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

Elsewhere on Pern
NPC Weyr
River Bluff Weyr
Seacraft Hall

Story Listing
Series Listing

Weyrling Training

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 11th September 2007

Characters: Larstad
Description: Larstad has a bath (!!!)
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 5, day 25 of Turn 4

A bell sang silver through the stone walls of Barley Hill Hold just as Larstad shut and locked his door. He sighed, then slumped against it and rubbed his tired eyes. It had been a long, trying day, and the night before he'd spent huddled beneath a thin blanket by the side of the road. And now he had locked himself into his rooms, made a prisoner by Thorril's draconian laws and his own cowardice.

His own temper, really, if he wanted to be truthful to himself.
Thorril was an honorable man, and honorable men were bound by their honor to do stupid things.

After a moment he pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots. What he'd said in anger couldn't be taken back, and he'd have to tread lightly on the morrow. Now he only wanted to rest. Some thoughtful drudge had left glows for him to see by, and he found himself examining the grain of the leather beneath his work-roughed hands. It was soothing in a way that an unfamiliar room could never be. **Unless it has a clock.** Which this one didn't. He set the boots aside regretfully and made himself studied his room with a little more care.

This room had obviously been one of the finer guest rooms. Now, under an unforgiving glowlight, the tapestries looked a little moth-eaten and weathered and the occasional loose thread waved its blind head around the room. The leather furniture was well cared for, but also well worn and scarred by boots and careless belt knives. A water stain oozed brown across the ceiling and the plaster on the walls was cracked. Barley Hills Hold had once been one of the richest minor holdings in Amber Hills Hold's territories. **Not anymore. See how the mighty have fallen.** When he'd arrived he'd been inclined to pity them. Thorril's idiocy that evening had killed that errant emotion. **Which is as it should be. Emotional responses are misleading and weak. You know better than to pity them - for all I know now, the brandy was stolen to avoid paying a full tithe.**

An open door beckoned, and to his delight Larstad found a full bath with working plumbing. He twisted a tarnished knob and a stream of delightfully hot water streamed into the porcelain tub. Barley Hills Hold might not have electricity or clocks, but at least they weren't complete heathens. As the tub filled he took the nails, fluff, and beetle from his pocket and put them into three glass jars that he'd brought with him from his workshop and set them on a shelf. Some kind soul had left a decanter of brandy waiting for him, and he poured himself a generous helping and brought the glass with him into the bath. The warm water slipped around his limbs and Larstad settled into the steaming water with a sigh of pleasure. Small bubbles clung to the hair on his torso and legs and tickled as they slowly lost their grip and wound their way to the surface. He took a sip of brandy and set it on the edge of the tub beside himself.

Even if Thorril was a controlling bastard, he was there to find a thief, not cast judgment. What Thorril did to the man afterward was none of his business. **Whipping... how barbaric.** A crack of leather, a spray of blood... Larstad tasted copper on his tongue and reached for the brandy. **Focus.**

He hadn't met any possible suspects yet, save for Thorril and Harrit.
**But why would the Lord or his Steward steal their own bounty? That makes no sense...** He frowned. **And they both have a key. That room was burgled without using a key.**

The brandy tasted like sunshine and was starting to spread slowly through his blood. **Someone got greedy. There's no other reason to steal brandy - there's better ways to get revenge. The Hold used to be quite prosperous, but now... it's population was halved and its coffers depleted to buy new distillation equipment after the Plague, and then there were bad grape harvests... they're struggling. Who is tired of only scraping by?**

Larstad blinked. The edges of the room were beginning to get fuzzy.
That wasn't right - he was used to being drunk, but half a glass? The Smith turned his head but couldn't find where he'd put it. Somewhere on the edge... something smashed on the slate floor of the bathroom.
**The glass?** He tried to sit up to look but his muscles felt like water.. warm water. Water he was slipping into. It lapped at his upper lip as he struggled to sit up. **Shards... drugs...**

His head slipped beneath the surface, and Larstad struggled to regain control of his body.

Last updated on the September 13th 2007