To the sound of the discordant snores, Capiam dragged his feet to his quarters. He'd get some sleep before the drums started. Quite possibly he was weary enough to sleep through them for a while. He walked up the steps into the healers' section of the Harper Hall. When the Pass was over, he must really start the construction of a Healer Crafthall.

He reached his room and opened the door. A mellow glow softly lit the chamber. A bowl of fresh fruit and a small wine jar had been placed on his bedside table, and his bed fur turned back invitingly. Desdra! He was once more grateful for her thoughtfulness. Tossing his pack to the comer, he sat on the bed, the effort of pulling off his boots almost beyond his remaining physical strength. He loosened his belt, then decided not to remove his tunic and pants-too much effort required. He rolled onto the mattress and in the same movement jerked the fur over his shoulder. The pillow was remarkably welcoming to his tired aching head.

He groaned. He had left the drum messages. Fortine would know that he had returned, but not at what hour. He had to have sleep! He had been across Pern and up and down it. If he wasn't extra careful of his own health, he'd be a victim of the plague before he found out what it was.

He staggered from his bed to his table. "Disturb me not!" he printed boldly and, hanging onto the door to keep himself erect for that one last task, he pinned the note where it could not be missed.

Then when he sank into the comfort of his bed, he could relax into sleep.

Moreta was certain that she had only been asleep a few minutes when Orlith woke her.

Two hours you have slept but Kadith is in a frenzy.

"Why?" Moreta found it very difficult to lift her head from the pillow. It didn't ache, but her legs did. Whether from the dancing or from the wine, Moreta didn't know and probably would not have time to discover if Sh'gall was in one of his moods.

A sickness in the land, Orlith replied, sounding puzzled. Sh'gall went first to see K'lon and woke him.

"Woke K'lon?" Moreta was disgusted as she pulled on the first tunic she could reach. The clothing was slightly damp and her sleeping quarters were clammy. The weather must have changed.

There is a fine mist over the Weyr, Orlith obligingly reported.

Moreta shivered as she dressed. "Why on earth should he wake K'lon? The man's been ill and needs his rest."

He is convinced that K'lon has brought the illness here. Orlith sounded truly perplexed. K'lon was in Igen.

"K'lon is often in Igen. His friend is a green rider there."

Moreta splashed water into her face then rubbed the mint stick over her teeth, but it did little to improve the taste in her mouth. She ran her fingers through her short hair with one hand as she fumbled for a green pear from the dish in her room. The tart fruit might neutralise the aftereffects of all that Benden wine.

"Moreta!" Sh'gall's summons resounded from the entrance to her weyr.

Moreta had time to give Orlith's muzzle a swift caress before Sh'gall burst into the chamber. The queen blinked her eyes shut, feigning sleep. Sh'gall charged ten paces into the weyr and stopped, holding his hand up as if fending off an approach.

"A sickness is all over Pern. Men are dying and nothing can be done. Runners are dying, too. No one must leave the Weyr."

Sh'gall's eyes were wide with a genuine fear, and Moreta stared at him in surprise for a moment.

"Thread falls tomorrow, Sh'gall. The dragonriders must leave the Weyr."

"Don't come close to me. I may have been infected, too."

Moreta hadn't moved. "Suppose you give me some details," she said, speaking calmly.

"That animal they showed off at Ista-it was infected with a deadly disease. It's spread from Igen to Keroon Beasthold to Telgar. It's even in Southern Boll! Men are dead of it in Lord Ratoshigan's Hold. And he's been quarantined by Master Capiam. So are we!"

"Runners, you said?" Moreta's breath caught in her throat and she turned fearfully toward her dragon. "Dragons?" She'd touched that runner and if she'd contaminated Orlith . . .

"No, no, not dragons! Capiam said Talpan agreed they weren't affected. They had the beast killed. It hadn't looked sick to me!"

"Tell me 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?"