Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

“So when is a secret a bad thing?”

“A secret’s a bad thing when it can be used to hurt others, or when it hides a hurt,” Master Zist said quickly. “You’ve an obligation, again as a harper, to expose a secret like that when you find it.”

“What sort of secret is that?” Kindan asked, mentally running through the small list of secrets he’d discovered about other people.

Master Zist made a sour face. “I once knew a man, a hard man, who when he’d taken too much wine would lose his sense and temper. When he did that, he’d beat his children.” His lips tightened. “That’s that sort of secret.”

Kindan shivered at the thought. “So a bad secret is the sort of secret that when people know it, they can help?”

Master Zist considered his words before responding. “I suppose you could say that,” he replied. He got up, finished the last of the klah he’d been sipping, and gestured for Kindan to follow. “We’ll talk more of philosophy later. Right now we’ve got work to do.”

There were six coal drays in the trader caravan. All the camp youngsters and women turned out to greet the traders who had walked up in front of the coal drays.

“You’re the first fresh faces we’ve seen in six months!” Milla exclaimed, passing out dainties she’d made especially for their arrival.

“Tarri,” a woman in her early twenties said, extending a hand to Milla and looking around at the rest of the crowd. “Journeyman Trader.”

Master Zist stepped through the crowd with Kindan not far behind. “I’m Master Zist, pleased to meet you.”

Tarri’s eyebrows went up at the sight of a MasterHarper here at this small camp, but she quickly schooled her expression and gladly shook his hand.

“I’ve seven apprentices from the MasterMiner along with me,” she said, nodding to a knot of miners clustered nearby.

Kindan smothered a puzzled look. He’d heard Natalon tell Master Zist that eight apprentices had been sent—not seven.

“We’ll be glad to have them,” Master Zist said cheerfully, waving to the group. Under his breath he said to Kindan, “Where are we going to put them?”

Kindan whispered back, “They’ll have to go where there’s the most room.”

Master Zist’s eyes widened in a combination of alarm and glee. “That’d be Tarik’s place, wouldn’t it?”

Kindan gave an imperceptible nod.

“Master Zist, would you know where the coal drays go?” Tarri asked. From her expression, Kindan guessed that she expected the Harper wouldn’t.

“If you follow the fork in the road back there, you’ll come right to the depot,” Master Zist answered calmly.

Tarri nodded thanks and turned to the other traders, issuing orders. In a moment she turned back to the Harper.

“I imagine Miner Natalon will be wanting to talk about supplies and the price for his coal,” she said.

“Miner Natalon’s on shift at the moment and has asked me to show you the courtesy of his hold,” the Harper replied, bowing and gesturing toward Natalon’s hold with one hand. “If you’ll follow me, I’m sure you’re parched from the journey and wouldn’t mind a bit of refreshment.”

The young trader nodded agreeably and strode on to the hold, side by side with Zist.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” a boy scarcely older than Kindan asked of the remaining crowd before Kindan could follow the Harper.

“He’d be just the lad,” Milla told him, pointing at Kindan. “Why don’t you get the apprentices settled, Kindan, while I go serve the traders?”

Kindan suppressed his disappointment at not being able to stay around to learn the latest gossip but admitted, with a nod, that he was outmaneuvered and outranked by the baker.

“I’m Kindan,” he said to the gathering apprentices. “I’m sure we can get you settled in. If you’ll follow me.”

In the end, Kindan managed to foist four of the apprentices, two older and two younger, onto Tarik’s Dara—mostly through fast-talking that alluded to how much esteem she’d gain in fostering the lion’s share of the new apprentices. Dara’s eyes, at first wary, grew quite appreciative as she imagined breaking the news to Tarik. Kindan, who thought Tarik would hold his privacy in higher regard, was not so sure of the miner’s reaction.

Toldur’s wife, Alarra, was glad to take in two—the older Menar and young Gulegar—while Norla happily took young Regellan when Kindan hinted broadly that he’d be on the opposite shift from Zenor, giving her a constant chance of someone who spoke “adult words” nearby.

With the apprentices all settled, Kindan went back to the Harper’s cothold to spruce up, change, and get his drums. Inside he was surprised to hear the soft sounds of someone crying in Master Zist’s study.

It was Nuella. The glows in the room were dim; Kindan realized that no one had had a chance to change them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as he caught sight of her sitting in one of the large chairs. Nuella looked up at the sound of his voice.

“I—I—Master Zist was supposed to teach me,” Nuella said shakily. “I thought maybe I’d gotten it wrong so I went back to the hold only—only I heard him talking to someone else. So I came back here.”

“Oh, things got all mixed up because the caravan’s come in,” Kindan said.

“I didn’t hear the drums,” Nuella protested.

“Well, that’s because there’s no one at the relay yet, I expect,” Kindan said, referring to the drum relay midway between Crom Hold and Camp Natalon. “I spotted them and then got awfully busy between Master Zist and your father.”

“But it was a girl’s voice I heard talking to Master Zist,” Nuella said.

“That’s Tarri, the Trader,” Kindan told her.

“A girl can be a trader?” Nuella sounded surprised.

Kindan shrugged. “Why not? Although I think Tarri is older than that. She’s a journeyman, by her shoulder knots.”

Nuella sniffed. “I heard Milla say that a girl could be a baker or a mother, but that was all a girl was good for. She was complaining to Mother about it.”

“I can’t understand why Milla would complain,” Kindan said without thinking. “She’s a pretty good baker.”

“Mother wants to name the baby Larissa,” Nuella said in an abrupt change of topic. “She’s all worried whether the baby can see. She doesn’t want—”

Kindan realized that Nuella was telling him her secret.

“I’m sure the baby is fine,” Kindan said, sounding far more like Master Zist than himself. Nuella heard it too and frowned at him.

“Mother says that you can’t tell when they’re first born,” Nuella went on. “Sometimes it’s years before they lose their sight.” She paused and bit her lip nervously before continuing in a rush: “I could see just fine all the way until I was three. And then ... things just started to go blurry and dim. Now everything is just splotches...”

With a look of determination she stood up, steadying herself against the wall for a moment with an outstretched hand, and walked over to the door where Kindan stood. “Master Zist keeps the furniture in the same place,” she said appreciatively.

“I know,” Kindan replied. “He keeps yelling at me when I move it.”

“Father’s afraid of what the others will say if they find out,” Nuella said. “That’s why he was so glad to get Tarik to move out. Cristov almost found out once, you know.”

“Why is your father so worried?” Kindan blurted.

Nuella scowled, and shook her head angrily. “He’s afraid that we’ll be shunned,” she said bitterly.

“Shunned? But you’ve done nothing wrong,” Kindan said, wondering why the ultimate punishment—expulsion from society—could even be considered.