A Starting Point

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 13th April 2019

Characters: Lorican, Anderli
Description: Lorican's stolen tools are returned
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 9, day 26 of Turn 9

***

The smiths of Dolphin Cove Weyr were under strict instructions not to
let Lorican do any strenuous work. At first it hadn't mattered much,
since he'd barely had the energy to get out of bed, let alone work at
the forge, and his bruised side ached whenever he moved. As the days
passed and his body slowly recovered, he started to long to shape the
ideas that had been forming in his head into metal.

He was allowed to help in small ways, and had spent some time sharpening
tools and checking over the metal rings and buckles for dragons' riding
straps that were a large part of the smithy's output. Those had to be
flawless, capable of bearing the strains of fighting Thread. The master
smith had explained, slightly apologetically, that these tasks were
usually done by apprentices, but Lorican was just glad to have something
useful to do.

When he had time, he took a look at the smithy's collection of designs.
He was particularly intrigued by the work they'd done on flamethrowers.
When he'd been an apprentice, such devices had been part curiosity and
part relic of a barely remembered past. They'd had to resurrect that
knowledge with the coming of Thread, and now making parts and completing
a basic service on one was part of any smith's training.

At the sea hold, there weren't crops or pastures to protect and so they
didn't waste much time on ground patrols after Fall - the fishermen
would be out in the boats immediately after, in pursuit of the fish who
came out to feed on the drowned Thread - but they did have one old model
in case of a burrow in the immediate surroundings. It was a rather
cumbersome design, however, and Lorican wondered if he could use what
he'd learned here to improve it.

He was absorbed in this work when he heard someone clearing her throat,
and looked up to see the smithy's senior journeywoman, Anderli, standing
behind him. She was older than him, in her fifties at a guess, a
greenrider trained in her craft before the Pass began. Lorican had never
met a female smith before he'd come to Dolphin Cove, but he'd only had
to watch her at work for a few minutes to know she'd earned those knots
just as thoroughly as he had. His stay had been an eye-opening
experience in so many ways.

"Flamethrowers?" she asked.

"Yes. I was looking to see what we could do better at the hold. The
mechanism, here, for example. This would make it easier to fill
the tank with agenothree. We've had burns when people try to do it too
quickly." He saw her eyebrow quirk. "If it wouldn't be presumptuous of
me. It wasn't my intention to steal your designs."

"Not to worry. We're all one craft, despite what some might say about
the Weyr," Anderli said with a grin. "Just make a note of where you got
the adjusted design in your Records, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Anyway, I come as the bearer of good news." She held up by its strap a
large bag made of toughened hide, the fabric faded by Turns of outdoor
travel. "Recognise this?"

"My tools!" He turned in his chair and sprang to his feet, ignoring the
pain. Taking the bag from Anderli, he opened it and carefully spilled
the contents out onto the work bench. They were all there. The hammers
he'd made as a new journeyman, the files and tongs, the old set of
chisels that had belonged to his father, the new punch he'd made only
three months since to replace an old one that had finally worn out.

He turned back to her with a smile all over his bruised face. "Thank
you! But how...where in the world did you find them?"

"As well as reporting what happened to you to the Crafthall, one or two
of us have been doing a little investigation. Can't have our journeymen
robbed with impunity on the road, so close to the Weyr," Anderli
explained. "Telaith and I went out yesterday, after Fall was over,
visiting the small holds within a few days' travel of the Weyr where
there are smiths working. I'd had an idea, and at Trefil Sea Hold, it
paid off. The journeyman there said someone sold him this bag of tools
three days ago, on the twenty-third."

Lorican thought quickly. He'd not been to Trefil before, since it had
its own smith, but he knew it as a medium-sized and prosperous sea hold,
much like his own base at Rocky Bay. It would be a long day's ride from
the Weyr, perhaps two days of walking for a man in good health. It was
also in the opposite direction to the meeting place, which suggested
that Jilmon was not simply planning to pass on the stolen letters and
claim Lorican's share of the reward.

"Did you get a description?" he asked.

"Yes. But the Master and I had a word with a harper, and she advised me
not to say anything about that to you," Anderli said, her voice firm.
"Your memories might still return, and we don't want them influenced by
what you've heard. If the man is caught, there'll be a trial, and the
defence might use that possibility to discount your testimony."

"Oh." Lorican looked down, hiding his confusion. He began to replace the
tools in the bag. "Sorry. I should have thought of that."

"It doesn't matter. Of course, you'd want to know." She sighed. "Chances
are, the thief took ship and is on his way to the other end of the
continent by now. We're making enquiries with the seacraft. At least, it
doesn't seem like he booked passage at Trefil."

"Well. Perhaps I'd better stay out of it," Lorican said. "Thank you,
once again. And Telaith, too." He lifted the bag. "This means a lot."

"You're welcome." She started to turn to go, then hesitated. "You're
enjoying your stay here, I hope? As much as can be expected? Quarters
all right?"

"Oh, yes. They're very comfortable. More than I've any right to expect."

"Nonsense, you're a qualified craftsman, and you should have been safe
in our territory." Anderli's voice hardened slightly. The bruises on the
journeyman's face, in her mind, were an insult to the Weyr, and it
rankled that the assailant might get clean away with the profits of his
crime.

"Still, it was foolish of me to travel alone. The Pass has made it hard
for holdless folk, and you dragonriders can't be expected to be
everywhere at once. It turned out well, anyway." He picked up a hammer
from the bench, tapped the handle lightly on his palm. "I just wish I
could work. This smithy is as well-equipped as any back at the Hall, and
it certainly beats our little one at the Sea Hold."

"Hmm." She gave him a long look, her expression softening. "You ever
think of staying?"

"At the Weyr?" It wasn't the first time that idea had been mentioned to
him, but it still surprised him. "I'd have thought you'd be overrun with
applications from better craftsmen than me."

"Not as much as you'd think. Our relationship with the Halls has
been...variable, shall we say, over the Turns. Some of the Hold and
Hall-bred smiths who come here can't cope with the life. Others indulge
themselves a little too much, and have to be sent away." Anderli rolled
her eyes. "Then, we have a lot of dragonrider-crafters, like me, and we
can only work part-time at best. Our dragons must always come first."

"I see." Lorican thought about that. He'd always known he had an
accommodating personality, more so than many of his colleagues; he
hadn't realised how much of an advantage it was to him here. "But you've
not seen me work."

"Maybe not, but I've seen your designs, and you've got a good
reputation." She saw his brows life in surprise and went on. "Plus,
you're willing to help, you don't complain about being given menial
tasks even though you're senior journeyman. You don't look down on me,
or the other women in the smithy - and you don't assume that because
you're in the Weyr, every female you meet is available for a tumble..."

"Well, shells, Journeywoman, I can only just about walk," he said,
joking to cover his embarrassment.

"Maybe, but I don't think you'd do it even if you were in the best of
health. I can tell. We greenriders see a lot." She smiled. "Think about
it, won't you? And talk to the Master, if you want."

"I will," Lorican promised. He was tempted, for many reasons, but he
knew he had to deal with the matter of the letters once and for all
before he could accept any such offer. "I must finish my route, though,
and I can't just abandon my posting."

"Understandable. I'll leave you to your work, then." Anderli raised a
hand in farewell. "See you at dinner."

Lorican turned back to the bench and rested a protective hand on his
restored tool bag, thoughtful. So Jilmon had been at Trefil Sea Hold.
That was somewhere to start looking...

Last updated on the May 3rd 2019

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A Starting Point