Part 9 (1/2)
The kitchen cavern at Telgar Weyr was actually a series of caves, each with an entrance, varying in size, width and height.
As Debera paused at the entrance of the nearest and smallest one, she saw that hearths or ovens were ranged against the outside wall, each with a separate chimney protruding up the cliff face. Inside, the many long tables where last night guests had been entertained were reduced to the number needed by the regular population of the Weyr.
But the interior was busy as men and women went about food preparation tasks.
”Breakfast's over there,” a woman said, smiling at Debera and pointing. ”Porridge's still hot and the klah's fresh made. Help yourself.”
Debera looked to her left to the farthest hearth, which had tables and chairs set invitingly near it.
”There'll be fresh-baked bread soon, too, and I'll bring some over,” the woman added and proceeded on her own business.
Debera had only just served herself a heaping of porridge - not a lump in it, nor a fleck of burn - and a cup of klah when two boys, looking bewildered and not at all sure of how to proceed, wandered in.
”The bowls are there, the cups there,” Debera said, pointing.
”And use that hunk of towel to hold the pot while you spoon out the cereal. It's hot.”
They sent her tentative smiles - they must just be old enough for Impression, she thought, feeling just a trifle older and wiser. They managed - but not without slopping gobs of porridge into the fire and jumping back from the hiss and smell - to get enough in the bowls and to pour klah into their cups.
”C'mon, sit here, I won't bite,” she said, tapping her table.
They were certainly not a bit sullen or grouchy, like her younger half brothers ”You've a green, haven't you?” the first one asked. He had a crop of black curls that had recently been trimmed very close to his skull.
”Course she has a green, stupid” the other lad said, elbowing the ribs of the first. ”I'm M'rak, and Caneth's my bronze,” he added with a justifiable smirk of pride.
”My bronze is Tiabeth,” the black haired boy said, equally as proud of his dragon, but added modestly, ”I'm S'mon.”
”What's yours called?”
”Morath,” and Debera found herself grinning broadly. Did all new riders feel as besotted as this?
The boys settled into chairs and began to eat, almost as eagerly as dragonets Deliberately Debera slowed the rhythm of her spoon.
This porridge was really too good to gulp down: not a husk nor a piece of grit in it. Obviously Telgar t.i.thed of its best to the Weyr, even with such a staple as oats for porridge. She sighed, grateful for more than Impressing Morath yesterday.
The boys suddenly stopped, spoons half lifted to their mouths and, warned, Debera turned quickly. Bearing down on their table was the unmistakable bulk of Tisha, the head woman of the Lower Cavern. Her broad face was wreathed with a smile as generous as she was.
”How are you today? Settling in all right? Need anything from stores? Parents will pack your Gather best, and you really need your weeding worst,” she said, her rich contralto voice bubbling with good humor. ”Breakfast all right?”
”Bread's just out of the oven and you can have all you want.” She had halted by Debera's chair and her hands, shapely with long strong fingers, patted Debera's shoulders lightly as if imparting a special message to her along with that pressure.
”You lack something, come tell me, or mention it to T'dam. You weyrlings shouldn't worry about anything other than caring for your dragonets. That's hard work enough, I'm telling you, so don't be shy, now.” She gave Debera a little extra pat before she removed her hands.
”I didn't think to bring with me the gown you lent me last night,” Debera said, wondering if that's what the subtle message was.
”Heavens above, child,” said Tisha, big eyes even wider in her round face, ”why, that dress was made for you, even if we didn't know you'd be coming.” Her deep chuckle made her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly bounce.
But it's far too good a dress... Debera began in protest.
Tisha patted Debera's shoulder again. ”And fits you to perfection. I love making new clothes. My pa.s.sion really, and you'll see: I'm always working on something.” Pat, pat. ”But if I'd no-one in mind when I cut and sewed it last year, I couldn't have worked better for you if I'd tried. The dress is yours. We all like to have something pretty to wear on Seventh Day.
Do you sew?” she asked, eyeing Debera hopefully.
”No, I'm afraid not,” Debera answered, lowering her eyes for she remembered her mother with work in her hands in the evenings, embroidering or sewing fine seams in Gather clothes. Gisa barely managed to mend rips, and certainly neither of her daughters was learning how to mend or make garments.
”Well, I don't know what holder women are doing with their young these days. Why, I had a needle in my hand by the time I was three -”, Tisha went on.
The boys' eyes were glazing over at the turn of the conversation.
”And you'll learn to sew harness, my fine young friends,” she said, wagging a finger at them. ”And boots and jackets, too, if you've a mind to design your own flying wear.”
”Huh?” was M'rak's astonished reaction. ”Sewing's fer women. ”
”Not in the Weyr, it isn't,” Tisha said firmly. ”As you'll see soon enough. It's all part of being a dragon rider. You'll learn.”
”Ah, now, here's the bread, b.u.t.ter and a pot of jam.”
Sure enough, another ample woman, grinning with the pleasure of what she was about to bestow on them, deposited the laden tray on the table.
”That should help, thank you, Allie,” Tisha said as Debera added a murmur of appreciation and S'mon remembered his manners, too. M'rak made no such delay in grabbing up a piece of the steaming bread and cramming it into his mouth.
”Wow! Great!”
”Well, just be sure you don't lose it, preparing your dragonet's next meal,” Tisha said and moved off before the astonished bronze rider had absorbed her remark.
”What'd she mean by that?” he asked the others.
Debera grinned. ”Hold-bred?”
”Naw, m'family's weavers,” M'rak said. ”From Keroon Hold.”
”We have to cut up what our dragonets eat, though, don't we?” S'mon asked in a slightly anxious voice.
”From the bodies they got hung up?”
”You mean cut it off the things that wore the meat?” M'rak turned a little pale and swallowed.
”That's what we mean,” Debera said. ”If you like, I'll do your carving and you can just cut up. Deal?”
”You bet,” M'rak agreed fervently. And gulped again, no longer attacking the rest of the bread that hung limply from his fingers. He put the slice down. ”I didn't know that was part of being a dragon rider too.”
Debera chuckled. ”I think we're all going to find out that being a dragon rider is not just sitting on its neck and going wherever we want to.”
A prophecy she was to learn was all too accurate. She didn't regret making the bargain with the two youngsters - it was a fair distribution of effort - but it did seem that she spent her next weeks either butchering or feeding or bathing her dragonet with no time for anything else but sleeping. She had dealt with orphaned animals, true, but none the size nor with the appet.i.te capacity of dragonets. Morath seemed to grow overnight, as if instantly transferring what she ate to visible increase - which meant more to scrub, oil AND feed.
”It's worth it, I keep telling myself,” Sarra murmured one day as she wearily sprawled onto her bed.
”Does it help?” Grasella asked, groaning as she turned on her side.
”Does it matter?” put in Mesla, kicking her boots off.