The Dolphins of Pern (31 page)

For a moment there was complete silence in the room. Aramina rarely used physical punishment, and the slaps she had given her children for naughtiness had been admonitory, not punitive. She hadn’t even so much as tapped his hand in rebuke since he had started at the Landing school

“Dolphins … are … not … part of this Hold!” she said fiercely, stringing out the words to emphasize her anger and denial. “I’m sure there is work to which your father can put you now. You will do it and you will never mention those wretched creatures in my presence again. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Readis managed to say. “I understand.” He could not at that moment call her “Mother.” He turned his head to his father, awaiting orders.

Jayge, whose expressionless face told Readis nothing, beckoned for Readis to follow him.

Fortunately, the Ancients had built all the river-bank holds on stone pillars that elevated the floors four to five steps above ground level. This had provided breezeways under the dwellings for cooling in hot weather, but it also provided protection against occasional flooding. The holders had blessed that precaution when the gale-driven tides had lapped at the top steps, and even flowed onto the porch flooring, right up to the doors, but not over the thresholds. The storehouses had lost their light roofs; there was debris to be removed, and help required to rig some sort of covering for supplies, store crates and canisters to be inspected for damp, clothing to be hung out to dry, dead animals to be butchered. The injured, human and animal, had by then been attended to. Readis was set to help with the skinning and dressing down. That had to be completed by nightfall, and the meat refrigerated.

Nazer had the generator running again, so there was power for lights and cooling. Readis worked alongside other holders, grateful for the fact that no
one else knew of his dereliction. Kami had evidently told only his parents that he had returned with her. Readis didn’t think he could stand any more reproaches. While he had learned how to compensate for the atrophied muscles in the bad leg—he sat or leaned against some sturdy support whenever possible—he had to work at top speed to dress the carcasses down and, by midnight, the muscles in both legs were jumping with strain and he was exhausted. But nothing would make him take a break until everyone else quit. He had had klah and a fish roll when food was passed round, which had eased his hunger pangs: He’d had nothing since eating at school early that morning.

When the last haunch was prepared for the cooler, Nazer sent everyone to their beds. Readis started off toward his home, and stopped halfway there. He could see that a light had been left burning on the porch but he couldn’t—he just couldn’t—go back under that roof right now. He veered toward the animal shed. He’d be warm enough under the temporary roof despite the slight chill of the sea breeze. He’d sleep anywhere he laid himself down. And he did.

He was unprepared for being roughly shaken out of a deep sleep.

“So here’s where you are!” his sister Aranya said, her expression accusatory. “Father’s been searching everywhere for you but Uncle Alemi swore he hadn’t seen you. You’ve got Mother in a terrible state over your shameful—”

“I’ll take that from … my mother,” Readis said, putting his fist in her face and having the satisfaction
of seeing his sister stumble backward, frightened, “but I don’t have to take it from you, Rannie.” Then he decided to take a small revenge on his usually tenderhearted sister. “My leg ached so I couldn’t walk another step.” And he rubbed both hands down the withered muscles.

“Oh, Readis, Father said Nazer told him you’d stayed on till the bitter end last night. They looked for you there, first. Then Mother was certain you’d gone to those wretched creatures who caused all your problems.”

“The dolphins,” he said with distinct emphasis on their proper designation, “have caused
me
no problems at all. A wretched thorn did!”

“Well, Mother says you wouldn’t have got the thorn in your foot if you—” She broke off when he raised his fist in her direction again. “You’d better come home. I’ll tell them where I found you, and that will be that.”

It wasn’t. His mother was close to hysterical again and his father, reckoning the cost of the storm to the Hold’s prosperity, was in a sour mood.

Later Readis would realize how strained everyone had been then, tempers and patience too stretched to allow for any tolerance, but when his mother insisted that he give her his word that he would never again have anything to do with shipfish—and her use of that term as well as the tone of voice she used further inflamed him—then he, too, lost his temper.

“That is a promise I cannot make!”

“You will make it and abide by it,” his mother told him, her eyes sparkling with anger, “or you cannot live in this hold!”

“As you will,” he said, cold despite the trembling in his guts. He stalked down the hall to his room, where he filled a travel sack with everything he could lay his hands on.

“You promise me, Readis,” his mother screamed down the hall at him. “You promise—” She stopped in his doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going, for I cannot promise that, Mother.”

“Going to those awful creatures?”

“Now, that’s a ridiculous idea,” he said scornfully. Though he didn’t know it, he sounded so much like his father at that moment that Aramina was stunned; he was able to push past her before she could recover enough to prevent him.

Limping as fast as he could, he made for the kitchen, sending out a piercing whistle for Delky. He’d seen her grazing, as usual, near the house when he and Aranya had left the shed. He saw his wide-eyed sisters and younger brother sitting at the table, an uneaten breakfast proving that they had been listening to the row. As he reached the kitchen door, Delky whinnied a greeting. Although his bad leg nearly collapsed, Readis managed to vault to her back, balancing his duffel before him. He heard his mother, demanding at the top of her voice that he come back inside the house right
now
as he kicked Delky into a canter, putting as much distance between himself and his unyielding parent as possible.

Delky had to dodge fallen trees and piled debris, nearly unseating him several times, but he kept her heading toward the river. The bridge had already been partially restored so that both sides of the river-bank were accessible. There were just enough planks
down for Delky, surprised and cautious but obedient to his insistence, to cross without losing a foot in a gap. When he got to the other side, he sent her flying down the sands and on into the scrub vegetation. He slowed her down only when the rough going might injure her, and did not stop until he had reached jungle and would be invisible to anyone searching for him from the air. Then he slipped from Delky’s back, his sack under him, and wept in frustration, anger, and heartbreak.

K’
VAN STRODE
into the Weyrwoman’s quarters with the briefest nod to Ramoth asleep on her couch.

“It’s Lord Toric again, Lessa, F’lar,” the Southern Weyrleader said, with an angry slap of his riding gloves on his thigh as he came to a halt by the table where they were having an evening glass of wine and studying storm damage reports from the Southern Continent.

Although the youngest Weyrleader now, K’van was as old as F’lar had been when Mnementh had first flown Ramoth, making F’lar Weyrleader. He had attained more height than his adolescence had suggested; his shoulders had broadened, his legs had lengthened, and his eyes were at a level with F’lar’s when they were standing. F’lar gestured for K’van to be seated and poured a glass of wine for him.

“You look as if you need it.”

“I do,” K’van said with a sigh as he dropped into the chair opposite Lessa. “And you will, too.”

“So what has Toric done this time?” Lessa asked, amused.

“He hasn’t done it yet, but he’s about to. Go across the river and settle it with
his
chosen, having prepared a place for them. He’s never been the least bit altruistic, so I know he’s up to something and I’ve a hunch what it is.” It gave K’van little satisfaction to see how angrily the Weyrleaders reacted to Toric’s latest show of arrogance. “We found incontrovertible evidence of substantial shelters in eight different locations—coastal, riverside, and inland. His harbormaster is saying that the ships are being loaded for a downriver supply run, but I doubted that even when he gave me the smooth lie.”

Lessa pursed her lips angrily, her eyes sparkling. “Toric’s never been satisfied, has he?” she asked rhetorically, and then pounded her fist on the table. “Greedy, that’s what he is. And he’s got a larger Hold than any of the Ancients ever staked out.” She leaned toward F’lar. “We can’t let him get away with this, F’lar. We can’t!”

“Lessa, we also can’t stop him.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“We can’t interfere with a Lord Holder.” The Weyrleader scowled deeply, for once annoyed to be constrained by that tradition.

“But Toric
isn’t
within his Hold if he’s across the river, now, is he?” K’van asked, his tenor voice at its mildest. The slight smile on his face was sly. “Oh, I know, he asked us to help him with Denol and that group who tried to take over Ierne Island, but
that
is part of the holding you granted him. This land is all beyond his Hold borders.”

“You’re sure of that, K’van?” F’lar asked.

“That he’s out of his own Hold? Yes, even the
eastern bank of the river is not his. Not according to the map I have that outlines Southern Hold, from river to sea, and inclusive of Ierne Island—”

“Which he insisted on having at the time,” Lessa said, angry red spots appearing on her tanned cheeks. She had clenched her fists. “And we only gave in to that demand because I wanted Jaxom to have Sharra.”

F’lar brushed back the lock that always escaped to cover his eyes at moments like these. “You’re right—he’s up to something. I have a sudden, totally unworthy thought …” F’lar then shook his head and dismissed the thought unspoken with a wave of his hand. “I believe I’d better wait to justify such base suspicions.” He grinned at K’van and Lessa. The look in the young Weyrleader’s eye suggested he might be entertaining the same notion.

“What suspicions? Of course they’d be base, coming from Toric. But just what?” Lessa demanded.

“Later, love. Tell me, K’van, does he have settlers all lined up and ready to settle?”

K’van nodded. “I had nothing specific to report to you until now, but we kept our eyes open to Toric’s doings. Discreetly, of course. Over the past few months there have been more than a normal number of well-laden ships making port at Southern. Each carrying ten to twenty passengers, sometimes family, sometimes singles. You know he’s built four coastal cruisers? Yes, well. They’re lumberly craft but have shallow draft and good cargo space. At any rate, he’s got a lot of people in and about the Hold who haven’t gone inland as I’d’ve thought they would—if they were his new settlers. He’s never hidden the fact that
he’s been recruiting crafters. All perfectly legal, since he hasn’t settled all the land he rightfully holds. No reason for a Weyrleader to poke his nose where he’s no right to sniff.” K’van grinned, his eyes glinting cynically. The young Weyrleader kept strictly to the Traditions that governed Weyr and Hold, knowing that Toric would rave about any infringement by Weyr or Hold prerogatives. “But when no one moved out, by land or by sea, all I could do was wait until I had something definite to bring to your attention. At the last Gather, there were marks circulating from every northern Hall and Hold and some rumors that Toric’s been selling sites. In his own Hold, he has that right but”—K’van lifted his hand—“not across the river!”

“He wouldn’t dare!” Indignation and outrage fueled Lessa’s anger. “He’s got the gall to charge for what settlers should have by right of their own hard work?”

“A neat scheme,” F’lar said, sardonically amused. “And I wouldn’t doubt if the payment in marks isn’t followed by a different sort of payment later on.” K’van nodded, and F’lar went on. “When the Council of Holders might need to vote on other business.”

Lessa opened her mouth, her dark eyes widening as she began to understand the scale of Toric’s plan. “Base isn’t a vile enough description of what he plans to do! I knew we were wrong to call a complete halt to new settlings,” she said, “in spite of what Fandarel and Nicat said, and in spite of the lack of suitable places. They wouldn’t have been half so eager to take up Toric’s offer if they could have come to us.”

“So, do you have proof of Toric’s encroachment on unapportioned lands?” F’lar asked.

“Indeed we have. The storm flattened whole swaths of forestry as wide as a Threadfall, and what do you know? There were five settlements all too visible to my sweep riders. So we went looking to see if there might be a few more, and located another three. All built and ready to be occupied. And then there’s Lord Toric’s harborful of laden ships …” K’van shrugged, not needing to say more.

“He
didn’t lose any ships to the storm?” F’lar asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he nodded at the reports spread out on the table, itemizing storm losses.

K’van grinned. “I know that Master Idarolan passed a dolphin warning on to him as well as to the Weyr so Toric had had time, and the good sense, to batten his shipping down. Toric doesn’t leave much to chance.”

“Does he know you’ve overflown these totally illegal sites of his?” Lessa asked, her voice harsh with the anger seething inside her.

“I doubt it,” K’van said. “Once they realized what they were seeing, my sweep riders avoided Southern Hold on their way back.”

“We can tackle this encroachment several ways,” F’lar said, leaning back in his chair, a malicious smile on his lips as he idly twirled the stem of his glass.

“There’s only one way—” Lessa began, and he held up his hand.

“Hear me out. We could dismantle those settlements so there’d be no … ah … accommodations
left for these settlers of his when they finally sail forth. They’d be forced to go back to Southern. This is not the season to be without shelter, if that storm is any preview of a rough winter down south. But I would like to show other Lord Holders, who have been courteous enough to bide their time, what sort of trickery Toric has been up to. Making people pay for land they have the right to!”