“We’ve had to take time to copy these Records,” Terry continued solemnly, “because they are all but illegible now…”

“I contend that we lost more than was saved and useful. Some skins were worn out with handling and their message obliterated.”

The two smiths seemed to be exchanging portions of a well-rehearsed complaint.

“Did it never occur to you to ask the Masterharper for help in transcribing your Records?” asked F’lar.

Fandarel and Terry exchanged startled glances.

“I can see it didn’t. It’s not the Weyrs alone who are autonomous. Don’t you Craftmasters speak to each other?” F’lar’s grin was echoed by the big Smith, recalling Robinton’s words of the previous evening. “However, the Harperhall is usually overflowing with apprentices, set to copying whatever Robinton can find for them. They could as well take that burden from you.”

“Aye, that would be a great help,” Terry agreed, seeing that the Smith did not object.

“You sound doubtful—or hesitant? Are any Crafts secret?”

“Oh, no. Neither the Craftmaster nor I hold with cabalistic, inviolable sanctities, passed at deathbed from father to son…”

The Smith snorted with such powerful scorn that a skin on the top of the pile slithered to the floor. “No sons!”

“That’s all very well when one can count on dying in bed and at a given time, but I—and the Craftmaster—would like to see all knowledge available to all who need it,” Terry said.

F’lar gazed with increased respect at the stoop-shouldered Craft-second. He’d known that Fandarel relied heavily on Terry’s executive ability and tactfulness. The man could always be counted on to fill in the gaps in Fandarel’s terse explanations or instructions, but it was obvious now that Terry had a mind of his own, whether it concurred with his Craftmaster’s or not.

“Knowledge has less danger of being lost, then,” Terry went on less passionately but just as fervently. “We knew so much more once. And all we have are tantalizing bits and fragments that do almost more harm than good because they only get in the way of independent development.”

“We will contrive,” Fandarel said, his ineffable optimism complementing Terry’s volatility.

“Do you have men enough, and wire enough, to install one of those things at Telgar Hold in two days?” asked F’lar, feeling a change of subject might help.

“We could take men off flame throwers and hardware. And I can call in the apprentices from the Smithhalls at Igen, Telgar and Lemos,” the Smith said and then glanced slyly at F’lar. “They’d come faster dragonback!”

“You’ll have them,” F’lar promised.

Terry’s face lit up with relief. “You don’t know what a difference it is to work with Benden Weyr. You see so clearly what needs to be done, without any hedging and hemming.”

“You’ve had problems with R’mart?” asked F’lar with quick concern.