Moreta - Dragonlady of Pern

CHAPTER IV

«WELL?»

Capiam raised his head from the pillow he had made of his arms on the small wooden table in the dispensary. Fatigue and the tremendous strain disoriented him and at first he couldn't identify the figure standing imperiously in front of him.

«Well, Masterhealer? You said you would return immediately to bring me your conclusions. That was several hours ago. Now I find you sleeping.»

The testy voice and overbearing manner belonged to Lord Ratoshigan. Behind him, just outside the door, was the tall figure of the Weyrleader who had conveyed Capiam and Lord Ratoshigan from Ista's Gather to Southern Boll.

«I sat down only for a moment, Lord Ratoshigan,» Capiam lifted his hand in a gesture of dismay, «to organize my notes.»

«Well?» The third prompting was a bark of unequivocal displeasure. «What is your diagnosis of these …» Ratoshigan did not say «malingerers» but the implication would have been plain enough even if the anxious infirmarian had not repeatedly told Capiam that Lord Ratoshigan regarded any man as a malingerer who took his bread and protection but did not deliver a fair day's work in return.

«They are very ill, Lord Ratoshigan.»

«They seemed well enough when I left for Ista! They're not wasted or scored.» Ratoshigan rocked from heel to toe, a thin man with a long thin, bony face, pinched nostrils above a thin, pinch-lipped mouth and hard small eyes in dry sockets. Capiam thought the Lord Holder looked considerably more unwell than the men dying in the infirmary beds. «Two have died of whatever it is that afflicts them,» Capiam said slowly, reluctant to utter the terrifying conclusion that he had reached before exhaustion had overcome him.

«Dead? Two? And you don't know what ailed them?» Out of the corner of his eye, Capiam noticed that Sh'gall had stepped back from the doorway at the mention of death. The Weyrleader was not a man who tolerated injury or illness, having managed to avoid both.

«No, I don't know precisely what ails them. The symptoms, a fever, headache, lack of appetite, the dry hacking cough-are unusually severe and do not respond to any of the commonly effective treatments.»

«But you must know. You are the Masterhealer!»

«Rank does not confer total knowledge of my Craft.» Capiam had been keeping his voice low, out of deference to the exhausted healers sleeping in the next room, but Ratoshigan exercised no such courtesy and his voice had been rising with his sense of indignation. Capiam rose and walked around the table, Ratoshigan giving way before him, backing out into the close night. «There is much we have forgotten through disuse.» Capiam sighed, filled with a weary despair. He ought not to have allowed himself to sleep. There was so much to be done. «These deaths are but the beginning, Lord Ratoshigan. An epidemic is loose on Pern.»

«Is that why you and Talpan had that animal killed?» Sh'gall spoke for the first time, angry surprise in his voice.

«Epidemic?» Ratoshigan waved Sh'gall to silence. «Epidemic! What are you saying, man? Just a few sick,»

«Not a few, Lord Ratoshigan.» Capiam pulled his shoulders back and leaned against the cool stucco wall behind him. «Two days ago I was urgently called to Igen Sea Hold. Forty were dead, including three of the sailors who had rescued that animal from the sea. Far better that they had left it on its tree trunk!»

«Forty dead?» Ratoshigan was incredulous, and Sh'gall stepped farther back from the infirmary.

«More are falling ill at the Sea Hold and in the nearby mountain hold whose men had come down to see the incredible seagoing feline!»

«Then why was it brought to Ista Gather?» The Lord Holder was outraged now.

«To be seen,» Capiam said bitterly. «Before the illnesses started, it was taken from the Sea Hold to Keroon for the Herdmaster to identify. I was doing what I could to assist the Sea Hold healers when a drum message summoned me to Keroon. Herdmaster Sufur had people and animals sickening rapidly and curiously. The illness followed the same course as that at Igen Sea Hold. Another drum message, and I was conveyed by brown dragon to Telgar. The sickness is there, too, brought back from Keroon by two holders who were buying runnerstock. All the beasts were dead, and so were the holders and twenty others. I cannot estimate how many hundreds of people have been infected by the merest contact with those so contagious. Those of us who live to tell the Harper will thank Talpan's quick wits,» Capiam looked severely at Sh'gall, «that he linked the journey of the feline to the spread of the disease.»

«But that animal was the picture of health!» Sh'gall protested.

«It was.» Capiam spoke with dry humor. «It seemed immune to the disease it brought to Igen, Keroon, Telgar, and Ista!»

Sh'gall defensively crossed his arms over his chest. «How could a caged animal spread disease?» Ratoshigan demanded, his thin nostrils flaring.

«It wasn't caged at Igen, nor on the ship when it was weak from thirst and its voyage. At Keroon, Master Sufur kept it in a run when he was trying to identify it. It had ample opportunity to infect people and plenty of time.» Capiam despaired as he thought of how much time and opportunity. The healers would never be able to trace all the people who had seen the rarity, touched its tawny coat, and returned to their holds, incubating the disease.

«But … but … I just received a shipload of valuable runners from Keroon!»

Capiam sighed. «I know, Lord Ratoshigan. Master Quitrin informed me that the dead men worked in the beasthold. He's also had an urgent message of illness from the hold at which the men and the beasts halted overnight on the way from the coast.»

Ratoshigan and Sh'gall at last began to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

«We're in the middle of a Pass!» Sh'gall said.

«This virus is as indifferent to us as Thread is,» Capiam said.

«You have all those Records in your Crafthall. Search them! You have only to search properly!» Sh'gall had never had an unfruitful Search, had he? thought Capiam, and suppressed his errant sense of humor. One day, though, he meant to record the various and sundry ways in which men and women reacted to disaster. If he survived it!

«An exhaustive search was initiated as soon as I saw the reports on the Igen Sea Hold death toll. Here is what you must do. Lord Ratoshigan.»

«What I must do?» The Lord Holder drew himself up.

«Yes, Lord Ratoshigan, what you must do. You came to seek my diagnosis. I have diagnosed an epidemic. As Masterhealer of Pern, I have authority over Hold, Hall, and Weyr in these circumstances.» He glanced at Sh'gall to be sure the Weyrleader was listening, too. «I hereby order you to announce by drum that a quarantine exists on this Hold and the one your beasthandlers used on the way from the coast. No one is to come or go from the Hold proper. There is to be no travel anywhere in your Hold, no congregating.»

«But they must gather fruit and,»

«You will gather the sick, human and animal, and arrange for their care. Master Quitrin and I have discussed empiric treatments since homeopathic remedies have proved ineffectual. Inform your Warder and your ladies to prepare your Hall for the sick,»

«My Hall?» Ratoshigan was aghast at the idea.

«And you will clear the new beastholds of animals to relieve the crowding in your dormitories.»

«I knew you'd bring that subject up!» Ratoshigan was nearly spitting with rage.

«To your sorrow, you will find that the healers' past objections have validity!» Capiam vented his pent-up anxieties and fears by shouting down Ratoshigan's objections. «You will isolate the sick and care for them, which is your duty as Lord Holder! Or come the end of the Pass, you'll find you hold nothing!»

The passion with which Capiam spoke reduced Lord Ratoshigan to silence. Then Capiam turned on Sh'gall.

«Weyrleader, convey me to Fort Hold. It is imperative that I return to my Hall as quickly as possible. You will wish to waste no time alerting your Weyr.»

Sh'gall hesitated, but it was not to speak to his dragon.

«Weyrleader!»

Sh'gall swallowed. «Did you touch that animal?»

«No, I did not. Talpan warned me.» Out of the corner of his eye, Capiam saw Ratoshigan recoil.

«You cannot leave here, Master Capiam,» Ratoshigan cried, skittering fearfully to grab his hand. «I touched that animal. I might die, too.»

«So you might. You went to Ista Gather to poke and prod a caged creature that has exacted an unexpected revenge for cruelty.»

Sh'gall and Ratoshigan stared at the usually tactful Masterhealer.

«Come, Sh'gall, no time is to be wasted. You'll want to isolate those riders who attended Ista Gather, especially those who might have been close to the beast.»

«But what shall I do, Master Capiam, what shall I do?»

«What I told you to do. You'll know in two or three days if you've caught the sickness. So I recommend that you order your Hold as quickly as possible.»

Capiam gestured Sh'gall to lead the way to the courtyard where the bronze dragon was waiting. The great glowing eyes of Kadith guided the two men to his side in the predawn darkness.

«Dragons!» Sh'gall halted abruptly. «Do dragons get it?»

«Talpan said not. Believe me, Weyrleader, it was his primary concern.»

«You're positive?»

«Talpan was. No whers, watchwhers, or wherries have been affected though individuals of all those species had contact with the feline at Igen Sea Hold or Keroon Beasthold. Runners are seriously affected but not herdbeasts or the indigenous whers and wherries. Since dragons are related …»

«Not to wherries!»

Capiam did not bother to disagree, though in his Craft the kinship was tacitly acknowledged.

«The dragon that took the feline from Igen to Keroon has not become ill, and he conveyed it over ten days ago.»

Sh'gall looked dubious but he gestured for them to proceed to Kadith.

The bronze dragon had lowered his forequarters for his rider and the healer to mount. Riding dragonback was one of the most enjoyable prerogatives of Capiam's Mastery, though he tried not to presume on that privilege. Gratefully he settled himself behind Sh'gall. He had no compunctions about drafting Sh'gall and Kadith to convey him to his Hall in this extreme emergency. The Weyrleader was strong and healthy and might survive any contagion Capiam carried.

Capiam's mind was too busy with all he must accomplish in the next few hours to enjoy the dragon's launching into air. Talpan had promised to initiate quarantine at Ista, to warn the east, and to isolate any who might have had contact with the beast. He would try to trace all runners leaving Keroon Beasthold in the past eighteen days. Capiam would alert the west and intensify the search of Records. The Fort drums would be hot tomorrow with all the messages he must send. The first priority would be Ruatha Hold. Dragonriders had attended Ista Gather and then flown in for a few more hours of dancing and wine at Ruatha. If only Capiam had not succumbed to fatigue. He had already lost valuable time in which the disease would be innocently spread.

Sh'gall's low warning gave Capiam time to take a good hold of the fighting straps. As they went between, he did wonder if the awful cold might kill off any trace of the disease.

They were abruptly above Fort Hold fire-heights and gliding in for a fast landing in the field before the Hall. Sh'gall was not going to stay in the company of the Masterhealer any longer than he had to. He waited until Capiam dismounted and then asked the healer to repeat his instructions.

«Tell Berchar and Moreta to treat the symptoms empirically. I'll inform you of any effective treatment immediately. The plague incubates in two to four days. There have been survivors. Try to establish where your riders and weyrfolk have been.» The freedom to travel as they pleased had worked to the disadvantage of the Weyrs. «Don't congregate …»

«There's Fall!»

«The Weyrs do have their duty to the people … but try to limit contact with ground crews.» Capiam gave Kadith's shoulder a grateful thump. Kadith turned his gleaming eyes toward the Masterhealer and then, walking forward a few paces, sprang into the air.

Capiam watched until the pair went between against the lightening eastern sky, the journey of a breath to the mountains beyond Fort Hold. Then he stumbled up the gentle slope toward the Hall and the bed he was going to welcome. But first he had to compose the drum messages that must go out to Ruatha.

The early-morning air held a bit of dampness that suggested fog was on its way. No glowbaskets were set in the forecourt of Fort Hold and only the one in the entryway of the Harper Hall. Capiam was surprised to see how much progress had been made on the annex of the Hall in the two days. Then the watchwher came snorting up to him, recognizing his smell and gurgling its greeting. Capiam slapped affectionately at Burr's ugly head, digging his fingers into its skull ridges and smiling at the happy alteration of its noise. Watchwhers had their uses, to be sure, but due to the freak of breeding that had perpetuated them, the creatures were so ugly that they revolted those who saw their debased resemblance to the graceful dragons. Yet the watchwher was as loyal and faithful as any dragon and could be trained to recognize those who were allowed to come and go with impunity. Legends said that watchwhers had been used in the earliest holds as the last-ditch defense against Thread. Though how, since watchwhers were nocturnal creatures that could not tolerate sunlight, Capiam didn't know.

Burr was quite young, only a few Turns old, and Capiam had cultivated an association with it since it had been hatched. He and Tirone had made it strictly understood that they would not tolerate apprentice abuse of the creature. When Thread fell on Fort, Capiam or Tirone, whichever of the two Masters was present, would take the watchwher into the main entrance of the Hall to remind the young men and women that the watchwher could provide an important function in that perilous period.

If Burr's ecstatic welcome nearly knocked him off his feet, at least the greeting was sincere, and Capiam was oddly touched by it. Burr humbled along beside him, his chain rattling on the flagstone. He gave Burr a last drubbing across the scalp and then ran up the stairs to open the heavy door of the Hall.

One dim glow illuminated the inner hall. Capiam closed the door and moved quickly, so near his bed and much needed rest. He went to the left in the main hall, through the doorway that led to the Archives.

Discordant snores surprised him, and he peered into' the vaulted library room. Two apprentices, one with head pillowed on the Records he had been examining, the other propped more comfortably against the wall, were vying unmusically. Annoyance warred with tolerance in Capiam's mind. Dawn was near and would bring Master Fortine to prod them to their labors and scold them for weakness. They'd be the better readers for his rebuke and the rest. Suddenly Capiam was too tired to answer the questions they would certainly tax him with if he did wake them.

Quietly then, he took a sheet of well-scraped hide and composed a terse message for the drummaster to broadcast to the Weyrs and the major Holds, to be relayed to lesser holds and halls. He put the message on Master Fortine's writing desk right on the page the Archivist was using. Fortine would see it as soon as he finished his breakfast, which was usually early, so the news of the epidemic would be spread before noon.

To the sound of the discordant snores, Capiam dragged his feet to his quarters. He'd get some sleep before the drums started. Quite possibly he was weary enough to sleep through them for a while. He walked up the steps into the healers' section of the Harper Hall. When the Pass was over, he must really start the construction of a Healer Crafthall.

He reached his room and opened the door. A mellow glow softly lit the chamber. A bowl of fresh fruit and a small wine jar had been placed on his bedside table, and his bed fur turned back invitingly. Desdra! He was once more grateful for her thoughtfulness. Tossing his pack to the corner, he sat on the bed, the effort of pulling off his boots almost beyond his remaining physical strength. He loosened his belt, then decided not to remove his tunic and pants-too much effort required. He rolled onto the mattress and in the same movement jerked the fur over his shoulder. The pillow was remarkably welcoming to his tired aching head.

He groaned. He had left the drum messages. Fortine would know that he had returned, but not at what hour. He had to have sleep! He had been across Pern and up and down it. If he wasn't extra careful of his own health, he'd be a victim of the plague before he found out what it was.

He staggered from his bed to his table. «Disturb me not!» he printed boldly and, hanging onto the door to keep himself erect for that one last task, he pinned the note where it could not be missed.

Then when he sank into the comfort of his bed, he could relax into sleep.