beast in the beasthold, pin a fly to the wall with his dagger at a hundred paces, survive the best tricks of heavier lads on the wrestling mats, and he was totally without conscience. He possessed a lively wit, however, as well as an inventive mind for excuses. He was the personification of contrariness, and yet Robinton liked him, however often the boy was up before him for disciplinary action. He had had a good treble, lost when he hit puberty, and now his best musical skill was drumming: either in the Tower, where he excelled, or on any surface which had any resonance. He drummed with his fingers -one of his dorm-mates said he drummed with his toes at night against the bedstead – with sticks, and even upon occasion in the dining hall, with the thigh-bones of a fowl.
'It's about Trailer,' Sebell said one evening as Robinton was relaxing after dinner.
'Ohhh,' Robinton groaned. 'What's he done this time?' He had run out of any useful disciplines to curb the lad.
'I was thinking, Master, that he might do better training with Nip,' Sebell said, a sly smile on his face as he watched Robinton's reaction to the suggestion. 'It seems to me that every time Nip reports in he looks more gaunt and tired. He needs someone else -if only to run back here with messages for you.' When he saw that Robinton was considering the notion he added, 'It's not as if anyone will ever control Traller, but all that energy could be useful to Nip.'
'I think you've hit on a marvellous future for that young man, Sebell. I can't imagine why I didn't think of it myself.'
Sebell chuckled. 'You do have one or two other matters to worry about.'
Robinton agreed vehemently and went back to solving those of the most immediate concern – such as reassigning harpers for the next turn's teaching duties.
But he was ready with Sebell's suggestion the next time Nip eased himself into the Harper's study, followed closely enough by Sebell with food and drink for the man.
'I've someone you might like to train, Nip,' Robinton said.
'Huh?' Nip scowled. 'I travel faster alone. And safer. Ah, thanks, Sebell, you're remarkable in anticipation of my needs.' He bit into a meat roll and chewed while Robinton went on.
'I think you must at least assess young Traller as a possible apprentice,' Robinton said firmly.
'Oh, well, if you put it like that, I'll give him a going-over then.'
'It's you or back to Keroon for him, because we can't use his ... special ... talents as a harper, that's very obvious. Weren't you saying that you can only be in one place at a time? If I need an assistant, so do you.'
Nip gave him complete attention. 'Sebell's no lad ...' He shook his head. 'I'd hate to put someone in danger, and it's dangerous up there in Fax's.'
'More reason than ever for you to have an ... assistant,' Sebell remarked pointedly.
Nip made a noise in his throat. 'You mean 'shadow', don't you?' he asked, jerking his thumb towards Sebell who grinned back, quite willing to make the criticism into a compliment.
Robinton blinked and grinned, then laughed out loud, for there was a faint resemblance – the colour and set of their eyes, the same dark hair almost to the whirls at the crown, and strong features, chin and nose – that spoke of their distant Blood relationship.
Sebell was now as tall as the MasterHarper and, over the turns, had picked up some of Robinton's mannerisms as well. Their eyes met and they grinned with perfect understanding and mutual respect.
'He's outside,' Sebell said, indicating the hallway. 'I found him on the drum Tower stairwell, trying to see who was making such a late-night entrance.'
'Well, now, that sounds promising,' said Nip, and himself went to invite Traller into the room. The two stood regarding each other as warily as strange canines. 'If you'll pardon us, Robinton, Sebell,' Nip said after a long pause and, taking Trailer by the shoulder, he pushed the lad ahead of him out of the door.
The next morning Nip told Robinton to rename the boy 'Tuck' and to designate him as an apprentice on special assignment.
'I told you he was a natural,' Robinton said somewhat smugly.
Nip snorted. 'He will be when I get through with him.' Then he grinned in his irrepressible fashion. 'He'll be good, too. Thanks, Rob. Oh, and he's coming with me. I've got two runner-beasts ready and willing. Like any well- brought-up' – Nip smiled at that description being applied to Tuck – 'Keroonian, he rides like a leech.' He paused again at the door. 'And he runs like the wind.'
Nip took turns with Tuck to deliver reports over the next two turns.
Then one night Tuck appeared unexpectedly late, grinning with delight when he had startled Robinton from reading Term reports on the current apprentices.
'Nip says that there's something odd going on at Ruatha Hold.'
'Oh?' And Robinton was glad to find some distraction from the reports. He didn't agree with some of them, and it always annoyed him when any of his favourite 'sons' did not measure up to the high standards he wanted them to achieve.
'Well, it seems that it's not prospering. There've been four stewards, and each one has failed to extract any profit from the Hold.' Tuck grinned. 'It's as if every attempt fails, some way or another. And Fax's not known to be pleased with any sort of failure.'
'Hmmm. That's interesting. A kind of subtle rebellion?'
Tuck gave the sort of snort that Nip affected. 'With that bunch of drudges? They're the most useless load of incompetents I've seen. And since I've been north' – he gestured with a thumb – 'I've seen every sort of way to avoid hard work that's been invented. And then some. The only jobs which get done in a halfway decent fashion are helped along by an overseer with a whip standing over the workers. Fax has only so many men and too many holdings.' He grinned broadly. 'Though his supply of metal-knotted whips seems inexhaustible.'
''One hold, one holder' is a good adage to remember,' Robinton said sententiously.
'To be sure.' Tuck glided past that. 'Nip specially said to tell you about Ruatha.'
'What could be happening there?' Robinton asked, more or less rhetorically. 'If there is no one able to foment trouble, is it trouble, or pure carelessness on the stewards' parts?'
Tuck shrugged his shoulders. He had grown into a wiry man, not much taller than his companion. He might practise being nondescript, but he hadn't quite the knack Nip had and could never disguise the bright, interested gaze of his dark eyes.
'But there's something there. Sort of--' He tilted his hand sideways in a gesture he had obviously learned from close association with Nip. 'A general uneasiness. Like something watching all the time. Only who'd watch? And what are they watching?'
'I should take a--'
'No, you shouldn't.' Tuck held up a hand. 'Harper Blue is a target for any of Fax's soldiery. I don't say the best is at Ruatha, but you're not to risk your neck ... Master Robinton.' He added the title as a respectful afterthought. 'Bargen's increased his activities in High Reaches, by the way, now that he has more folk in the Weyr.'
'He's being careful, isn't he?'
'Bargen's so careful he's womanish,' Tuck said with disgust. Then he sighed. 'Of course, he wants to stay alive long enough to take High Reaches Hold back. So no one really minds when he sends them out to do what he plans. And he's pretty good at making trouble.'
'Without embroiling others?'
'They'd rather do something, Master Robinton, than nothing,' Tuck said. 'They've got some pride left, you know.'
Robinton nodded.
'Isn't the Benden clutch about to hatch?' Tuck asked.
'Soon. Jora's dead.' Robinton had had the details from a letter sent to Master Oldive by Lord Raid's journeyman healer, who had been brought by R'gul to try to keep the Weyrwoman alive.
Remembering how Jora had gorged herself at the Impression Feast – and that had been turns ago now – he had no trouble believing that the woman had died of overeating. The healer had been appalled at the state she was in and had agreed that she should be interred between.
'I heard the drums, but did I hear correctly that the queen produced a gold egg?' Tuck cocked his head hopefully and Robinton nodded. 'That's pulling up pretty close, isn't it?' Robinton nodded again, and Tuck asked, 'You'll be going to the Impression?'
'I hope to.' Robinton wasn't sure that any invitations were going out from the Weyr, but that didn't mean that a
