Dragonseye (23 page)

“My conclusions are not something you’ll wish to discuss in public,” she said, recoiling. She might be one of his best teachers—though the rumor was that children learned their lessons to get out of her clutches—but her attitude toward him, and his proposed revitalization program, was totally hostile.

Clisser smiled as graciously as he could. “It’s empty right now and will be for at least two hours.”

She sniffed, but when he courteously gestured for her to precede him, she tramped in an implacable fashion. Like Morinst to his . . . Clisser shuddered and hurriedly followed her.

The lounge was empty, a good fire crackling on the hearth. The klah pitcher rested on the warmer, and for a change there were clean cups. He wondered if Bethany had done the housekeeping. The sweetener jar was even full. Yes, it would have been Bethany, trying to ease this interview.

As he closed the door he also turned the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign around and flipped the catch. Sallisha had seated herself in the least comfortable chair—the woman positively enjoyed being martyred. She still held the notebook, like a precious artifact, across her chest.

“You cannot exclude Greek history from study,” she said, aggressively launching into an obviously prepared speech. “They’ve got to understand where our form of government came from to appreciate what they have. You have to include—”

“Sallisha, the precedents can be covered in the outline, but not the entire culture,” he began.

“But the culture determined the form of government . . .” She stared at him, appalled by his lack of comprehension.

“
If
a student is curious enough to want to know more, we shall have it to give him. But there is no point in forcing hill farmers and plains drovers to learn something that has absolutely no relevance to their way of life.”

“You demean them by saying that.”

“No, I save them hours of dull study by replacing it with the history of Pern . . .”

“There is scarcely enough of that to dignify the word ‘history.’ ”

“Yesterday is history today, but do you want to repeat it? ‘History’ is what happened in the life or development of a people . . . we,” and he tapped his chest, “the Pernese. Also a systematic account of us,” he tapped his chest again, “with an analysis and explanation.
From . . .
the beginning of the
Pern
colony . . . that is history, grand and sweeping, surviving against incredible odds and an implacable menace, derring-do, ingenuity, courage, and
of
this planet, not of a place that’s only a name. It’s better than our ancient history—if it’s taught right.”

“Are you impugning my—”

“Never, Sallisha, which is why I particularly need your complete cooperation for the new, enriched, relevant curriculum. On average, your students rank higher in their final examination papers than any other teacher’s . . . and that includes the hill farmers and the plains drovers. But they never again
use
the information you imparted. Pern is difficult enough . . . with an external menace to contend with . . . Let them be proud of the accomplishments of their ancestors . . . their most recent ancestors. Not the confused and tortured mindlessness the Pern colonists left behind. Furthermore,” he went on relentlessly as she opened her mouth to speak, “the trials at Telgar and Benden have proved that not enough time is spent teaching our people their rights under their Charter . . .”

“But I spend—”

“
You
certainly have never been remiss, but we must emphasize,” and he slapped one fist into the other palm, “holder rights under their Lord: how to claim Charter acreage, how to prevent what happened in Bitra . . .”

“No other Lord Holder is as
wicked
,” and her mouth twisted with disgust as she enunciated the last word, “as that awful man. Don’t you think you can get me to teach there now that Issony’s left!” She waggled her index finger at him and her expression was fierce.

“Not you, Sallisha, you’re far too valuable to waste on Bitra,” he said, soothing her. Bitra would need a more compassionate and flexible teacher than Sallisha. “But I’m amazed at just how many people were unaware of the Charter Rights. And that’s wrong. Not that I think the cowed folk up in Bitra would have dared cite the clauses to him . . . even if they had known about them. I mean, it was appalling to realize just how few people who attended the trial
knew
that ordinary holders had the
right
to freedom of movement, and lawful assembly, or to appeal for mediation for crippling tithes.”

“Why haven’t the Lord Holders impeached him?” she wanted to know, her fierceness diverted toward a new victim. “It’s patently obvious he is unfit to manage a hold, much less one during a Fall. I cannot see why they have been waffling about over the matter.”

“Sallisha, it takes a unanimous decision to impeach a Lord Holder,” he said with a light admonishment.

She regarded him blankly for a moment. Then flushed. “Who’s holding out?”

“Jamson.”

She clicked her tongue irritably. “And that’s another place you mustn’t send me. The cold would exacerbate my joint problem.”

“I’m aware of that, Sallisha, which is why I wondered if you’d consider Nerat South this year?”

“How much traveling?” she demanded, but not unappeased.

“Six major holds and five smaller units but all within reasonable distance. And, of course, your journeys would fall on Threadfree days. Excellent accommodations and a very good contract. Gardner made sure that everything complies with your wishes as regards conditions.” He reached into his jerkin pocket and pulled out the document. “I thought you might like to see it today.”

“Sweetening me up, are you?” she said with an almost coquettish smile, hand half outstretched to the sheets.

“You are my best teacher, Sallisha,” he said and extended his hand until her fingers closed around the contract.

“This won’t make me approve your butchery of pre-Pernese history, Clisser.”

“It’s not intended to, but we can’t have you in danger on the plains of Keroon . . .”

“I did promise to come back . . .”

“They will understand . . .”

“There are some really fine minds there . . .”

“You will find them wherever you go, Sallisha, you have the knack.” Then he hauled out the larger sheaf of papers, the new syllabus. “You may find this much easier to impart to your students.”

She eyed it as she would a tunnel snake.

CHAPTER XII

High Reaches and Fort Holds

“S
O,”
P
AULIN SAID
to Thea and Gallian in the comfortably warm High Reaches solarium where the Lady Holder received her guest, “is there
any
way we can get him to change his mind?”

Thea shrugged. “Not by reasoned argument, that’s for certain. He was indignant that ‘a Lord Holder’s right to deal with his own folk’ had been set aside for the two trials. Not that he objected to the sentences . . .”

“ ‘That was only right and just, and they should have been sent to the islands as well for they’ll only make trouble of a different sort now,’ ”Gallian added, mimicking his father’s thin wheezing voice. “If he would only give me authorization to deal with
all
hold matters . . .” and he raised his hands in helplessness. “He’s too sick . . .”

“Wait a minute. He
is
sick,” Paulin interrupted, “and your weather here is only aggravating the respiratory problem, isn’t it?”

Thea’s eyes widened as she jumped to a conclusion.

“If he was sent to Ista, or Nerat to recuperate, why, he’d have to authorize Gallian—” she began.

“Precisely . . .”

“What happens when he recovers and finds out what I did, knowing, as he’s made sure I do, his views on impeachment,” Gallian asked his mother, “and finds out I’ve gone against him? I could very likely lose my chance of succession.”

“That’s not likely, dear. You know how he carries on about your ‘stupid’ younger brothers,” Thea said reassuringly, laying a hand on her son’s arm. “You just know when to stand up to him. You’ve always had a flair for dealing with people. As for the nephews . . .” She threw up her hand in despair. Then her face clouded. “I really am worried about these constant chest infections. Frankly, I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.” She sighed in regret. “He’s been a good spouse . . .”

“Can you get your medic to recommend the warmer climate?” Paulin asked sympathetically.

“He’s been doing so constantly,” Thea said, setting her mouth in a firm line. “I’ll make it so. Somehow! I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. For his sake as well as those poor wretches.”

Gallian looked uncertain.

“Don’t worry, lad,” Paulin said. “You’ve already got full marks in my book for cooperation. And, as long as I’m Chair, you’ve my support. The Conclave doesn’t necessarily have to abide by the deceased’s wishes as to successor. But we’ve got to take action
now
. Even waiting until Turn’s End is dangerous. We rescued those people, their rights were upheld in a duly assembled court, and Chalkin’s in some state of mind over that.” Paulin’s laugh was mirthless. “We can’t let him take his vengeance out on them or we’ve spent a lot of time and effort to no avail. With this thaw setting in, he’ll be able to move about. And I think we all have a good idea that he’ll retaliate in some fashion.”

Thea shuddered, her comfortably plump body rippling under her thick gown. “I won’t have
that
on my conscience, no matter what my Lord Jamson says.” She rose. “Jamson spent such a poor night, I’ll catch him now, before he can put up any more objections. One thing is certain, he doesn’t
want
to die. He likes Richud more than Franco. I’ll suggest Ista Hold. I wouldn’t mind the winter there myself. In fact . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “I think I’m gomig dowd wif a gold, too,” she said, sniffing. “He might just humor me, where he wouldn’t do a thing for himself. If you’ll excuse me.”

Both men had stood when she did, and now Gallian strode to open the door for her as she sailed gracefully out, grinning mischievously as she left. Gallian returned to his guest, shaking his head.

“I’ve never gone against my father before,” he said anxiously, his expression unhappy.

“Nor would I urge you to do so, lad. I appreciate your doubts, but can you
doubt
what Chalkin will do?”

“No, I can’t,” and Gallian sighed, turning back to the Fort Lord Holder with a resolute expression. “I suppose I should get accustomed to
making
decisions, not merely carrying them out.”

Paulin clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. “That’s it exactly, Gallian. And I’ll guarantee, not all the decisions you’ll be called upon to make will be the right ones. Being a Lord Holder doesn’t keep you from making mistakes: just make the right wrong ones.” Paulin grinned as Gallian tried to absorb that notion. “If you are right most of the time, you’re ahead of the game. And you’re right in this one for the good reasons which your father declines to see.”

Galhian nodded his head. Then asked more briskly, “Will you have some wine now, Paulin?”

“You’ve your mother’s way with you,” Paulin said, accepting the offer. “Which you will find is an advantage. . . . Not, mind you, that I in any way imply a lack in your father’s manners.”

“No, of course not,” Gallian said, but he smiled briefly, then cleared his throat. “Ah, what happens to Chalkin when he’s removed? I mean, it’s not as if he could be dropped on the Southern Islands, is it?”

“Why not?” Paulin replied equably. “Not,” he added hastily when he saw Gallian’s consternation, “that he would be placed on the same one as the murderers. There is a whole chain . . . an archipelago of isles . . .”

“Aren’t they volcanic?”

“Only Young Island, otherwise they’re tropical and quite habitable. But one is certain then that the . . . ah, detainee cannot leave and cause ructions. Which Chalkin would certainly do if he was allowed to remain on the mainland. No, the most sensible and most humane solution is to put him where he can’t do any more harm than he’s already done.”

“Then who’s to take over managing Bitra?”

“His children are too young, certainly, but there’s an uncle, not much older than Chalkin at that. I heard a rumor, though, that Vergerin and Chalkin had played a game, the stakes being an uncontested succession.”

“My father mentioned that, too, early on when impeachment first came up. Said he ought to have insisted that Vergerin stand in spite of what the old Neratian Lord wanted. Chalkin’s spouse is Franco’s sister, you know.”

“I’d forgot that. Amazing,” Paulin added. “Franco’s totally different, but then his mother was Brenton’s first spouse.”

They were discussing the ever-interesting problem of heredity when the door suddenly opened and Thea came in, almost bent double.

“Great stars, Mother!” Gallian rushed to assist her. “Why, what’s the matter? You’re so flushed . . .”

She slammed the door shut, waved aside her son’s help, and collapsed in her chair with laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, your father, dear . . .” She wiped tears from her cheeks and some of the ‘flush’ came away, too. She looked at the handkerchief and rubbed her cheeks more vigorously, still laughing. “We did it. He’s going to the warm. I left him writing to ask for Richud’s hospitality. I said I’d have the message pennon flown, but your rider would take it, wouldn’t he, Paulin? When he takes you back to Fort?”

“Indeed, he will . . . or rather I’ll take it to Richud myself and ask him to connive with us to keep Jamson from knowing what’s happening off the island,” Paulin said, grinning with relief.

“But why are you laughing, Mother? And why the face paint?” Gallian demanded.

“Well,” and she flitted her handkerchief, beaming at the two. “What he wouldn’t do for himself, he’d do for his ailing mate,” she said, again assuming a stuffed-nose voice. “So first I had your sister go in and fetch Canell, as if there were an emergency. I primed Canell to back me up and it was he who suggested the rouge. So when I came into your father’s room, I arrived moaning over my aches and pains, which had developed so rapidly overnight. And sneezing constantly . . . Fortunately, I have a small sneeze so I can imitate it . . . Then Canell took over—really, the man was quite convincing. He got alarmed over my rapid pulse and flushed face. He made much of worrying about the condition of my lungs and the strain on my heart. So, between us, why, Jamson agreed to take me south to Ista until I’m completely recovered. So there!” She beamed from one to the other, quite delighted.

“Mother! You are the living end.”

“Of course,” she said patronizingly. Then she surprised both men by sneezing. “Oh, good heavens!”

“Hmm,” said Gallian with mock severity, “that’s what happens when you tell stories. You
get
what you pretended you had.”

“He’s sent someone looking for you, too. So—”

There was a polite tap at the door. Gallian went immediately to answer it, opening only wide enough to be seen. “Yes, tell Lord Jamson that I’ll be there directly,” he said, and closed the door again.

“I’ll wait with Lord Paulin until you can get the letter, Galli,” she said, pouring herself some wine. “This is to fortify myself against my cold and any relapse I might have taken . . . Another small glass for yourself, Paulin? To toast my debut as an actress?”

“I wish you’d thought of that ploy earlier.”

“So do I,” she said with a little sigh. “But I hadn’t such an overwhelming
need
to before. Those poor people. Who will take over from Chalkin once you get him out? And what will happen to him, for that matter?”

“That has to be decided.”

“We were just discussing that, Mother,” Gallian said. “There’s Vergerin, the uncle on the father’s side.”

“But Vergerin gambled his succession rights away,” Thea said sternly.

“You heard that, too?” Paulin said.

“Well, you know that Bloodline,” Thea said. “Always gambling. On the most ridiculous things, too, and for the most bizarre wagers. But to gamble on the succession?” Her expression showed her disgust over that wager.

“Perhaps Vergerin learned a lesson,” Gallian remarked—a trifle condescendingly, Paulin thought.

“Perhaps,” Paulin said. “If we find him alive.”

“Oh no!” Thea’s hand went to her throat in dismay.

“If the Council votes to impeach—”

“Not if, Gallian,
when
,” Paulin said, raising his hand in correction.

“When
they do, how do they go about getting Chalkin out of Bitra Hold?” Gallian asked.

“I think that will require thought and planning,” Paulin said. “But go now and see your father, Gallian. Mustn’t keep him waiting. He might change his mind.”

“Not when Mother’s health is at stake,” Gallian said, and, with a final grin, left the room.

“Promise me, Paulin, that Gallian’s chance at succession won’t suffer because of this?” Thea said, earnestly gripping his arm.

“I do promise, Thea,” he said, patting her hand.

Four days later, when Lord Jamson and Lady Thea had been safely conveyed to Ista Hold, the rest of the Lord and Lady Holders and the Weyrleaders convened an emergency meeting at Telgar Hold and formally impeached Lord Chalkin for dereliction of his duties and responsibilities to Benden Weyr, for the cruel and unusual punishment of innocent holders (Iantine’s drawings were submitted as well as the proceedings of the recent trials), for refusing to allow the Charter to be taught so that all would know their rights as well as their responsibility (Issony gave testimony on that account), and for denying these rights to his holders without due reason.

Gallian soberly voted yea in his turn, having duly exhibited his authorization to act in all matters concerning High Reaches Hold.

“So, now what do we do?” Tashvi said, clasping his hands together with an air of relief at a difficult decision completed.

“Obviously, we inform Chalkin and remove him,” Paulin said.

“No other trial?” Gallian asked, startled.

“He just had it,” Paulin said. “Judge and jury of his peers.”

“It would be against all precedent to employ dragonriders to effect his removal,” S’nan said flatly.

Everyone turned to the Fort Weyrleader, showing varying degrees of surprise, disgust, anger, or incredulity at such a fatuous statement.

“Impeachment is also against all precedent, too, S’nan,” M’shall said, “because this is the first time that clause has been invoked since it was written two-hundred-and-fifty-odd years ago. But it’s now a matter of record. However, I disagree that the dragonriders should bow out. Fragit, S’nan, one of the main reasons for getting rid of him is that he has not helped to prepare his hold, which
we
are honor bound to protect. I’ll drag him out of there myself if need be.”

Irene beside him nodded vehemently in his support and then glared at S’nan. Sarai, S’nan’s Weyrwoman, regarded Irene in horrified dismay.

“If you don’t grab him first, he’ll just flit out of that warren of a hold of his, and who knows what he might do then,” Irene said. Then she blinked and cocked her head, puzzled. “You know, I don’t know enough about the interior layout of Bitra Hold to know where to find him, much less grab him with all those bodyguards he has around him. Franco?”

“What?” The Nerat Lord Holder responded nervously. “I can’t tell you what Bitra’s like. I’ve never been in more than the reception rooms, even if Nadona is my sister.”

“How curious,” Bastom said.

“What will we do when we do get him out?” Franco asked. “Who’s to hold? Those kids of his are too young.”

“The uncle, Vergerin—” Paulin began.

“What about a regency till they’re of age?” Azury suggested, cutting across the Fort Lord’s beginning.

“Or a promising younger son from a well-conducted hold?” Richud of Ista asked, looking about brightly.

“We know the Bloodline’s tainted with the gambling addiction,” put in Bridgely.

“That trait can be remedied by strict discipline and a good education,” Salda of Telgar said firmly. “As the seed is sown, so will it ripen.”

“Vergerin . . .” Paulin said again, raising his voice to be heard above the various arguments.

“Him? He gambled his rights away,” Sarai of Fort Weyr said at her most severe.

“Chalkin cheated . . .” M’shall said. “He did in every high-stake game I ever heard of.”

Irene gave him a very thoughtful stare.

“So I
heard!”
M’shall repeated.

“VERGERIN,” and Paulin roared the word, stunning everyone into silence, “must be considered first, since he is of the Bloodline. That’s a stipulation of the Charter which I intend to follow to the letter. He is missing from the property where he has quietly resided since Chalkin took hold.”