Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

“Zenor, will you help me bring some warm klah while Dalor,” and Kindan emphasized the one name, “warms up here?”

Zenor grinned broadly at his friend. “Sure.” Kindan winked at Dalor’s surprised look and said, “I’ll see you later.”

By that evening, everyone in the camp knew that the chimney had been blocked, apparently by a freak crack of brick, and that Natalon’s hold had been thoroughly aired and there was no danger to anyone attending Winter’s End there.

All the same, the great double front doors and the windows of the long room were wide open to reassure any worriers. The two long tables that by day served students were pushed to either side of the room, and the teacher’s table was pushed all the way to the far end of the room from the hearth so that there was a good warm area for dancing.

Kindan and Master Zist were situated on top of the long table pushed against the wall. The Harper instructed Kindan to keep a simple beat on the drums, to accompany the songs.

The drumming was so basic that Kindan could spare his attention to observe the partygoers. The whole of Camp Natalon was fewer than two hundred people, including the smallest baby, but such a crowd should have filled the room nearly to bulging. As it was, Kindan calculated that less than a quarter of the Camp’s inhabitants were present.

And no wonder—regardless of what the miners knew about bad air, not even Milla the baker could be coaxed back into the kitchen that morning to make her dainties. Natalon’s lady, Jenella, was still suffering from the combined effects of the bad air and her pregnancy and was confined to bed.

The absence of others was easier to understand—Zenor had four little sisters and his mother to look after. And, because of the cave-in that fall, it was still necessary to, work two solid shifts, so the second shift was still in the mine. A third “air” shift had been organized to keep the air pumps going through the night, but that consisted of only four people working in two pairs and they were mostly the youngest, the oldest, or the least skilled.

Kindan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Master Zist had stopped playing until the Master was speaking in his ear, having gotten up from his chair and walked over to where Kindan was seated. “Keep up that beat, lad, while I go mix with the crowd.”

Kindan nodded without breaking beat and watched as the MasterHarper climbed down from the table and made his way over to the refreshments. Kindan beat a bit harder as the Harper approached that table, and his hint must have been taken, for Master Zist tossed a backward wave at him—he would bring Kindan back some refreshments on his return.

Still playing instinctively, Kindan scanned the small crowd to pick up snippets of conversation.

“Caravan coming in to pick up our coal—” It was true: With the snow melting, there should be a trader caravan in any day now to take the last six months’ worth of mined coal.

“—hope they bring some apprentices—” Natalon had sent a drum message to the MasterMiner in Crom asking for more apprentices.

“—no use, they’ll be the worst, or who’d let them go?”

Kindan sighed, as that last comment made too much sense. Any apprentices that could be freed to go to a new mine would never be the best apprentices—they’d be kept on by their Masters at the current mines. Some of them would just be young and eager, but others might even be more trouble than they were worth: lazy or shiftless.

“—without a watch-wher, how are we going to be safe?” Kindan’s ears pricked up at that snippet of conversation, trying to identify the speaker.

“—there’s been too many accidents, especially since—” Kindan guessed that the speaker was about to say “the cave-in,” but the voice had slipped away from him in the general noise of the hall. Kindan agreed with whoever had said that; there’d been minor accidents once or twice a week since the cave-in that had killed his father and Dask. Partly, as Kindan had heard Natalon tell Zist one late evening when they both thought him asleep, because they were working hard with few people, and partly because it was just the nature of working underground where any carelessness could easily result in an injury.

Kindan searched the crowd and spotted Panit, one of Tarik’s old cronies, stumping about with a cast on his foot. The old miner had not been paying attention and had let a trolley get away from him and run over his foot.

“At the end of the day, it’s the head miner who’s to blame, isn’t it?” Panit asked a small knot of worried-looking miners gathered around him. Kindan stiffened. “Maybe the problem’s not watch-whers, but leadership.”

Kindan strained to see the reactions of the other miners but only succeeded in losing his beat. With a quick flourish, he jumped back into it, but not before several heads turned in his direction, Panit’s being one of them.

“When you’re listening in,” Master Zist murmured in Kindan’s ear, appearing suddenly at his side, “it’s important not to be noticed.”

Kindan managed a sickly smile in return. “Sorry,” he muttered back.

Master Zist nodded. He thrust a mug and a plate of snacks at Kindan and said, “Take a break.”

Not long after that, the Gather broke up. Kindan and the Harper were the last to leave, bowed under the weight of their instruments and the length of their day.

Kindan could never remember how he got into his bed that night.

“Master Zist! Master Zist!” Dalor’s cry woke Kindan far too soon. He stirred groggily, frightened by the tone of Dalor’s voice.

“Eh? What is it?” Master Zist called out from his room as Kindan tumbled into the kitchen.

“It’s my mother,” Dalor said, face pale with fright. “The baby’s coming early.”

The Harper emerged from his room, still in his bedclothes. He took one look at Dalor and turned decisively to Kindan. “Go run to Margit’s and get her up here.” He turned back to Dalor, “I’ll be along as soon as I get some clothes on. You get on back. Start the cook boiling water, if she hasn’t already.” His tone turned softer as he took in the look on Dalor’s face. “It’ll be all right, lad. Now off with you!”

The moment Dalor was out of earshot, Kindan told the Harper, “Margit’s not much at midwifery. Silstra did most of that, and Harper Jofri.”

“Journeyman Jofri learned his healing after I’d thrown him out of my singing class,” Master Zist said. Then he sighed. “And I learned my singing after the MasterHealer threw me out of his healing class.”

Kindan looked alarmed. The Harper made shooing motions with his hands. “Get off, now! Well cope.”

Kindan chivvied Margit along as fast as he could when he woke her but she was not to be hurried. They reached Jenella’s room in time to hear Milla, who was standing in the doorway, wail, “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”

“No, it’s not,” Margit said matter-of-factly. “It’s a month before normal time, and that’s close enough.” She drew herself closer to the baker and said harshly, “And if you can’t get yourself under control, you’ll go back to the kitchen.”

Milla, who wouldn’t miss the excitement for gold, sniffed and drew herself up, but closed her mouth.

Kindan, carrying Margit’s work things, followed her into the room. Natalon was holding Jenella’s hand. Master Zist had arranged sheets and blankets discreetly and placed himself to receive the baby.

Margit shouldered the Harper aside to make her own inspection. Satisfied, she went to Jenella’s side. “You’re fine, dear, just fine,” she assured her. “When the next contraction comes, just bear on down. You know the drill.”