“Don’t come near me.” He stepped backward, his hands extended to fend her off.
“Sh’gall, don’t be idiotic!” She flung the cloak at him. “Put that about you so you won’t get sick of a chill. A chill would make you more susceptible to whatever disease is about.” She turned back to the table and poured wine, splashing it in her haste. “Drink this. Wine is also antiseptic. No, I won’t come near you.” She was relieved to see him settled, the cloak about his shoulders, and stepped back from the table so he could reach the wine. “An utterly foolish thing to do, plunge yourself into the Ice Lake before the sun is up and then travel between. Now sit down and tell me again what happened at Ista Gather. And where you went with Capiam and exactly what he said.”
She listened with half her attention to Sh’gall’s more orderly re-counting while she mentally reviewed what precautions and measures she could take to ensure the health of the Weyr.
“No good comes from the Southern Continent!” Sh’gall commented gratuitously. “There’s a very sound reason why no one is permitted there.”
“Permission has never been denied. I always understood that ev-
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 65
erything we need was taken over in the Crossing. Now, what are the symptoms of the disease that’s spreading?” Moreta recalled the bloody discharge from the dead runner’s nose, the only external sign of its mortal distress.
Sh’gall stared uncomprehendingly for a long moment, then collected his thoughts. “Fever. Yes, there’s fever.” He glanced at her for approval.
“There are many kinds of fevers, Sh’gall.”
“Berchar will know, then. Fever, Capiam said, and headache and a dry cough. Why should that be enough to kill people and animals?”
“What remedies did Capiam specify?”
“How could he specify when he doesn’t know what the plague is? They’ll find out. They’ve only to search hard enough. Oh, he said to treat the symptoms empirically.”
“Did he mention an incubation period? We can’t just stay quarantined in the Weyr forever, you know.”
“I know. But Capiam said we mustn’t congregate. He really tore into Ratoshigan for the overcrowding in his Hold.” Sh’gall grinned unpleasantly. “We have been warning the Holders, but would they listen? They’ll pay for it now.”
“Sh’gall, Capiam must have told you how long it takes the disease to incubate.”
The Weyrleader had finished the wine. He frowned and rubbed at his face. “I’m tired. I waited half the night for the Masterhealer at Ratoshigan’s. He said it incubates in two to four days. He told me to find out where everyone has been and to order them not to congregate. The Weyr has its duties, too. I’ve got to get some sleep. Since you’re up, you make sure everyone knows about this. Tell them all Just what they may have caught yesterday.” He gave her a hard, warning stare. “I don’t want to find out when I wake up that you’ve Jollied people along.”
“An epidemic is a far different affair from reassuring a rider with a wing-damaged dragon.”
“And find Berchar. I want to know exactly what K’lon was ill of. K’lon didn’t know, and Berchar wasn’t in his quarters!” Sh’gall didn’t approve of that. Fully male and hold-bred, Sh’gall had never developed any compassion or understanding of the green and blue riders and their associations.
66 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
“I’ll speak to Berchar.” She had a fairly good idea she’d find him with S’gor, a green rider.
“And warn the Weyr?” He rose, groggy with fatigue and the wine he’d taken on an empty stomach. “And no one’s to leave the Weyr and no one’s to come in. You be sure that the watchrider passes on that order!” He waggled an admonitory finger at her.
“It’s a bit late to cry Thread when the burrow’s set, isn’t it?” she replied bitterly. “The Gathers should have been canceled.”
“No one knew how serious this was yesterday. You transmit my orders straightaway!”
Still clutching her fur around him, Sh’gall stumbled from the weyr. Moreta watched him go, her head throbbing. Why hadn’t they canceled the Gathers? All those people at Ruatha! And dragonriders from every Weyr in and out of Ista and Ruatha. What was it S’peren had told hersickness in Igen, Keroon, and Telgar? But he hadn’t said anything about an epidemic. Or deaths. And that runner of Vander’s? Had Alessan mentioned a new runner from Keroon in Vander’s hold? Thinking of the long picket lines on Ruatha’s race flat, Moreta groaned. And all those people! How infectious would that runner have been at the moment of his death, when anxious riders and helpful spectators had crowded around it? She shouldn’t have interfered. It was not her business!