The Renegades of Pern (35 page)

While she was diligent about measurements, both took time to peek into crates and examine a variety of the stores.

“Mainly things that they either had plenty of or didn’t immediately need,” Jancis remarked, looking through a large case of encrusted soup ladles and jumping back as one disintegrated in her hand.

“You always need boots!” Piemur replied. “And they’re in an excellent state of preservation. I make this chamber twenty paces by fifteen.” They had moved some distance from the original chamber, through interconnecting caves, some of which showed evidence of having been reshaped and squared off.

“
How
could they manage to shear through solid rock like a carver through roast wherry?” Jancis asked, running one hand over an archway.

“You’re the smith. You tell me.”

She laughed. “Even Grandfa can’t figure that one out.”

“You haven’t actually worked metal, have you?” Piemur finally blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer. She was not a fragile-looking girl, but neither did she have the bulging muscles of most male smiths he knew.

“Yes, the Crafthall required me to, but not the heavy stuff,” she answered absently, more intent on measuring the archway than on his questions. She gave him the measurements. “There’s a lot more to smithing than working hot metal on glass. I know the principles of my Craft, or I’d not have walked the tables.” She cocked her head at him, the dimple appearing with her grin. “Can you craft every instrument a harper plays?”

“I know the principles,” Piemur said with a laugh and then held up the glowbasket to see into the next chamber. “What have we here?”

“Furniture?” Jancis added her glows to his, and the dark shadows took on form, light shining off smooth metal legs. “Chairs, certainly, tables, all of metal or that other stuff they used so much of.” She was running knowledgeable hands down legs and across surfaces.

“Hey, drawers!” Piemur exclaimed, wrestling with a tier down one side of a desk. “Look!” He held up a handful of thin cylinders with pointed ends. “Writing sticks? And these?” He held up clips and then a transparent stick, a nail thick, a finger wide, and more than a handspan long, both edges covered with fine lines and numerals. “What standards were they measuring by?”

He gave her the stick, and she turned it over and over. “Handy enough, since you can see through it,” she remarked and then put it in her shoulderbag, making a notation on her diagram. “Grandfa will want to see it. What else have you found?”

“More of those useless thin plaques of theirs. If all the drawers are full of th—” He stopped complaining as he opened the deepest drawer and saw the neat arrangement of hanging files. He removed one. “Lists and lists, on that film of theirs. And color-coded—orange, green, blue, red, brown. Numbers and letters that don’t mean a thing to me.” He passed the file to her and picked up another one. “All red and all crossed out. Records my Master wants, and records I can now give him! For all the good it does.”

“Aren’t there these sorts of bandings, numerals, and letters on those crates?” Jancis asked.

Piemur groaned, thinking of the piles of crates and boxes and cartons they had seen. “I have no wish to cross-check. Couldn’t they have left anything in plain language for us?”

“What upsets Grandfa,” Jancis went on, exploring more of the accessible drawers, “is that we’ve lost so much of their knowledge over the hundreds of Turns. He calls that criminal.”

“Not just inefficient?” Piemur grinned, hoping no unexpected summons would interrupt them and that somehow he could get her mind off their main reason for being here.

Jancis had just opened the wide shallow drawer in the center of the desk and removed some very thin loose sheets of the same durable material on which the maps had been printed. She peered at the letters across the top. “E-V-A-C-U-A— funny shape to these letters . . . Ah, evacuation plan. More numbers.” She folded the top sheet back and gasped. “A plan of the Plateau, with names, and—
HOS-PI-TAL, WA-RE-HOUSE, VET, LAB, ADMIN, AIVAS
. They have everything named as to function,” She turned to him, her eyes glowing as she passed the sheets to him. “I think this is an important document, Piemur.”

“I think you’re right. But let’s see what else we can find.”

The furniture was packed so carefully that in the end they were able to reach only a few more drawers without unstacking things—and there was no space for that. Not all the drawers were as full as the one Piemur had first opened, but each contained interesting detritus in the form of brief notes, more obscure lists, and the thin rectangular placques that appeared to have no obvious function. Jancis made the final discovery: an oblong of black material with raised buttons, twelve bearing numbers and four arithmetic signs, all flanked and topped by buttons, but they both agreed that her grandfather should see. Most of the furniture was in remarkably good condition as the cave complex was dry and the material impervious to penetration by tunnel snakes, though excretal evidence of those creatures marked the surfaces.

“Poor hungry critters,” Jancis said in mock sympathy. “All this for centuries and not one thing edible!”

“Or long since consumed.” Piemur noticed that their glow-baskets were getting dim. “How long have we been down here?”

“Long enough for me to get hungry,” she replied, her dimple showing.

They had already started on their way back to the entrance when they heard their names echoing down the corridors. When they got back to the entrance, they found Master Esselin halfway down one ladder in an urgent discussion with F’lar, who was a few rungs up another, peering more at the sky than at the man he was talking to.

“Ah, Piemur, there’s a squall bearing down on us,” Master Robinton said. His eyes twinkled as he acknowledged Jancis’s presence. “Esselin is certain we’ll all drown along with our treasures.”

“Well, we won’t,” Lessa said, chuckling. “Dragons have many unlikely uses.”

A little baffled, Jancis looked sideways at Piemur.

“Ramoth and Mnementh both?” the journeyman asked the Weyrwoman, craning his neck to look up the fissure. He could not see any stormclouds from that limited range.

“Their combined wings will overlap quite nicely,” Lessa said. “It’s Esselin who thinks it’s beneath Benden’s dignity. Just as well he wasn’t there to see Ramoth and Mnementh digging out the mounds that day. Esselin, do send us down something to eat while we wait out the squall,” she added, raising her voice as the Masterminer disappeared up the ladder.

The light dimmed abruptly as two great dragon pinions spread over the hole. F’lar, Lessa, and Robinton looked smugly satisfied.

“I’ve never appreciated dragon wings quite so much before,” Jancis remarked softly to Piemur. “No, I mean it. Look at the delicate veining. So fine a membrane and yet so incredibly strong. A rather magnificent design, you know.”

Lessa took the few steps across the aisle that separated them and smiled at Jancis. “According to Master Robinton, some of the very old Records suggest that the dragons were indeed designed,” she remarked, settling herself on the crate beside the younger woman.

“Not cousins to the fire-lizards?” Jancis asked.

“Oh, they admit that,” Lessa said with a shrug. “Though how they know,” she added, her expression fondly doting, “is beyond me.”

“About something to eat, Lessa,” Piemur said. “I think we’d better not wait on Master Esselin’s assistance. If Ramoth and Mnementh can shelter us, then Farli and Zair can feed us.” He gave Lessa a sideways grin that bordered on a challenge. He held up his hand, and Farli abruptly appeared, squeaking with surprise at finding herself so close to the Weyrwoman and nearly dropping the basket she carried in her talons. “If you’ll pardon the impudence, Weyrwoman.” He rose, relieved Farli of her burden, and with a gesture sent her off again. “Well, it’s something to start with at any rate,” he said after he had examined the contents. “She’s coming back with more.”

“You are irrepressible!” Lessa exclaimed, but her laugh was gay, and she was quite willing to share the sandwiches that the fire-lizard had brought.

With Zair supplying the Harper and F’lar, the group stranded in the cavern was able to make quite a satisfactory meal while rain pelted in a torrential downpour on shielding dragon wings.

“Well, and what did you discover on your search, Jancis, Piemur?” Robinton asked.

“Famine or feast, Master Robinton,” Piemur replied. He held out the file, flipping the pages until he came to the one with the map. “This seems to indicate which buildings were used for what.”

Master Robinton took the file, bending closer to the nearest glowbasket to read it. “This is marvelous, Piemur. Marvelous! Just look, Lessa. Each square is named! And
HOS-PI-TAL
—that was an old name for a Healer’s Hall.
ADMIN
?—administration, no doubt. Ah, and that one hasn’t been excavated yet. Marvelous. What else, Piemur?” The Master’s expression was eager.

“Not until you tell me what
you
found!” Piemur replied.

“Gloves!” F’lar said, holding up three wrapped pairs. “Different weights for different jobs, evidently. I think they’d be cold to fly in, but we’ll let the experts decide.”

“We could clothe the weyrfolk in what I found,” Lessa added.

“She even found boots her size,” F’lar said, grinning at his diminutive weyrmate.

“I can’t imagine why they left such necessities as clothing behind,” Lessa commented.

“And I,” Master Robinton said, still clutching the file, “found pots and pans of immense size; and more spoons, forks, and knives than you’d need at a Gather. I also found immense wheels, small wheels, medium wheels, and crates and crates of tools. Master Fandarel has already absconded with a selection of their implements. Some were well smeared with a protective oil or grease. He’s fearful that sudden exposure to the air might cause them to become friable and dissolve, or something.” He winked at Jancis.

The rain was still pounding down.

“If we could locate the original entry,” F’lar remarked, glancing up at the shielding dragon wings, “it would be wise to cover that hole over completely. Fine thing it would be to have all this mystifying and unusual stuff survive earthshake, eruption, and the centuries only to ignominiously drown.”

“That certainly can’t be allowed to happen,” Master Robinton agreed.

“It wouldn’t be efficient,” Jancis murmured in Piemur’s ear.

“And you’re incorrigible,” Lessa said, her keen hearing having picked up the soft remark. “Your grandfather has probably already solved that minor problem. He’s eager to use some of the building materials Master Esselin discovered. You weren’t here when they hauled some of the slabs up to the surface. I think every Mastersmith on Pern will be congregating here. And, by any chance, do you have some spare sheets I might use, Jancis?” she went on, briskly rubbing crumbs from her fingers and jerkin. The girl nodded. “Excellent, because I feel that a strict list should be made of things removed from here—though what we found were certainly not one of a kind. The quantities of
things
all of a kind are amazing.”

“Amazing what they left behind here,” F’lar said wonderingly. “They must have intended to return . . .” A thoughtful silence followed his remark.

“They have,” the Master Robinton said gently. “They have returned in us, their descendants.”

15

Southern Continent, PP 17

D
UE TO
J
ANCIS’S
excellent measurements, the original entrance to the cavern was found the next day, dug out, and shored up, and the fissure closed using—at Master Fandarel’s insistence—one of the sheets of the ancients’ translucent material.

“It’s efficient,” Jancis told Piemur, her eyes dancing with merriment, “because it provides a certain amount of light. It’s strange, really,” she added, tilting her head in a manner that Piemur found exceedingly endearing, “to think that here”—she gestured toward the unearthed mounds—“they seemed to encourage light in their dwellings, and then they go carve out cliffs to live in and hide away from it.”

“Baffling, indeed. It seems such a drastic change to make,” Piemur said. “Is it possible that they didn’t know about Thread when they first landed?” He had not even mentioned that idea yet to Master Robinton.

“And Thread sent them scurrying north to caves?”

“Well, there are more caves in the North. Mind you,” he said, qualifying that statement, “there’s a good-sized complex at Southern Hold, and this rambling one here, and I’ve only been along the coast, so there could be hundreds inland . . .”

“Yes, but you’ve been to most of the ancients’ sites, haven’t you? And you mentioned that they built above the ground, in freestanding buildings.” She gave him a measuring look and then shyly added, “I really would like to see one of those sites.”

“That can be easily arranged,” Piemur said, trying not to read into the wistful request more than a professional curiosity.

They had been together almost constantly for the last ten days, either as assistants to Master Robinton and Master Fandarel, or on their own, itemizing the contents of some of the smaller, well-packed chambers. Master Fandarel had ordered several crates of machine parts to be transferred to a warehouse where he and other mechanically oriented Masters and journeymen were attempting to make sense out of such quixotic wealth. Piemur and Jancis, meanwhile, were attempting to match banding, color, and numerals on the crates and cartons to those on the lists Piemur had found in the desk that first day. They had been eating lunch when Jancis made her innocent comment. Piemur called Farli to him and wrote a message to V’line, Clarinath’s rider at Eastern Weyr.

“I do envy you Farli,” Jancis said when the little queen had disappeared on her errand.

“How come you don’t have a fire-lizard?”

“Me?” She was astonished by the question. She also had a smudge on her cheek and another on her forehead, and Piemur wondered if he should tell her. She was neat in her habits and motions, but he kind of liked to see her disheveled—it made her seem more approachable. “Not likely. With every Craftmaster and senior journeyman ahead of me in the list, I’ll be waiting a long time. Unless you know of a nest around here?”

He gave her a long look, suppressing the laughter that threatened to fracture his solemn regard. He knew very well that she had spoken artlessly, but that did not keep Piemur from daring. “Nest hunting is the preoccupation of every rodman and digger. But you—you’d make a good fire-lizard friend.”

Jancis’s eyes went wide, and then her expression changed. “I think you’re teasing me.”

“No, really, I’m not. After all, I’ve got a queen.”

“You mean Farli’s clutched?”

“Frequently.” And then Piemur was forced to admit the embarrassing aspect of that: “Trouble is, I don’t know where!”

“Why not?” Jancis asked, surprised.

“Well, you see, queens instinctively return to their original clutching place and choose a free site nearby. Only I don’t know where that was.”

“But you Impressed her when she hatched? Surely—“.

Laughing, Piemur waved his hand to halt her comments. “That’s another long story, but basically I don’t
know
where she was clutched and she can’t seem to give me directions beyond sand dunes and heat.”

Just then Farli returned, flying into the chamber and chittering agitatedly about things in her way. But the message she bore was affirmative.

“We’re taking the afternoon off, Janny. We deserve it,” Piemur said firmly. “We’ll ruin our eyes, trying to match up all this banding. So we’ll go visit a restored ancients’ ruin at Paradise River Hold. You’ll like Jayge and Ara! I told you about them being shipwrecked and all.”

Her answering expression was inscrutable, but she smiled before she gathered up their work materials.

“This is official, isn’t it?” V’line asked Piemur, glancing at Jancis when the two presented themselves to the bronzerider.

“Sure is,” Piemur assured him airily, helping Jancis to mount Clarinath. “Got to cross-check carton markings on the ones left at Paradise River. It’s one of those boring things that’s got to be done, and Jancis and me got chosen!” He climbed on behind the girl, well pleased with himself. It would be perfectly legitimate for him to put his arms about her during flight.

Jancis gave him a speaking look and a grin for his outrageous invention, and then gasped, grabbing his arms as Clarinath launched himself skyward.

“This isn’t your first time a-dragonback, is it?” Piemur asked, his lips close to her ear. Tendrils of her curly hair escaped from her helmet and tickled his nose. She shook her head, but her grip on his arms did not relax, so he knew that she could not have ridden often.

Then they went
between,
and her fingers tightened spasmodically. The next moment they were above the clean sandy stretch, Clarinath gliding in to land on the riverbank a few lengths from the hold. The heat was considerably greater there than on the relatively higher, cooler Plateau. Fleetingly Piemur wondered why Alemi had a ship anchored that far to the west of Paradise River. Then Farli came streaking in over Clarinath’s shoulder and, bugling in her silvery voice, joined the stream of welcoming resident fire-lizards, who all swooped into the hold.

“Look, I don’t know how long this will take, V’line,” Piemur began, hurriedly unbuckling helmet and jacket as the heat enveloped them, and helping Jancis remove hers.

“I’ve got to hunt Clarinath,” V’line said. “That’s how come I could get off sweepriding to bring you. Would you ask Jayge where’s the best place to go for wild runners?”

Piemur dismounted and helped Jancis down just as Jayge came onto the verandah to see who had arrived. Piemur hurried over to the dark shady expanse of the porch, introduced Jancis to Jayge, and asked where Clarinath could hunt.

“Tell him to go on down the river, about twenty minutes straight. He’ll catch ’em browsing close to the water this time of day,” Jayge suggested, adding that V’line should return to the hold to bathe the bronze and to join them in the evening meal while Clarinath digested his.

“You’re crazy, Piemur, coming down here before the heat’s passed,” Jayge said, yawning hugely. He turned to Jancis. “Want something cool to drink?”

“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 all 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, chitterring 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.