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in surprise. “It’s just a scrape.”
    “This is Southern, Tai, and you should know by now that even well-tended wounds can develop some peculiar infections.” He cocked his head at her, wondering if he should try a coaxing smile. He had the jar open and passed it under her nose. “Smell? Just reliable old numbweed. Fresh made this spring. My own private supply.” He used the tone that had been effective with his sons when they were tots. He held out his hand again, palm up, wriggling his fingers to overcome her reluctance. “Someone might grab that hand later when you’re dancing and that’d really hurt.” As if on cue, music from the square swelled into an audible finale.
    She relented and, almost meekly, extended her hand. He liftedhis palm up to steady her fingers as he turned the numbweed jar over the scrape, waiting for a glob of the semiliquid stuff to ooze down.
    “It’s easier to let it take its own time,” he remarked idly, all too aware of her nervousness. The gouges weren’t deep, he noticed, but went from knuckles to wrist. She should have taken care of it immediately. It was, he judged from long experience with injuries, several hours old. Why had she ignored it?
    She gave a little gasp as the cool numbweed flowed. Expertly, F’lessan tilted her fingers and they both watched the salve slowly cover the scratches.
    “At Turnover one is more apt to require fellis for overindulgence than numbweed.” That wasn’t a particularly clever remark, F’lessan said to himself and gave his head a little shake. “There! That’ll prevent infection.”
    “I didn’t realize it was quite so bad. I was in a hurry, you see.” She gave the reading room a quick glance.
    “Trying to work without interruption.” He chuckled, hoping that wouldn’t offend her as much as his smile seemed to. “That’s why I’m here. No, wait a few moments longer to let the numbweed set,” he added when she started to move.
    He pulled out a chair, indicating that she should seat herself as he dragged another over for himself, switching it around so he could straddle it, resting his arms on the top. She propped her arm on the table, watching as the numbweed changed from clear to opaque on the scrape. Trying to appear more solicitous than overbearing, he let the silence lengthen, wondering what he could ask without giving additional offense. He didn’t usually have problems striking up conversations. He was beginning to wonder if he should have just left her alone in the reading room. Just then the significance of all those
Yoko
records made sense.
    “May I ask why you’re interested in the Ghosts?”
    She stared at him in such astonishment that her mouth, with its very well shaped lips, fell slightly open. He gestured.
    “Why else would anyone be looking over Turns of the end of the thirteenth month? When the Ghost Showers occur?”
    She looked everywhere but at him and then, suddenly, blurted out, “I often do some research for Master Wansor and he’d heardthat the Ghosts—which we can’t see down here—but you’d know about them since you’re from Benden—” she stopped, swallowing as if she’d said something untoward.
    “Yes, I know that they are not visible here in the southern hemisphere, and yes, they do appear extremely bright and numerous right now. I did notice. In fact, many people have noticed,” he went on encouragingly, “but, having lived in Benden Weyr all my life, I remember that on other occasions, they have been as bright and as numerous. I have studied some astronomy, so would a Benden dragonrider not totally untutored in his local starscape be any help to you?”
    “Personal observations are always admissible,” she said rather primly. “Others have noted,” and she gave him the ghost of a smile, pointing to several of the volumes, “their brightness and numbers occur in cycles of seven Turns.”
    “That’s right, because I was three when I saw the pretty lights and asked about them,