Энн Маккефри: The Second Weyr

“I take her point.”

“D’vid and Wieth, N’klas and Petrath-”

“Hold it, Torene. D’vid and N’klas?” Sorka didn’t believe her ears.

“Oh, hadn’t you heard them?” Torene seemed surprised, then added quite casually, “No, I guess you wouldn’t have. I hear them all the time during Fall, because it’s what the dragons call other riders when they’re warning their dragons to be careful. They’re speaking so fast they sort of, well, compress names. So Day-vid has become D’vid, Nicholas Gomez is N’klas, and Fulmar is F’mar.

“Are you T’rene?” Sorka asked, diverted.

The girl thought a moment. “No, but Sevya’ll be Sev and Jenette, Jen. They’re sort of fast names anyway. I mentioned it one day after Fall and-” She gave a helpless shrug. “-everyone wanted to know their dragonish name.”

“Do they shorten their own, or others?”

“No.” Torene shook her head vigorously and flashed Sorka a dazzling smile. “Dragons always know who’s being spoken to.”

“I see.” Sorka tried to appear that she comprehended the distinction.

“We think it’s kind of nice to have a dragon nickname. It means they care about each other’s riders, too.”

“I guess it would. Tell me, how do they shorten Sean?”

Torene shook her head, bouncing her curls. “They don’t. He’s always ‘Leader,’ and I’d say they capitalize the 1, too.” She shot Sorka a sly grin.

“Oh, g’wan with you, now.”

“No, honest, Sorka, they’re always respectful of Sean. And you’re always a full ‘Sorka.’ ”

“Are you buttering me up, young woman?”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?” Torene made her eyes rounder. “Just because I’ve asked you to be softly persuasive. . . .”

Sorka laughed again. There was no other young woman in the Weyr quite like Torene: so refreshingly herself, without guile and yet exceedingly clever in her directness. “Now, who else is in your select bunch that’s dropping over to the site all the time?”

“Sevya and Butoth, R’bert and Jenoth, P’ter and Siwith, Uloa and Elliath. . .”

“That makes three queens. . .”

“The new Weyr could accommodate four at least,” Torene said, “and we’ve got interest from six more bronze riders, one a Wingleader and two Wingseconds; fifteen brown riders, three Wingseconds among them; and ten blue and eight more green riders.”

“How long has this been going on?” A faint unease about the activities of the younger riders replaced amusement. Torene was far too candid in her dealings to be plotting a subtle mutiny of sorts. Sorka did a quick figuring-but forty-seven riders? Who were all eager to start fresh in a new location? That was unsettling. She was certainly going to speak to Sean if this was the scale.

“Oh, nothing’s been going on, Sorka,” Torene said, genuinely alarmed. Making immediate eye contact, she laid a reassuring hand on Sorka’s arm. “We’d just-basically-like to have more space. Except for Nyassa and Uloa, we’re all younger riders, stuck upstairs or downstairs or wherever we can be fitted in. Sevya says her mother has a bigger cupboard in Tillek than she and her dragon have here.” A tinge of dissatisfaction did color the girl’s voice, and she bit down on her lip, flushing at having spoken criticizingly.

What she said was fair enough, Sorka knew. Sevya and Butoth, just graduated from the weyrling barracks, were in embarrassingly tight quarters. Though Torene had not mentioned herself, Alaranth did not even have proper head room in the weyr she and her rider shared. In fact, they did not have two parts to their quarters as most partnerships did, and unlike most of the dragons, Alaranth had to go to the Rim to do her daily sunbathing. Soon enough the young queen would be fully mature, and there was no question that by then she could not continue in such a cramped accommodation.

“We haven’t wanted to rock the boat, Sorka, but really, we can’t afford to lose the chance at this place.” Torene tapped the diagram. “See here? Just above ground level where there are three natural caverns, one after the other? Made-to-order Weyrwoman’s quarters. . . and with a little bit of alteration, these-here, here, and here-would be spacious enough for the other queens. And over here, opposite what would be great domestic areas, is a series, of caves just right for weyrlings, instead of having to cram them side by each. Why, the place would be wasted on holders.” She laid a slightly disparaging stress on that noun.

“It would and it won’t be,” a voice said, startling both women.

Torene turned a dull red under her tan as Sean appeared from behind them and sat down at their table, a cup of klah in his hand. He had obviously just returned, for only the top of his flight jacket was undone, and hat and gauntlets were still clutched in his free hand. A quick glance at the Weyrwoman assured Torene that Sorka was just as surprised to see him.

Sean placed riding gear on the table beside his cup as he shrugged out of his heavy fleece-lined jacket. He finger-combed sweaty silvering red hair back from his forehead and craned his neck so he could see the plasfilm. At Torene’s anxious look, he smiled slightly.

“Glad there’s more than one copy.”

“Mother-” Torene began in explanation, and then couldn’t go on.

Sean’s grin broadened. “Mothers have their uses.”

Torene gulped and, seizing this amazing opportunity, plunged right in. “ ‘It would and it won’t be,’ you said. We’ll get the place? Ierne Islanders won’t grab it?”

Sean snorted. “They had notions, but I persuaded them that the other cliff site was far more viable and only slightly less scenic. There’s a valley with good soil for cultivation, a river for access to the coast, and south-facing slopes that are just what Rene Mallibeau’s been screaming for, complete with the shale he insists he needs. I’ve been hoping to get back and go over this place”-he tapped the plasfilm with his forefinger-”with Ozzie, if Telgar could spare him.”

“Mother made me take him with us when she gave me this,” Torene said, casting a quick glance at Sorka, who was, as usual, all eyes for her husband. Torene was scarcely the only female in the Weyr who envied them their double bonding.

“Starting your own splinter group with Alaranth, are you?” Sean asked, his expression carefully bland. But his cheek muscle didn’t twitch the way it usually did when he was about to chew out an erring weyrling or rider.

Torene chose quickly between the options that bland question gave her and smiled brightly at Sean-not over-brightly, because that would annoy him, but brightly enough to make him believe that she wasn’t that much of a fool. Good thing the table concealed the shaking of her knees.

“Well, you know how big Alaranth’s getting, and honest, Sean, we just don’t fit where we are anymore, and it isn’t as if there’s anywhere here we could switch to. I’ve just been daydreaming, really.” She let her voice dwindle down to an apologetic whisper.

As she spoke, Sean sipped klah, looking neither at her nor at Sorka.

Yes, she’s telling you truly, Torene heard Carenath tell his rider. She is very excited about the place and has been over every inch several times. So Alaranth says.

Torene did not let her expression change, but she saw Sorka peer at her with a slight frown.

“Sean, have you forgotten that I can hear Carenath?” Torene spoke almost plaintively, as she felt she should remind him since it amounted to inadvertent eavesdropping. “He’s got a strong thought to him, you know.”

Sean gave her one of his quietly thoughtful looks, neither accusing nor accepting. “Yes, even though it proves to your advantage.”