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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 a
"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 gri
"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 gri
"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 ca
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 ru
"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 ma
"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.