"And?" he asked quietly, slowly sinking to the nearest chair, seeing once again his pleasant dreams turning to ashes.
"He will be ... slow," she said. "I've seen the same sort of thing before. There've been two cot babes the same way. But they are sweet. And docile."
"Sweet? And docile?"
Robinton tried hard to absorb what that would mean in terms of his child. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to think of what could have been. How ironical! That his first – and only -child would be sweet and docile instead of the curious, interested, clever, tall, fine straight child he had yearned for!
"Oh, Robie, you cannot know how sorry I am." Silvina's fingers twined in his hair. "Please, don't hate me. I so wanted to give you a ... fine child."
"How can I hate you, Vina?" He glanced sideways at the baby.
"Or him. I'll care for you both ..."
"I know you will, Rob."
There was little more he could say, just then. Over the months of Camo's first Turn, he kept looking for signs that his condition might have been exaggerated and the bright intelligence which should have been his legacy might somehow blossom. He was even somewhat encouraged when Camo first smiled at him.
"He knows your voice, Rob," Silvina said sadly. "He knows you bring him something good to eat ..." She ignored the little drum which Robinton had made with his own hands to amuse his son.
The child had regarded it with the vacant eyes he turned on anything that was offered him.
"He has a very sweet smile," Robinton remarked, and then he had to leave the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A very weary Nip appeared late one night in the second month of the new Turn.
"He's at it again," he said, dropping a tattered hide coat to the floor and pouring himself a drink, swallowing it before he spoke.
"I can get you soup," Robinton suggested when he saw how blue Nip was about the lips. He rose from his comfortable chair. Nip shook his head, poured himself a second glass and came over to the fire. "What's he at?"
"His tricks," Nip said, sinking gratefully into the chair Robinton had vacated. "How he plans his invasion of holds, large and small."
"Really?" Robinton poured wine for himself and, hooking his foot around a stool, slid it to the hearth and made himself comfortable to listen. "Do tell."
"Oh, you'll get chapter and verse from me."
"If you don't fall asleep first."
"I won't. My subject matter will keep me wide awake," Nip said bitterly. He downed the second glass of wine. "Pity to waste it like that, Rob, I know, when it's good Benden, but it goes to a good purpose."
"I'm listening," Robinton said patiently, and filled Nip's glass a third time. The harper sipped this one slowly.
"He visits his intended victim, all smiles and reassurances, compliments the man on his fine holding. Buys whatever the hold produces, pays over the mark for what he calls the best quality. He asks how such yields are achieved on such poor, good, medium, excellent soil... under such trying, hot, cold, dry conditions... In short..."
"He makes himself a friend of the hold," Robinton said, nodding roofully.
"Then he sends down a man to learn from the holder. Or he starts buying the produce, at higher prices, and brings others to see how well this holder is doing with his land. I mean, how can they be taken in so easily?"
"Some of those upland holds are isolated. Often they don't get to but one Gather a Turn."
"True," Nip sighed. "Now, he's very canny about how he insults the Harper Hall, especially if the hold in question has a harper, or is on a well-travelled route. He's careful with his slanders," and Nip pantomimed a dagger being inserted gently in and then slowly twisted. "He gives examples of harper lies and exaggerations. So he plants the seeds of doubt. Then he invites the man and his family to come to his next Gather, and sometimes, if the gullible fool believes him, he offers to send men to tend the herd-beasts or the
fields, or whatever, while the holder and his family are away."
"So that his men become familiar with the place."
"Exactly." And Nip took a sip. "One man and his family never did get back from that Gather and so Fax has acquired Keogh Hold recently."
"That makes..."
"Four."
"I see. Let me take those boots off for you, Nip. They look soaked." Actually, Robinton had caught sight of the way Nip was shivering despite the wine and the heat.
"You're the only man I'd allow such a privilege," the irrepressible Nip replied as he lifted his left leg and then placed his right boot on Robinton's butt. "I know many people who'd love to have the MasterHarper of Pern on the end of their boot!" he added, chuckling, and gave Rob a hefty push – all to help remove his boot, of course.
In spite of Nip's pessimistic report, Fax was quiescent again, seemingly content to ride his extended borders, encouraging, as Nip put it drolly, his dependants to increase their production.
Robinton could not spend all his time worrying about where Fax would go next. He had the Hall to run, with all its problems and scheduling, especially when the bias against harpers was increasing.
However, when he heard that Nemorth had actually risen in a good mating flight with Simanith, Robinton sent congratulations and had a special visit from F'lon who looked excessively pleased with himself.
"How did you manage?" Robinton asked, pouring two glasses from the Benden wine-skin F'lon had brought to celebrate.
"First we starved the pair of them. I never thought a queen dragon could be so difficult. All the bronzes were needed to snatch anything she killed. She'd sneak out the Weyr at night to get something to eat."
"Who? Jora or NemorthT
F'lon blinked and then howled with laughter. "Actually, I meant Nemorth but I think Jora probably had edibles secreted about the place because we never did manage to get her down to a decent size. But Nemorth was our prime worry. Like rider like dragon can be all too true. But we succeeded in keeping her from doing more than blood the next time she turned bright gold. My, she was a nasty one in flight," and F'lon shook his head from side to side, with an odd grin on his face. "Simanith proved his worth. Caught her high and did her well." Then he exhaled noisily.
Robinton was hard pressed not to laugh out loud, wondering how F'lon had managed his unwieldy mate on that occasion but there were certain matters one did not discuss, even with such a good friend as F'lon.
"So, she'll clutch in the winter?"
"So long as she does clutch!"
"Here's to a triple her last one!"
"We'll need every one," F'lon said and downed the wine, breaking the glass in the hearth. Robinton, though he regretted losing two such fine goblets, followed suit. "I'll come for you myself when the Hatching's due. Both my sons'll stand." Before Robinton figured that the youngest would be only ten, F'lon was out the door.
"Well, he is the Weyrleader," Robinton murmured. "And the dragons will make the right choices." He hoped.
He had another, totally unexpected visit that same seven-day which turned out to have almost as fortuitous a result.
Silvina tapped on the door of his rooms. "You've two visitors, Rob," she said, smiling broadly as she pushed the door open wider to admit the guests.
Robinton instantly rose to his feet to greet the arrivals: a grizzled man, and a very gawky shy lad whose eyes were round and so fearful that Robinton increased the warmth in his own smile. The older man pushed the lad forward with a hand that was missing two fingers. He nodded with great dignity to the MasterHarper.
"You wouldn't remember me, likely," he said, "but I've never forgotten my cousin, Merelan."