“He’s outside,” Sebell said, indicating the hallway. “I found him on the drum Tower stairwell, trying to see who was making such a late-night entrance.”
“Well, now, that sounds promising,” said Nip, and himself went to invite Traller into the room. The two stood regarding each other as warily as strange canines. “If you’ll pardon us, Robinton, Sebell,” Nip said after a long pause and, taking Trailer by the shoulder, he pushed the lad ahead of him out of the door. The next morning Nip told Robinton to rename the boy “Tuck’ and to designate him as an apprentice on special assignment.
“I told you he was a natural,” Robinton said somewhat smugly.
Nip snorted. “He will be when I get through with him.” Then he grinned in his irrepressible fashion. “He’ll be good, too. Thanks, Rob. Oh, and he’s coming with me. I’ve got two runner-beasts ready and willing. Like any well-brought-up’ – Nip smiled at that description being applied to Tuck – “Keroonian, he rides like a leech.” He paused again at the door. “And he runs like the wind.”
Nip took turns with Tuck to deliver reports over the next two turns.
Then one night Tuck appeared unexpectedly late, grinning with delight when he had startled Robinton from reading Term reports on the current apprentices.
“Nip says that there’s something odd going on at Ruatha Hold.” “Oh?” And Robinton was glad to find some distraction from the reports. He didn’t agree with some of them, and it always annoyed him when any of his favourite “sons’ did not measure up to the high standards he wanted them to achieve.
“Well, it seems that it’s not prospering. There’ve been four stewards, and each one has failed to extract any profit from the Hold.” Tuck grinned. “It’s as if every attempt fails, some way or another.
And Fax’s not known to be pleased with any sort of failure.” “Hmmm. That’s interesting. A kind of subtle rebellion?”
Tuck gave the sort of snort that Nip affected. “With that bunch of drudges? They’re the most useless load of incompetents I’ve seen. And since I’ve been north’ – he gestured with a thumb – “I’ve seen every sort of way to avoid hard work that’s been invented.
And then some. The only jobs which get done in a halfway decent fashion are helped along by an overseer with a whip standing over the workers. Fax has only so many men and too many holdings.” He grinned broadly. “Though his supply of metal-knotted whips seems inexhaustible.”
““One hold, one holder” is a good adage to remember,” Robinton said sententiously.
“To be sure.” Tuck glided past that. “Nip specially said to tell you about Ruatha.”
“What could be happening there?” Robinton asked, more or less
rhetorically. “If there is no one able to foment trouble, is it trouble, or pure carelessness on the stewards’ parts?”
Tuck shrugged his shoulders. He had grown into a wiry man, not much taller than his companion. He might practise being nondescript, but he hadn’t quite the knack Nip had and could never disguise the bright, interested gaze of his dark eyes.
“But there’s something there. Sort of—’ He tilted his hand sideways in a gesture he had obviously learned from close association with Nip. “A general uneasiness. Like something watching all the
time. Only who’d watch? And what are they watching?”
“I should take a—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Tuck held up a hand. “Harper Blue is a target for any of Fax’s soldiery. I don’t say the best is at Ruatha, but you’re not to risk your neck … Master Robinton.” He added the title as a respectful afterthought. “Bargen’s increased his activities in High Reaches, by the way, now that he has more folk in the Weyr.”
“He’s being careful, isn’t he?”
“Bargen’s so careful he’s womanish,” Tuck said with disgust.
Then he sighed. “Of course, he wants to stay alive long enough to take High Reaches Hold back. So no one really minds when he sends them out to do what he plans. And he’s pretty good at making trouble.”
“Without embroiling others?”
“They’d rather do something, Master Robinton, than nothing,”
Tuck said. “They’ve got some pride left, you know.”