Canth gave a bugle cry of greeting which was instantly answered by the two dragons, green and brown, perched on a small ledge above the main Crafthall.
Beth and Seventh from Fort Weyr, Canth told his rider, but the names were not familiar to Fnor.
Time was when a man knew every dragon and rider in Pern.
Are you joining them? he asked the big brown.
They are together, Canth replied so pragmatically that Fnor chuckled to himself.
The green Beth, then, had agreed to brown Sevenths advances. Looking at her brilliant color, Fnor thought their riders shouldnt have brought that pair away from their home Weyr at this phase. As Fnor watched, the brown dragon extended his wing and covered the green possessively. Fnor stroked Canths downy neck at the first ridge but the dragon didnt seem to need any consolation. Hed no lack of partners after all, thought Fnor with little conceit. Greens would prefer a brown who was as big as most bronzes on Pern.
Canth landed and Fnor jumped off quickly. The dust made by his dragons wings set up twin whirls, through which Fnor had to walk. In the open sheds which Fnor passed on his way to the Crafthall, men were busy at a number of tasks, most of them familiar to the brown rider. But at one shed he stopped, trying to fathom why the sweating men were winding a coil of metal through a plate, until he realized that the material was extruded as a fine wire. He was about to ask questions when he saw the sullen, closed expressions of the crafters. He nodded pleasantly and continued on his way, uneasy at the indifference no, the distaste exhibited at his presence. He was beginning to wish that he hadnt agreed to do Manoras errand.
But Smithcraftmaster Fandarel was the obvious authority on metal and could tell why the big kettle had suddenly discolored the vital anesthetic salve. Fnor swung the kettle to make sure the two sample pots were within, and grinned at the self-conscious gesture; for an instant he had a resurgence of his boyhood apprehension of losing something entrusted to him.
The entrance to the main Smithcrafthall was imposing: four landbeasts could be driven abreast through that massive portal and not scrape their sides. Did Pern breed Smithcraftmasters in proportion to that door? Fnor wondered as its maw swallowed him, for the immense metal wings stood wide. What had been the original Smithy was now converted to the artificers use. At lathes and benches, men were polishing, engraving, adding the final touches to otherwise completed work. Sunlight streamed in from the windows set high in the buildings wall, the eastern shutters were burnished with the morning sun which reflected also from the samples of weaponry and metalwork in the open shelves in the center of the big Hall.
At first, Fnor thought it was his entrance which had halted all activity, but then he made out two Dragonriders who were menacing Terry. Surprised as he was to feel the tension in the Hall, Fnor was more disturbed that Terry was its brunt, for the man was Fandarels second and his major innovator. Without a thought, Fnor strode across the floor, his bootheels striking sparks from the flagstone.
And a good day to you, Terry, and you, sirs. Fnor said, saluting the two riders with airy amiability. Fnor, Canths rider, of Benden.
Bnaj, Sevenths rider of Fort, said the taller, grayer of the two riders. He obviously resented the interruption and kept slapping an elaborately jeweled belt knife into the palm of his hand.
Treb, Beths rider, also of Fort. And if Canths a bronze, warn him off Beth.
Canths no poacher, Fnor replied, grinning outwardly but marking Treb for a rider whose greens amours affected his own temper.
One never knows just what is taught at Benden Weyr, Treb said with thinly veiled contempt.
Manners, among other things, when addressing Wingseconds, Fnor replied, still pleasant. But Treb gave him a sharp look, aware of a subtle difference in his manner. Good Master Terry, may I have a word with Fandarel?
Hes in his study …
And you told us he was not about, Treb interrupted, grabbing Terry by the front of his heavy wher-hide apron.