Chap. 261 Stowaways

 

Chap. 261 Stowaways

He’d been afraid that he was going to be haying.

His fear had been realized.

He was exhausted.

Only the first day of a week of harvest, and I feel as if I’ve been trampled, he thought.

Everything hurt. His arms, his feet, his headache. He’d spent the day heaving increasingly heavy bales of hay increasing distances up to the top of the mountain of it.

His clothing, sodden with sweat, looked as if he’d rolled in chaff. Dust, dirt, and chaff clogged his ears, his nose, even the back of his throat. His skin crawled with countless awns and bits of grass that had found their way past his tightly buttoned up shirt. He didn’t have enough saliva to cough it out.

Even wearing gloves, his hands were chafed.

I hated the one day I did haying when I was a weyrling, and I haven’t gained any love for it today, he thought. I’d beg for B’rost to break my nose again, just to get out of haying.

He stripped by the dragon trough and began to splash water on his itchy hide. He knew that if he took a shower like this, the drain would clog almost immediately.

The cold water was a shock to his hot, dry, itchy skin. It felt wonderful.

Siskin swirled over his head, happily chittering about the day he’d had. His stomach bulged noticeably.

He spent the day playing with the Weyr’s fire lizards Raventh said.

He didn’t miss a meal, I can see. He looks pregnant.

Raventh laughed. All us dragons got an easy meal. The metal things, the people and the horses chased all sorts of wherries out of the grass. They were still too young to fly. And the insects and birds were everywhere. The raptors were hunting over the field after the metal thing passed. They ate well, too.

Metal thing?

The metal thing the horses pulled. It ate up the grass and pooped it out all packed up. Then you picked it up and threw it up onto a wagon.

K’ndar laughed despite his fatigue. The baling machine could easily be mistaken for eating and pooping hay.

That was a ‘hay baler’. Are you going to stay out here? I’m going in to get a shower, drink about a hundred liters of water and the go to bed.

Leave the bay door open, I’ll be in in a while.

He picked up his clothes and activated the door to Raventh’s bay. The whoosh of cooler air prickled his still damp skin. That shower was going to feel good.

Siskin followed him into his quarters. He swirled around K’ndar’s head for a moment, then flew up to his favorite sleeping shelf. He made two or three circles, treading invisible bedding, then curled up, his head on his forepaws.

The shower felt fabulous. How could warm water and sweet sand feel so good even though he’d gotten a roasting in the sun?

I loved living on the steppe, but there is so much to be said for a refrigerator full of food and a jug of cold water. He took out some cheese and fruit from the fridge and nibbled on it.

His desk beckoned. His notebooks, his datalink were waiting for him to start work.

Shaff. I can’t go to bed yet, I have to work on my data.

Despair swelled in his soul. I’m so tired, I just can’t...

Then common sense took over. It’s my own fault, I was negligent in the first part for putting it aside, and the second part was going on the wild wherry chase.

But it hadn’t been a wild chase. I got a lot of good information on the beast, what am I going to name it? Because I know more about it than anyone on Pern, other than Rand. Maybe, in a backasswards way, Jomoke had helped him.

He drank the first liter of water in one long pull. Even my hands are tired, he thought, as he sat down at the desk.

He checked the obnoxious datalink. Today he had been totally legal by leaving it here. There was nothing for him, and no new information on the daily other than “Landing personnel currently helping with the harvest at Singing Waters Hold.”

“Helping?” he snapped at it. “Helping my arse. Doing all the work.”

He sighed...then he recalled the events of the day.

What in the world is wrong with people. It seems the world is full of arseholes who take delight in bullying and abusing people.

Morgan, for instance.

The crowd of assistants, drawn from the Weyr, cotholds and the Craft halls, had been split up between three of Lord Dorn’s “managers”. He saw Raylan, Francie and Garyk in a different team than his. He had been funneled into the one composed almost solely of dragonriders and weyrfolk from Kahrain Steppe Weyr. It was good to see some of his friends. They spent some time catching up.

He didn’t know a single one of the weyrlings. But there WERE weyrlings. This was the first class in over a year. Mirth, the Weyr’s gold, had gone almost two years without rising in a mating flight. Hence, she’d not laid any eggs. He was certain it was due to M’rvin and Siena being on the outs with each other. Siena and F’mart, however, seemed to be getting along very well.

His group was chattering, the weyrlings, many of whom had never worked a Hold harvest, were excited, wondering what they were going to do.

A burly, big bellied man climbed atop an empty hay wagon and contemplated the crowd before him. In one hand he had a slate. In the other, he held a hay fork. The tines glittered in the early morning sun.

He banged the handle on the wagon driver’s bench seat next to him. The man on the bench cringed.

“Shut up, all of you!!”

The crowd quieted. K’ndar had a queasy feeling. The man oozed ego and malice. He scanned the crowd with a look of disgust.

He shook his head. “Sorriest lot of sissies I ever did see,” he sneered.

His eyes locked on a young girl.

“You, little girl, what are you doing here? We told everyone that we wanted no one under the age of sixteen. How old are you?

“Sixteen,” the weyrling said.

“You’re a liar. You’re too small. You’re sure you’re sixteen? You don’t look more’n twelve at most. And you’re a dragonrider?”

The girl’s eyes flashed.

“If it’s any of your business, yes. I’ve impressed a gold dragon. If you care to look, she’s over in the dragon meadow.” There was steel in her voice.

The man sneered. “Oooooooh, and I’m supposed to be impressed? Ha ha ha, get it? Fine. You insist you’re sixteen, you’ll do the work of a sixteen. I’ve worked with kids like you before. You think you know everything. You don’t. You give me any sass, child, I’ll make sure it’s your worse decision ever.”

The crowd rumbled. K’ndar wondered at his animosity. This joker had a grudge a kilometer wide. And we’re going to pay for it, somehow.

“Alright, you lot. You’re here to bale and stack hay,” Morgan said.

K’ndar groaned.

“It’s hard work, probably something none of you has ever done before. You men, you’ll be working for me, haying. Each wagon’s got a water barrel, and at noon we’ll break for lunch. In between, there’s a lot of work to be done and I won’t have you laying around complaining or skyhooting off. You do as you’re told and don’t give me nor my staff any noise. I catch you screwing off and…” he banged the fork on the wagon bench again.

“You’ll what? Beat us? We’re not drudges, you know,” said someone.

“Beat you? Hah. You’ll wish it were as easy as a beating, you lout! As far as I’m concerned, you ARE drudges for as long as you’re working for me. If you slack off, the handle of this hay fork will meet up with the side of your head. Make me mad, and the sharp ends will be up your arse,” he snarled.

“Lay a finger on anyone here, lout, and you’ll answer to me,” said a familiar voice.

K’ndar craned his neck to see. It was F’mart.

A Weyrleader, doing this sort of work?

“Who said that? What’s your name, yob?”

“It’s not yob, that’s for certain. What’s YOURS?”

The man scanned the crowd. Their angry expressions infuriated him.

“For as long as I’m harvest manager, third division, you call me “Sir” or “Boss”. I don’t give a wherries turd what yours is,” the man said.

“ ‘is name is Morgan,” said the man on the wagon’s driver bench.” Then he flattened, waiting for a blow. It didn’t come, but everyone saw Morgan’s intent.

“Shut up, Ayden, they don’t need my name. But it’s Morgan. I was born a farmer. Most of you look to be dragonriders. Far as I’m concerned, you dragonriders are nothing but parasites. No good for nothing, now that there’s no thread to fight. You eat and drink on the farmer’s back and think you’re better than everyone else. Well, as far as I’m concerned, this is my chance to teach you dragonriders that you’re nothing but a pimple on my farmer’s arse.”

The crowd was silent...but certainly not happy.

F’mart politely made his way to the front of the crowd. He caught K’ndar’s eye...and winked.

He stood, hands on hips and looked up at the man.

“Oh, you’re the mouthy yob,” Morgan said.

“I told you my name isn’t yob. I’m F’mart, rider of bronze Kenth, Weyrleader of Kahrain Steppe Weyr.

You say I’m a pimple? It’s obvious from this pimple’s perspective, you never learned to keep a civil tongue in your arse, I mean head. Oh, wait, your head IS your arse. Stupid me, I can’t tell the difference,” F’mart said.

The crowd roared.

“SILENCE!” Morgan yelled, his face flushed. The man on the bench looked at the crowd and smirked.

Morgan brandished the hay fork.

“Fart is it? Fart, you cross me, you’ll be sorry. I love to fight, Fart, I’ve never been beaten. You’ll be looking at the back end of a pig before you know your head’s missing.”

The crowd hissed. F’mart, laughing, held up his hand to quiet them.

K’ndar had heard that laugh before. It thrilled him. He’d seen F’mart fight. He could tell F’mart was itching for one.

“Oh, I want to watch, please?” the gold rider’s voice came from the back.

Morgan grinned.

“Aye, girl, you want to see a blood letting? I’m the one to hand it to Fart, here.”

“Oh, no,” the girl said, “I want to see my Weyrleader take you apart and feed you to the wherries.”

The crowd’s laughter stung Morgan.

“That ain’t going to happen, you stupid little twit. Fart ain’t got the bollocks my worst sow’s got.”

F’mart contemplated Morgan for a moment.

“Those are fighting words, Morgan,” he said, icily. “These are my people, and those who aren’t are now under my protection. We’re here to help, not be lambasted by a whelp like you. I promise you, you lay a hand on anyone here, ANYONE, you’ll pay for it.

Right now, I’m here to help bring in the harvest. I don’t have to tell you that I can take everyone here home right now, and leave you to explain to Lord Dorn why we left.

But afterwards, anytime you’re ready for a fight, I’m game for it. You choose when and where. One on one, Morgan, and leave your hay fork in your sty. No weapon bigger than a dagger.”

His riders growled in unison.

K’ndar felt the thrill of camaraderie. It had always been an unspoken truth that if you pissed off one dragonrider, you pissed them all off. When you learn and train and fight with a team, you became one entity. You knew you could always depend on anyone in your weyr, whether you liked them or not, to have your back. Always.

But now I’m no longer in a weyr. I notice the Landing people here are cowed. They’re being very quiet.

He felt...alone. That passed. He was still a dragonrider in amongst his peers.

Morgan looked at F’mart. He licked his lips. He wanted a fight right then and there.

“Only because work needs doing now, Fart, do I give you a pass. You’re on. Normally I fight grown men, not little boys like you, but as you’re wanting an arse kicking, I’m happy to oblige you. We’ve got a Gather coming up next month. Day before the Gather, you meet me right here. This here spot suits me just fine, it’s not technically on the Hold itself. Bare knuckles, Fart, only sissies needs stickers.”

F’mart turned and grinned. “Make sure you remember my name, lout.”

____________________________________________________________

K’ndar rubbed his eyes, wondering why in the world people like Morgan existed.

I wish I could talk to someone about this. I’ve met some real arseholes here, sometimes I wish I’d never taken the job. Other times I’m delighted to be here. I love having free rein in the library, I’ve been able to do any sort of research I want. If I could take that, and my private weyr here, with a big place for Raventh, and hot and cold running water, and solar powered everything, like the lights, rather than a glow, if I could take this all back with me to the weyr or even the steppe, I would.

If only Oscoral were here, I’d be in the dining hall with him, at this time of night it’d just be him and me and a couple of folks working night shift. We’d have a cup of klah and some fresh baked goodies, and he’d lead my thinking to clarity.

But he’s not here and I am too tired to harness Raventh and I’ve got all this work.

Sigh. I’ve gotten soft. Look at me. I’m beat to death from a single day’s work. And I still have work to do, only this time it’s brain work. My hands are so tired and I still have to write, and redo the sketches.

I can’t even think straight.

Snap out of it, K’ndar. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The sooner you get to work, the sooner you’ll get to sleep and tomorrow.

Oh shaff it all, tomorrow I ride back to the Hold for another day of haying With Morgan. Oh, shards. Shut up, brain.

Siskin chittered, his eyes glowing in the lowered light. K’ndar regarded him fondly.

“You ate about a million crawlers and bugs today, how is it you’re still awake?” he asked the lizard.

He is worried about you. Your brain is shouting Raventh said.

“I’m okay, lad,” he reassured the fire lizard. Siskin cheeped and shut his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep.

You got plenty to eat?

There were many wherries and birds fleeing the people in the grass. It was mostly young wherries, big enough to eat but not smart enough to avoid us dragons. We all had plenty. I’m sleepy.

Good night.

He had fought the z monster for about an hour. It was almost impossible for him to focus on what he was doing. I will never, ever put off data input again, never, I cannot stay awake. He stood up and stretched.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

What the?

Surprised, he looked up at Siskin. The fire lizard raised his head, blinking.

“Did you say something, Siskin?”

The fire lizard merely looked at him, then lay his head down. Odd, he thought, I’ve never heard him make that sound before. Maybe he was dreaming?

K’ndar returned to his work. The brief moment of alertness had vanished. He yawned. Half an hour more, he promised himself.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

Siskin’s head snapped up, his eyes rolling orange.

Irritated, he said, sharply, “Siskin, what is it?”

He did not make that sound

What?

He did not make that sound.

Is it coming from your bay?

No. It is coming from yours.

teekoteekoteekoteekoteeko

Siskin roused and launched. He swooped around the room.

“All lights on,” K’ndar called, and the room lit up.

Siskin hissed, searching the corners of the room.

teeko. teeko.

It sounded muffled.

Siskin dived at K’ndar’s backpack. After unpacking it, he’d left it next to the door into Raventh’s bay. The fire lizard pounced on the pack. It fell over. He dove into the open pack head first. until only his back end was visible.

“What is it?”

Just then, he saw something long and lithe skitter from between Siskin’s legs. The fire lizard continued rummaging in the pack. The thing seemed to vanish, except for a small brown, arrow headed shape at one end.

Siskin erupted from the pack, and leaped into the air, hissing. A second shape paused at the opening. K’ndar saw it, very clearly, for just a moment, then that one, too, seemed to disappear.

“The jungle crawlers!” he said. He saw the second crawler bolt underneath the pack. Siskin was frantic, looking for what, he had no idea.

He jumped up, wondering what to catch it with. HOW to catch them, they’re fast as lightning and almost invisible!

The first one appeared running straight up the wall. Siskin went for it, hitting the panel that opened Raventh’s bay door. The creature seemed to bounce, landed on the floor and ran out the door into the bay. The second one was right behind it. Siskin had lost sight of them. Screeching in frustration, he went back to the pack, fruitlessly digging in it.

I see them, they are so small.They went right out the big door.

It was open?

Yes. I like seeing the night creatures.

They’re gone?

It would seem so.

Shaff!