed pieces of one cake about, saying they had to be certain the bake had turned out well, didn’t they?
Menolly did not forget to turn the fire lizard eggs, or to feed her friends. Beauty stayed within sight of Menolly, but the others had been seen bathing in the lake and sunning themselves, scrupulously avoiding Ramoth, whose bugles punctuated the morning.
“She’s always like that on Impression Day,” T’gellan told Menolly as he grabbed a quick bite to eat at her table. “Say, will you get your fire lizards to hum along with you again this evening? I’ve been called a liar because I said you’d taught them to sing!”
“They might turn difficult and shy in front of a lot of people, you know.”
“Well, we’ll wait till things get quiet, and then we’ll give it a try, huh. Now, I’m to see you get to the Hatching. Midafternoon, I’d say, so be ready.”
As it happened, she wasn’t. She felt the thrumming before she heard it. She and everyone else in the cavern stopped working as one-by-one they became aware of the intensely exciting noise. Menolly gasped, because she recognized it as the same sort of sound the fire lizards had made when their eggs had hatched.
There was suddenly no time for her to return to her cubicle and change. T’gellan appeared at the cavern entrance, gesturing urgently to her. She made as much speed as her feet would permit because she could see Monarth waiting outside the entrance. T’gellan had already taken her hand when she exclaimed over the cooking stains and wet marks on her overshirt.
“I told you to be ready. I’ll put you in a corner, pet, not that anyone will notice stains today,” T’gellan reassured her.
A trifle resentful, Menolly noticed that he was dressed in new dark trousers, a handsomely overstitched tunic, a belt worked with metal and jewels, but she didn’t resist.
“I have to get you in place first, because I’m to collect some visitors,” T’gellan said, climbing nimbly into place in front of her on Monarth’s neck ridges. “F’lar’s filling the Hatching Ground with anyone who’ll ride a dragon between.”
Monarth was awing, slanting up from the Bowl floor to an immense opening, high up on the Weyr wall, which Menolly had not noticed before. Other dragons were angling towards it, too. Menolly gasped as they entered the mouth, with a dragon before them and one abaft, so close that she had momentary fears of collision. The dark core of the tunnel was lit at the far end, and abruptly they were in the gigantic Hatching Ground.
The whole north quadrant of the Weyr must be hollow, thought Menolly, awed. Then she saw the gleaming clutch of dragon eggs and gasped. Slightly to one side was a larger egg, and hovering over it was the zealous golden form of Ramoth, her eyes incredibly brilliant with the coming of Impression.
Monarth dropped with distressing abruptness, then backwinged to land neatly on a ledge.
“Here you are, Menolly. Best seat in the Ground. I’ll be back for you afterwards.”
Menolly was only too glad to sit still after that incredible ride. She was in the third tier, by the outer wall, so she had a perfect view of the Hatching Ground and the entrance through which people were beginning to file. They were all so elegantly dressed that she brushed vainly at the stains and crossed her arm over her chest. At least the clothes were new.
Other dragons were arriving from the upper entrance, depositing their passengers, often three and four at a time. She watched the now steady stream of visitors coming in from the ground entrance. It was amusing to watch the elegant, and sometimes overdressed, ladies having to pick up their heavy skirts and run in awkward little steps across the hot sands. The tiers filled rapidly, and the excited thrumming of the dragons increased in pitch so that Menolly found it difficult to sit quietly.
A sudden cry announced the rocking of some of the eggs. Late arrivals began to hurry across the sands, and the seats beyond Menolly were filled with a group of minecraftsmen, to judge from their red-brown tunic devices. She crossed her arms again and then uncrossed them because she had to lean forward to see around the minecraftsmen’s stocky bodies.