“Yes, he would be.” Robinton drew his knees up so that he could throw the covers off his legs. He had not bothered to strip off his clothing, and now he could scarcely appear in such wrinkled garments.
“Take your time. Have a quick bath. You need it.” F’lon’s ever whimsical sense of humour prompted him to hold his nose in demonstration.
“Yes, I do, don’t I?” Robinton was aware of the reek of wine and sweat about his person.
“Gennell didn’t seem in a hurry. Just asked where you were.
Hayon said you were catching some rest.”
“How’s Hayon taking his father’s death?”
“He’s been marvellous with Lady Hayara and the others, but I can’t think he likes having Raid in charge now. Don’t think I would either,” F’lon said bluntly and left the room.
Robinton stripped off the dirty clothing, grabbed clean garments from his chest and strode to the bath, grateful that he didn’t have to vie with others to use the common one down the hall. The hot water was stimulating, and he felt much better as he pulled on trousers and wriggled his arms into the clean shirt. He took his shoulder cords from the old shirt and attached them, making certain they were properly hung. Then he rough-dried his hair before he gathered it back with a thong. He really should have it trimmed. Later…
F’lon wandered in just then, having filled Robinton’s ldah mug.
“Now you look respectable, as befits the Hold harper.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Robinton suggested, pointing to his empty bed.
F’lon looked in that direction and sighed. “That’s the best idea you’ve had so far. Call me if you need me,” he said, gulping down the last of his klah and beginning to roll down the tops of his flying boots.
Robinton heard the thud of the first one as he was closing his door.
The Hold was teeming with quiet people, talking in the corridors or in small groups in the hall as Robinton descended the front stairs.
Trestle tables had been set up and were loaded with plates of bread and bowls of fruit and slices of meat which had been rolled up for easy eating. He spotted Master Gennell talking to other Masters, flown in from their Halls to attend to the sad duty of succession.
Gennell saw him and waved for him to join them.
As Robinton obediently wove his way through the assembly, he looked about for Fax, or at least Faroguy and whichever son had accompanied him. He assumed the Lord Holders must be convening somewhere else, but he did spot Farevene standing in the entrance hall, looking around uneasily. Then Naprila came up to the young Holder and Robinton had reached the Masters.
Gennell introduced him to the Masters surrounding him: Smith, Weaver, Fishman, Farmer and Miner. He already knew MasterHealer Ginia, and she nodded soberly in greeting. More Masters would assemble for the Council meeting; these were but the first arrivals.
“Give us your account of what happened last night, Robinton,” the MasterHarper said, and Robinton did, pleased that his wits had been aided by the klah and the bath so that he was able to make his report concise.
“Dreadful thing!”
“Terrible tragedy to lose both a Lord Holder and the Weyrleader.” “And at such a time – right after a Hatching!” “Who will take over at the Weyr?” They all looked at Robinton.
“I believe that will be decided in the traditional way when the queen mates again,” the young harper replied.
“But the Weyr can’t be without leadership for several turns,” the MasterFishman protested.
“There are older riders: C’vrel, C’rob and M’ridin,” Robinton said. “They were taking charge last night.”
“It’s not as if there were Threadfall to worry about,” the MasterMiner said.
The MasterWeaver snorted. “All too true, not that that S’loner wasn’t drumming up alarms. Didn’t take any serious notice of that, I can tell you.”
Robinton forbore to speak up in such company, but he did notice that all the other Masters but his own seemed in agreement on that point.
“Jora is a young woman,” the MasterFarmer went on. “I wouldn’t be concerned with Weyr management if Carola were still alive. She knew what was what.”