“Best to get them in the air,” Lord Vincet chattered. “And what will that stuff do to my young orchards? What will it do?”
Fandarel swung around, apparently noticing the distressed Holder for the first time.
“Little man, agenothree in diluted form is what you use to fertilize your plants in the spring. True, this field has been burned out for a few years, but it is not Thread-full. It would be better if we could get the spray up high in the air. Then it would float down and dissipate harmlessly fertilizing very evenly, too.” He paused, scratched his head gratingly. “Young dragons could carry a team aloft… . Hmmm. A possibility, but the apparatus is bulky yet.” He turned his back on the surprised Hold Lord then and asked F’lar if the tapestry had been returned. “I cannot yet discover how to make a tube throw flame. I got this mechanism from what we make for the orchard farmers.”
“I’m still waiting for word on the tapestry,” F’lar replied, “but this spray of yours is effective. The Thread .burrow is dead.”
“The sandworms are effective too, but not really efficient,” Fandarel grunted in dissatisfaction. He beckoned abruptly to his assistants and stalked off into the increasing twilight to the dragons.
Robinton awaited their return at the Weyr, his outward calm barely masking his inner excitement. He inquired politely, however, of Pandarel’s efforts. The Mastersmith grunted and shrugged.
“I have all my craft at work.”
“The Mastersmith is entirely too modest,” F’lar put in. “He has already put together an ingenious device that sprays agenothree into Thread burrows and sears them into a black pulp.”
“Not efficient. / like the idea of flamethrowers,” the smith said, his eyes gloaming in his expressionless face. “A thrower of flame,” he repeated, his eyes unfocusing. He shook his heavy head with a bone-popping crack. “I go,” and with a curt nod to the harper and the Weyrleader, he left.
“I like that man’s dedication to an idea,” Robinton observed. Despite his amusement with the man’s eccentric behavior, there was a strong undercurrent of respect for the smith. “I must set my apprentices a task for an appropriate Saga on the Mastersmith. I understand,” he said, turning to F’lar, “that the southern venture has been inaugurated.”
F’lar nodded unhappily.
“Your doubts increase?”
“This between times travel takes its own toll,” he admitted, glancing anxiously toward the sleeping room.
“The Weyrwoman is ill?”
“Sleeping, but today’s journey affected her. We need another, less dangerous answer!” and F’lar Slammed one fist into the other palm.
“I came with no real answer,” Robinton said then, briskly, “but with what I believe to be another part of the puzzle. I have found an entry. Four hundred Turns ago the then Masterharper was called to Fort Weyr not long after the Red Star retreated away from Pern in the evening sky.”
“An entry? What is it?”
“Mind you, the Thread attacks had just lifted and the Masterharper was called one late evening to Fort Weyr. An unusual supimons. However,” and Robinton emphasized the distinction by pointing a long, calloustipped finger at F’lar, “no further mention is ever made of that visit. There ought to have been, for all such summonses have a purpose. All such meetings are recorded, yet no explanation of this one is given. The record is taken up several weeks later by the Masterharper as though he had not left his crafthall at all. Some ten months afterward, the Question Song was added to compulsory Teaching Ballads.”
“You believe the two are connected with the abandonment of the five Weyrs?”
“I do, but I could not say why. I only feel that the events, the visit, the disappearances, the Question Song, are connected.” F’lar poured them .both cups of wine.
“I have checked back, too, seeking some indications.” He shrugged. “All must have been normal right up to the point they disappeared. There are Records of tithing trains received, supplies stored, the list of injured dragons and men returning to active patrols. And then the Records cease at full Cold, leaving only Benden Weyr occupied.”
“And why that one Weyr of the six to choose from?” Robinton demanded. “Island Ista would be a better choice if only one Weyr was to be left. Benden so far north is not a likely place to pass four hundred Turns.”