"What could be happening there?" Robinton asked, more or less rhetorically. "If there is no one able to foment trouble, is it trouble, or pure carelessness on the stewards' parts?"
Tuck shrugged his shoulders. He had grown into a wiry man, not much taller than his companion. He might practise being nondescript, but he hadn't quite the knack Nip had and could never disguise the bright, interested gaze of his dark eyes.
"But there's something there. Sort of--" He tilted his hand sideways in a gesture he had obviously learned from close association with Nip. "A general uneasiness. Like something watching all the time. Only who'd watch? And what are they watching?"
"I should take a--"
"No, you shouldn't." Tuck held up a hand. "Harper Blue is a target for any of Fax's soldiery. I don't say the best is at Ruatha, but you're not to risk your neck ... Master Robinton." He added the title as a respectful afterthought. "Bargen's increased his activities in High Reaches, by the way, now that he has more folk in the Weyr."
"He's being careful, isn't he?"
"Bargen's so careful he's womanish," Tuck said with disgust. Then he sighed. "Of course, he wants to stay alive long enough to take High Reaches Hold back. So no one really minds when he sends them out to do what he plans. And he's pretty good at making trouble."
"Without embroiling others?"
"They'd rather do something, Master Robinton, than nothing," Tuck said. "They've got some pride left, you know."
Robinton nodded.
"Isn't the Benden clutch about to hatch?" Tuck asked.
"Soon. Jora's dead." Robinton had had the details from a letter sent to Master Oldive by Lord Raid's journeyman healer, who had been brought by R'gul to try to keep the Weyrwoman alive.
Remembering how Jora had gorged herself at the Impression Feast – and that had been turns ago now – he had no trouble believing that the woman had died of overeating. The healer had been appalled at the state she was in and had agreed that she should be interred between.
"I heard the drums, but did I hear correctly that the queen produced a gold egg?" Tuck cocked his head hopefully and Robinton nodded. "That's pulling up pretty close, isn't it?" Robinton nodded again, and Tuck asked, "You'll be going to the Impression?"
"I hope to." Robinton wasn't sure that any invitations were going out from the Weyr, but that didn't mean that a CraftMaster could be excluded. There had been few enough clutches and Impressions since S'loner had died.
"Nemorth'll last?" Tuck's expression was anxious.
"Probably. At least, that's my reading of queen dragon behaviour. Even without her rider, Nemorth will try to last until her clutch hatches."
"D'you think the next Weyrwoman will be an improvement on Jora?"
Robinton gave a snort. "I don't see how any woman could be worse."
"Then the riders'll be on Search, won't they?"
"I would presume so."
Tuck was the one to nod now. "I'd best go."
"Where to?"
"I'm to meet him" – which always meant Nip – "at High Reaches. Fax is there, preparing ..." he grimaced "... to go on one of his "tours" ."
"'Tours'?"
"Inspections, to find out why he isn't getting what he expects out of his holdings."
"I wish him luck," Robinton said drolly.
"Not him, the poor unfortunates he'll be beating up." Then Tuck was out of the door.
Over the next few days, Robinton had a feeling of imminence, of something impending. He was not surprised then to have Sebell escort a runner, mud-spattered and exhausted, into his office. But was stunned by the message.
"Tuck says you'd better come, Master Robinton."
"Come where?" Robinton had been on his feet the instant he saw Sebell's companion. Master and journeyman helped the man to a chair, and then Sebell poured him wine.
"Fax has left ... for Ruatha Hold. Dragonriders ... with him."
"At Ruatha? Dragonriders? With him?"
The runner nodded, sipping the wine. "On Search." And he grimaced. "Takes guts ... to go to the ... High Reaches."
Robinton was amazed. "Who?"
The runner shook his head. "You're to do a Nip and Tuck, he said."
"How much time do I have?" Robinton asked, waving aside the objections he could see Sebell about to utter.
"Fax is forcing his march. You'd best be in place."
"Hmmm, yes, I had, hadn't I?" Robinton felt a surge of wild excitement and sighed with relief. He ignored the pointed anxiety on Sebell's face. "Take care of him, will you, Sebell?"
And Robinton bolted down the steps to Silvina's rooms. "I'll need rough clothing, suitable for a drudge," he told her.
"And what are you up to?" she demanded, hands on her hips as she glared up at him.
"Now, don't you start on me too," he warned, far more sharply than he intended, and pointed to the keys on her belt. "I have to look the part."
"If you think you can do a Nip, you're gone in the head, Rob. Send Sebell for you."
"No, not Sebell," Robinton said angrily. "I won't risk him."
"But you will yourselF' she complained as reluctantly she led the way down to the storage rooms. "How can you possibly disguise yourself?" she demanded, trying another tack to dissuade him.
He immediately pulled in his shoulders, scrunched down and, with one hand hanging loosely, affected a hobbly gait.
"A limp might even be better," she said after a moment's observation.
"Hmmm. As if you'd been kicked by a boot in the wrong place." Then she sighed in defeat.
By the time Sebell joined them – a look at his Master's face and he kept his objections to himself– the two had found appropriately ragged clothing for Robinton to wear. Even Sebell had to agree that, once Robinton assumed his odd stance and gait, he no longer resembled the tall, dignified MasterHarper of pern.
"If you've time, I can cure them in the midden," Silvina suggested helpfully, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.
Sebell began to chuckle at Robinton's expressive shudder and was caught off balance when Robinton thrust the clothing into his hands and told him to see to it.
"The smell will undoubtedly keep others from examining me at too close range," he said with a long-suffering sigh. "Now, while I'm away, Sebell, you'll tell everyone that I've caught a fever and keep them out of my rooms."
Sebell nodded, though he was clearly unhappy with his Master being involved in such a subterfuge. Still, he knew when to keep his comments to himself.
Robinton waited until he got to the Red River before he put on his disguise. Black had sidled away from the saddlepack holding the reeking clothes. He left the runner-beast with the border guards and warned them to be extra vigilant.
From there Robinton made his discreet way to the beasthold at Ruatha to discover that there weren't but two sorry-looking milch animals to be cared for. He was looking around the beasthold in dismay when a wing of dragons appeared mid-air and a frightened man came running so fast he was in danger of tripping over himself as he shrieked his message at the top of his lungs:
"Dragonriders, and Fax comes. Dragonriders ..." Still yelling, he disappeared into the Hold.
In his guise of a witless drudge, Robinton could come out to stare up at the amazing sight of a full wing of dragons, some of whom had the remnants of flame still trickling beyond their muzzles, appearing in Ruathan skies. One after another, they bugled.
They sounded surprised, he thought. As the dragons wheeled to come in for a landing, he spotted a blue who had to be Tagath -which confirmed his suspicion that this was F'lar's wing, after all.