“I ought not to take your valuable time with chatter. Have you discovered something here which we missed?”

F’lar ground his teeth. He hadn’t overlooked a single legible word in those moldy Records, so how could she imply negligence so casually?

He forgave her when T’ron responded by flipping over the hide. “The skin is badly preserved, of course,” and he made it sound as if Benden’s wardship were at fault, not the depredations of four hundred Turns of abandonment, “but when you sent that weyrling with this news, I happened to remember seeing a reference to a Pass where all previous Records were no help. One reason we never bothered with timetable nonsense.”

F’lar was about to demand why none of the Oldtimers had seen fit to mention that minor fact, when he caught Lessa’s stern look. He held his peace.

“See, this phrase here is partly missing, but if you put ‘unpredictable shifts’ here, it makes sense.”

Lessa, her gray eyes wide with an expression of unfeigned awe (her dissembling nearly choked F’lar), looked up from the Record at T’ron.

“He’s right, F’lar. That would make sense. See—” and she deftly slipped the Record from T’ron’s reluctant fingers and passed it to F’lar. He took it from her.

“You’re right, T’ron. Very right. This is one of the older skins which I had to abandon, unable to decipher them.”

“Of course, it was much more readable when I first studied it four hundred Turns back, before it got so faded.” T’ron’s smug manner was hard to take, but he could be managed better so than when he was defensive and suspicious.

“But that doesn’t tell us how the shift changes, or how long it lasted,” F’lar said.

“There must be other clues, T’ron,” Lessa suggested, bending seductively toward the Fort Weyrleader when he began to bristle at F’lar’s words. “Why would Thread fall out of a pattern they’ve followed to the second for seven mortal Turns this Pass? You yourself told me that you followed a certain rhythm in your Time. Did it vary much then?”

T’ron frowned down at the blurred lines. “No,” he admitted slowly, and then brought his fist down on the offending scrap. “Why have we lost so many techniques? Why have these Records failed us just when we need them most?”

Mnementh began to bugle from the ledge, with Fidranth adding his note.

Lessa “listened,” head cocked.

“D’ram and G’narish,” she said. “I don’t think we need expect T’kul, but R’mart is not an arrogant man.”

D’ram of Ista and G’narish of Igen Weyrs entered together. Both men were agitated, sparing no time for amenities.