“Thank you, Holder Jayge,” Jancis said, giving Piemur a sly glance, “but we ate just before we left the Plateau and we really must check the coding on the cartons in your storeroom, if we may.”
Piemur was stripping down to the loose vest he wore under his shirt. Jancis seemed unaffected by the heat, which irritated him, but then, smiths were used to warmth. “Now, Jancis, I only said that—”
“That’s true enough, Piemur,” Jancis went on equably, “but it was a clever notion, and I think we should check it out.”
“You two do as you wish,” Jayge said, grinning as he looked from one to the other, “but I’m going back to my hammock and wait till the afternoon shower cools us off. Anyone with any sense stays out of the hot!” he muttered as he went.
“Now, Jancis,” Piemur began, using his shirt to mop his forehead.
“It can’t take that long to look!” she said, peering around the verandah at the empty rocking chairs and baby swing. She started down the neat shell-lined path toward the other buildings, and Piemur, cursing under his breath, followed her.
“Are these occupied now?” she asked when they were halfway to the storehouse.
“As far as I know, “he answered grumpily. He knew she was teasing him and that he should not react. And then he began to wonder why she was doing it; he had believed that she liked him and even enjoyed working with him. Why was she being perverse? Was it a character flaw? “Jayge and Ara invited some Bloodkin to join them from the north,” he went on, attempting a more cheerful, if resigned, attitude. “And then Menolly suggested her brother, Alemi, who’s Master Fisherman here, and there’s a Glassmaster now because there are some really fine white sands, and, well, Paradise River was gradually repaired and occupied. Here we are!”
The high-ceilinged building was cool, with what breeze there was entering at the ventilating slats at the top. Empty crates and cartons were still piled neatly in one corner, but there were more that had been put to use and were stacked close to the entrance. Jancis made a small disapproving sound.
“Why not use ‘em?” Piemur asked. “They weren’t full; they were all Jayge and Ara had when they were shipwrecked. Besides, I think the ancients would like to see them in use again.”
“A lot of people are second-guessing what the ancients would and would not like,” Jancis said.
“Including your grandfa,” Piemur reminded him. “You didn’t object to him using the sheet to cover the fissure.”
She gave him a quelling look. “Master Fandarel had his reasons.”
“So did Jayge and Ara. Why ignore useful things?” Piemur asked. “It’s one thing if they contain artifacts—but otherwise they are being useful, efficient.” He threw in that word more out of pique than as a humorous reference. “They’re not being desecrated or misused. They’re not inviolable. They ‘re certainly durable.”
“Then you believe we should use the shirts and boots and other materials in that cavern?” Jancis turned on him, her eyes flashing and her jaw set in a determined line.
“If they fit, why not?”
“Because it’s—it’s profane, that’s what!”
“Profane? To wear a shirt because it’s a shirt and was made to cover nakedness; boots because they’re boots and made for walking? I don’t understand you.”
“It’s a misuse of historical relics.”
“Besides the building slab, Master Fandarel’s using some of those drills—sharpest steel he’s ever seen.”
“Grandfa is not wasting them!”
“These aren’t being wasted either,” Piemur declared. He raised his hands up high in frustration, then brought them down smartly to his sides. “Go read the bloody carton labels! That’s what you came down here to do. I’m going back to the hold. Jayge’s right about the heat of the day. It affects some people’s thinking.”
Farli accompanied him, chittering questions at him which he could not have answered even if he had understood them. When he got back to the wide verandah, he went to the clay pitcher that hung at the shady corner and poured himself several long, cool drinks. Then he strung up one of the hammocks and tried to figure out why he and Jancis were quarreling.
The canines’ excited barking roused him from a light doze. Then Farli swooped, tugging at his sleeveless vest to emphasize her urgent little squeaks.
“Huh? Whassamatter? Easy, Farli. You scratch!” But the instancy of her alarm was inescapable. He blinked sleep from his eyes and made an awkward attempt to jump out of the hammock; it swung out from under him, and he landed with an ignominious thump on the porch floor.
The resident fire-lizards were swarming into the house through window and door, chittering with great agitation. Piemur could hear Jayge’s drowsy protest. Outside, the pitch of the canines’ alarm went up several notches to a frenzy, a commotion that further agitated the fire-lizards.
Just as Piemur was getting to his feet, he saw furtive movements on the beachfront, and the last of his torpor abated. Small wonder the canines were hysterical. Piemur had relied on Farli and Stupid too long to argue with animal instincts or wonder why anyone was creeping up on Paradise River Hold. At the sound of a strangled cry from the line of fishers’ cots farther up the beach, he unsheathed his hefty jungle blade, crept to the porch railing, and peered cautiously out.
There! More movement! It looked as if a number of people were spreading out to surround the hold—and more invaders seemed to be crawling down to the other holds. He heard Jayge muttering irritably at the interruption to his nap. Silently Piemur crept to the hammock, reaching up to release first one end from its wall hook and then the other. Maybe he could use it as a second weapon. Dragging the hammock with him, he scooted around the corner of the porch and climbed in through the side window, anxiously scanning the walls for possible weapons.
“Jayge!” he called softly, seeing the holder sleepily stumbling down the corridor.
“Huh?” Still groggy, Jayge just stared at him.
“Grab something. You got invaders!”
“Don’t be silly!” Jayge said in a normal voice. Then his fire-lizards came swooping into the room, squeaking in their panic. “Huh?”
Outside, the canines’ racket took on a new note, almost jubilant. Someone had had the wit to loose them from their pen. Galvanized, Jayge yanked two kitchen knives from their rack just as they heard a sudden shout from the beach.
“Ara! Get the children and run!” he roared, bounding forward with Piemur to meet the enemy outside.
It proved an embarrassingly short defense. Six sunburnt tattered men, brandishing swords, pikes, and long daggers, rushed Piemur and Jayge at the base of the short porch steps. Piemur slashed with his knife and thrashed about with the hammock, which was soon cut to shreds despite the clumsiness of the attackers. Curses and shrieks told him that Jayge was making full use of his knives. Someone was yelling orders in a strident voice, screaming with impatience at the attackers’ ineptitude and demanding results. A concerted rush by the attackers pushed both Piemur and Jayge awkwardly against the steps. Piemur heard someone behind him, but before he could react, he felt the crashing blow on his head and slid into oblivion.
Jayge came to, facedown in sand, head pounding fiercely, ribs and right shoulder aching, aware of the burn of sand-filled cuts all over him. He quickly discovered that he could not shift and ease his discomfort—he was trussed up like a wherry on a spit. He was about to spit out a mouthful of sand when he heard a groan, then a thud, and finally a smug chuckle.
“Back to sleep, Harper,” a harsh-voiced woman said. “And that’s how to deal with jumped-up holders, lads. It also prevents them from getting any assistance from those fire-lizards. Or anyone else. Now—” Her voice went from cajolery to sheer venom. “I want the woman and her brats. Without them, this whole effort is worthless.”