Flar was about to demand why none of the Oldtimers had seen fit to mention that minor fact, when he caught Lessas stern look. He held his peace.
See, this phrase here is partly missing, but if you put unpredictable shifts here, it makes sense.
Lessa, her gray eyes wide with an expression of unfeigned awe (her dissembling nearly choked Flar), looked up from the Record at Tron.
Hes right, Flar. That would make sense. Seeand she deftly slipped the Record from Trons reluctant fingers and passed it to Flar. He took it from her.
Youre right, Tron. Very right. This is one of the older skins which I had to abandon, unable to decipher them.
Of course, it was much more readable when I first studied it four hundred Turns back, before it got so faded. Trons smug manner was hard to take, but he could be managed better so than when he was defensive and suspicious.
But that doesnt tell us how the shift changes, or how long it lasted, Flar said.
There must be other clues, Tron, Lessa suggested, bending seductively toward the Fort Weyrleader when he began to bristle at Flars words. Why would Thread fall out of a pattern theyve followed to the second for seven mortal Turns this Pass? You yourself told me that you followed a certain rhythm in your Time. Did it vary much then?
Tron frowned down at the blurred lines. No, he admitted slowly, and then brought his fist down on the offending scrap. Why have we lost so many techniques? Why have these Records failed us just when we need them most?
Mnementh began to bugle from the ledge, with Fidranth adding his note.
Lessa listened, head cocked.
Dram and Gnarish, she said. I dont think we need expect Tkul, but Rmart is not an arrogant man.
Dram of Ista and Gnarish of Igen Weyrs entered together. Both men were agitated, sparing no time for amenities.
Whats this about premature Threadfall? Dram demanded. Where are Tkul and Rmart? You did send for them, didnt you? Were your wings badly torn up? How much Thread burrowed?
None. We arrived at first Fall. And my wings sustained few casualties, but I appreciate your concern, Dram. Weve sent for the others.
Though Mnementh had given no warning, someone was running down the corridor to the Weyr. Everyone turned, anticipating one of the missing Weyrleaders, but it was a weyrling messenger who came racing in.
My duty, sirs, the boy gasped out, but Rmarts badly hurt and therere so many wounded men and dragons at Telgar Weyr, its an awful sight. And half the Holds of High Crom are said to be charred.
The Weyrleaders were all on their feet.
I must send some helpLessa began, to be halted by the frown on Trons face and Drams odd expression. She gave a small impatient snort. You heard the boy, wounded men and dragons, a Weyr demoralized. Help in time of disaster is not interference. That ancient lay about Weyr autonomy can be carried to ridiculous lengths and this is one of them. Not to help Telgar Weyr, indeed!
Shes right, you know, Gnarish said, and Flar knew the man was one step closer to gaining a modern perspective.
Lessa left the chamber, muttering something about personally flying to Telgar Weyr. The weyrling followed her, dismissed by Flars nod.
Tron found a reference to unpredictable shifts in this old Record Skin, Flar said, seizing control. Dram, do you have any recollections from your studies of Istan Records four hundred Turns ago?
I wish I did, the Istan leader said slowly, then looked toward Gnarish who was shaking his head. Before I came here, I ordered immediate sweepwatches within my Weyrs bounds and I suggest we all do the same.
What we need is a Pern-wide guard, Flar began, carefully choosing his words.
But Tron wasnt deceived and banged the table so hard that he set the crockery jumping. Just waiting for the chance to lodge dragons in Holds and Crafthalls again, huh Flar? Dragonfolk stick together . . .
The way Tkul and Rmart are doing by not warning the rest of us? asked Dram in such an acid tone that Tron subsided.
Actually, why should dragonfolk weary themselves when there is so much more manpower available in the Holds now? asked Gnarish in a surprised way. He smiled slightly with nervousness when he saw the others staring at him. I mean, the individual Holds could easily supply the watchers well need.
And theyve the means, too, Flar agreed, ignoring Trons surprised exclamation. Its not so very long ago that there were signal fires on every ridge and hill, across the plains, in case Fax began another of his acquisitive marches. In fact, I shouldnt be surprised if most of those beacon fireguards are still in place.
He was faintly amused by the expressions on the three faces. The Oldtimers never had recovered from the utter sacrilege of a Lord attempting to hold more than one territory. Flar had no doubt this prompted such conservatives as Tkul and Tron to impress on the commoners at every opportunity just how dependent they were on dragonfolk; and why they tried to limit and curtail contemporary freedoms and licenses. Let the Holders light fires when Thread masses on the horizona few strategically placed riders could oversee great areas. Use the weyrlings; thatd keep them out of mischief and give em good practice. Once we know how the Thread falls now, well be able to judge the changes. Flar forced himself to relax, smiling. I dont think this is as serious a matter as it first appears. Particularly if shifts have occurred before. Of course, if we could find some reference to how long the shift lasted, if Thread went back to the original pattern, itd help.
It would have helped if Tkul had sent word as you did, Dram muttered.
Well, we all know how Tkul is, Flar said tolerantly.
Hed no right to withhold such vital information from us, Tron said, again pounding the table. Weyrs should stick together.
The Lord Holders arent going to like this, Gnarish remarked, no doubt thinking of Lord Corman of Keroon, the most difficult one of the Holders bound to his Weyr.
Oh, Flar replied with more diffidence than he felt, if we tell them weve expected such a shift at about this time in the Pass . . .
Butbut the timetables they have? Theyre not fools, Tron sputtered.
Were the dragonfolk, Tron. What they cant understand, they dont need to knowor worry about, Flar replied firmly. Its not their business to demand explanations of us, after all. And theyll get none.
Thats a change of tune, isnt it, Flar? asked Dram.
I never explained myself to them, if youll think back Dram I told them what had to be done and they did it.
They were scared stupid seven Turns ago, Gnarish remarked. Scared enough to welcome us with wide-open arms and goods.
If they want to protect all those forests and croplands, theyll do as we suggest or start charring their profits.
Let Lord Oterel of Tillek or that idiot Lord Sangel of Boll start disputing my orders and Ill fire their forests myself, said Tron, rising.
Then were agreed, said Flar quickly, before the hypocrisy he was practicing overcame him with disgust. We mount watches, aided by the Holders, and we keep track of the new shift. Well soon know how to judge it.
What of Tkul? Gnarish asked.
Dram looked squarely at Tron. Well explain the situation to him.
He respects you two, Flar agreed. It might be wiser, though, not to suggest we knew about . . .
We can handle Tkul, without your advice, Flar, Dram cut him off abruptly, and Flar knew that the momentary harmony between them was at an end. The Oldtimers were closing ranks against the crime of their contemporary, just as they had at that abortive meeting a few nights ago. He could console himself with the fact that they hadnt been able to escape all the implications of this incident.
Lessa came back into the weyr just then, her face flushed, her eyes exceedingly bright. Even Dram bowed low to her in making his farewells.
Dont leave, Dram, Tron. Ive good word from Telgar Weyr, she cried, but catching Flars glance, did not try to keep them when they demurred.
Rmarts all right? Gnarish asked, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.
Lessa recovered herself with a smile for the Igen leader.
Oh that messengerhes only a boyhe exaggerated. Ramoth bespoke Solth the senior queen at Telgar Weyr. Rmart is badly scored, yes. Bedella evidently overdosed him with numbweed powder. She hadnt the wit to send word to anyone. And the Wing-second assumed that wed all been informed because hed heard Rmart telling Bedella to send messengers, never dreaming she hadnt. When Rmart passed out, she forgot everything. Lessas shrug indicated her low opinion of Bedella. The Wing-second says hed be grateful for your advice.
Hages is Wing-second at Telgar Weyr, Gnarish said. A sound enough rider but hes got no initiative. Say, youre Thread-bared yourself, Flar.
Its nothing.
Its bleeding, Lessa contradicted. And you havent eaten a thing.
Ill stop at Telgar Weyr, Flar, and talk to Hages, Gnarish said.
Id like to come with you, Gnarish, if youve no objections . . .
Ive objections, Lessa put in. Gnarishs capable of ascertaining the extent of the Fall there and can relay the information to us. Ill see him to the ledge while you start eating. Lessa was so didactic that Gnarish chuckled. She tucked her arm in his and started toward the corridor. Ive not made my duty to Gyarmath, she said, smiling sweetly up at Gnarish, and hes a favorite of mine, you know.
She was flirting so outrageously that Flar wondered that Ramoth wasnt roaring protest. As if Gyarmath could ever catch Ramoth in night! Then he heard Mnemenths rumble of humor and was reassured.
Eat, his bronze advised him. Let Lessa flatter Gnarish Gyarmath doesnt mind. Nor Ramoth. Nor I.
What I do for my Weyr, said Lessa with an exaggerated sigh as she returned a few moments later.
Flar gave her a cynical look. Gnarish is more of a modern mind than he knows.
Then well have to make him conscious of it, Lessa said firmly.
Just so long as it is we who make him, Flar replied with mock severity, catching her hand and pulling her to him.
She made a token resistance, as she always did, scowling ferociously at him and then relaxed against his shoulder all at once. Signal fires and sweepriding are not enough, Flar, she said thoughtfully. Although I do believe weve worried too much about the change in Threadfall.
That nonsense was to fool Gnarish and the others, but I thought youd . . .
But dont you see that you were right?
Flar gave her a long incredulous look.
By the Egg, Weyrleader, you astonish me. Why cant there be deviations? Because you, Flar, compiled those Records and to spite the Oldtimers they must remain infallible? Great golden eggs, man, there were such things as Intervals when no Threads fellas we both know. Why not a change of pace in Threadfall itself during a Pass?
But why? Give me one good reason why.
Give me one good reason why not! The same thing that affects the Red Star so that it doesnt always pass close enough to cast Thread on us can pull it enough off course to change Fall! The Red Star is not the only one to rise and set with the seasons. There could be another heavenly body affecting not only us but the Red Star.
Where?
Lessa shrugged impatiently. How do I know? Im not long in the eye like Frad. But we can try to find out. Or have seven full Turns of certainty and schedule dulled your wits?
Now, see here, Lessa . . .
Suddenly she pressed herself close to him, full of contrition for her sharp tongue. He held her close, all too aware that she was right. And yet . . . There had been that long and lonely wait until he and Mnementh could come into their own. The terrible dichotomy of confidence in his own prophecy that Thread would fall and fear that nothing would rescue the Dragonriders from their lethargy. Then the crushing realization that those all too few dragonmen were all that could save an entire world from destruction; the three days of torture between the initial fall over the impending one at Nerat Hold and Telgar Hold with Lessa who-knew-where. Did he not have a right to relax his vigilance? Some freedom from the weight of responsibility?
Ive no right to say such things to you, Lessa was whispering in soft remorse.
Why not? Its true enough.
I ought never to diminish you, and all youve done, to placate a trio of narrow-minded, parochial, conservative . . .
He stopped her words with a kiss, a teasing kiss that abruptly became passionate. Then he winced as her hands curving sensuously around his neck, rubbed against the Thread-bared skin.
Oh, Im so sorry. Here, let meand Lessas apology trailed off as she swiveled her body around to reach for the numbweed jar.
I forgive you, dear heart, for all your daily machinations, Flar assured her sententiously. Its easier to flatter a man than fight him. I wish I had Fnor here right now!
I still havent forgiven that old fool Tron, Lessa said, her eyes narrowing, her lips pursed. Oh, why didnt Fnor just let Treb have the knife?
Fnor acted with integrity, Flar said with stiff disapproval.
He couldve ducked quicker then. And youre no better. Her touch was gentle but the burns stung.
Hmmm. What I have ducked is my responsibility to Our Pern in bringing the Oldtimers forward. Weve let ourselves get bogged down on small issues, like whose was the blame in that asinine fight at the Mastersmiths Hall. The real problem is to reconcile the old with the new. And we may just be able to make this new crisis work there to our advantage, Lessa.
She heard the ring in his voice and smiled back at him approvingly.
When we cut through traditions before the Oldtimers came forward, we also discovered how hollow and restrictive some of them were; such as this business of minimal contact between Hold, Craft and Weyr. Oh, true, if we wish to bespeak another Weyr, we can go there in a few seconds on a dragon, but it takes Holder or Crafter days to get from one place to another. They had a taste of convenience seven Turns ago. I should never have acquiesced and let the Oldtimers talk me out of continuing a dragon in Hold and Craft. Those signal fires wont work, and neither will Sweepriders. Youre absolutely right about that, Lessa. Now if Fandarel can think up some alternative method of . . . Whats the matter? Why are you smiling like that?
I knew it. I knew youd want to see the Smith and the Harper so I sent for them, but they wont be here until youve eaten and rested. She tested the fresh numbweed to see if it had hardened.
And of course youve eaten and rested, too?
She got off his lap in one fluid movement, her eyes almost black. Ill have sense enough to go to bed when Im tired. Youll keep on talking with Fandarel and Robinton long after youve chewed your business to death. And youll drinkas if you havent learned yet that only a dragon could out drink that Harper and that SmithShe broke off again, her scowl turning into a thoughtful frown. Come to think of it, wed do well to invite Lytol, if hed come. Id like to know exactly what the Lord Holders reactions are. But first, you eat!
Flar laughingly obeyed, wondering how he could suddenly feel so optimistic when it was now obvious that the problems of Pern were coming home to roost on his weyr ledge again.
CHAPTER IV
Midday at Southern Weyr
.
KYLARA whirled in front of the mirror, turning her head to watch her slender image, observing the swing and fall of the heavy fabric of the deep red dress.
I knew it. I told him that hem was uneven, she said, coming to a dead stop, facing her reflection, suddenly aware of her own engaging scowl. She practiced the expression, found one attitude that displeased her and carefully schooled herself against an inadvertent re-use.
A frown is a mighty weapon, dear, her foster mother had told her again and again, but do cultivate a pretty one. Think what would happen if your face froze that way.
Her posing diverted her until she twisted, trying to assess her profile, and again caught sight of the swirl of the guilty hem.
Rannelly! she called, impatient when the old woman did not answer instantly. Rannelly!
Coming, poppet. Old bones dont move as fast. Been setting your gowns to air. There do be such sweetness from that blooming tree. Aye, the wonder of it, a fellis tree grown to such a size. Rannelly carried on a continuous monologue once summoned, as if the sound of her name turned on her mind. Kylara was certain that it did, for her old nurse voiced, like a dull echo, only what she heard and saw.
Those tailors are no better than they should be, and sloppy about finishing details, Rannelly muttered on, when Kylara sharply interrupted her maundering with the problem. She exhaled on the note of a bass drone as she knelt and flipped up the offending skirt. Aye and just see these stitches. Taken in haste they were, with too much thread on the needle. . .
That man promised me the gown in three days and was seaming it when I arrived. But I need it.
Rannellys hands stopped; she stared up at her charge. You werent ever away from the Weyr without saying a word. . . .
I go where I please, Kylara said, stamping her foot. Im no babe to be checking my movements with you. Im the Weyrwoman here at Southern. I ride the queen. No one can do anything to me. Dont forget that.
Theres none as forgets my poppets . . .
Not that this is a proper Weyr, at all . . .
. . . And thats an insult to my nursling, it is, to be in . . .
Not that they care, but theyll see they cant treat a Telgar of the Blood with such lack of courtesy . . .
. . . And whos been discourteous to my little . . .
Fix that hem, Rannelly, and dont be all week about it. I must look my best when I go home, Kylara said, turning her upper torso this way and that, studying the fall of her thick, wavy blonde hair. Only good thing about this horrible, horrible place. The sun does keep my hair bright.
Like a fall of sunbeams, my sweetling, and me brushing it to bring out the shine. Morning and night I brushes it. Never miss. Except when youre away. He was looking for you earlier . . .
Never mind him. Fix that hem.
Oh, aye, that I can do for you. Slip it off. There now. Ooooh, my precious, my poppet. Whoever treated you so! Did he make such marks on . . .
Be quiet! Kylara stepped quickly from the collapsed dress at her feet, all too aware of the livid bruises that stood out on her fair skin. One more reason to wear the new gown. She shrugged into the loose linen robe she had discarded earlier. While sleeveless, its folds almost covered the big bruise on her right arm. She could always blame that on a natural accident. Not that she cared a whistle what Tbor thought but it made for less recrimination. And he never knew what he did when he was well wined-up.
No good will come of it, Rannelly was moaning as she gathered up the red gown and began to shuffle across to her cubby. Youre weyrfolk now. No good comes of weyrfolk mixing with Holders. Stick to your own. Youre somebody here . . .
Shut up, you old fool. The whole point of being Weyrwoman is I can do what I please. Im not my mother. I dont need your advice.
Aye, and I know it, the old nurse said with such sharp bitterness that Kylara stared after her.
There, shed frowned unattractively. She must remember not to screw her brows that way; it made wrinkles. Kylara ran her hands down her sides, testing the smooth curves sensuously, drawing one hand across her Rat belly. Flat even after five brats. Well, thered be no more. She had the way of it now. Just a few moments longer between at the proper time and . . .
She pirouetted, laughing, throwing her arms up to the ceiling in a tendon-snapping stretch and hissing as the bruised deltoid muscle pained her.
Meron need not . . . She smiled languorously. Meron did need to, because she needed it.
He is not a dragonrider, said Prideth, rousing from sleep. There was no censure in the golden dragons tone; it was a statement of fact. Mainly the fact that Prideth was bored with excursions which landed her in Holds rather than Weyrs. When Kylaras fancy took them visiting other dragons, Prideth was more than agreeable. But a Hold, with only the terrified incoherencies of a watch-wher for company was another matter.
No, hes not a dragonrider, Kylara agreed emphatically a smile of remembered pleasure touching her full red lips. It gave her a soft, mysterious, alluring look, she thought, bending to the mirror. But the surface was mottled and the close inspection made her skin appear diseased.
I itch, Prideth said, and Kylara could hear the dragon moving. The ground under her feet echoed the effect.
Kylara laughed indulgently and, with a final swirl and a grimace at the imperfect mirror, she went out to ease Prideth. If only she could find a real man who could understand and adore her the way the dragon did. If, for instance, Flar . . .
Mnementh is Ramoths, Prideth told her rider as she entered the clearing which served as gold queens Weyr in Southern. The dragon had rubbed the dirt off the bedrock just beneath the surface. The southern sun baked the slab so that it gave off comfortable heat right through the coolest night. All around, the great fellis trees drooped, the pink clustered blossoms scenting the air.
Mnementh could be yours, silly one, she told her beast, scrubbing the itchy spot with the long-handled brush.
No. I do not contend with Ramoth.
You would quick enough if you were in mating heat, Kylara replied, wishing she had the nerve to attempt such a coup. Its not as if there was anything immoral about mating with your father or clutching your mother . . .
Kylara thought of her own mother, a woman too early used and cast aside by Lord Telgar, for younger, more vital bedmates. Why, if she hadnt been found on Search, she might have had to marry that dolt what-ever-his-name-had-been. Shed never have been a Weyrwoman and had Prideth to love her. She scrubbed fiercely at the spot until Prideth, sighing in an excess of relief, blew three clusters of blooms off their twigs
You are my mother, Prideth said, turning great opalescent eyes on her rider, her tone suffused with love, admiration, affection, awe and joy.
Despite her annoying reflections, Kylara smiled tenderly at her dragon. She couldnt stay angry with the beast, not when Prideth gazed at her that way. Not when Prideth loved her, Kylara, to the exclusion of all other considerations. Gratefully the Weyrwoman rubbed the sensitive ridge of Prideths right eye socket until the protecting lids closed one by one in contentment. The girl leaned against the wedge shaped head, at peace momentarily with herself, with the world, the balm of Prideths love assuaging her discontent.
Then she heard Tbors voice in the distance, ordering the weyrlings about, and she pushed away from Prideth. Why did it have to be Tbor? He was so ineffectual. He never came near making her feel the way Meron did, except of course when Orth was flying Prideth and then, then it was bearable. But Meron, without a dragon, was almost enough. Meron was just ruthless and ambitious enough so that together they could probably control all Pern . . .
Good day, Kylara.
Kylara ignored the greeting. Tbors forcedly cheerful tone told her that he was determined not to quarrel with her over whatever it was he had on his mind this time. She wondered what attraction he had ever held for her, though he was tall and not ill-favored; few Dragonriders were. The thin lines of Thread scars more often gave them a rakish rather than repulsive appearance. Tbor was not scarred but a frown of apprehension and a nervous darting of his eyes marred the effect of his good looks.
Good day, Prideth, he added.
I like him, Prideth told her rider. And he is really devoted to you. You are not kind to him.
Kindness gets you nowhere, Kylara snapped back at her beast. She turned with indolent reluctance to the Weyrleader. Whats on your mind?
Tbor flushed as he always did when he heard that note in Kylaras voice. She meant to unsettle him.
I need to know how many weyrs are free. Telgar Weyr is asking.
Ask Brekke. How should I know?
Tbors flush deepened and he set his jaw. It is customary for the Weyrwoman to direct her own staff . . .
Custom be Thread-bared! She knows. I dont. And I dont see why Southern should be constantly host to every idiot rider who cant dodge Thread.
You know perfectly well, Kylara, why Southern Weyr . . .
We havent had a single casualty of any kind in seven Turns of Thread.
We dont get the heavy, constant Threadfall that the northern continent does, and now I understand . . .
Well, I dont understand why their wounded must be a constant drain on our resources . . .
Kylara. Dont argue with every word I say.
Smiling, Kylara turned from him, pleased that she had pushed him so close to breaking his childish resolve.
Find out from Brekke. She enjoys filling in for me. She glanced over her shoulder to see if he understood exactly what she meant. She was certain that Brekke shared his bed when Kylara was otherwise occupied. The more fool Brekke, who, as Kylara well knew, was pining after Fnor. She and Tbor must have interesting fantasies, each imagining the other the true object of their unrequited loves.
Brekke is twice the woman and far more fit to be Weyrwoman than you! Tbor said In a tight, controlled voice.
Youll pay for that, you scum, you sniveling boy-lover, Kylara screamed at him, enraged by the unexpectedness of his retaliation. Then she burst out laughing at the thought of Brekke as the Weyrwoman, or Brekke as passionate and adept a lover as she knew herself to be. Brekke the Bony, with no more roundness at the breast than a boy. Why, even Lessa looked more feminine.
Thought of Lessa sobered Kylara abruptly. She tried again to convince herself that Lessa would be no threat, no obstacle in her plan. Lessa was too subservient to Flar now, aching to be pregnant again, playing the dutiful Weyrwoman, too content to see what could happen under her nose. Lessa was a fool. She could have ruled all Pern if she had half-tried. Shed had the chance and lost it. The stupidity of going back to bring up the Oldtimers when she could have had absolute dominion over the entire planet as Weyrwoman to Perns only queen! Well, Kylara had no intention of remaining in the Southern Weyr, meekly tending the worlds wounded weyrmen and cultivating acres and acres of food for everyone else but herself. Each egg hatched a different way, but a crack at the right time speeded things up.
And Kylara was all ready to crack a few eggs, her way. Noble Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, might not have remembered to invite her, his only full-blood sister, to the wedding, but surely there was no reason why she should remain distant when her own half sister was marrying the Lord Holder of Lemos.
Brekke was changing the dressing on his arm when Fnor heard Tbor calling her. She tensed at the sound of his voice an expression of compassion and worry momentarily clouding her face.
Im in Fnors weyr, she said, turning her head toward the open door and raising her light voice.
Dont know why we insist on calling a hold made of wood a weyr, said Fnor, wondering at Brekkes reaction. She was such a serious child, too old for her years. Perhaps being junior Weyrwoman to Kylara had aged her prematurely. He had finally got her to accept his teasing. Or was she humoring him, Fnor wondered, during the painful process of having the deep knife wound tended.
She gave him a little smile. A weyr is where a dragon is, no matter how its constructed.
Tbor entered at that moment, ducking his head, though the door was plenty high enough to accommodate his inches.
Hows the arm, Fnor?
Improving under Brekkes expert care. Theres a rumor, Fnor said, grinning slyly up at Brekke, that men sent to Southern heal quicker.
If thats why there are always so many coming back, Ill give her other duties. Tbor sounded so bitter that Fnor stared at him. Brekke, how many more wounded can we accommodate?
Only four, but Varena at West can handle at least twenty.
From her expression, Fnor could tell she hoped there werent that many wounded.
Rmart asks to send ten, only one badly injured, Tbor said, but he was still resentful.
Hed best stay here then.
Fnor started to say that he felt Brekke was spreading herself too thin as it was. It was obvious to him that, though she had few of the privileges, she had assumed all the responsibilities that Kylara ought to handle, while that one did much as she pleased. Including complaining that Brekke was shirking or stinting this or that. Brekkes queen, Wirenth, was still young enough to need a lot of care; Brekke fostered young Mirrim though she had had no children herself and none of the Southern riders seemed to share her bed. Yet Brekke also took it upon herself to nurse the most seriously wounded Dragonriders. Not that Fnor wasnt grateful to her. She seemed to have an extra sense that told her when numbweed needed renewing, or when fever was high and made you fretful. Her hands were miracles of gentleness, cool, but she could be ruthless, too, in disciplining her patients to health.