Nerilka pulled open the glowbasket inside the door to illuminate sinks, braziers, tables, high stools, measuring apparatus and implements, gleaming basins and glass bottles. Capiam had been in the room often and when he had, he’d approached it from the other direction in the company of Lady Pendra. Now Nerilka was unlocking the storeroom and beckoning him to follow her. She smiled when she heard his surprised gasp.
Capiam had known that Fort Hold’s storage rooms were ample, but he had not been beyond the dispensary. They were standing on a wide tier, balustraded from the vast, dark interior, with steps leading down to the main floor. He could hear the slither and rustle of tunnel snakes fleeing the sudden light. Capiam saw shelves, reaching, it seemed, to the high vaulted ceiling. Barrels and crates and drying racks, were ranged in rows and dusty ranks. He had the impression of staggering resources and doubly condemned Tolocamp’s parsi-mony.
“Behold, Master Capiam, the produce of my labors since I was old enough to snip leaf and blossom or dig root and bulb.” Nerilka’s sarcastic voice was intended for his ears only. “I won’t say I have filled every shelf, but my sisters who have predeceased me would not deny me their portions. Would that all of these hoarded supplies were usable, but even herbs and roots lose their potency in time. Waste, that’s the bulk of what you see, fattening tunnel snakes. Carry-yokes are in the comer there, Sim. You and the others, take up the bales.” She spoke in a pleasant authoritative tone, gesturing to the drudges. “Master Capiam, if you do not mindthat’s the fellis juice.” She pointed to a withy-covered demijohn. “I’ll take this.” She lifted the bulky container by its girth strap. In her other hand, she swung a pack over one shoulder. “I mixed fresh tussilago last night,
208 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
Master Capiam. That’s right, Sim. On your way now. We’ll use the kitchen exit. Lord Tolocamp has been complaining again about the wear on the main hall carpets. It’s as well to comply with his instructions even if it does mean extra lengths for the rest of us.” She covered the glowbaskets.
She set down the demijohn to lock the storeroom, ignoring Capiam’s expression, for it was apparent to him that she had gone to some pains to organize the unauthorized distribution. Her eyes met his once as she swept the chamber with one last long glance. The drudges were already halfway down the corridor with their burdens.
“I would like to take more, but four drudges added to the noon parade to the perimeter are not going to be noticed by the guard.”
Only then did Capiam realize that Nerilka was dressed in the coarse fabric allotted the general worker, a plainly belted tunic over dark-gray trousers and felted winter boots.
“No one will care in the least if one of the drudges continues on to the camp.” She shrugged. “Nor will anyone at the kitchen exit think it odd for the Masterhealer to leave with supplies. Indeed, they would wonder if you left empty-handed.”
She had locked the outer door and now looked speculatively at the bunch of keys. “One never knows, does one?” she said to herself in the habit of one used to solitary tasks. She stuflfed the keys in her belt pouch and then, noticing Capiam’s look, gave him that little half smile. “My stepmother has another set. She thinks it is the only one. But my mother thought the stillroom a very good occupation for me. This way, Master Capiam.”
Capiam followed. The docility of the Fort daughters had been the source of ribaldry at the Halls whenever Lady Pendra had invited unmarried men of rank to the Hold. Nerilka, Capiam was chagrined to remember, was one of the oldest of the eleven daughters, though she had two full elder brothers, Campen and Mostar, and four younger. Lady Pendra had been constantly pregnant, another source of indelicate comment among the apprentice healers. It had never occurred to Capiamand certainly not to his shameless juniors that the Fort Horde had any wits or opinions of their own. In Nerilka, rebellion was full blown.