Robinton nodded.
“Isn’t the Benden clutch about to hatch?” Tuck asked.
“Soon. Jora’s dead.” Robinton had had the details from a letter sent to Master Oldive by Lord Raid’s journeyman healer, who had been brought by R’gul to try to keep the Weyrwoman alive.
Remembering how Jora had gorged herself at the Impression Feast – and that had been turns ago now – he had no trouble believing that the woman had died of overeating. The healer had been appalled at the state she was in and had agreed that she should be interred between.
“I heard the drums, but did I hear correctly that the queen produced a gold egg?” Tuck cocked his head hopefully and Robinton nodded. “That’s pulling up pretty close, isn’t it?” Robinton nodded again, and Tuck asked, “You’ll be going to the Impression?”
“I hope to.” Robinton wasn’t sure that any invitations were going out from the Weyr, but that didn’t mean that a CraftMaster could be excluded. There had been few enough clutches and Impressions since S’loner had died.
“Nemorth’ll last?” Tuck’s expression was anxious.
“Probably. At least, that’s my reading of queen dragon behaviour.
Even without her rider, Nemorth will try to last until her clutch hatches.”
“D’you think the next Weyrwoman will be an improvement on Jora?”
Robinton gave a snort. “I don’t see how any woman could be worse.”
“Then the riders’ll be on Search, won’t they?”
“I would presume so.”
Tuck was the one to nod now. “I’d best go.”
“Where to?”
“I’m to meet him’ – which always meant Nip – “at High Reaches. Fax is there, preparing …” he grimaced “… to go on one
of his “tours” .”
““Tours”?”
“Inspections, to find out why he isn’t getting what he expects out of his holdings.”
“I wish him luck,” Robinton said drolly.
“Not him, the poor unfortunates he’ll be beating up.” Then Tuck was out of the door.
Over the next few days, Robinton had a feeling of imminence, of something impending. He was not surprised then to have Sebell escort a runner, mud-spattered and exhausted, into his office. But was stunned by the message.
“Tuck says you’d better come, Master Robinton.”
“Come where?” Robinton had been on his feet the instant he saw Sebell’s companion. Master and journeyman helped the man to a chair, and then Sebell poured him wine.
“Fax has left … for Ruatha Hold. Dragonriders … with him.” “At Ruatha? Dragonriders? With him?”
The runner nodded, sipping the wine. “On Search.” And he
grimaced. “Takes guts … to go to the … High Reaches.” Robinton was amazed. “Who?”
The runner shook his head. “You’re to do a Nip and Tuck, he said.”
“How much time do I have?” Robinton asked, waving aside the objections he could see Sebell about to utter.
“Fax is forcing his march. You’d best be in place.”
“Hmmm, yes, I had, hadn’t I?” Robinton felt a surge of wild excitement and sighed with relief. He ignored the pointed anxiety on Sebell’s face. “Take care of him, will you, Sebell?”
And Robinton bolted down the steps to Silvina’s rooms. “I’ll need rough clothing, suitable for a drudge,” he told her.
“And what are you up to?” she demanded, hands on her hips as she glared up at him.
“Now, don’t you start on me too,” he warned, far more sharply than he intended, and pointed to the keys on her belt. “I have to look the part.”
“If you think you can do a Nip, you’re gone in the head, Rob.
Send Sebell for you.”
“No, not Sebell,” Robinton said angrily. “I won’t risk him.”
“But you will yourselF’ she complained as reluctantly she led the way down to the storage rooms. “How can you possibly disguise yourself?” she demanded, trying another tack to dissuade him.
He immediately pulled in his shoulders, scrunched down and, with one hand hanging loosely, affected a hobbly gait.
“A limp might even be better,” she said after a moment’s observation.
“Hmmm. As if you’d been kicked by a boot in the wrong place.” Then she sighed in defeat.
By the time Sebell joined them – a look at his Master’s face and he kept his objections to himself-the two had found appropriately ragged clothing for Robinton to wear. Even Sebell had to agree that, once Robinton assumed his odd stance and gait, he no longer resembled the tall, dignified MasterHarper of pern.