Chap. 365 The Dragon Headed Cane

“Sir, if I add some extra information?” Jansen said.

“Please, ma’am.”

“Of the intercepted messages, one was a drawing of a man with a cane. Given that the drawings Yvanna sent obviously had significance, I’m wondering if, when she said, “he’s escaped,” if she didn’t mean that man. It was meant to be the same as a wanted poster, in my mind, the man shown to be elderly, and missing part of a finger, in a workshop environment.”

“Perhaps. As you say, none of their messages were meaningless.”

“To add to that,” Francie said,”that morning, when I dropped Fleming off, I then picked up a passenger from Lemos Hold.

He was in bad shape, my lords, his clothes all torn up and he looked exhausted.”

“My lords,” said Reception’s Chief, “I have a sign in from a man named Merrick, from Lemos Hold. He was transported here from Coastal Weyr port by Francie, dragonrider, on that same morning as when the datalinks were shut down. He said he wanted to report-those were his words, my lords, report, to the Council.”

Another woman piped up, anxious to be heard. “My lords? I work for Orlon, in room keeping. That same morning, Reception called me to put up a guest. When I saw him, I thought, he’s in bad shape and probably doesn’t have a mark to his name. I put him in a room to himself, with access to a hot bath and had food sent to him. My lords, he were worn to a nubbin. It was obvious he’d been living rough for days. He said he’d not slept much, nor eaten anything but a few dried berries the animals had missed, and had been drinking from streams. He was delirious, in my opinion, he kept saying he wanted to meet with Lord Lytol. I didn’t promise him a meeting, I don’t make the council’s petition schedules. And to be honest, we hear that all the time. Everyone who comes to petition wants to meet with Lord Lytol.”

“Tell me about it,” Lytol grimaced. “He’s still here, yes?”

“Yes, sir. My staff said he must have slept for over 24 hours, ate everything they brought for him. The third day he was here, he asked if he could purchase some clothing, I wouldn’t hear of it. My man, he’s the same size, so I gave him what he needed. Yes, my lords, he’s here.”

“Would it be possible for someone to go and bring him here?”

“He’s on his way. I saw him up and moving just before we were called here for headcount,” the woman from Reception said. “I thought, he’ll get lost, sure as sunrise, so I assigned my daughter, who is only twelve but always keen as a razor to help, to bring him here. But as it’s raining and he is lame, it will be a bit of time before he gets here.”

“I see. That helps a lot to close a gap in the information. Thank you, ma’am., actually, thank all of you.”

Just then, the door to the auditorium opened. An elderly man using a cane entered, a young girl escorting him.

“That’s him,” Francie said, “That’s the man I brought from the port.”

They stopped to shake the rain off their slickers. It sounded as if the rain was slacking off.

“It was raining pigs and chickens out there, my lords,” said the man, ‘but it’s about to quit.” Francie noted he walked with far more steadiness and determination than when she’d picked him up.

One of the councilmen beckoned them. The young girl led him to the podium, then, seeing her mother wave from the depths of the crowd, shyly joined her.

The man used his cane to steady himself and bowed slightly to the Council.

“My lords, I am Metalcrafter Merrick, from Lemos Hold. May I interupt your proceedings?”

The Council all exchanged glances. Ah, D’nis thought, the key to this puzzle. I hope.

“By all means, sir.”

“Thank you. I have been led to understand that this meeting of yours is both unprecedented and concerns something I may have had a hand in.”

“Please, sir, enlighten us,” T’balt said.

The man coughed. “I am a minting stamp engraver. I have been creating minting stamps at Lemos Hold for over twenty years. At Lemos, engravers are assigned to produce the stamps for one Hold, or Hall . We call our clients ‘minters’. Mine was Southern Hold, I’ve carved stamps for Lord Toric for about as long as I’ve been there. Before then I apprenticed at Telgar Metalcraft Hall. My Master at Lemos Hall, Roliman, had apprenticed to Wansor.”

He cleared his throat. “I take pride in my work, my lords. It is mindnumblingly boring, demanding intense concentration, meticulous attention to detail, and precisely machining the small end of a steel shaft. One slip up and you must start all over again. It takes me a very long time to precisely create a stamp. I’ve lost a fingertip to the lathe while doing so.

Just before Turnover, Master Roliman suddenly took ill. Despite his age, he was healthy as a horse, then without any warning, died. He was a hard task master, but he instilled in me the pride that comes with doing a job to perfection. He taught me the importance that a minting stamp has for all of Pern.

He’d been a widower for years, but in the last year or so of his life he had taken up with a woman named Yvanna. Yvanna claimed that she was there to serve as Southern Hold’s liaison, but the way she acted, I believed she had more things on her mind. Immediately after Roliman died, she assumed command of the engraving shop. We could all tell, though, that she had no training whatsoever in cutting stamps. And she had no interest in the other engravers, only me as Southern Hold’s maker. She asked many questions and at first I thought perhaps she wanted to start learning how to create stamps. But she was too old, it takes years and years to learn how to do it correctly. One time she mentioned that she had a son, but I never knew his name or met him.

Right after Turnover, my wife suddenly disappeared. She wasn’t the type to just skyhoot off, my lords, I came home to our cavern one night to find evidence of a struggle, and she was gone. I had no idea where she was, I asked everyone until Yvanna told me she’d fallen ill while I was working and she’d taken my wife somewhere where ‘she could be treated’. This is despite the fact that Lemos Hold has some very good Healers, who had no idea what Yvanna was talking about.

The man shook his head, saddened.

“I knew better. She and I were together for thirty years. I knew she wasn’t ill, my lords, I had a feeling she’d come to disaster, just like Master Roliman. I set out to search for her, but Yvanna refused my request for time off, and gave me a letter she insisted my wife had written.

In it she said she was chained in a dark little cavern no bigger than a horse stall and about as inviting. She wrote that Yvanna told her only if I behaved would she be fed and watered. I asked Yvanna, why are you doing this, this is not right. I’m going to the Lord Holder right now. Yvanna said, from now on, you answer to me. If you tell anyone I’ve chained up your wife, if you fail to do exactly as I order, I will let her die of starvation or exposure. She said I would live in a loft above the shop, I was to be silent during the day, if I let the other engravers crafters know I was up there my wife would be beaten. Then she took my boots, as if I were a common thief in a cell. I kept asking her if I could at least visit my wife and she refused. She said, “You will do as I tell you.” From then on, I was forced to work at night, after the rest of the crew had left.

She had one of those datalinks that some folks have, she used it every night. Many times I saw her writing on little bits of lightwood. If she wasn’t watching me, her fire lizard was. At the end of the night, she’d lock me in the loft, and only then bring me something to eat.”

The crowd rumbled.

“Even though I’d already produced most of Southern stamps, she set me to making another set. But she wanted them cut in brass rather than steel. Minting stamps are supposed to be made of steel, because brass doesn’t hold an edge as well or as long as steel does. She told me what words to engrave on the stamps, as if I didn’t know. She told me she would release my wife only when the stamps met her standards.”

“What were the words?” T’balt asked.

“Sir, she had me purposefully misspell the words for the amount of marks and Southern Hold.”

“Misspelled?”

K’ndar and Jansen exchanged knowing glances.

“Yes, for instance, changing an O into an E, something that wouldn’t be too noticeable, but definitely misspelled. On purpose.”

“She wanted them to be misspelled? But-the moment someone saw a misspelled word on the mark they would know it was no good.”

“Precisely, my lord. All us engravers not only take pride in that they are perfect, but also work under the knowledge that a bad mark can undermine any sort of financial dealing. Let’s never mind that every minter, be he a Holder or a Crafter, demands the stamps be perfect. When one uses a brass stamp, it doesn’t take too many uses before the mark starts looking ragged and eventually illegible. It would make the mark look like it was counterfeit. Which it would be.”

Everyone began to wonder about the marks in their pocket. Some even pulled them out and examined them.

“Were they from Holds, or Weyrs, or Halls from all over Pern?”

“No, my lord, only from Southern Hold.”

The Council was stumped. “Why in the world would she WANT the marks to be considered counterfeit? I would think she’d want good ones, to spend at Lord Toric’s expense,” Lord Holder Deckman asked, thinking of how he’d stamped marks for Nabol Hold.

Grafton had returned to the front of the crowd. Fafhrd landed on his shoulder.

“If I may insert myself into the proceedings, my lords?”

“Yes, Grafton. Thank you for coming, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it, not for the world, my lords. Why would someone WANT to bugger up brand new marks? Why? To break Lord Toric.”

“What?”

“If you were to receive-or try to spend a mark, supposedly brand new and it was misspelled, or the engraving ragged, wouldn’t you immediately know it was counterfeit?”

Heads bobbed in agreement.

“We all know that if we have a mark that’s broken or worn out, that all we need do is return it to the Hold or Hall that it’s from for a new one or one that’s still legible. No one is obligated to accept a mark that, in their opinion, can’t be read, or the crest is worn off, or the mark just doesn’t look legal.

Minters turn in old marks, AND old stamps, to Lemos Hold. Only then are they issued new ones.

So, at the beginning of the year, minters depend on Lemos Hold to provide them with new, blank marks and new stamps. Everyone but Lord Toric exchanges old for new at the same time as they’re delivered by dragonriders. Only Lord Toric has to wait for new blanks and marks to be hand delivered.Thus, there’s a gap in the time he gets his new money. In the meantime, his debts pile up, his people don’t get paid, he can’t purchase things from from other Holds and Halls. There are things that just can’t be bartered for or tithed, those things demand money.

I would guess that at this moment, he hasn’t minted a new mark because he doesn’t have the stamps. I’m certain he’s sweating their arrival, he doesn’t know that K’ndar intercepted the brass stamps. At this moment, Lord Toric is effectively broke, or at least, is deep in debt to everyone. Now he’s in dire straits. He has no new stamps. Merrick, sir, how long does it take to create a new set of stamps?” Grafton asked.

“Uh, excuse me, but did you say Lord Toric DIDN’T get the brass stamps? Yvanna sent them via fire lizard,” Merrick said, afraid to hope.

“He did not. We have them here,” Raylan said from the audience.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Merrick sighed in relief. One less thing I have to worry about, he thought.

He’d been spellbound by Grafton’s discussion. It is painfully obvious he is blind, how does he move around so well? he wondered. Oh, Grafton asked me a question.

“I’m sorry sir, I’m overjoyed to learn that the brass stamps didn’t make it. To answer your question, it takes weeks to make one. I usually took about a month and a half to make one new one, and minters, meaning anyone who creates their own marks, usually want at least three, sometimes four denominations. That’s why we start working on making new stamps about mid-summer. And even then, they have to pass a most exacting inspection before they’re approved for issue.”

“So,” Grafton continued, his scarred face animated, “If Lord Toric gets stamps that are bad, he has to wait six months, maybe more? for new ones. In the meantime, he is bleeding out, he has fewer and fewer marks with which to pay or purchase.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grafton was enjoying this. I should get out more often, he thought, that horrid woman Lavella to the contrary. I have been a bit reclusive. I’m finding I LIKE teaching.

Fafhrd purred, relieved that his weyrmate was no longer angry.

“I must admit, that I personally despise this growing reliance on money. I grew up when barter was virtually the only form of commerce. But times have changed, and I imagine that Landing, especially, can’t function on barter at all. I, for instance, have a very hard time reading a wooden mark,” Grafton said.

For a long moment, the crowd held its breath, not quite sure how to respond to the blind man’s self deprecating remark. Then Lord Cecilia laughed, setting off the rest. If she’s laughing it must be okay, they all thought.

She waved her hands in apology as she tried to stifle her laughter. Finally she said, “Oh, my stars, I apologize, Grafton, sir, please, I am so sorry but what you said,” she gasped, embarassed and tickled at the same time. “I had no intentions on drawing attention to your, um, your..”

Grafton grinned and made a deep bow. “It was intentionally said, my lord. The person who can’t make fun of himself is a diminished person indeed. Besides, I enjoy seeing you laugh, ma’am.”

How in the world can he see, Merrick wondered, he has no eyes! What am I missing? Oh, is it the fire lizard? Does it see FOR him?

After the laughter subsided, Grafton continued. “The thing about money is, marks, wooden marks, are only as good as the agreement of the entire world that they are worth more than, well, wood. Remember, this whole reliance on wood being the base of our economy was devised during times when Thread kept trees from growing. Back then, wood was more valuable than just about anything. Everyone knew that. But, today, if I say, a wood mark is legal tender but you say, if it’s not made of um, oh, let’s say copper, as that is our most valuable metal, you won’t accept it, and the entire financial edifice collapses.”

“Huh,” someone said, “I always wondered why it was wood.”

Grafton continued, “Then, of course, if enough people are stung by someone passing on a counterfeit mark, if enough people look at a mark and say this is a Southern Hold mark and they’re all counterfeit, they’re worthless, they won’t accept them or use them, even if they’re in good condition.

Essentially, Lord Toric will go broke, even if he’s sitting on a thousand brand new but misspelled marks. Even if he puts in an emergency request for new stamps still, Lemos Hold can’t produce them that fast. I don’t know how many of his old marks are in circulation. I’m certain there are, I’m sure that all of us have marks from all over Pern right now. As long as a mark is legible and in good condition it doesn’t matter how old it may be. But once people begin to distrust Southern Hold marks, no matter what condition they are in, Lord Toric will go broke.”

Ahhhhhhhhh, Francie thought. And here I thought the bad stamps were a cry for help. No. This is how you destroy a Holder. How fiendishly clever of this Yvanna.

It might not be such a bad idea for Lord Toric to go under, although a Hold collapsing is unheard of, D’nis thought. But despise him though I do, Toric IS the largest Holder on Pern, and a thousand people depend on him for a place to live and a job to do. Where would they all go? Would it be an evacuation of Southern again? Lord Dorn wouldn’t want them, he’s got his own Hold to manage, and although Dorn is our major supplier, Toric still provides some things Dorn can’t.

I don’t want to save his arse, but we’ll have to do SOMETHING to keep him propped up until he can get new stamps. Let’s hope he was smart enough to check the stamps before he actually began minting.

“It’s obvious to me, then, that this is how Yvanna and Fleming intended to overthrow Lord Toric,” Holder Deckman said.

Grafton said, “Yes, my lord. And if one Holder goes under, will there be others?”

There was a long silence as people tried to grasp the concept. The three pronged feudal society that was Pern was so entrenched in everyone’s mind that they could not conceive of anything else.

D’nis sighed. I was hoping we could get this all out and done with so I could get other things squared away, he thought, and I was hoping we dragonriders could do our drilling this afternoon. But like always, one large mess cleaned up inevitably creates another. Us seven will have to come to some sort of decision on this. Today. And we also will give Toric an ultimatum. No more human deliveries. It’s either dragon transport OR you go to Lemos Hold in person to accept your marks and stamps. Pigheaded lout. No more risking innocent lives because you’ve got a bug up your arse about dragonriders.

“Ah, greed. It works so often this way. She’s out for vengeance on Lord Toric. Sort of an ‘if i can’t have that Hold, no one else can, either,” Lord Deckman said.

He looked through Merrick. The old man calmly looked back at him.

“Merrick, sir, we know, now, how you came to be here, and thank you. You’ve cleared things up. Lord Toric needs new, real stamps NOW. We cannot allow him to founder. Can you make new stamps for him? Here?”

Merrick shook his head. “No, my lord. All my tools, my loupes, the lathe, all of it, are at Lemos Hold. I can’t go back, no. Yvanna ruined my reputation as an engraver, among other parts of my life.”

It began to dawn on everyone that this was very serious, indeed.

“When she took over your shop, sir, what happened to the stamps you said you’d already made?”

“My lord, I was supposed to turn them in for final certification. They were not mine, you understand, I was merely one link in the chain of custody. But Master Roliman died before I could turn them in to him. And I didn’t trust Yvanna to give them to her.”

“But they were completed? Done? Ready for issue?” Deckman said, grasping at straws. Only he had the full understanding of how desperate this was.

“They were, sir. They were perfectly made, my lord, I know my craft better than I know my own name. They were done and finished.”

“My stars, sir, how can we get them? How can we get them to Lord Toric?”

Merrick sighed. “My gut told me to hide them, despite all my years of bearing the responsibility of chain of custody. I lied to Yvanna, I told her the ones I’d made had not passed Roliman’s inspection so they’d been melted down and I would have to make new ones. So, what I’ve done, sir, is absolutely illegal but, uh, I brought them with me.”

“Yesssssssssssss,” someone sighed.

“I had thought, perhaps, to take them directly to Lord Toric,” Merrick said, “But I’ve heard tales of raiders in the Stony Wastes, and, begging your pardon, my lords, but Holders don’t usually like hearing that their liaisons are criminals.”

“Aye, ‘specially when Yvanna is Toric’s sister,” someone shouted.

“She’s his SISTER? That I did not know,” Merrick said, dumbfounded. “But now it makes sense.”

“Where, sir, are the stamps?” Lord Deckman said, his anxiety lessening. If we can get the stamps to Toric today? and damn him if he doesn’t want it to be by dragonrider. I’ll message him directly, Holder to Holder and say, either come here in person to take possession, or accept a dragon delivery on the front steps of your Hold. Period.

“Are they in your quarters?”

“No, sir. They have never left my side. Literally,” he said. He carefully unscrewed the carved wooden dragon head atop the steel cane. Many noticed that the dragon head was broken. He tilted the cane downwards, with his hand under it. A steel stamp slid out with a shlooping sound.

“My lords, if someone would catch these for me? I don’t want them to fall to the floor.”

A young woman from Admin beat the half dozen others who rushed forward.

“There’s four total, thank you, lass,” Merrick said. “Thank you. Please give these to Lord Lytol.”

“Oh, they’re heavy!” the girl said.

“By the stars,” T’balt said, “The cane is hollow. How clever.”

“I machined it myself, my lord, for just this purpose,” Merrick said.

Grafton smiled. I will enjoy a conversation with a glass of wine with this man, he thought. He is like me, in many ways. That is, if I can convince him to stay. I know I can find a spot for him here at Landing.

Merrick screwed the dragon head back onto his cane, then leaned on it.

“Did you carve that, dragon head, Merrick?” Cecilia asked.

“I did, ma’am. Out of skybroom wood, the hardest wood on Pern,” he said, watching the girl as she handed the stamps to Lord Lytol.

“I’ve never heard of skybroom breaking,” Cecilia said, “Your talent for carving is amazing.”

“My lord, you have the stamps?” Merrick said, as if not hearing the Harper.

“Safe in my possession,” Lytol said.

Merrick cleared his throat. “Please, let all present bear witness. I, Merrick, engraver, transfer custody of four steel minting stamps to Lord Lytol, Councilman Emeritus of Pern, for transfer to Lord Holder Toric of Southern Hold.”

A hundred throats called “Witnessed!”

Merrick felt the enormous load of responsibility lift from his mind. I didn’t say ‘of Lemos Hold’, but it’s okay. I’m Holdless, now, he thought.

“Thank you. Now I can rest.”

Lord Cecilia said, “Before we go any further, Merrick, after you made the stamps, what happened? Is your wife well?”

He dropped his head. “Ma’am, I made the brass stamps exactly as Yvanna demanded, with errors. It wounded my soul to do so, ma’am. Now my reputation as an engraver is deeper than fish dung. I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“When I gave the brass stamps to Yvanna, she tested them and was happy with them. She said ‘Oh, yes, these will do nicely.” I said, “Now I want my wife released.” I didn’t say I was going to flee with her and report what Yvanna had made me do.

She laughed, my lords. She said, “Ha, ha, you fool, do you really believe I would let her go? Or you? With what you know? No, she was such a bother, whining about wanting to be released. And I’ve been so busy, it’s been what, two weeks? since I checked on her.” Then she pulled her dagger and said, “So she’s dead and now you are about to join her.”

The crowd erupted in horrorified roars. K’ndar found himself shouting at the top of his lungs, “I’ll track her down, I will, by the stars!” but he was drowned out. Never in his life had he heard such fury from human throats. Outside, reacting to their owners, the dragons and fire lizards bellowed.

T’balt held up his hands, but it took many minutes to calm the crowd. He noticed his hands were shaking with adrenaline. I’ll find that excretion and despite my not being a swordsman, I’ll behead her, if it takes fifty whacks, he thought. No, I’ll MAKE sure it takes fifty whacks.

D’nis shouted at the top of his lungs, “QUIET!” and finally people relented. But there was a murmuring undercurrent. The air was electric with a savage thirst for vengeance. Now I know how mobs formed, he thought. All of these people are ready to kill her. To include me.

“My people, please, quiet,” Lord Lytol said. Let Merrick continue,” he said. seeing the older man beginning to tremble.

He’d looked at T’balt and realized the councilman was so angry he couldn’t speak. How in the world I can, I don’t know. What utter depravity, he thought, and I thought Fax was bad.

“Thank you, my lord,” Merrick said. He coughed. The crowd went quiet.

“My lords, when Yvanna said she’d starved my wife to death, I lost my mind. It went cold and empty of all but hatred and seeking vengeance.

She came at me and threw her dagger at me-and missed.

Then I hit her with my cane, fully loaded with steel,” he said, unconsciously stroking the broken head. “I hit her as hard as I could, and she fell down. I know I killed her. I had to run. So I took her boots, put them on, and I fled. I hid in the forests during the day and moved as quickly as I could during the night, and one morning I heard splashing and found a young dragonrider watching his blue dragon swimming in a lake. I had money, my lords, I had stashed some away for just this possibility.

I paid him to take me to Southern, and when I got to the port, I asked how to get here to Landing. And that lovely dragonrider over there, Francie? she brought me here.”

I would have carried you on my back, she thought, had I known why you were on the run.

The crowd was silent, knowing something was coming. They were not wrong.

He took a deep breath, and with great difficulty, knelt down. He placed the broken headed cane in front of him. He raised his head to meet the eyes of the Council. Now is my release from pain, he thought. Life without her isn’t life, it’s mere existence.

Tears ran down his cheeks. But there was a serenity in his eyes, one of acceptance of his fate.

“And now, my lord Lytol, the Council of Six, I humbly confess that I have killed Yvanna, of Lemos Hold, sister of Lord Holder Toric, and stole her boots. I plead for, and will accept any form of punishment, to include beheading, that you choose to inflict on me.”