"I thought it was settled!" Sakora, Weyrwoman of Ista Weyr and rider of gold Rowath, sounded exasperated. "Why can't Cicely foster Derry's baby? She wants one so badly, and Derry wants to be back on her green as soon as possible!"
The young woman before her shifted from one foot to the other. "Because, you see, Derry's jealous!"
"Of Cicely?" Sakora tried to follow. Cicely was a pretty girl, but she lacked Derry's vivacity... and she wasn't even a rider!
"No, Weyrwoman. She's jealous of me! S'gil and I... a few weeks back..." Vilena trailed off, blushing like a redroot.
Sakora sighed. "Well, that wasn't exactly kind of you, but what does that have to do with Cicely?"
"We're sisters, Weyrwoman, on our blood mother's side. Didn't you know?"
"Oh, right. I'm sorry..." She searched her memory for the girl's name. "Vilena," she said, triumphantly. "I must have forgotten. Well, I suggest that Derry decide quickly who she wants to foster the child, and the next time your sister has a chance at fostering, you might... hold back?" she said, pointedly. "If you care so much about her happiness?"
"You mean, you won't make her honor her promise? She told Cicely that she could have the babe—"
"I'm sorry, but no. Derry can decide for herself who will foster her baby. Now I really must get back to my work," Sakora said.
Vilena looked about to argue, but a glance in Rowath's direction, sunning herself on the ledge of the Weyr bowl, stopped her. She quickly exited Sakora's weyr.
Sakora had just picked up the hide she was copying when another knock came. B'dir, rider of brown Parasnath, entered. His knots marking him wingsecond were fresh and bright. Since when is B'dir a wingsecond? she wondered.
He has just been promoted, Rowath reminded her.
"Weyrwoman, my apologies for interrupting you. It's just that I have two grounded greens who need to be housed in ground-level weyrs, and Junior Goldrider Loya told me there aren't any available. There was a minor mid-air collision, fortunately not from between, just a bump, but enough for some small broken wing bones. B'mik says they cannot fly until they heal and that you will find weyrs for them." Despite the seriousness of his request, Sakora felt her lips threatening to smile at the earnest young man's customary formality. Sometimes she wondered how he had ever ended up with a brown, which were so often regarded as the most easy-going of the dragons and riders.
"Despite Loya's wishes, I think Sequeth and Fiorth and their riders—" She paused, drawing a blank again.
"A'nar and T'cet," B'dir supplied, helpfully.
"Thank you. Yes, I think they can all go back to their own weyrs. Their injuries have healed, and a little bit of flying will help strengthen them. N'man told me several days ago that their riders approached him, but I did not want to overrule Loya. But now that we need the ground-level weyrs back, everyone will be sorted."
"Except Loya," B'dir pointed out, not so helpfully.
"I'll manage Loya." Sakora tried to sound firm. It wouldn't do for a brownrider to be getting involved in goldrider matters, no matter what his rank.
B'dir nodded once, as if to agree the conversation was over, and then walked out. Then he stopped short, turned on his heel smartly, and said, "One other thing, Weyrwoman. B'yan and M'rod are talking about a fistfight again."
Sakora closed her eyes and sighed. "Thank you, B'dir. Does the Weyrleader know about this?"
"I don't know."
"Will you please see that he finds out if he does not?" she asked.
"Of course."
"Thank you." She heard the door close behind him then, but just as she was about to start writing again, there was another knock and the door reopened. She heard B'dir speaking softly to the other person in the corridor, and then Loya herself entered.
I should have just gone to my office, she reflected. There is no peace in my weyr today!
Loya, junior weyrwoman, entered. "Sakora, do you have a moment?"
"Is this about moving Sequeth and Fiorth?"
"No. B'dir just gave me your instructions, and you are right. As long as they don't take this to mean that they can fly drills again—"
"I will have Rowath make that clear," Sakora reassured her, "and all the other queens are to reinforce the message."
Loya fell silent, and Sakora knew she was speaking to her dragon. Then the junior weyrwoman smiled and said, "Tayith says they all will."
"Then that's settled." Sakora did not realize how sharply she spoke. When was the last time she had eaten? Rowath stirred on her stone bed, also thinking about food.
You just ate yesterday, beloved. Not so soon!
Loya's chin quivered, but she pressed on. "Now about the new flamethrowers..."
"The Mastersmith says we cannot get them any earlier." Sakora had not been happy with that news, either.
"But Thread is due over Nerat in just three days, and if we don't have enough... Well, then what happens?" Loya had pulled her long, dark braid forward and was fussing at the ends in such a nervous manner that Sakora found herself wondering why she did not just cut it short like the other goldriders.
"If the queens' wing must sit a Fall out, then we must. I don't like it, either, but our order cannot override that of Ruatha and Keroon Heights, whose flamethrowers are in even worse shape and needed them for their ground crews. This has been a hard season on the metal supply, with all the rains interfering with mining operations in multiple locations."
"It's unacceptable!" Loya wailed. "We're the Weyrs, and we should come first!"
"Did you not come from the Healercrafthall yourself?"
"Yes, why?"
"Well, they are also dangerously low on metals to produce the devices they use," Sakora pointed out.
Loya nodded curtly. "Point taken."
As Loya left, Sakora cradled her heads in her arms. She did not want to sit out the next threadfall, either, but unless they could beg, borrow, or steal some extra flamethrowers, she could see no other way.
iBorrow.../i Maybe if she sent out a missive to all the Weyrs, they could pool their usable equipment until the Smithcraft could catch up. She pushed aside the piece of hide in front of her and started a new one. "My dear esteemed fellow Weyrwoman..." she started. Weyrs tried to remain strictly autonomous, but it couldn't hurt to ask. Probably some of them were in the same position, and no Weyrwoman worth her golden dragon wanted to sit at home while the other wings flew!
There was yet another knock, and the heavy draperies parted to admit Retti, the ancient but still formidable Headwoman.
"I am sorry to bother you, Sakora." The lines on Retti's face looked unusually solemn. "I'm afraid I need to send Stratton away for good."
"Stratton?" The name sounded familiar, but Sakora could not put a face to it in her mind.
"The former kitchen drudge." Retti's face was pinched as if it pained her to speak of the lad.
"Oh! The one with the fickle fingers, as the Harper puts it?" Sakora remembered the lad's demotion now. He had groped the kitchen girls on more than one occasion, even after receiving several slaps and a punch for it. Retti had punished him with water rations and moved him permanently to the dirtiest jobs, which incidentally had taken him out of the girls' way. Or had it?
Another sigh, and then Sakora asked, "What did he do this time? More of the same?"
"And then some. He cornered one of the older weyrbrats in the beasthold. She fought back, but it was fortunate B'mik happened to walk by. By the way, Stratton has four broken fingers on his right hand now. Emmly set them, but I advise that we don't wait until they're healed to see the backside of him." Retti was a short woman in the beginnings of her eighth decade, but her cropped white curls bounced with the righteous indignation of a much younger woman. "There are plenty of willing lasses in the Weyr, but it's like he gets a sick satisfaction of going after the ones that refuse him!"
"Have one of the other drudges pack his belongings, and send him back to wherever he came from," Sakora said. "He isn't one of our own, is he?"
"No, he came from Cross Creeks Hold," Retti said. "Came with his mother, who worked in the kitchens until she died two turns ago."
"Then perhaps send word to Lady Zilfia about his arrival back home," Sakora suggested, slyly. Lady Zilfia would have even less use for him than the Weyr and would likely send him with an all-male work crew.
Retti brightened up. "Why, I did want to send her and Lord Cleff a note, anyway Their last tithe was larger than necessary, and we greatly appreciate the extra grains and fruits. Could I dispatch a weyrling to take the boy back?"
Sakora thought for a moment. "No. He can go with the next supply ship and work his way for the passage. Send T'bar with the message to Lady Zilfia, if he can be spared. He is also from Cross Creeks and will be glad to visit, and he is especially diplomatic."
"A good choice," Retti said, her usual good-natured smile reappearing for the first time during their conversation. "If I may be so forward, Rowath chose wisely!"
Despite her fatigue, Sakora couldn't help smiling back, and she was still smiling a while later, as she oiled the great golden dragon after her bath in the sea.
You are happy, the dragon said, approvingly. Today you were not happy, but now you are.
"I get tired sometimes," she said. "But I am always happy with you, Rowath!"