“I was acutely aware of my good luck.” In that quiet phrase, Alessan implied not only his loss but his realization that he must discharge the responsibilities of his new rank. Moreta wondered why Sh’gall had developed a curious antipathy to the man.
They were moving through the Gatherers, past the stalls. Moreta sniffed deeply of the aromas of spicy stew and sweet fruit pies, the odor of well-tanned leathers, the acrid smell from the glass-blowers’ booth, the mingled smells of perfumes and garment herbs, the sweat of human and animal. And above all, the pleasant excitement that permeated the atmosphere.
“Within the bounds of Gather propriety, I accept your partnering. Provided that you like racing and dancing.”
“In that order?”
“Since the one comes before the other, yes.”
“I appreciate your courtesy, Weyrwoman!” His tone was mock-formal.
“Have the harpers arrived yet?”
“Yesterday …” Alessan grimaced.
“They do eat, don’t they?”
“They talk. There are enough of them, however, to keep the dancing square filled until dawn, now that your queen has graced it. And
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 15
our ever jovial Masterharper has promised to dignify our Gather with his presence.”
Moreta frowned at yet another undercurrent in Alessan’s speech. Didn’t he like Tirone? The Masterharper was a big hearty man with a robust bass voice that he allowed to dominate every group he sang in. He favored the rousing ballads and stirring sagas that best displayed his own talents, but that was his one conceit, and Moreta had never considered it a flaw. But then, herself only lately the Weyrwoman, she had not seen as much of him in his capacity as Masterharper of Pem as had Alessan. She didn’t think she would like to antagonize Tirone.
“He has a beautiful voice,” she said noncommittally. “Is Master Capiam coming?”
“So I believe.”
Shells, thought Moreta to herself at Alessan’s terse reply. With the exception of Lord Shadder, Alessan apparently did not share any of her preferences among the leaders of Pem. She’d never heard of anyone who didn’t like Masterhealer Capiam. Could Alessan fault the man for failing to mend his wife’s broken back?
“Is that sort of exercise good for Orlith at this time, Moreta?” demanded Lord Tolocamp, bearing down on them suddenly. He must have been following their progress along the roadway to have intercepted them so neatly.
“She’s not due to clutch for another ten days.” Moreta stiffened, annoyed both by the question and the questioner.
“Orlith flew with great precision,” Alessan said. “An ability well appreciated by Ruatha.”
Lord Tolocamp checked, coughed, covering his mouth belatedly and plainly not understanding Alessan’s reference.
“She’s thoroughly shameless,” Moreta said, “whenever there’s a new audience for her tricks. She’s never so much as bunged a claw.”
“Yes, well, ah. Lady Pendra is just over here, Moreta,” Tolocamp went on with his usual ponderous geniality. “Alessan, I would like you to become better acquainted with my daughters.”
“At the moment, Lord Tolocamp, I am obliged to become better acquainted with the Weyrwoman, as Sh’gall is not here as her escort. Your daughters”Alessan looked over at the young women, who were talking placidly with some of his subordinates“seem well suited.”
16
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
Tolocamp began to huff.
“A glass of wine, Moreta? This way.” Alessan firmly propelled her away from Lord Tolocamp, who stood staring after them, somewhat surprised by their abrupt departure.
“I’ll never hear the last of this from him, you know,” Moreta said as she allowed herself to be hurried off.
“Then you can drown your sorrow in a Bcnden white wine I have chilling.” He beckoned to a servitor, pantomiming the pouring of wine into a glass.
“Benden white? Why, that’s my favorite!”
“And here I thought you were partial to Tillek’s.”
Moreta made a face. “I’m obliged to assume a partiality for Tiliek
wines.”
“I find them sharp. Soil’s acid in Tfflek.”
“True, but Tiliek tithes its wines to Fort Weyr. And it’s far easier to agree with Lord Diatis than argue with him.”
Alessan laughed.
As the servitor returned with two finely engraved cups and a small wineskin, Moreta glimpsed Lord Tolocamp, Lady Pendra, and Lady Oma shepherding the daughters toward them. Just then a stentorian voice proclaimed the start of the runner races.