Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 29
sprinter upthat one he’s been winning with all season. That herdsman of his was boasting at their Gather”
“I’m not sorry that we didn’t get to pit Squealer against the best in the west, but perhaps Ratoshigan’s absence ensured his win.”
“It did no such thing,” Dag protested vehemently and then realized that he was being teased. “He’s cooled off now. I’ll just take him back to the beasthold above.”
“Starting line or finishing?” Alessan asked Moreta.
“Let’s see if we can get in a finish.”
They moved at a leisurely pace for people wishing to see an imminent finish, but their path took them between pickets and that pleased Moreta as well.
“I wonder why Ratoshigan didn’t come.”
“His absence is a boon.” Moreta did not try to mask the acid edge to her voice.
“Perhaps, but I’d’ve liked to pit Squealer against that sprinter of his.”
“For the joy of beating Ratoshigan? Well, I’d approve of that.”
“Southern Boll is beholden to Fort Weyr, isn’t it?”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
“Yet you’d drink that sour wine Lord Diatis makes.”
Moreta had opened her mouth to reply when she was suddenly drenched with water. A colorful and original string of invective in Alessan’s angry voice told her that he had not escaped the slops.
Who has distressed you? Orlith’s response was immediate and, as Moreta stood there, eyes closed against the water draining from her hair, she needed the moral support of her queen.
“I’m only wet!” Moreta stolidly informed her queen.
The sun is warm. You will dry fast.
“Only wet?” Alessan roared. “You’re soaked.”
The erring handler, belatedly discovering that he had launched a full bucket of dirty water at the Weyrwoman and the Lord Holder who didn’t ought to be strolling along picket lines when everyone else was off watching the racesproffered Moreta a towel, but the rag had been used for many purposes and merely compounded the problem. Alessan was shouting for clean water and fresh clothes and the location of a vacant tent.
The commotion was sufficient to attract everyone not engrossed in the race just starting. Assistance was offered, and people began run-
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Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
ning here and there on Alessan’s orders while Moreta stood, her beautiful new brown-and-gold gown plastered to her body. She tried to reassure the mortified handler that she took no offense, all the while knowing her long-awaited afternoon of racing was doomed. She might just as well summon Orlith and go back to the Weyr. She might get her death of cold going between in the soggy ruins of her Gather dress, but what choice had she now?
“I know this is not what you’re accustomed to, Moreta,” Alessan was saying, pulling at her sleeve to get her attention. “But it’s clean and it’s dry and will do to watch the rest of the races. I can’t be sure if my mother’s ladies or my sister can get your gown and cloak dry by evening, but I am certain that suitable gowns will be displayed in the Hold for your consideration when the races are over.”
Alessan was holding out a clean brown shift in one hand, sandals and a pretty belt of colored cords in the other. He was gesturing toward the race manager’s striped tent when the handler rushed up with clean, steaming water in his bucket and a bundle of clean towels
draped over his shoulder.
“Come, Moreta, do let us set things to rights?” The softly spoken appeal and the very real distress evident in Alessan’s eyes and man-ner would have swayed a character far more obdurate than Moreta’s.
“And yourself, Alessan?” she asked courteously as she bundled her soaking skirts for the short walk to the tent. The right side of
Alessan’s Gather finery was soaked.
“You, I fear, took the brunt. I’ll dry out in the sun. While we watch the races?” His sly question was part entreaty.
“I’ll be quick.” She took the fresh clothing and let the handler place the bucket
and clothes in the tent then she entered, dropping the flap.
Her undershift was wet as well, so she was pleased that the brown shift was woven of a sturdy fabric. Her hair was gritty from the slop water, which had been used to sponge down a runner’s dusty legs. She buried her head quickly in the clean water, washed her face and arms thoroughly, making lavish use of the supply of cloths. She was dressed and outside the tent just as the cheers announced the finish