please how men could die in Southern Boll when that feline was still in Ista?”
“Because there’s an epidemic! It started when the seamen hauled that beast out of the water and brought it home. Everyone wanted to see it, so they took it to Igen Hold, then Keroon Beasthold and Ista before this Talpan fellow realized it was a carrier. Yes, that’s what Capiam said: The feline was a carrier.”
“And they displayed it at Ista Gather?”
“No one knew! Not until this Talpan fellow came along and talked to Capiam. He’d been to all the infected holds.”
“Who? Talpan?”
“No, Capiam! Talpan’s an animal healer.”
“Yes, I know.” Moreta held on to her patience because Sh’gall was obviously so rattled as to be incoherent. “Nothing was mentioned of this at Ruatha Gather.”
Sh’gall gave her a patient glare. “Of course, the truth wasn’t known. Besides, who talks of unpleasant things at a Gather! But I just conveyed Capiam to his hall. I also had to convey Ratoshigan and Capiam to Southern Boll because Ratoshigan received an urgent drum message to return.
He
had deaths. He also had new runners in from Keroon; they probably brought that sickness to the west.” Sh’gall glowered and then shuddered violently. “Capiam said that if I didn’t touch the feline I might not get sick. I can’t get sick. I’m the Weyrleader.” He shuddered again.
Moreta looked at him apprehensively. His hair was damp, pressed in a wet ridge about his forehead by his riding helmet. His lips were slightly blue and his skin very pale. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine! I’m fine. I bathed in the Ice Lake. Capiam said that the disease is like Thread. Cold kills Thread and so does water.”
Moreta took up her fur cloak, which lay where it had fallen from her shoulders a scant two hours before, and approached him with it.
“Don’t come near me.” He stepped backward, his hands extended to fend her off.
“Sh’gall, don’t be idiotic!” She flung the cloak at him. “Put that about you so you won’t get sick of a chill. A chill would make you more susceptible to whatever disease is about.” She turned back to the table and poured wine, splashing it in her haste. “Drink this. Wine is also antiseptic. No, I won’t come near you.” She was relieved to see him settled, the cloak about his shoulders, and stepped back from the table so he could reach the wine. “An utterly foolish thing to do, plunge yourself into the Ice Lake before the sun is up and then travel
between.
Now sit down and tell me again what happened at Ista Gather. And where you went with Capiam and exactly what he said.”
She listened with half her attention to Sh’gall’s more orderly recounting while she mentally reviewed what precautions and measures she could take to ensure the health of the Weyr.
“No good comes from the Southern Continent!” Sh’gall commented gratuitously. “There’s a very sound reason why no one is permitted there.”
“Permission has never been denied. I always understood that everything we need was taken over in the Crossing. Now, what are the symptoms of the disease that’s spreading?” Moreta recalled the bloody discharge from the dead runner’s nose, the only external sign of its mortal distress.
Sh’gall stared uncomprehendingly for a long moment, then collected his thoughts. “Fever. Yes, there’s fever.” He glanced at her for approval.
“There are many kinds of fevers, Sh’gall.”
“Berchar will know, then. Fever, Capiam said, and headache and a dry cough. Why should that be enough to kill people and animals?”
“What remedies did Capiam specify?”
“How could he specify when he doesn’t know what the plague is? They’ll find out. They’ve only to search hard enough. Oh, he said to treat the symptoms empirically.”
“Did he mention an incubation period? We can’t just stay quarantined in the Weyr forever, you know.”
“I know. But Capiam said we mustn’t
“Because there’s an epidemic! It started when the seamen hauled that beast out of the water and brought it home. Everyone wanted to see it, so they took it to Igen Hold, then Keroon Beasthold and Ista before this Talpan fellow realized it was a carrier. Yes, that’s what Capiam said: The feline was a carrier.”
“And they displayed it at Ista Gather?”
“No one knew! Not until this Talpan fellow came along and talked to Capiam. He’d been to all the infected holds.”
“Who? Talpan?”
“No, Capiam! Talpan’s an animal healer.”
“Yes, I know.” Moreta held on to her patience because Sh’gall was obviously so rattled as to be incoherent. “Nothing was mentioned of this at Ruatha Gather.”
Sh’gall gave her a patient glare. “Of course, the truth wasn’t known. Besides, who talks of unpleasant things at a Gather! But I just conveyed Capiam to his hall. I also had to convey Ratoshigan and Capiam to Southern Boll because Ratoshigan received an urgent drum message to return.
He
had deaths. He also had new runners in from Keroon; they probably brought that sickness to the west.” Sh’gall glowered and then shuddered violently. “Capiam said that if I didn’t touch the feline I might not get sick. I can’t get sick. I’m the Weyrleader.” He shuddered again.
Moreta looked at him apprehensively. His hair was damp, pressed in a wet ridge about his forehead by his riding helmet. His lips were slightly blue and his skin very pale. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine! I’m fine. I bathed in the Ice Lake. Capiam said that the disease is like Thread. Cold kills Thread and so does water.”
Moreta took up her fur cloak, which lay where it had fallen from her shoulders a scant two hours before, and approached him with it.
“Don’t come near me.” He stepped backward, his hands extended to fend her off.
“Sh’gall, don’t be idiotic!” She flung the cloak at him. “Put that about you so you won’t get sick of a chill. A chill would make you more susceptible to whatever disease is about.” She turned back to the table and poured wine, splashing it in her haste. “Drink this. Wine is also antiseptic. No, I won’t come near you.” She was relieved to see him settled, the cloak about his shoulders, and stepped back from the table so he could reach the wine. “An utterly foolish thing to do, plunge yourself into the Ice Lake before the sun is up and then travel
between.
Now sit down and tell me again what happened at Ista Gather. And where you went with Capiam and exactly what he said.”
She listened with half her attention to Sh’gall’s more orderly recounting while she mentally reviewed what precautions and measures she could take to ensure the health of the Weyr.
“No good comes from the Southern Continent!” Sh’gall commented gratuitously. “There’s a very sound reason why no one is permitted there.”
“Permission has never been denied. I always understood that everything we need was taken over in the Crossing. Now, what are the symptoms of the disease that’s spreading?” Moreta recalled the bloody discharge from the dead runner’s nose, the only external sign of its mortal distress.
Sh’gall stared uncomprehendingly for a long moment, then collected his thoughts. “Fever. Yes, there’s fever.” He glanced at her for approval.
“There are many kinds of fevers, Sh’gall.”
“Berchar will know, then. Fever, Capiam said, and headache and a dry cough. Why should that be enough to kill people and animals?”
“What remedies did Capiam specify?”
“How could he specify when he doesn’t know what the plague is? They’ll find out. They’ve only to search hard enough. Oh, he said to treat the symptoms empirically.”
“Did he mention an incubation period? We can’t just stay quarantined in the Weyr forever, you know.”
“I know. But Capiam said we mustn’t
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