Elgion wrapped the waxed slates carefully, and with a noticeable sigh of regret. “I’ll send them on to the Harper Crafthall anyway. Robinton will want to use them.”

“Use them? They’re that good?” Alemi was startled and regretted the lies still more.

“They’re cracking good. Maybe if the lad hears them, he’ll come forward on his own.” Elgion gave Alemi a rueful smile. “Since it’s obvious there’s some reason you can’t name him.” He chuckled at the Sea Man’s reaction. “Come now, man, the lad was sent away in some sort of disgrace, wasn’t he? That happens, as any harper worth his salt knows—and understands. Hold honor and all that. I won’t tease you anymore. He’ll surface to the sound of his own music.”

They talked of other things then, until the fishing fleet returned—two men of the same age but different background: one with an inquisitive interest in the world beyond his Sea Hold, and the other quite willing to satisfy it. Elgion was, in fact, delighted to find none of Yanus’s denseness and inflexibility in Alemi, and the Harper began to feel that after all he might be able to follow Master Robinton’s ambitious plan of broadening understanding beyond the limits of this Sea Hold.

Alemi was back the following day after the children had been dismissed, with more questions. He stopped midsentence finally, apologizing profusely for taking so much of Elgion’s time.

“I tell you what, Alemi, I’ll teach you what you’d like to know if you’ll teach me how to sail.”

“Teach you to sail?”

Elgion grinned. “Yes, teach me to sail. The smallest child in my class knows more about that than I do, and my professional standing is in jeopardy. After all, a Harper is supposed to know everything.

“I may be wrong but I can’t imagine that you need both legs to sail one of those little skiffs the children use.”

Alemi’s face lit up, and he pounded the Harper on the back with enthusiasm. “Of course I can. By the First Shell, man, I’d be glad to do it. Glad.”

And nothing would satisfy Alemi but to take the Harper down to the Dock Cavern immediately and give him the fundamentals of seamanship. In his own subject, Alemi was as good an instructor as the Harper; and Elgion was able to tack across the Harbor by himself by the end of the first lesson. Of course, as Alemi remarked, the wind was from the right quarter and the sea calm, ideal sailing conditions.

“Which rarely prevail?” asked Elgion; and he was rewarded by Alemi’s tolerant chuckle. “Well practice makes perfect, and I’d better learn the practical.”

“And the theory.”

So their friendship was cemented by mutual exchanges of knowledge and long visits together. Although their conversation touched many subjects, Elgion hesitated to bring up the subject of fire lizards, or the fact that the Weyr had asked him to search for traces of the elusive little creatures. He had, however, searched as much of the accessible coastline as he could on foot. There were some beaches that should be checked now from the seaside. With Alemi teaching him how to handle the skiff, he hoped he’d soon be able to do it himself. Elgion knew with certainty that Yanus would be completely scornful of any search for fire lizards, and the Harper didn’t want to implicate Alemi in any plan that would bring Yanus’s anger down on his head. Alemi was in bad enough straits over breaking his leg.

One clear bright morning, Elgion decided to put his solution to the test. He dismissed the children early, then sought out Alemi and suggested that today was not only a fine day but the sea was rough enough to test his ability. Alemi laughed, cast a wise eye at the clouds, and said that it would be mild as a bathing pool by afternoon but that the practice now would be useful to Elgion’s progress.

Elgion wheedled a large package of fish rolls and spicecakes from a kitchen auntie, and the two men set off. Alemi was agile enough now with his crutch and splint-bound leg on land, but he was glad of any excuse to be on the sea.

Once beyond the protecting arms of the Half-Circle cliffs, the sea was choppy with crosscurrent and wind; Elgion’s skill would be well tested. Alemi, disregarding an occasional wetting as the skiff plunged in and out of the wave troughs, played silent passenger while the Harper fought tiller and sheet to keep them on the course Alemi had set down the coast. The Sea Man became aware of the windshift some moments before Elgion, but it was the mark of his abilities as a teacher that Elgion was quick enough to notice the change.

“Wind’s slacking off.”

Alemi nodded, adjusting his cap slightly for the wind’s new direction. They sailed on, the wind slackening to a gentle pressure against the sail, the skiff’s speed aided more by the deep current than the wind.

“I’m hungry,” Alemi announced as he and Elgion saw the stumpy violet crags of the Dragon Stones to leeward.

Elgion released the sheet line, and Alemi pulled the sail down, furling it with absent skill against the boom. At his direction, Elgion lashed the tiller so that the current carried them idly downcoast.

“Don’t know why,” Alemi said through a mouthful of fishroll, “food always tastes better on the sea.”

Elgion contented himself to a nod since his mouth was full. He also had a good appetite; not, he qualified to himself, that he had been working overhard, just hanging on to the tiller and adjusting the sail sheet now and then.

“Come to think, don’t often have time to eat on the sea,” Alemi added. He gestured to include their leisurely bobbing, the skiff itself and the informal meal. “Haven’t been this lazy on a sail since I was old enough to haul a net.” He stretched and then adjusted his splinted leg slightly, grimacing against the awkwardness and discomfort. Suddenly he leaned away from the bulwark, to reach into the small locker fitted against the curve of the hull. “Thought so.” Grinning, he held up fishline, hook and dry worm.

“Can’t you leave off?”

“What? And have Yanus give out about unproductive hands?” Alemi deftly threaded line to hook and baited it. “Here. You might as well try hook line and bait. Or does the Masterharper object to cross-crafting?”

“The more crafts the better, says Master Robinton.”

Alemi nodded, his eyes on the current. “Aye, sending lads away to other Sea Holds for fostering doesn’t quite answer, does it?” Deftly he threw the line from him, watched the cast carry it well away from the drifting skiff and sink.

Elgion gave a fair imitation of that cast and settled himself, as Alemi had, to wait for results.

“What would we be catching out here?”

Alemi drew his mouth up in a grimace of indifference. “Probably nothing. Tide’s full, current’s strong, midday. Fish feed at dawn, unless there’s Thread.”

“Is that why you use the dry worm? Because it resembles Thread?” Elgion couldn’t suppress the shudder that went down his spine at the thought of loose Thread.

“You’re right.” The silence that often grips fishermen settled comfortably in the boat.

“Yellow-stripe, if anything,” Alemi finally said in answer to the question that Elgion had almost forgotten he’d asked. “Yellow-stripe or a very hungry packtail. They’ll eat anything.”

“Packtail? That’s good eating.”

“Line’ll break. Packtail’s too heavy for this.”

The current was inexorably drawing them closer to the Dragon Stones. But, although he wanted to get Alemi talking about them, Elgion couldn’t find the proper opening. At about the point where Elgion felt he’d better speak or they’d be pulled by the current into the Stones, Alemi casually glanced around. They were only several dragon lengths from the most seaward of the great crags. The water now lapped peacefully against the base, exposing occasionally the jagged points of submerged rock, eddying around others. Alemi unfurled the sail and hauled on the sheet line.

“We need more sea room near those. Dangerous with sunken rock. When the tide’s making, current can pull you right in. If you sail this way by yourself, and you’ll soon be able to, make sure you keep your distance.”