“If it’s to come, it’ll come.” He went on stropping. ,
“That last drove of runnerbeasts we received in tithe,” she asked, “from which hold did it come?” She sipped at the klah, grateful for
its warmth and stimulation.
“Part of Tillek’s contribution.” Peterpar’s expression reflected the relief he felt. “Heard tell at Ista that there’s been an illness among runners at Keroon. Same thing?” The tone in Peterpar’s voice begged Moreta to deny it.
She nodded. “Now, how can a feline that came from the Southern Continent
give us, man and runnerbeast, a sickness?”
“Master Talpan decided that it did. Apparently neither man nor runnerbeast has any immunity from the infection that feline brought
with it.” Peterpar cocked his head to one side, contorting his face. “Then
that runnerbeast that dropped dead at Ruatha races had it?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Tiliek doesn’t get breeding stock from Keroon. Just as well. But soon’s I finish my klah, I’ll check the herds.” He returned his hoof knife to its case, rolled up his strop and shoved it into his tunic pocket. “Dragons don’t get this, do they?”
“No, Master Talpan didn’t believe they could.” Moreta rose to her
feet. “But riders can.”
“Oh, we’re a hardy lot, we weyrfolk,” Peterpar said pridefully, shaking his head that she would doubt it. “We’ll be careful now. You wait and see. Won’t be many of us coming down sick. Don’t you worry about that now, Moreta. Not with Fall tomorrow.”
One was offered reassurance from unlikely sources, Moreta thought. Yet his advice reminded her that one of the reasons weyrfolk were so hardy was because they ate well and sensibly-Many illnesses could be prevented, or diminished, by proper diet. One of her most important duties as Weyrwoman was altering that diet from season to season. Moreta looked about the Cavern, to see if Nesso was up. She had better not be laggard with the tidings to Nesso who would relish disseminating information of such caliber.
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 75
“Nesso, I’d like you to add spearleek and white bulb to your stews for a while, please.”
Nesso gave one of her little offended sniffs. “I’ve already planned to do so and there’s citron in the morning rolls. If you’d had one, you’d know. A pinch of prevention’s worth a pound of cure.”
“You’d already planned to? You’ve heard of the sickness?”
Nesso sniffed again. “Being waked up at the crack of dawn”
“Sh’gall told you?”
“No, he didn’t tell me. He was banging around the night hearth muttering to himself half-demented, without a thought or a consideration for those of us sleeping nearby.”
Moreta knew very well why Nesso imposed on herself the night-hearth duty on a Gather night. The prying woman loved to catch people sneaking in or out; that knowledge gave her a feeling of power.
“Who else in the Weyr knows?”
“Whoever you’ve been telling before you came to me.” And she cast a dark look over her shoulder at Peterpar, who was trudging out of the Cavern.
“What did you actually hear Sh’gall saying?” Moreta knew Nesso’s penchant for gossip and also her fallibility in repeating it correctly.
“That there’s an epidemic on Pern and everyone will die.” Nesso gave Moreta a look of pure indignation. “Which is downright foolish.”
“Master Capiam has declared that there is.”
“Well, we haven’t got one here!” Nesso pointed her ladle at the floor. “K’lon’s fine and healthy, sleeping like a babe for all he was woke up and questioned sharp. Holders die of epidemics.” Nesso was contemptuous of anyone not connected intimately with Weyrs. “What else could be expected when so many people are crammed into living space that wouldn’t suit a watchwher!” All of Nesso’s indignation drained out of her as she looked up and saw Moreta’s expression. “You’re serious?” Her eyes widened. “I thought Sh’gall Just had too much wine! Oh! And everyone here was cither to Ista or Ruatha!” Nesso might love to gossip but she was not stupid, and she was quite able to see the enormity of the situation. She gave herself a little shake, picked up the ladle, wiped it off with her clout, and gave
76 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pem