Which Rob allowed was true enough. There was one drudge whose sole job was to dust and oil the leather- bound Records, and check that no insects had burrowed into the hide pages. His mother had shown him some of the oldest ones, the ink still bright and who-knew-how-many-hundreds-of-Turns old.
Only when they had gone back up and out the way they had come in to the Weyrwoman's quarters did Robinton draw a sigh of relief. He did wonder why Falloner was venturing up here: did he do it because it was a way to annoy or get back at Carola for not liking him? Sneaking into her private quarters was a bit silly, Robinton thought, but he was glad he had had the chance to see the
Council Chamber. This was where the bronze riders would assemble before a Threadfall. But those Records ... Wouldn't they be needed then, too? And in much better condition than they were in now?
Moving quickly across the warm sands, Robinton expected to go back to the main living area of the Weyr, but Falloner beckoned him towards the top of the Bowl with a wicked grin on his face.
'Show you something not even many weyrbred know about,' he said. Casting a glance around to be sure that no one was looking in their direction, he ducked behind a large boulder. When Robinton hesitated, Falloner hauled him along by his sleeve.
Though there was still a good deal of spring daylight, the space was dimly lit – only showing a cleft in the cliffside through which Falloner disappeared. A moment later a light sprang up inside, and Robinton nervously gulped as he bravely stepped towards whatever new surprise Falloner had in store for him.
Falloner held a small glowbasket over his head, the glows still bright enough to make shadows on the walls of the narrow fissure.
'Don't talk loudly,' he whispered, his mouth close to Robinton's ear, 'because there's an echo and anyone near the Ground will hear it.'
Robinton nodded vigorously. He didn't want his mother to discover that he was doing something possibly forbidden, maybe even dangerous, at Benden Weyr. Falloner led him down the twisting passage. Anyone even two hands taller would have had to duck, and it was as well both boys were slender, because once or twice they'd had to suck in their stomachs to get past protrusions.
Then suddenly there was a dull light ahead and they came to an uneven crevice where they could stand erect and look directly out at the Hatching Ground.
'This is where we come to watch the eggs while they're hardening,' Falloner murmured. 'I even got out there and touched the eggs last time we had a clutch.'
'You did?' Robinton was truly impressed by Falloner's daring.
'Did you get caught?' Would that be one of the reasons the Weyrwoman didn't like him?
'Naw,' Falloner said, flicking his fingers in dismissal.
'What do eggs feel like?' Robinton couldn't resist asking.
'Sort of rubbery at first ...'
'At first?' Robinton was shocked.
'Yeah, they get harder every day.' Falloner shrugged. 'More fun checking every day or so. They get warmer, and then the shells begin to feel thin under your hand. The dragonet eats the stuff around it in its shell, you see, while it's growing strong enough to hatch. You ever see a wherry egg when the chick is only half-made?' Robinton hadn't, but he nodded anyway. Lorra had once told him that some of the poultry eggs did that when they weren't used quickly enough. 'Same thing. That's why dragonets come out of their shells starving to death.'
'But they don't ever die. Do they?'
'S'loner says some do, but I haven't seen any eggs that didn't hatch.' There was the implication of long experience in his tone.
'Not that we have that many in a clutch.' Falloner sighed. 'We'll get more, though, nearer to the next Pass.'
'We will have one, then?'
'Sum, we will. There's been Long Intervals before. You're Harper Hall; you should know that.'
'Sure,' Robinton agreed hastily. He did know that – sort of. But he was going to check up on it once he got back to the Hall. 'But none,' he added as he suddenly remembered, 'when there weren't all six Weyrs waiting for the next Fall.'
Falloner was thoughtful. 'We'll be all right,' he said with more conviction than his expression implied. 'We keep replacing the old ones who die off. Benden's at full fighting strength.'
'But there's only Benden,' Robinton whispered as a sudden pang of fear shot through him.
'Benden will be more than enough,' Falloner said proudly, and then covered his mouth with one hand, for he had spoken more loudly in his surety and his words echoed across the empty Hatching Ground. 'C'mon, let's get out of here. I'll show you the barracks and have you meet some of my friends.'
They carefully retraced their steps and Falloner hid the glow-basket under a protrusion. Then the weyrbred lad took to his heels and raced towards the right-hand side of the Bowl, beyond the Lower Caverns, where there was a great deal of talking and laughing and general noise. As they flashed by, Rob caught a glimpse of his mother talking to some of the old aunties and uncles at one of the tables. Well, that duty would be over, so he wouldn't have to
nod and smile at the oldsters. The look of them, not to mention sometimes their smell, distressed him. People shouldn't get that old. When harpers could no longer work, they went back to their birthplaces or down to the warmer, southern holds.
The weyrling barracks were empty, since members of the last clutch had long since graduated to individual weyrs, but the place looked in good order for the next Hatching. Falloner knew a back way out of the barracks complex, too, which took them into a broad corridor that he said led to the supply caves.
'There're lots of them,' he said proudly. 'Benden, Lemos and Bitra still tithe properly every year, and the Telgar and Keroon Lord Holders tell us where the dragons can hunt, culling the herd-beasts for them.'
Through other narrow aisles, Falloner led Robinton to the living quarters, showed him the alcove he had shared with three other lads, and then the bathing area: the Weyr's main bath, steam rising from the water, was big enough to swim in, Rob thought enviously.
Beyond, Falloner said, were more storage rooms.
'And a maze of old hallways and too many locked rooms. I'll get in to see them when I'm Weyrleader.' He chuckled.
Over his laugh, they heard the muted tones of an enthusiastically rung bell.
'Supper!' And Falloner wasted no time leading Robinton back to the Lower Cavern.
'Are all the Weyrs the same?'
'Well, I've only been to Telgar once, and they've got the same sort of places, like a Hatching Ground and a queen's weyr and Records Hall and stuff like that. Haven't you ever been up to Fort Weyr?'
'You're not allowed,' Robinton said cautiously, with a sideways glance at his companion.
Falloner laughed. 'Since when did that keep someone from doing something? I'll bet it's visited a lot.'
'Well, actually, I think it is, but ...'
Falloner put a finger over his lips and winked. 'No two Weyrs are laid out quite the same, but' – and he gave a shrug – 'you've been in one, you'll find your way around Fort after this.'
'I know, and thanks, Fal.'
'Sure thing, Rob.'
They swung into the Lower Cavern then. His mother was standing on the slightly raised platform where a long table had been set up at right-angles to the rest of the dining area. There was another dais, too, with music stands, stools and chairs; that was where they' d perform.
'How many players does the Weyr have?' Rob asked, counting up to fourteen places.
'We've got one good gitarist, C'gan, one decent fiddler, and the usual pipers and a drummer, though you're much better than he is.'
Rob considered this and then noticed that the top table was filling up with riders, and not all bronze to judge by the shoulder knots they wore on their Gather shirts.
His mother, seeing him, made a gesture to indicate that he could stay in Falloner's company. He was delighted. The weyrfolk, summoned to the dining area by the bell, took whatever seat they fancied. Falloner, hauling on Rob's sleeve, took him to a table occupied by six boys more or less Falloner's age. He waved vigorously and held up two fingers – in time to prevent some smaller lads from taking the vacant chairs.
