Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

“Been too many cave-ins,” one voice grumbled.

“Lazy people, that’s what it is,” Panit replied. “They get lazy, thinking a watch-wher will save them. They get careless. We’re better off without ’em.” There was a pause. “But it bothers me that Natalon’s so keen on having one.”

Kindan snuck away, troubled. He knew that watch-whers were important. Shards! Wasn’t it Panit himself whom Dask had pulled out of the mines? If people were bothered about working without a watch-wher, why not get more? And why would Panit want people to think Natalon was lazy? If they thought the head miner was lazy, would they want to stick at working the mine? Or would they leave like that unnamed apprentice and his watch-wher?

After the Gather, when Kindan and Master Zist had trundled back to their cothold, the Harper called Kindan into the study to talk.

“You and Nuella did a remarkable job on ‘The Morning Dragon Song,’” Master Zist said.

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to work with you on some other vocal pieces,” Master Zist continued. “I think we should try a duet.”

“What about Nuella?” Kindan asked.

Master Zist shook his head sadly. “When the traders leave, she’ll have to ‘leave’ with them.”

“But you teach her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Master Zist allowed, “and I am very careful in how I schedule her lessons.”

“I don’t understand why Natalon wants to keep her a secret,” Kindan said, his face reflecting all the injustice he felt.

Master Zist shook his head. “I cannot tell you why—that is Natalon’s secret.”

“Nuella told me. It seems like a bad secret,” Kindan replied.

“Your drumming was good tonight,” Master Zist said, changing the subject. “I will start you on learning drum sequences, and you can start training some of the other youngsters—”

“I’m as old as Zenor!”

Master Zist raised a cautioning finger to his lips. “As I was saying, some of the other youngsters who are too impetuous and could use the exercise to burn off some of their excess energy.”

Kindan accepted this new assignment with a shrug. “What happened with the trader?”

Master Zist smiled. “I thought I did rather well, there. I asked her about the state of the trail up here, and when she told me how muddy it was, I suggested that she could do with a delay of a few days to let the roads dry out more.”

His eyes twinkled. “Naturally, she caught on immediately that we wanted the delay for some reason and we commenced to bargaining.”

As Master Zist explained, Trader Tarri tried to negotiate a lower price for their coal, but Master Zist countered by pointing out the risks of losing a fully loaded coal-dray on the slippery trail back down to Crom Hold. That would not be good for the trader’s profits at all. He pointed out that it also would not do for the trail to Camp Natalon to get a reputation as dangerously slippery. So Master Zist offered that the camp would pay half their food and board for an additional day. Tarri demanded that the miners send out parties to spread gravel on the worst parts of the trail, saying that it would benefit the miners more than the traders. Master Zist countered with an offer of enough gravel to spread over the difficult parts but the traders would have to do it themselves.

“She said, ‘Done.’ And that was that.” Master Zist sat back in his chair looking quite pleased with himself. “And how did you get on with settling in the new apprentices?”

Kindan explained where he’d found lodgings for all the new apprentices.

“I suspect you’re right about Tarik’s reaction to housing four,” Master Zist said when Kindan had finished.

Kindan snorted derisively. Master Zist raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Did you hear what Tarik’s men are saying about Natalon?” Kindan asked.

“No,” Master Zist began slowly. “My apprentice has not yet seen fit to tell me.”

Kindan felt himself flushing.

“Sorry,” he said and proceeded to repeat everything he could remember of the conversations he’d heard at the evening’s Gather. At the end he looked up at the Harper and asked, “Why is it that Natalon puts up with Tarik? And why does Tarik seem to hate his own nephew so?”

Master Zist sighed. “I was hoping maybe you could tell me,” he said ruefully.

“And watch-whers,” Kindan said, adding them to the list as an afterthought. He wrinkled his brow.

“And why didn’t that apprentice come to the Camp?”

“That maybe I can answer,” Master Zist said. “I happened to work my way around to that very question with Trader Tarri.”

Kindan was all ears.

“From what I gather,” Zist continued, “and she was very circumspect about it all, it seems that the apprentice in question decided that his Master’s wrath was less troubling than life in this Camp.”

“The only thing I fear more than my Master’s wrath is death,” Kindan said with an apologetic look at the Harper.

Master Zist laughed. “Yes, and that was exactly Trader Tarri’s observation.”

“So you think the apprentice was afraid of dying in the mine?”

“Or losing his watch-wher,” Master Zist remarked. “I doubt the bonds between watch-wher and wherhandler are as strong as that between dragon and rider, but the loss must be pretty hard regardless.”

“It is,” Kindan said with feeling. “I was not bound to Dask and it still hurts.”

Master Zist reached out and squeezed Kindan’s shoulder gently. “I know, lad. You’ve been through a lot. Better days are ahead.”

“The other miners were complaining that we need watch-whers in the mines,” Kindan said. “But Panit said that only lazy miners need watch-whers.” He shook his head, sadly. “Panit’s one of Tarik’s men, but Dask still saved him.”

“Well, we’ve the new apprentices now,” Master Zist reflected. “Let’s see how things work when they’re in the mines, eh?”

Kindan nodded blearily.

“And now to bed with you, lad,” Master Zist said. “It’s way too late and you’ve been up late two nights running. You sleep in tomorrow.”

The first trader caravan marked more than the end of the winter thaw. Sevenday after sevenday caravans rolled in at all hours of the day, loading up with coal and heading back out again to Crom Hold, or farther to Telgar, where the Smithcraft made the steel that rimmed the wheels of the drays, formed the bodies of the pot-bellied stoves and ovens that Milla so loved, was turned into plowshares, dragon’s tack, and countless other things that could only be made from steel.

Natalon had decided that with the new apprentices he could start a third shift. He set them to building a second mine entrance, farther down the mountainside, closer to his hold. While Tarik and his cronies grumbled about work with no reward, the rest of the miners were relieved to know that there would now be more than just the one entrance to the mine.

Natalon promoted his old friend, Toldur, to lead the new shift. Zenor tried desperately to get himself assigned to the new shift, in the hope of “finally getting into the mines” and was bitterly disappointed when Regellan was chosen instead.

“Look at it this way,” Kindan said, trying to cheer up his friend. “With Natalon you get on just at dawn and off just at dusk—the babies are all asleep by then. Regellan gets off his shift tired, only to be woken by your littlest one every morning.”

Zenor glowered but said nothing more. Kindan couldn’t think of anything to say that might cheer up his old friend. Later, he realized sadly that he didn’t have all that much to say to Zenor anymore. Zenor was rarely in class with the Harper, never on the watch-heights, and always tired from his long days in the mine.