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curving about the space.
"Master Sintary needs no introduction," Toric said, lifting a voice that had
once carried above storms. "I see you have a scroll to read us today, Master
Harper."
Master Sintary rose, giving Toric a bland stare for such a terse introduction.
Toric enjoyed giving subtle jabs, especially to harpers and dragonriders. And
where were the dragonriders who should be here? Toric glared out across the
tanned faces, looking for the
Weyrleader. If K'van hadn't come ... Then Toric located him on the left, where
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trees and the ferny shrubs of this highland formed a bordering park. He
counted at least fifteen dragonriders and the three queen riders! Shards! He
could make no complaint that they had been delinquent in performing this Weyr
duty.
Sintary had taken two steps forward, an easy gesture of his hand waving Toric
to the other chair on the platform. Deftly unrolling the traditional scroll
with his right hand, he proceeded to read, winding it up with the skill of
long practice.
Toric took the chair, crossing his arms on his chest. He was almost as annoyed
now as he had been this morning when he'd awakened. The dragonriders were in
attendance. They-and far too many other people-would eat of the feast a Lord
Holder was required to produce. And how could Sintary make himself heard so
effortlessly? He hadn't even raised his voice, just intensified it with some
harper trick.
To occupy the time it would take Sintary to get through that thick scroll,
Toric surveyed the polite faces below him. Spotting his brother, Mastersmith
Hamian, Toric uncrossed his arms, because Hamian had assumed a similar stance.
Hamian and his new Plastics
Hall. Plastic indeed, when he should be working metals: especially that lode
of-what was it called? box-something-that produced very lightweight and
malleable ore. Toric hadn't encouraged his young brother to pursue his Mastery
in the Smithcraft only to have him fritter his skills away on some Aivas
nonsense. The summarily exiled Master Glass-smith Norist had been right to
call the artificial intelligence an Abomination.
The sun was now midheaven, and even in his loose clothing, Toric was beginning
to feel the heat. Packed rather tightly together, the crowd was becoming
restless, fanning themselves and shifting weight from foot to foot. Those who
had no one to leave their children with were beginning to sidle to the edge of
the crowd, taking the fretful whingeing brats away.
Was the Harper speeding up the tempo of his recital? Well, why not? The scroll
would be displayed on the notice board when the reading was over. He caught
the change of pace and heard Sintary's concluding remarks.
"Now, I can start taking your private petitions, which, I assure you, will be
scrupulously dealt with."
Sharding Harper Hall, meddling with what was Hold business. His holders had no
right to complain. They worked hard and they got what they deserved.
Toric quickly scanned the assembled to see if any petitions were being removed
from belt pouches or dress pockets.
Sintary finished reading. Cheers, loud calls, whistles, and other raucous
noise welled up, and that combined with the heat brought back Toric's
headache. While the bloody Harper descended the steps, Toric went down the
back way, into the cool shade. He needed to find Dorse. The man had said he
would be back by now from his latest trip north.
His public duty completed, Sintary stepped off the platform, aware that Toric
had scooted off as soon as he could. Just as well. The
Harper could collect petitions without Toric's interference. He whipped open
the sack he'd brought for the purpose and, securing the scroll of the Report
under his belt, took the petitions shoved at him as soon as he reached the
bottom of the steps.
"They'll be read, I assure you. Harper's word on it. Thank you. Yes, the
Council will see this. Thank you. It will take time but this will be read." He
repeated these phrases as he made his way through the crowd to post the
Report. "Yes, yes, this will be read." It became a litany. "They'll be read's"
to the left, a "harper's word on it" to the right, and "let me through, thank
you" as he made his way forward until he reached the notice board. He handed
the scroll to the apprentice in harper blue and held it flat to be tacked up.
The days of laborious copying by cramp-fingered apprentices were now well
gone. Council reports were printed by Masterprinter
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Tagetarl's speedy presses on some of the new heavy paper, made in rolls and
then plastic-coated so the notice could not be easily defaced. Copies had been
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