The Dragon Who Hoarded Treasure
"There's your change, brown rider. Thank you for your business."
The journeyman Smith handed F'ranc two small wooden coins and a wrought-iron garment hook. The dragon rider had wanted a hook like this for his weyr for months; it would be a better place to hang his flying helmet than the wooden pegs that kept falling out of their holes in the wall. This Gather had turned out well for him. But now his money was almost gone, and it was time to think about going home.
What are those wooden discs for?
His brown dragon, Quidth, had always been curious about the world around him. He would examine and question even the smallest details of F'ranc's existence until he felt like he understood them. Now he was curious about the quarter-mark and eighth-mark coins that the Smith had just given him in change.
"Those are called marks, Quidth. We assign a value to them so we can exchange them for food and other things. It's easier than carrying bigger things around and trading them for what we want."
Are they valuable?
He slapped his belt pouch. "Some of them are valuable, but the ones I have now aren't worth much. I could trade them for a simple meal, or something else that's small, but there aren't many things that are worth that little."
Oh.
Relieved that this question-and-answer session had ended fairly quickly, F'ranc said his farewells and made his way to the field where the dragons waited for their riders. He had bought some flavorful meat and tossed it into his dragon's gaping maw early in the Gather. He knew that Quidth couldn't join the celebrations, so he made a point of including him, the best way he could. Now it was time for them to go home.
"Take us back to Benden," he told his dragon, giving him the mental picture of the Star Stones. They rose into the air, flashed between, and glided down and into the weyr that they shared.
As the rider put away the dragon's riding straps, Quidth nuzzled him. You said that those... marks... aren't worth very much?
"No, the only ones I have left are of little value."
Can I have one?
F'ranc chuckled. "What would a dragon do with a mark? Do you plan to sit on it?"
I am curious to know what it feels like to have one. You said it was of little value, so you would not be giving up much.
"True. Okay." He pulled the eighth-mark coin out of his pouch and set it in a slight depression in the rock slab that the dragon called his bed. "There you go, my friend. You just became the wealthiest dragon on Pern!" He knew from experience that the dragon's curiosity about money would be short-lived, and he would soon get his coin back.
This time, he was mistaken. The next morning, when he tried to pick up the coin, his dragon's huge head suddenly blocked him. Excuse me? I thought you gave that to me.
"I did. Do you mean you still want it?"
Of course I still want it. It is mine now.
"Okay. I won't touch it." The dragon had never taken such a firm tone with him before; F'ranc wasn't sure what to make of it. But an eighth of a mark wasn't worth starting a fight with his dragon. He stepped back. The dragon sniffed and verified that the coin was still in its stony depression, then relaxed.
I will get my meal now. Do not take my coin.
"I won't. Good hunting," F'ranc nodded. A few minutes later, the dumbwaiter rumbled; it was his clean clothing, which needed folding, and clean bedsheets, which needed to be spread on his mattress. He took care of the clothing himself. The sheets would be handled by the drudge who did his housekeeping in exchange for a small payment every sevenday. She arrived as he was putting away the last of his laundry, and set about tidying up the weyr.
"Mister F'ranc, there's a coin in your dragon's bed!"
"Yes, Rayla, there is. Please leave it there."
The drudge was obviously perplexed. "But why is it there?"
"Because the dragon likes it there," F'ranc answered patiently. "It belongs to him, so he can leave it wherever he wants to. Please don't touch it."
"The mark belongs to the dragon," Rayla said, shaking her head. "Mister F'ranc, are you okay in the head? Dragons don't have money. Even I know that."
"This one does, Rayla. It makes him happy, and I like making him happy."
"Whatever you say," she sighed, and went about her business. When she left and returned to the Lower Caverns, she told the other drudges what she'd seen in F'ranc's weyr. Before the day was over, everyone in the Weyr had heard about the dragon who was collecting marks. Several of the dragonriders stopped by on their dragons to see if it was true. Quidth proudly showed off his eighth-mark coin to all of them. Oddly, no one thought anything unpleasant about the brown dragon; their gossip was all about F'ranc, and what was he thinking, giving his money away to his dragon?
F'lar shrugged and told the other leaders of Benden Weyr that it was a matter between the rider and his dragon, and as long as it didn't affect their ability to fight Thread, they shouldn't worry about it. Lessa was unconvinced, and she called F'ranc and Quidth over after a practice flight.
"Yes, Weyrwoman?" F'ranc said respectfully.
"What is this that I'm hearing about you?" she asked.
"I don't know," the brown rider answered. "What have you been hearing?"
"They say that your dragon is collecting money."
F'ranc snorted. "With respect, Weyrwoman, a single one-eighth-mark coin hardly qualifies as a collection! I think the gossip is getting exaggerated."
Lessa cocked her head. "So your dragon does have a coin?"
F'ranc described the most recent Gather, and how the dragon had asked about the small-valued coins that he had gotten in change from the Smith. "I can't think of any reason to tell him 'no,'" he finished. "It makes him happy."
"I approve of happy dragons," the Weyrwoman nodded, "but that's doing it the hard way. Are you so wealthy that you can afford to give your money away?"
"No, I'm not," F'ranc answered. "But it's a small coin; it won't make any difference in my life whether I keep it or not; and Quidth specifically asked for it. To me, that's no different from him asking to hunt a wherry instead of a herdbeast. He has a personality just like you and me; he has likes and dislikes; and if it makes him happy to have a little coin, then I'll gladly give it to him."
Lessa considered that for a few seconds. She mentally asked Quidth, "Is all that true?"
Yes, it is. I like how my rider makes me happy with little things like that.
"Really," she answered, and rummaged around in a belt pouch. "I've got a quarter-mark coin here that's almost completely worn out. You can barely read the Harpers' sign on one side. Would you be interested in adding this coin to your little collection?"
Oh, yes, I would! Very much.
She tossed the coin to F'ranc, who almost dropped it. "There, Quidth! Now you have two coins. It will be a while before you can afford to buy your own herdbeast at a Gather, but... why not?" She smiled. "The whole situation is close to absurd, but it makes you happy, and now it makes me happy as well."
Thank you, Weyrwoman. You are very generous.
Word of this unusual transaction quickly spread around the Weyr. A few days later, green Randth and her rider, P'eso, paid F'ranc's weyr a visit. "Is this the dragon who collects money?" P'eso asked.
"Yes, he is," F'ranc answered. "Are you here to make fun of us?"
"Not at all," the green rider said as he swung off his dragon's back. "I accidentally dropped a quarter-mark coin a sevenday ago, stepped on it, and broke it in half. I've tried to glue it back together, but my repair job isn't very strong and the break is obvious. Would your dragon like to have that coin? It's a Beastcraft mark, if that matters."
Oh, yes, I would! Please. I do not have a Beastcraft mark yet.
"It's all yours," P'eso replied. He flipped the coin to F'ranc, who added it to the others in that little depression in Quidth's bed. The dragon counted them again.
As time went by, more and more riders offered broken, worn-out, and defaced coins to the brown dragon's collection. They found humor in the situation – there was something laughable at the idea of a dragon who hoarded treasure. F'ranc had no objections because it made his dragon happy. Every time he went to a Gather, he made a point of buying something that got him an eighth of a mark in change, so he could give it to his dragon. F'lar and Lessa didn't object because it helped with morale in the Weyr. As for Quidth, he counted his coins every day, but they didn't affect his behavior, the way sudden wealth can affect some humans. He was never suspicious or protective of his little hoard; he never gave Rayla, the servant girl, a hard time when she swept up his bed. But, inevitably, someone did object to the dragon's unusual collection.
F'lar was at a Weyrleaders' meeting at Telgar Weyr, coordinating his efforts with those of the other Weyrs, when R'mart raised his hand for attention. "There is gossip about a strange, unnatural dragon in your Weyr, F'lar. Is it true?"
F'lar had no idea what R'mart was talking about. "Do you mean Ruth? He hasn't lived in Benden Weyr for several Turns."
"No," R'mart snapped. "I mean the dragon who collects other people's money and keeps it for himself."
"Oh, you mean Quidth!" F'lar burst out. "I don't know what you've heard, but Quidth takes nothing from others. It pleases some of our riders to give him their worn-out coins, and it makes Quidth happy to have them. I think his total collection is barely worth two marks, assuming that all those beat-up coins are still legal currency, so he isn't doing any harm to Pern's economy."
"But it's unnatural!" Telgar's leader exclaimed.
"Some people think it's just as unnatural for people to own money," N'ton pointed out. "You must have heard that song that some of the Holdless have been singing lately. You know, the one that says, 'Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can; no need for greed or hunger, a brotherhood of man.'"
"You can be sure that I never sang any such nonsense," R'mart said haughtily, and G'dened and G'narish nodded.
"I'm not ready to go as far as that," N'ton went on, "but the point is that, if it's okay for people to own things, then why is it wrong for a dragon to own things?"
"For one thing," R'mart said, "it will make the other dragons want to own things, there won't be enough for all of them, and then fighting will break out. The Weyrs will be disrupted and our Thread-fighting ability will suffer."
"There's no reason to expect that, R'mart," F'lar said. "Maybe that's what people would do, but dragons are more sensible than people. All the dragons of Benden Weyr know about Quidth, and not a single one of them has any interest in copying him."
"You don't know that for certain, Benden," G'dened threatened.
"Lessa does," F'lar reminded him.
"You can't deny," R'mart continued, "that your dragon is transgressing the traditions that our ancestors gave us. There has never been a dragon who wanted money, and there's a good reason for that!"
"And what is that good reason?" F'lar asked.
R'mart sputtered and slapped his hands on the table. "It's not important if we know the reason or not. All that matters is that –"
"All that matters," F'lar interrupted him, "is that we never have an original thought our whole lives long, because our ancestors thought of everything, and nothing ever took them by surprise. Right? You and I both know that's not true. You can make yourself a prisoner of the past if you want, R'mart, but new situations keep arising among us, and the past doesn't always have a perfect answer for the present. Compared to Thread falling out of pattern, or being attacked by certain dragonriders from the Eighth Pass, a dragon who collects coins isn't even worth worrying about! Now, can we get this meeting focused on actual problems that we're facing?"
R'mart scowled, but nodded, and the subject was not brought up again.
Several Turns went by. Quidth never outgrew his fascination with collecting marks, and the riders of Benden Weyr never got tired of giving him their worn-out currency. As the word about his odd hobby leaked out of the Weyr to the surrounding lands and people, some of those people played along. When the Lady Holder of Benden Hold had to visit the Weyr on business, she made a point of bringing at least one chipped or scratched-up coin and presenting it to the dragon. One of the carters who brought tithes to the Weyr would give Quidth a little something every time he came; he said it brought him good luck. The others scoffed at such a thought, but when those carters had to pass through Lemos Hold where a fever was raging, every one of them gave the dragon a little something for good luck. None of them got sick on that trip, and from that day forward, Quidth became the recepient of many, many small coins. Some of them weren't even worn out.
The little depression in his stone bed was no longer big enough to hold all of his treasures. F'ranc offered to get a bag or a box to hold them all, but Quidth liked the idea of keeping his coins in his bed. F'ranc's solution was to ask a traveling Minercraft journeyman to spend a few minutes enlarging the little depression. Now it was long enough and deep enough to hold a Lord Holder's ransom. Quidth was quite happy with this. He paid the Miner out of his own money, although that part made him slightly sad for a few days.
They still had to fight Thread, of course. Quidth was as effective as any brown in burning up Pern's ancient nemesis from the skies. One day, after the "all clear" signal was given, F'ranc and his dragon were among a handful who landed near a small Holder's cot. One strand of Thread had fallen past them and landed there, and they wanted to be sure that the ground crews had gotten it all.
The Thread had been well and truly charred by flame throwers and agenothree sprayers; that was the good news. The bad news was that the Holder was in a discussion with an agent of the Lord Holder, and it was not a happy conversation.
"You know what time of year it is, Bentler," the agent snapped. "Lord Raid wants his rent, and he wants it today. Either you pay, or you're Holdless." He held out his hand expectantly.
"You know I can't pay you today!" Bentler pleaded. "We go through this every Turn. I'll bring in my harvest in two sevendays, and then I can pay you everything. But I don't have it today!"
"Lord Raid is done with your excuses," the agent snarled. "All the Holders around you save some marks so they can pay their rent on time. You're the only one who can't remember when your payment is due."
"I know exactly when your payment is due," Bentler explained. "But my wife and all my children got sick at planting time, and I had to hire some workers to help in the fields until they got better. That used up all the marks that I was trying to save for my rent payment. I can't help it if my family gets sick, can I?"
"That's not my problem," the agent said airily, "and it's not Lord Raid's problem. Three days, Bentler! I'll be back in three days with guards and wagons to impound your belongings, and if you can't pay what you owe..." He whistled and made an "out" gesture with his thumb, then turned and marched away.
The Holder stood there, looking hopeless. F'ranc walked over to him. "How much do you owe?" he asked sympathetically.
"Twenty marks," Bentler sighed. "For all the money I'm likely to see in three days, I might as well owe him two thousand marks." He waved his hand around at his cothold and his lands. "This is good farmland, I've worked hard this Turn, and I've got a good harvest coming. If Raid would just wait a couple of sevendays, I could pay him everything! But..." His arm fell limply to his side. "I've enjoyed living and working here. I don't know what else I can do to support my family. The Weyr doesn't need any drudges, does it?"
"No, I'm sorry," F'ranc said, shaking his head. "We've got all that we need." He walked back to his dragon.
Is twenty marks a lot of money?
"It is if you need it and you don't have it," the rider told his dragon. "I know I've never had that much at one time. This kind of thing is sad, but the Weyr can't interfere in the workings of the Hold. Let's go home." They rode back to the Weyr in silence. Once they landed and got cleaned up, Quidth had an unusual request.
F'ranc, will you count my money for me?
F'ranc did a double-take. "I thought you knew, down to the last eighth-mark, exactly how much you have."
I do, but I want to be sure.
F'ranc counted out all the coins. It was hard with some of them; their inscriptions were worn almost completely off. When he was done, he pushed all the coins back into their place on the dragon's bed. "My friend, you have eighteen and seven-eighths marks. I didn't realize you had that much."
Eighteen and seven-eighths is very close to twenty marks, right?
"Yes, it..." F'ranc stopped. "Quidth, are you suggesting that you want to help that Holder?"
I want to know what money is good for. Paying some of it to that Miner gave me some indication of its value. Now, I want to know what it is like to give it away when I will reap no benefit from it.
"If that's what you want to do, then it's a noble idea," his rider nodded as he reached for his own money pouch. "It's very generous of you. I've got the rest right here. I'll have to limit my spending at the next Gather, but if I can save that man's land and I refuse to try, I won't be able to live with myself." He gathered all the coins into a leather sack, told his Wingleader where he was going, and the two of them made a quick trip back to the Holder's land.
Bentler was sitting outside his Hold with his wife, watching their children playing, when the arrival of the big brown dragon startled them. They all stood against the front wall, nervously watching as the rider slid down off his dragon and approached them.
"Is something wrong, brown rider?" the wife asked.
"Yes, there is," F'ranc nodded. "Someone's landlord is being unreasonable about his rent, and a hard-working Holder is about to become Holdless as a result. My dragon and I wanted to do something about that." He held out the sack. "Some of these coins are in rough shape, but they add up to exactly twenty marks. You can pay your debt when the agent comes back."
The Holder looked into the bag, then showed it to his wife. She began to weep. A tear ran down the man's face as well, and he fell to his knees. "Thank you, brown rider! Thank you! I can't tell you what this means to us."
F'ranc smiled. "Don't thank me. Thank my dragon. Most of this money is his."
Bentler went wide-eyed. "You mean that's the dragon who collects money?" He stood and slowly, hesitantly walked over to the big dragon. When he didn't dare get any closer, he looked up. "Thank you, dragon. You've saved my Hold and my family. I don't know how to repay you."
My name is Quidth.
Bentler looked shocked. "Quidth? I'll say good things about you to everyone I meet. And I promise I'll repay every coin when I bring in my harvest! I promise!"
That is not necessary. This is a gift, not a loan.
The Holder's wife was still weeping for joy. Her children gathered around her, concerned; she had to explain that she was crying because she was happy. Bentler embraced them all, then looked over his shoulder at F'ranc. "Thank you again. You've made such a difference. You've..." He broke off, embarrassed, and wiped away another tear.
F'ranc grinned at Quidth. "I think our work is done here. Shall we go home?"
Yes, and thank you.
"What are you thanking me for?"
I wanted to learn what money is good for. With your help, now I know.
"Does that mean that you're done collecting coins?"
Not at all. It still makes me happy to have them. But it also makes me happy to do something good with them. I will start my collection all over again, and we will find something else good to spend them on.
F'ranc smiled broadly and rubbed his dragon's eye ridge. "My friend, I think you understand money better than the richest Lord Holder. Let's go home."
The End