The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “But the gates weren’t opened,” N’ton said.

  “Not for lack of trying,” Pinch said.

  “One broke the glass and the door to the hold and Rosheen flattened him with her iron skillet,” Tagetarl said. His arm still felt the repercussion.

  “And there’s the matter of the drugged wine, too,” Pinch added.

  “Drugged wine?” Jaxom repeated.

  “So you netted those entering the Hall?” N’ton asked.

  “Only after they’d battered down the doors,” Pinch replied, eyes wide with injured innocence.

  “Hey, the fire-lizards are having all the fun!” someone shouted from the crowd ranged about the entrance of the Print Hall.

  Since it was obvious that the fire-lizards were also preventing the crowd getting near enough to have a go at the captives, Jaxom turned to Ruth, patting the white shoulder. “Do dismiss them, Ruth, with our thanks. They’ve performed admirably.”

  Ruth raised his head and emitted an unusual warble. Not only did it mute the noise of the crowd but also the fire-lizards departed in one final dramatic swoop, low enough to make the tallest onlookers duck. Gesturing to his friends to accompany him, Jaxom strode forward and the crowd parted to allow them to reach the battered doors on the cobbles, conversations dying down now that someone was taking charge.

  “Lower the net!” Jaxom ordered and four of Pinch’s assistants jumped to obey.

  “Belay that!” cried a voice from the right-hand side of the crowd and a big man, capped as a fisherman and showing a Master’s knot, stood apart. “If you leave ’em in the net, Lord Jaxom, we can just sling the whole lot of ’em aft of my ship and I’ll tow ’em out to the deep water! Save a lot of trouble!”

  The crowd roared its approval of such rough justice.

  “Ah, but, Captain, I am here,” Jaxom said and his expression was one of rueful regret, “and so is Weyrleader N’ton and the MasterPrinter. So we are obliged to follow established procedures.”

  “Which are?” the captain demanded, not pleased with the rejection.

  “According to the Charter,” and Jaxom swung slowly around to the audience, his eyes seeming to touch everyone in the front ranks, “by which we have been well governed for the past twenty-five hundred Turns, a Lord Holder, a Weyrleader, and a Master of any Craft may hold a trial.”

  “Hold it then!” roared the captain and the crowd roared back an affirmative.

  “You can’t do that!” one of the captives shouted, struggling in the net. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  A lump hammer dropped free of the mesh and then Tagetarl saw that it was not the only tool that had tumbled to the ground.

  The captain threw back his head to roar with laughter. “Only because you didn’t get the chance!”

  The crowd howled with delight.

  “Would you prefer the captain’s justice?” Jaxom demanded.

  “That isn’t justice!” cried a woman’s voice. “Stop grabbing me!” she added angrily to someone beside her in the net. “You’ve no right to do this to us.”

  Another heavy object dropped ringingly to the cobbles.

  “Oh, clear all that hardware away, Pinch, and drop the net,” Jaxom said, utterly disgusted with his attempt to make this an orderly procedure. “Let’s see what sort of catch you’ve made. Black-faced iron fins? Did you get the whole school of ’em? D’you know the captain, Tag?” he asked in a quick aside.

  “Captain Venabil,” Tagetarl replied. “He’s well known but no one would dare board his ship without permission.”

  The net came down hard enough to rattle everyone in it, provoking a new spate of cries, curses, and pained exclamations. The captives were then as unceremoniously dumped out of the thick mesh as a load of fish: some sprawled facedown, others on all fours, groggy after their time in the swaying net.

  “All right there.” It was Pinch who took charge. “Stand up! Make a line!” Roughly, he pulled one man up and signaled for his assistants to get the rest to their feet. “Search ’em, too.”

  While that was being done, and knives, chisels, matches, and long spikes were added to the pile, he walked up and down the uneven line that was finally formed by the captives.

  “Nothing else on them?” N’ton asked, remembering Fort Hold and the conspicuous absence of any personal identification.

  “Clothes?” someone from the crowd suggested, laughing raucously.

  “A bit worn, some of ’em,” another man replied derisively.

  “What a sorry bunch!” Captain Venabil said, fists thrust against his hips, shaking his head. “It’s plain as the nose on my face this lot were up to no good sneaking into the Print Hall, faces blackened and all. Not to mention pulling the doors down and heaving torches about. Wide Bay’s not a wild hold and we don’t want such louts hanging about. What’s this established procedure of yours, Lord Jaxom? I’d like to get back to my ship before dawn.”

  Jaxom accorded him a little bow.

  “Shouldn’t we send for Lord Kashman?” someone shouted from the crowd. “He’s our Holder and he’s supposed to deal with peace-breakers, thieves, burglars, and such.”

  “For general Hold matters,” Pinch said quickly. “This is a Harper Hall matter. However, if any of you …” and he addressed the captives, “is from this Hold you may step forward and I’m sure Lord Kashman will keep you comfortably enough.”

  He was interrupted by a derisive snort and the comment from the crowd that the net was more comfortable than where offenders of the peace were held at Keroon Hold.

  “As I was saying,” Pinch continued with a faint grin, “if you are of this hold, you can be transferred to the Hold to await Lord Kashman’s judgment.”

  None of the captives claimed that right.

  “Name, hold, hall, and rank, if any,” N’ton said, stepping with authority beside Pinch.

  There was no response and N’ton shrugged.

  “Then, since they have been caught in an illegal entry and in the willful destruction of an authorized Crafthall, Master Tagetarl, Master Mekelroy, how will you deal with them?”

  Surprised by the anger and the sense of violation that suddenly fueled him, Tagetarl surged to Pinch’s side, glaring at the captives. The false wineman he had already recognized by the ripped trousers—which hadn’t fit properly even before he’d been bounced about in a net—but he could not find Scar-face or the woman sketched by Pinch after his first foray to the suspected Abominators’ hill camp. Their absence from this line added worry to Tagetarl’s very mixed emotions.

  “Why did you wish to damage this Hall?” he demanded in a harsh voice, his fury palpable enough to make those captives nearest him recoil uncertainly. “WHY?” He jammed his fists against his side to rein in the urge to tear the truth out of those who would have destroyed what he had so painstakingly built. He took one more step.

  “Lies!” Hands defensively raised, the man directly in front of him ducked back. “We have to destroy the lies!”

  “What lies?” Tagetarl demanded, having expected no answer, certainly not this one.

  “The lies Harpers are printing. Spreading all over Pern!” the man cried, gesturing wildly toward the Hall, to the wall where finished books were shelved.

  “What’s this about lies?” demanded Captain Venabil, turning to Tagetarl for an answer.

  “I don’t print lies!” Tagetarl cried, loudly.

  “But you print books. You use the Abomination’s vile methods. You distribute abominations!”

  Captain Venabil, big fist raised, leaped toward the speaker who cowered away.

  “Ha! Abomination, huh? These’re Abominators!” He turned, eyes flaring with disgust, toward the crowd. “Nothing but a pack of cowardly Abominators, sneaking around in the night to destroy what they haven’t the wit to appreciate.”

  “We must stop the lies. We must keep Pern pure!” cried a woman farther down the line of captives. “We have to keep Pern free of abominations.”

  “Of all the d
aft ideas!” Captain Venabil’s contempt was echoed vociferously by many of the onlookers. “Pern needs all the help it can get right now!”

  “Where would we’ve been if Aivas hadn’t warned us of the Fireball Flood?” a man in the crowd demanded loud enough to be heard, waving his fist at the captives. “Captain’s got the right idea. Drown ’em!”

  Shouts of “drown ’em” quickly became a chant, rising in ominous volume!

  “Back in the net with them! Take the school back to the sea.” “That’d pollute our harbor!”

  Ruth bugled loud enough to deafen those in the court. Outside, Lioth answered him and a muttering silence returned to those in the Hall court.

  “You are Abominators?” Jaxom said in an oddly controlled voice. His eyes were on one of the taller captives who stared unseeingly ahead of him.

  “We are!” the woman cried defiantly, just as the wineman shouted, “We admit nothing!”

  “I think in this case,” Captain Venabil said in a wry tone that carried to the edges of the crowd, “I’ll believe the female.”

  “They’re all together, ain’t they?” asked the fist-waver. “All pulling the doors down, trying to fire the sheds.”

  “Yes, firing the sheds.” A thin, stoop-shouldered man pushed through the crowd, waving wildly at the sheds and the back of the court. “You could’ve burned my hold, too! I’m Colmin, Journeyman weaver, and all my winter work’s in the loft back there. I use only traditional patterns and you could have ruined me! Ruined me!”

  “We don’t like arsonists in Wide Bay neither,” a woman shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth to be sure she was heard. “It’s your say, Harpers! It’s your Hall they attacked.”

  “Known Abominators require different handling,” Pinch cried and turned to face Jaxom and N’ton. “Or at least being isolated,” he added in a low voice.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Captain Venabil said and then frowned. “What d’you mean, Harper Mekelroy?”

  The onlookers hushed to listen for Pinch’s answer.

  “In offenses caused by those admitting to be Abominators, the Council recommends exile!”

  It took another blast from Ruth and Lioth to still the clamor that was raised at that announcement.

  “You can’t exile us,” the wineman cried, stepping out of line and trying to seize Pinch. He was instantly pinned by two of Pinch’s assistants who, judging by the roughness with which they held him, had been just waiting for an opportunity.

  “Why not?” Jaxom asked.

  “All the islands were drowned.”

  “Oh,” N’ton said in a quiet voice, “I think we can find a suitable one.”

  “We can’t be exiled!” “We’re saving Pern!” “That’s unfair.”

  The captives broke from their sullen stance, dashing frantically about the court, looking for some way to escape or force their way past those blocking the gateway. The crowd was only too happy to recapture them. There were calls for rope to tie them, cloth to gag the screamers.

  “So where’re all these established procedures of yours, Lord Jaxom?” Captain Venabil demanded, heaving from his exertions.

  “A Lord Holder, a Weyrleader, and a MasterCraftsman may enforce any Council decree,” Jaxom said. “It is in the Charter, if anyone cares to check. We must do so before sufficient witnesses.”

  “WE WITNESS.” “WITNESSED!” “WE WERE HERE!” “DROWNING’S EASIER. QUICKER!” “EXILE ’EM!” “AWAY WITH THEM!”

  Raising his arms, Jaxom faced the crowd. “Those of you who do not care to be witnesses to the judgment of this incident may step back without prejudice.”

  Later Tagetarl was to remember that no one stepped away.

  “Then the decree of the Council will be enforced. Weyrleader N’ton, you may send for assistance,” the Lord Holder of Ruatha said formally.

  “D’you just drop ’em off?” Captain Venabil asked, his expression severe as if stunned by the sentence of exile.

  “They are not dropped,” N’ton said, stressing the last word, his eyes hinting an inner conflict kept under stern control. “Sufficient food, supplies—” he paused briefly, “and water are provided to give them time to become established.”

  “But—but—”

  N’ton stared Venabil quiet. “I,” and he jerked a thumb at his chest, “am the only one who will know which island. And there are still many, many islands in both the Eastern and the Ring seas that can—isolate those who can be so destructive.”

  “Better than they deserve, Weyrleader. Better than they deserve!” Captain Venabil stepped back, giving all three men a respectful bow. Decisions involving the lives of others were never easy to make.

  The crowd had quieted down from its previous high pitch though some low conversations were begun. Pinch sent two of his men to bring the unconscious man from the cellar, tying his hands behind his back before he was set with the other Abominators, placed in a rough line on the broken Hall doors.

  Seeing Rosheen shivering, Tagetarl put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to him.

  “It is legal, you know,” he whispered to her.

  “I know. I’ve read the Charter. I just never thought we’d have to invoke it.”

  “It’s perhaps as well to isolate them,” Tagetarl murmured to her. Angry as he was, and he had been ready to batter the men, he was not a violent man. “They could escape from the mines and come back and try again. I think that I want to know they can’t get to us—even if, at a later date, we decide to retrieve them.”

  She clung to him, shaking her head. He didn’t tell her that two important members of the Abominator group Pinch had been watching out for were not in those captured tonight: Scar-face and the awkward-looking holdless woman from Tillek. That meant that not all those who held Aivas an Abomination had been removed from hall and hold.

  The dragons were seen in the sky, their eyes sparkling in serene whirls as they hovered above the court: a half wing of them. From somewhere, fire-lizards did sky-pirouettes around them, calling in an oddly melodious chorus.

  “They’ll land on the wharf,” N’ton said and pointed in that direction.

  It was only the next road over and there were plenty of strong men and women to carry the Abominators despite their writhing and struggling and the gagged pleas to be released. Ruth followed, perching on a bollard while the exiles were hauled up on the dragons, and tied alongside the sacks that were to be left with them.

  Then N’ton vaulted to his dragon’s back. “Riders, take your destination from Lioth!” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by all watching. He lifted his arm, visible in the wharf lights, and gave the signal to leap skyward.

  Tagetarl thought he had never seen a more impressive sight: twelve dragons leaping into the night, the fairs of fire-lizards escorting them and disappearing at the same moment.

  In an unnaturally quiet way, those who had witnessed the night’s incredible event left the wharf side or climbed aboard the ships anchored there for the night.

  “It was what had to be done, Lord Jaxom, Master Tagetarl,” said Captain Venabil in a low but firm voice. He shook their hands and then made his way down the wharf.

  “Yes, it was what had to be done,” Pinch said as they all turned to go back to the Hall.

  Then Pinch dropped back to Jaxom who was walking more slowly, his head bent.

  “Dorse was among them, wasn’t he, Jaxom?” he asked so softly only Jaxom could hear. Jaxom flashed him the most quelling stare the Harper had received since he’d been an apprentice.

  “No hold, no hall,” Jaxom finally replied. “Even if he was my milk-brother, what else could I do?”

  “I’ve been trailing him, Jaxom,” Pinch murmured, “a long time.”

  “You have. I haven’t.”

  “I know,” and there was great compassion in the Harper’s voice.

  “Was he in this from the beginning?”

  Pinch shrugged. “We don’t even know when the Abominators were
revived to plague us. Not all of those participating in these—events—are interested in keeping Pern pure or traditional. I’ve no doubt some of these people were motivated by blind adherence to what their fathers or mothers taught. I recognize some as hill folk who never took kindly to teachering: like the woodsy ones down in Southern Boll, or the mountain holds in upper Telgar and Lemos, or the desert nomads in Igen. Any and all of them simply fear change. They might even resent losing the Red Star as a permanent problem on which to blame ‘things that go wrong.’ Unfortunately, two of the people that I suspect have been churning up ill feelings against healers, and now the Print Hall’s new technology, aren’t among those in tonight’s catch.” He quickened his pace and fell in step with Tagetarl, leaving Jaxom to his own somber stride. “It would be wise, MasterPrinter, to issue a concise statement of what happened here tonight. The Runners can see that the truth is circulated.”

  A truth that would not name the milk-brother of Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold as one of the vandals who had been exiled that night.

  A handful of men and women stood by the open outer gates of the Hall. Ruth could be seen quietly awaiting the return of his rider.

  “If you need some help tonight, or tomorrow, Master Tagetarl,” began one of the men stepping forward, “we’d be willing to do repairs.”

  Tagetarl thanked them, aware that the doors to the Print Hall would have to be replaced. Steel would have reassured him but he didn’t have enough marks and he doubted the Smithcrafthall had the time.

  “If one of you is a carpenter …”

  “Five of us are, Master Tagetarl, the reason we bother you right now.”

  “I am extremely grateful. Come when you can in the morning.”

  He and the others had no sooner walked away than two fire-lizards whisked out of the night, landing on the shoulders of Rosheen and Pinch.

  Jaxom walked straight toward his dragon and vaulted to his back. Tagetarl lifted his arm in farewell but he didn’t think the Lord Holder saw him. In silence Pinch and Tagetarl closed the gates. Then Pinch made his way to the loft where undoubtedly his assistants had taken themselves. Tagetarl and Rosheen turned to the right and the steps up to their hold.