All the Weyrs of Pern (16 page)

“No, what?” Jaxom asked politely.

“The shipfish kept talking to us all the time they was saving us. Uncle Alemi heard them, too.”

“What did they say?”

Readis frowned deeply in concentration. “I don’t ‘xactly remember the words. The wind was shrieking, but I know they were shouting at us. Encouraging us like.”

Until Jaxom caught Jayge’s eye, he thought it was a youthful embellishment on a hectic rescue story, but Jayge nodded in confirmation.

“Readis, why don’t you run down and see if the fire-lizards are giving Ruth a proper scrubbing?” Jayge suggested.

The sturdy little boy jumped to his feet. “Can I? Really?” He flashed a radiant grin at Jaxom.

“Really, you can,” Jaxom assured him, wondering if Jarrol would be as enchanting as Readis when he was five.

“Yahoo,” Readis cried, tearing off down to shore where Ruth was afloat.

“That’s exactly what happened to him and Alemi?” Jaxom asked.

“With no invention,” Aramina said, obviously proud of her son. “Alemi said that Readis didn’t panic and obeyed him instantly. Otherwise—” She broke off, her face paling under her warm tan.

Jayge leaned toward Jaxom. “I wondered if you’d mind asking this Aivas thing of yours what he knows about the shipfish. Alemi also swears that they were speaking words, though over the wind and sea noises, he couldn’t distinguish exactly what they were saying. He thinks they were giving them directions or reassurances. Piemur mentioned a passing reference to the big fish—doll-fins—which Aivas said were brought here from Terra. I asked him to inquire, but I guess it slipped his mind.”

These days Jaxom always carried a small pad and pencil in his belt pouch. He made a notation. “I won’t forget,” he assured them, patting his pouch when he had replaced pad and pencil.

As soon as Ruth had had time to dry off in the sun, Jaxom called him up from the beach. Readis was squealing with rapture, for Ruth had allowed the lad to climb up on his back for the short walk back. Aramina gave Jaxom a full net of fresh fruit to bring Sharra and Jarrol, and he thanked her profusely.

As Ruth ascended to a safe height, Jaxom came to a conclusion, based on the guilt he experienced in being so long away from Ruatha—yet again!

Ruth, let’s shave three hours off our return. That’s safe enough, and we’ll be back in Ruatha just as everyone’s getting up.

You know Lessa doesn’t like us timing it.

We haven’t in Turns, Ruth.

Sharra will know.

I’m hoping she’ll be so glad to see me she won’t mind—this once.
Jaxom stroked Ruth’s neck urgently.
Let me handle my mate.
Ruth didn’t like to deceive either Sharra or Lessa.
It’s not deceiving Sharra. It’s getting home early for a change. Not a big thing to ask.

Oh, I suppose it won’t matter this once. I always know when we are.

However, as soon as they came out of
between
above Ruatha Hold, Jaxom had cause to regret coming home at all. A wild blizzard blowing down from the mountains all but obscured the Hold.

A good thing I always know
where
I am, too,
Ruth remarked, craning his neck and blinking windblown particles out of his faceted eyes.

Can you see to land, Ruth? I never thought to check on the weather conditions.
Jaxom covered his cheeks with his gloved hands, feeling the chill entering his bones despite the heavy riding jacket. His legs, clad in trousers appropriate to Southern’s summer, felt like lengths of ice.

I didn’t either,
Ruth replied forgivingly.
Only a moment or two longer. I’m right above the courtyard.

Suddenly he backwinged, and Jaxom felt the jar as the white dragon landed with an uncharacteristic thud.

Sorry. Snowdrift.

Jaxom wasted no time sliding off his dragon, but his path to the big doors that opened into Ruth’s weyr at Ruatha Hold was impeded by the heavy drifts. He had to scoop snow away to get one leaf of the door open wide enough that Ruth could find purchase for his forepaws. Then dragon strength hauled the stout metal door back through the drifts.

Get inside. Go on,
Ruth ordered his rider, and Jaxom was all too willing to obey.

Once inside the weyr, which was only warmer by virtue of being out of the chill and gusting wind, both dragon and rider struggled to pull the door shut. Rubbing his legs fiercely to restore feeling, Jaxom half ran across the stone floor of the chamber to the capacious hearth, where a fresh fire had been laid. His fingers fumbled with the firemaker before he got it lit, but at last the flames were eating hungrily at the dry wood, and Jaxom was able to warm himself.

“I don’t usually
mind
the cold,” Jaxom said, removing his jacket and shaking off the snow. “It’s just coming from all that lovely weather . . .”

Meer says that Jarrol has a bad cold and Sharra
’s
not feeling good with being up all night,
Ruth told his weyrmate, his eyes tinged with the yellow of worry.

“Young children often have colds this time of year,” Jaxom replied, though he knew that Jarrol had had far too many sniffles that winter. And poor Sharra was exhausted from nursing him, for she refused to allow anyone else to tend their firstborn. “Sometimes, Ruth, I’m very stupid,” he exclaimed abruptly. “There’s no reason in the world Sharra can’t come south, enjoy decent weather, and study with Aivas!”

How? She can’t go
between
carrying a baby.

“She can come by ship. We’ll just find out from Master Idarolan when he can accommodate her on a trip south. They make the journey often enough. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll all go south. There’s nothing here at this season that Brand can’t manage without me.”

Suddenly Jaxom felt a great deal better. And not long after, when he found Sharra rocking their cold-fussy son in the warmth of their apartment, her instant enthusiasm for the removal was as keen as his. The subject of his unusual arrival did not come up at all. As soon as Jarrol was lulled back to sleep and laid down in his cot, Sharra proved to Jaxom’s delight just how glad she was to have him home and in bed.

His face screwed in an anxious grimace, Harper Journeyman Tagetarl came striding out of the Aivas complex toward Robinton’s desk in the foyer. “Aivas would like to speak to you and Sebell when it’s convenient,” he announced.

“Oh? What’s he stewing up now?” the Harper asked, noting how uncharacteristically perturbed the journeyman appeared to be.

“He wants the Harper Hall to build a printing press.” Tagetarl agitatedly ran his hair back from his face with both hands and heaved an exasperated groan.

“A printing press!” Robinton gave a gusty sigh, then reached up to nudge his bronze fire-lizard awake. “Zair, please find Sebell and ask him to join us?”

Zair chirruped sleepily but obediently unwound his tail from the Harper’s neck. He walked down Robinton’s arm and onto the table, stretching himself as he did so, and then leaped away and flew out the open door.

“Sebell can’t be far if Zair’s not bothering to go
between
,” Robinton remarked. “Have some klah while we wait. You look as if you need some. Why did Aivas suddenly decide the Harper Hall needs a printing press?”

Tagetarl gratefully poured himself a cup, hooking a chair to Robinton’s desk and, once again, smoothing back his long black hair, less urgently this time.

“I asked could we please have copies of the string-instrument quartets he played the other evening. Domick particularly wanted to have a transcript. He said he’s tired of hearing us rave about ancestral music. Domick added,”—Tagetarl smiled ruefully—“that with so many masters and journeymen working here, he’s not able to come and hear for himself.”

Robinton grinned, knowing that Tagetarl had probably edited the Composition Master’s acerbic comments.

“Aivas said that he’s got to conserve the paper he has left and he has to consider music to be a nonessential in view of the demands on his resources. He’s down to the last two rolls. He feels we ought to have our own replication machines.” Tagetarl grinned expectantly.

“Hmmm. That’s certainly reasonable.” Robinton tried to sound enthusiastic, since Tagetarl was evidently much taken by the idea. But he was considerably concerned over just how much more could be added to the “essential” mechanizations already being undertaken. There were so many people from so many Halls already working full tilt on half a dozen critical projects. “Undeniably a great deal of information ought to be circulated. Especially for distant Halls and Holds that cannot send representatives here.”

Zair returned, chirping in the tone that said his errand had been successful. He had only just settled himself again across Robinton’s shoulders when Sebell came running. He had obviously dressed in a hurry, and his hair was still wet.

“Easy, Sebell. There’s no urgency,” Robinton said, raising a hand to slow the Masterharper down. “I hope Zair didn’t misinform you.”

Catching his breath, Sebell gave his mentor a salute and a wry grin. “Obedience to any summons from you, Master, is too deeply engrained to change now.”

“Even when you’re Masterharper of Pern?” Robinton’s grin was sly. “Especially now that you are Masterharper of Pern, you should be allowed to finish your morning ablutions.”

“Klah?” Tagetarl suggested, and when Sebell nodded appreciatively, the journeyman poured him a cup.

“I’d just finished showering,” Sebell replied, accepting the klah. “So now that I’m here, how can I assist you?”

Robinton gestured to Tagetarl.

“It’s really Aivas who wants to talk to you and Master Robinton,” the journeyman said. “He needs a printing press, and he says that according to his understanding of our present structure, that should be the responsibility of the Harper Hall.”

Sebell nodded, accepting the information. Robinton recognized the mannerism as a habit of his own, which Sebell adopted when he, too, was absorbing unexpected requests.

“Any form of communication is indeed a Harper Hall function. What exactly
is
a printing press?” Sebell asked after taking several thoughtful sips of his klah.

“An improvement on Master Arnor’s crabbed script, I devoutly hope,” Robinton remarked in a bland tone. The other two harpers rolled their eyes. “Something approximating the readable print which Aivas produces would be an enormous help.”

“Aivas is apparently the only one in the world who easily reads Arnor’s script. What’s the problem?” Sebell asked Tagetarl.

“Domick’s been after me to get copies of some of the splendid music Aivas has been playing for us.”

Sebell nodded understandingly. “That was inevitable. And certainly the request is only fair, when he’s had to take over so much Hall management to keep us here.”

“Don’t let Domick pressure you with insidious suggestion,” Robinton said, wagging a finger at his colleagues. “Though he will certainly find the string music utterly fascinating.”

“We all do,” Sebell said as he rose. “Let’s see exactly what this printing-press project entails. We are certainly not a mechanically inclined Hall, even if we produce our instruments.” And all three harpers went to consult with Aivas.

“Harpers may not be mechanically inclined,” Aivas replied when Sebell expressed his concerns, “but they are not without skill or intelligence, Master Sebell. Replicating or duplicating written material can be achieved by a variety of methods, of which the current laborious hand copying is the most prone to error. Using the relics of machinery and parts still available in the Catherine Caves, it will be possible to assemble a more efficient method of reproducing multiple copies of essential information, and the musical scores requested by your colleague in the Hall.”

Sheets spewed from the print slot into Tegetarl’s agile hands. “The drawings itemize the parts you should be able to find in the caves, and the few that Master Fandarel will need to fabricate for you. It will be in his interests, also, to cooperate.” There followed one of those pauses that Robinton liked to interpret as indicative of the various humors of Aivas. This one, he was sure, was a pointed reminder of how much the Smithcrafthall had already benefited by Aivas’s assistance. “With the intelligence that appears to mark even apprentices in your Hall, you should be able to assemble the apparatus by the time Master Fandarel has finished installing the water-turbine station. There will then be sufficient power to run the printing press, as well. Master Bendarek has succeeded admirably in producing continuous rolls of paper, which are also essential to the process.

“The manufacture of the individual letters and numbers to comprise a legible type font, and the musical and scientific signs, should be relatively simple for those with good manual dexterity.” Another page came out, illustrating a highly readable type font. “Journeyman Tagetarl is a dexterous carver.” His remark astonished Tagetarl, who could not imagine how Aivas had learned about his handiwork. “There may be others with similar artistic talent who might assist.”

“There isn’t a printing press in the Catherine Caves?” Sebell asked, his tone slightly wistful.

“Unfortunately, no. Replication and data storage had developed well past such cumbersome processes. This method will, however, be sufficient for your needs for some time to come.”

Sebell had taken the type-font sheet from Tagetarl. “It’ll be nice not to have to squint or use a magnifying glass to read.” He gave his head a shake. “Master Arnor won’t like it.”

Robinton grimaced and then sighed with regret. “Perhaps it is time. He’s almost blind right now, you know. And those wretched apprentices take terrible advantage of him. Menolly was telling me about an incident only last week. One impertinent youngster handed in a scurrilous verse in place of the ballad he had been assigned—and poor Master Arnor approved it.”

Tagetarl masked a grin. “That’s not the first time Master Arnor’s had that trick played on him.”

“This printing press would help conserve your supplies, Aivas?”

“It will, but that was not the basic reason to suggest that you extend your activities to include such a fundamental improvement in data handling. You will find that eventually you will need more than one press, so it would be prudent to learn the principle and improve on it in your own time.”