Luck
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 31st July 2008
Characters: Cyrek
Description: Cyrek's mind drifts as he finishes up some work one evening
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 11, day 9 of Turn 4
Trouble wrapped his tail around Cyrek's neck and dozed to the sound of a pen scratching across hide. It was late and Cyrek's eyes felt sore- a side-effect of the electric lights, he supposed. It didn't matter. Lost tithes or sudden surpluses aside, there were certain things that needed to get done. **Tomorrow,** whispered a part of his brain, but the Steward ignored it. Tomorrow undoubtedly something else would come up to eat his time.
It had been like that at Amethyst Cliff, and it was like that at Amber Hills. Some things never changed. He dipped his pen in the ink-well set to one side of his desk and made a minor correction on a figure. The scent of ink and the spicy musk of tiny dragon was soothing, and he let himself drift into a world populated by numbers instead of people, where everything fit into orderly rows and nothing, absolutely nothing, was left to chance.
~*~
Mariss was ten and already precocious. Her dark braids bobbed as she leaned over her father's desk to examine the hides spread out before him. It was well past her bed-time, but Cyrek couldn't really find it in himself to pack her off to their apartment... and tomorrow was a rest-day, hopefully. "Aren't you done _yet_? I want to play chess!"
"No, I'm not. I already told you - once I've balanced this ledger then I'll get out the chess board. If you don't like it, you can always go back home, missy," Cyrek said gently. He stared at the hide before him, seeing not numbers but the crates themselves as they'd come off the wagon into Amethyst Cliff's warehouse. He remembered the slivers that ran into his palms from their rough wooden sides, and their surprising lightness - they were full of wool from higher up the valley and were surprisingly easy to lift. They smelled of lanolin and pine. "I don't think I'll be much longer."
Mariss wrinkled her nose. "But I'll be _tired_ by then. I want to beat you this time!"
The Understeward grinned. "In all the years we've played, how many times have you beat me?"
"None." Mariss frowned. "But I feel lucky tonight. Lucky, lucky, lucky! I found a quarter-mark outside, remember? And I found where that feline had her kittens in the kitchens for Vivvi. I'm _sure_ that I'll beat you today."
"But Alalir will beat _me_ if I don't get this done," Cyrek said.
"No he won't! Alalir likes you." Mariss rolled her eyes - once you grew up a little, parents could be so _silly_. "Can I help?"
"Why not?" Cyrek pushed his chair away from his desk and Mariss climbed into his lap. He absently stroked her hair back from her temple as she looked over the hide - what was it with his daughter's fly-away hair? "There were fifty-three crates of unspun wool delivered today, but I made a mistake somewhere and I keep coming up with fifty-four. Only I can't find the mistake."
"Maybe you're just looking at it too hard. Numbers don't like to be stared at." Cyrek smiled at his daughter's fancy, but he was taken a little a-back at her seriousness as she ran her little fingers down the ledger. Numbers skipped past like stones on a lake until she suddenly stopped. "You wrote a two here instead of a one," she said triumphantly. "Now can we go play chess?"
"Let me see." The Understeward took the ledger from her and, much to his chagrin, saw she was right. He shook his head and quickly made the corrections. "If Alalir knew that I was being corrected by a girl with only ten turns under her belt..."
Mariss giggled. "See? I told you I was lucky today!"
~*~
That's what it boiled down to, it seemed. Luck. It was _bad_luck_ that an earthquake had shattered his life. It _bad_luck_ that Shadux's father had a stroke just as Cyrek found himself out of a job - and good luck for him. And it was more _bad_luck_ that neither Captain Kelton nor the Weyr could find a trace of the missing tithe... and now it was up to him to make sense of chaos and put it into orderly rows, columns of figures and inky numbers that turned into something concrete and valuable when he blinked.
His hand slipped into his pocket of its own account to finger the quarter-mark he'd found in the snow outside the front door just that morning. He felt lucky today, and maybe, just maybe, things would work out...
Last updated on the August 1st 2008