Chapter 5

Otaysa scolded Kelia roundly in the privacy of the Gold Dormitory, set aside for paying girls; she soon got to the bottom of the notes and the assignation.

"I suppose at least you had the good sense to take a friend within earshot – but you had no idea who you might have been meeting! Did it never occur to you that one of the apprentices might have been paid to carry notes for someone outside the Hall, which being silly heedless children, some of them, thought nothing of it, if a grown lady, as they saw it, got notes? And if the writer had been a kidnapper? Having a Brown Rider available to do dirty work for fear of harm coming to his sister is the least thing that leaps to my mind! Or for ransom! You silly girl, you've led far too sheltered a life in the Weyr, in some respects – for in the Weyr, everyone knows everyone else, and most people are safe!"

Kelia went white.

She had never seriously entertained the thought that anyone might actually harm her.

"I … it never occurred to me," she said.

"And if it had been some ruthless ruffian, he'd probably have killed your friend, too!" went on Otaysa, "so you put her at risk too! Didn't it occur to you that no decent man would ask a girl to make a private assignation with him? Not unless they already had an understanding, which would be improper, but understandable! What would your mother think about you behaving so foolishly?"

Kelia burst into tears.

She had been prepared for a lecture on the free and easy weyr ways and loose morals; not a frank exposition on the potential dangers to her, her friend, and potentially her brother too! Kelia and K'len may have bickered constantly but they loved each other dearly.

Otaysa had been warned, privately, by H'llon's weyrmate, Z'ira, that Kelia was a little bit silly; and it had given her the ability to drive the message home.

Kelia had learned that, though this had been a harmless prank, there were those people out there who were anything but harmless.

"Well, at least you're not griping at my morals," she said, and winced at herself as she realised she sounded like a sulky little girl.

"My dear girl! I don't expect weyrfolk to operate under the same rules of sexual conduct that Craft or Holderfolk do! It's none of my business, as you are over what the Weyr calls the age of choice, if you slept with the entire unmarried echelon of the Hall all the way down to young Jerellan, if that's what's acceptable to your kin. It becomes the business of the Master if you play games and cause problems to the productivity of the Hall by having them applying more attention to you than to their work. And if you interfered with married craftsmen, that would be my business. Especially if it was my husband. I stand in place of a mother to you here; and I have to tailor my approach according to the likely wishes of a reasonable mother for each girl. So, I would advise you to have discrimination and use herbs to avoid pregnancy while you don't have a convenient dragon to take a pregnancy between."

Kelia blinked.

Otaysa was more open-minded than she had expected!

"Thank you, Otaysa; I'm sorry I caused you trouble," she said in a small voice.

"There, dear, that's a good girl. I'm sure it was fun and exciting. Another time you'll think harder about potential risks!" Otaysa gave the girl a rough embrace; and Kelia hugged her back.

And from that moment, Otaysa had more influence over Kelia than the girl's own mother, who was inclined to nag.

oOo

Jeral, Kyilin and Larek did not escape unscathed.

In addition to shifting fleeces and scrubbing the fleece room floor – the wether had been more scared by Kelia than she had been of him and had made his disgust felt materially – they were sent to apologise to Kelia for sending her up.

Kelia took it fairly well.

"You're horrible scrubs," she said. "I bet you're friends with Amrys!"

Jeral grinned.

"Sure, and isn't she as good as a bhoy," he said.

Kelia sniffed.

"Born to be hanged, the lot of you!" she said. "Don't know why you bothered that poor ovine though; any one of you would have been a frightening sight!"

They went away feeling that the harder part of the punishment had actually gone a lot better than they deserved!

"She's all right, that Kelia," said Kyilin.

"Bonza girl," said Larek.

""Or will be when she's grown out of being daft over men, f'sure," said Jeral.

oOo

The Late Summer Gather was approaching, and apprentices abandoned mischief for mark-making.

The chance to earn a mark or two from finished goods was more alluring than getting into trouble. Naturally, the paying girls wanted to look their best for any handsome visitors, especially dragonriders, and spent much time adorning their own gowns with, in most cases, too much needlework. Primping generally was also the order of the day. Marra had a different goal; she had been asked by Master Lynger to present some small objects to go with the other work by apprentices, and if two out of three were passed as saleable, he would see Lady Varilka about obtaining an apprenticeship instead of the paid turn.

Breda had kept a low profile; but it seemed that important people came to Rivenhill Gathers, and she wanted to make a good impression! If only her hair was golden, or black, not a nondescript mousy colour!

Breda had an idea.

Wool was, after all, no more than the hair of the ovine; and that was dyed in the dyehouse. She would dye her hair!

She picked her time when the apprentices were off with Masterdyer Neen, harvesting dye plants; and slipped into the dye house.

Golden or black – that was the question! Black would be dramatic with her pale skin and dark blue eyes, but blondes always seemed to be popular. Besides, a lot of people in Nabol had black hair, it was quite common.

Accordingly, Breda picked a bottle in the dark dyestore cupboard that held a yellowish mixture; and poured some out into a bowl. Wearing gloves of soft leather, she worked it into her hair, leaving her tresses dipped in it, as she sat with her head hung backwards. She dared not be too long; she was supposed to be knitting with Journeyman Hetney, but had pleaded belly ache. She found the male Masters and Journeymen hastily gave leave for that excuse! But someone would be bound to miss her before long.

Quickly she poured the excess dye away down the drain, something that Neen later howled about in frustration at the wasting of so expensive a dye, and towelled it off roughly, to make her way back.

Master Neen was leading his pupils back, and she met them.

They stared.

A few hid titters and some laughed out loud.

Master Neen looked horrified.

"What the shards have you been doing with my blueweed?" he demanded.

"M … Master?" she was puzzled.

""Why on Pern did you take it into your head to dye your hair blue?" he asked. "Are you insane?"

"Blue? Oh no, it's golden!" she said. Then she looked at the gloves and the stain on the drying cloth.

They were unmistakeably blue.

Ashen, she pulled a lock of her hair over her shoulder.

It was a muddy, but unmistakeable blue.

Breda howled in horror! And fled for her dormitory!

Master Neen was possessed of a keen sense of humour; and after his initial irritation, until he found out how much she had used, he was consumed by mirth at so basic a mistake.

"And there you have, my children," he chuckled to the first-turners, "an excellent example of how blueweed changes colour from the dyebath where it is yellow, to when it is exposed to air and sunlight!"

oOo

Otaysa found Breda howling inconsolably, and totally confused. Otaysa sighed gently over the sheets and pillow slip being blued by the wet hair, and explained the peculiar properties of blueweed to her.

"Oh Otaysa! I only wanted people to notice me!" howled Breda.

Otaysa had to bite back a chuckle; it would be unkind to point out that everyone probably would notice a girl with blue hair.

"Well, it might wash out if you didn't mordant it first – as it's not been boiled in," Otaysa said. "Why don't we go and see? Then we can talk about less, er, drastic beauty treatments for hair; as I could have told you if you had come to me in the first place, instead of experimenting for yourself!"

The blue came out, mostly, and Otaysa snipped the tips that remained stubbornly and steadfastly blue.

"Well, that's easier than overdying it black," she said. "We'll treat it with citrus and chamomile to bring out the natural blonde lights in it. And they ought to deal with any remaining hints of blue too," she added. "Whatever possessed you! And one of the most expensive dyes, too! Master Lynger is going to have to charge your father for what you used, you know!"

"He can afford anything," muttered Breda.

"Well, hope he's not too angry at you for unnecessary expense … if you poured it back carefully into the bottle, it won't have used much," said Otaysa.

"I threw it away," said Breda.

Otaysa gasped.

"My dear girl! Nobody on Pern is wealthy enough to be that profligate!" she cried. "Oh dear! Master Neen is not going to be happy!"

"He laughed at me!" said Breda, "I don't want him to be happy."

"You silly child! What if there had been a big order in from the Harperweyr for Harper Blue cloth? Not only would an expensive dye be gone, we'd be fined for being late on a delivery! And would your father pay that for your silliness, a fine that might reach thousands of marks?" Otaysa said tartly. "Marks aren't everything, but it's a means of keeping score; marks equate to work, and the unpleasant, stinking work that nobody likes doing, at that!"

"Well, if it's stinking nasty work, it's only drudgework, isn't it?" said Breda.

"My girl, you have no idea! It's highly skilled stinking work – only a Master may oversee the production of Harper Blue – and the skilled dyer must live with stinking like a midden for a week after he has done the dyeing. It's not as pronounced as you didn't boil it, but frankly, my dear, you do whiff a bit. And even if it were drudge work, no decent person makes more work for drudges than is necessary! I strongly suggest that you apologise to Master Neen, and tell him that you did not know it was so special; and hope he forgives you, and doesn't ask to have you sent home."

Breda looked horrified; and Otaysa thought it more over having to apologise than fear of being sent home in disgrace.

"I'll come with you," she told the girl.

oOo

Somehow, Breda stumbled through an apology and offered to pay for what she had unwittingly wasted.

Fortunately for her, Master Neen's fury had been short lived, and the funny side stayed with him.

The cost was not entirely the point; for it meant hard work to replace the dye that had been used. But it was a good gesture, and he accepted.

If an order came in, they could at least then purchase Harper Blue from another craft hall; and Breda offered a costly necklace in lieu of having her father contacted, since she was fairly certain that he would not remember what baubles he had bought her as her whim took her.

Breda had now seen another viewpoint about what decent people did – and did not – do; and that, incredibly to her, some people only looked on marks as a way of keeping score, not as proof of being better than others!

oOo

Meanwhile, Master Lynger, having seen the work that Marra had put in, asked if he might have dragon transport to talk to Lady Varilka.

He was visited by B'kas and Geriana, wanting to know why, as they were friends with Varilka, and tactful enough to ask in a non belligerent way.

Lynger was glad to explain, and the two nodded.

"May we help you to explain, sir?" asked B'kas.

Lynger felt rather flattered that a dragonman called him 'sir'.

"Oh, please, Green Rider B'kas; I'd welcome any help on the girl's behalf," he replied.

"It wouldn't be that she only wanted her trained for a turn to get her back sooner as a better drudge; Varilka's not like that," said Geriana. "Some people might, but not her. She maybe didn't know that you take female apprentices; not all crafthalls do, you know."

Lynger nodded, eagerly.

"Let's hope that's it," he said.

oOo

As it turned out, that was indeed the case; Varilka had chosed a crafthall that took paying students near to her High Reaches friends, meaning to ask them to call in on young Marra, when she next spoke to them. She was most distressed to learn that Marra had been made miserable, as Master Lynger knew unofficially. Amrys had plumped herself down in his office to tell him 'off the record, and you never heard this, sir," what was going on.

"Breda and her father! That man is overambitious and pushy!" Varilka said grimly. "And now he's taken to being a travelling marksman not just a trader, not even under my, er, my husband's jurisdiction any more! If I'd know he was going to send her there…"

"I think our Amrys has the girl on a fairly short lead," said Master Lynger, dryly. "Lady Holder Amrys when wearing those knots and apprentice Amrys when wearing those knots. She took up cudgels on Marra's behalf and, er, asked me to ask about transferring her to an apprenticeship."

Geriana chuckled.

"Half bullied, half wheedled in other words if I know young Amrys; she and Sagarra are two pulses from the same pod, born to manage. If she hadn't had a Hold, I wager there might have been a Queen egg somewhere for her!"

Lynger laughed, ruefully.

"Well … yes, as she's not here to hear the admission," he said. "She doesn't ever mean to be cheeky, though, however it sounds; she just means well, and sets about sorting things out."

Varilka laughed.

"Now why does that sound familiar? It would appear that Marra is in good hands. I'd like to see her do well. If you'll take her as an apprentice, and it's what she wants, I'll be very happy!"

"I need to return some of the fee," said Lynger.

"No; if you can use it for a couple of poor but worthy children to learn to make beautiful things, I'd like it to go to sponsor them," said Varilka. "I set the money aside to encourage a talented girl; let it go for others with talent."

"My lady, thank you!" said Lynger, deeply grateful.

"You are welcome," smiled Varilka. "Is it true that you are qualified to weave figured velvets?"

"Yes, my lady," said Lynger, "and potentially a new invention to help with it in the offing!"

"Splendid; then I may have some commissions for you in the future," said Varilka. "To try to get some cohesion in my rather eclectically decorated surroundings. If you can design from drawings of other objects?"

"Like making a repeat pattern echoing the carving on that chest lid that would be suitable for cushions and hangings?" asked Lynger, his nose twitching with pleasure.

"Precisely!" said Lady Varilka.

"It would be a privilege!" said Lynger, happily.

The mission to help a potential apprentice could even end up profitably!