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Authors: Anne McCaffrey
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have to worry about Abominators again,” she said with a weary sigh.
“N’ton checked the island where we exiled those that were convicted of abducting Robinton.” F’lar’s expression was austere, his lips thinned. He kicked the heavy curtain rather more forcefully than was needed to be sure that the hem excluded the cold drafts. “In fact,” he added, his face altering to a less forbidding look, “there were some youngsters, since several spouses went with their men.”
“Oh!” Lessa paused. “And the earlier group, who were caught damaging other Crafthalls? The ones who were sentenced to the Crom mines?”
“Ah, now, there’s a possibility.” He shrugged out of his jacket and would have dropped it on the chair but Lessa pointed sternly at it and then at the hooks where she had hung her fur. He grinned, scooped it up, and hung it with exaggerated care.
“Go on,” she urged him, knowing he was going to tease her before he answered.
He got two glasses from the cabinet and deftly poured wine from one of Morilton’s elegantly carved glass bottles. He handed her a glass, then stepped backward until he was close enough to feel the heat from the radiating unit on his legs.
“That meteorite—the metallic one that everyone in the Smithcrafthall is going on about—smacked a good-sized hole in the prisoners’ quarters and broke one man’s leg. It wasn’t until evening that a count was taken. One was missing. One of those—” F’lar’s lips thinned with remembered anger. “—who were involved in that attack on Aivas. He was deafened. Big man. Should be easy to find. He’s missing the tip of his first finger on his left hand.”
He took a sip of his wine, savoring it. Lessa allowed him that enjoyment.
“But he hasn’t been found yet, has he?” she asked at length.
With a wave of his wineglass, F’lar dismissed the problem. “Telgar, High Reaches, and Fort Weyrs have been alerted. Runners carried the news along their traces and warned the traders.”
Lessa gave a cynical snort. “Some of the traders are not above harboring a holdless man.”
“According to the Mine Master, this man kept himself to himself. Seemed to dislike new things.”
“Made by Aivas, of course,” she said in a caustic tone.
F’lar raised his eyebrows. “By Aivas, of course.”
“Do you think this one man is responsible for all those thefts and vandalism? Too wide a spread.”
“Quite right, but there are enough people with petty grievances against hold and hall who might delight in causing trouble here and there.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, relishing the warmth. “I don’t consider that as serious a problem as deciding what more refinements”—he pointed to the heating unit—“we can safely introduce.”
“No one has objected to having better lighting and heat,” Lessa said. “After all, solar panels came with the Ancients. So did hydro-engineering and generators. We just have to speed up the education process to produce the
necessary
improvements that will reduce drudgery After.”
“I don’t approve of life being made too easy,” F’lar remarked.
“You were never a drudge,” she said caustically, reminding him of her ten Turns spent as one.
“Don’t forget that this Weyr was scarcely luxurious until Thread started falling again.”
“How could I?” She grinned at him, her eyes alight with laughter. “But that doesn’t mean an indiscriminate release of technology. The Crafthalls are the worst offenders there.”
“You mean, you object to what Master Oldive is doing in surgical procedures and more effective medications?”
“Of course not,” she said with a scowl. “But I don’t think everyone agrees with some of the surgical stuff.” She gave a little shudder.
“You would if your life depended on correcting an internal problem, like your guts protruding out of your belly because the stomach lining had ruptured,” F’lar said with a humorless
“N’ton checked the island where we exiled those that were convicted of abducting Robinton.” F’lar’s expression was austere, his lips thinned. He kicked the heavy curtain rather more forcefully than was needed to be sure that the hem excluded the cold drafts. “In fact,” he added, his face altering to a less forbidding look, “there were some youngsters, since several spouses went with their men.”
“Oh!” Lessa paused. “And the earlier group, who were caught damaging other Crafthalls? The ones who were sentenced to the Crom mines?”
“Ah, now, there’s a possibility.” He shrugged out of his jacket and would have dropped it on the chair but Lessa pointed sternly at it and then at the hooks where she had hung her fur. He grinned, scooped it up, and hung it with exaggerated care.
“Go on,” she urged him, knowing he was going to tease her before he answered.
He got two glasses from the cabinet and deftly poured wine from one of Morilton’s elegantly carved glass bottles. He handed her a glass, then stepped backward until he was close enough to feel the heat from the radiating unit on his legs.
“That meteorite—the metallic one that everyone in the Smithcrafthall is going on about—smacked a good-sized hole in the prisoners’ quarters and broke one man’s leg. It wasn’t until evening that a count was taken. One was missing. One of those—” F’lar’s lips thinned with remembered anger. “—who were involved in that attack on Aivas. He was deafened. Big man. Should be easy to find. He’s missing the tip of his first finger on his left hand.”
He took a sip of his wine, savoring it. Lessa allowed him that enjoyment.
“But he hasn’t been found yet, has he?” she asked at length.
With a wave of his wineglass, F’lar dismissed the problem. “Telgar, High Reaches, and Fort Weyrs have been alerted. Runners carried the news along their traces and warned the traders.”
Lessa gave a cynical snort. “Some of the traders are not above harboring a holdless man.”
“According to the Mine Master, this man kept himself to himself. Seemed to dislike new things.”
“Made by Aivas, of course,” she said in a caustic tone.
F’lar raised his eyebrows. “By Aivas, of course.”
“Do you think this one man is responsible for all those thefts and vandalism? Too wide a spread.”
“Quite right, but there are enough people with petty grievances against hold and hall who might delight in causing trouble here and there.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, relishing the warmth. “I don’t consider that as serious a problem as deciding what more refinements”—he pointed to the heating unit—“we can safely introduce.”
“No one has objected to having better lighting and heat,” Lessa said. “After all, solar panels came with the Ancients. So did hydro-engineering and generators. We just have to speed up the education process to produce the
necessary
improvements that will reduce drudgery After.”
“I don’t approve of life being made too easy,” F’lar remarked.
“You were never a drudge,” she said caustically, reminding him of her ten Turns spent as one.
“Don’t forget that this Weyr was scarcely luxurious until Thread started falling again.”
“How could I?” She grinned at him, her eyes alight with laughter. “But that doesn’t mean an indiscriminate release of technology. The Crafthalls are the worst offenders there.”
“You mean, you object to what Master Oldive is doing in surgical procedures and more effective medications?”
“Of course not,” she said with a scowl. “But I don’t think everyone agrees with some of the surgical stuff.” She gave a little shudder.
“You would if your life depended on correcting an internal problem, like your guts protruding out of your belly because the stomach lining had ruptured,” F’lar said with a humorless
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