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It was long past supper time when Jessmet's right hand cramped up. She stretched in her chair at the solid copy table, careful not to knock over the jar of ink. The glows were dim and the Weyr's Archivist had long left the Records room.

Jessmet had been working in her single-minded way, copying out some old record. While some of the history was fascinating, 8th Pass tithe reports from Igen seemed hardly worth preserving. But that had been her latest task, and Jess was determined to do it properly. Dull it may be, but it was much quieter than drudge work in the kitchens.

Cracking her knuckles and her neck, Jessmet noticed the fading glows and the hour. Her stomach grumbled. With a sigh she filed the old records away and sprinkled sand over the fresh copy to dry the ink. Her other tools stored properly, she wound her way through the narrow corridors of the Weyr, down several levels, to the Kitchens.

It was never truly quiet, since other weyrfolk worked odd hours and someone needed refreshment at all times. Jessmet put together a plate with bread, leftover meat, and redfruit, poured herself a tepid cup of klah, and found a spot to sit at one of the long tables.

Jessmet was startled, having been applying her particular brand of concentration to her belated meal. "Oh!" she exclaimed, not expecting anyone to pay attention to her. People tended not to notice the petite girl and she was generally fine with that.

"Yes," she answered, gaining her composure. "Unintentionally, but yes. I worked right through dinner and only really noticed when the glows failed." Jessmet stretched her ink-stained fingers absently, hoping she didn't have dust or ink smeared on her face as well.

She smiled, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. "Are you new around here? I don't believe I've seen you before." Although the Weyr was crowded, long-term faces were certainly familiar to the weybred girl.

"Not to mention it can be easy to get lost," Jessmet replied with the sort of understanding condescension of a young person who had spent their formative years learning the passages of the Weyr-- and hearing visitors complain.

"I'm Jessmet," she added, eyeing the man's stained hands. "Wine, hm? This is just ink." Jessmet held up her much smaller hand to compare.

Jessmet chuckled. "Honestly, that's the way most of us had to learn. With so many people about, it's easy to get overlooked. So if you get lost, it could be awhile before someone thought to look for you!" She paused for a moment to sip her drink. "Of course, if half the children of the Lower Caverns are suspiciously quiet, it's probably time to mount a search party for the other half." The young woman remembered fondly the days when she had the time to explore the twisting passages of the Weyr.

"I've stood a few times," she said, her mouth downturning for a brief moment. Jessmet had been properly searched several Turns before, shortly before her mother had died. That first Hatching had been such a disappointment to them both. But the young woman had persevered, maintaining a quiet presence in each Candidate class-- when she wasn't needed elsewhere. She gave her a head a minute shake to dispel such thoughts. With barely a noticeable pause, Jessmet continued, "And yourself? Were you Searched from a crafthall then?"

Jessmet's brows raised slightly. The tall man did seem a bit old to still be an apprentice. Or to be Searched, for that matter. Or perhaps his height was deceiving. As was her own, although to the other extreme. With her petite frame Jessmet was often mistaken for several Turns younger.

"I hope to be," she said. "I missed the last one." The Weyr's Archivist admired her dedication to the craft, and, he'd be forced to admit, wasn't always prompt at reminding her when the dragons started thrumming. Jessmet's focus could be formidable.

"But there are lots of chances," she added, as much to reassure herself as the apprentice across the table. "We're due for a Pass and the dragons are supposed to clutch frequently in the years leading up to one." Weyrfolk, unlike some holders and crafters, never forgot the imminence of Threadfall.

Jessmet nodded. So she had been right, Kiriwar was old for an apprentice. Just about her own age, in fact. "I've nineteen Turns as well," she said with a rueful smile. "At least you've got a craft to go back to, should it not work out here. Wine-making is perfectly respectable."

Indeed, the Weyrs were probably some of the vineyard's most dedicated customers, besides the major Holds.

"I'll keep an eye out for you," Jessmet promised. "Are you rooming with the other male candidates? Or are others from your hall visiting?"

Jessmet washed down the last crumbs of her meal with the now-cold klah. "I'm sure the weyrleaders would find that amenable," she said. "Anyway, I should get going before it's much later."

With any luck, enough of the female candidates would have already gone to bed. Jessmet's back and arms were sore from a long afternoon and evening copying records and a hot bath would help greatly.

"It was a pleasure, Kiriwar." She shook his hand lightly, balancing her used plate and mug on the other arm.

With a final quick grin and a wave, Jess wove her way through the cavern, automatically straightening chairs and benches as she went. Her evening meal wasn't usually so pleasant. Jessmet brought her dirty dishes to the kitchen and finally, exhausted, made her way down the wide corridor to the Candidates' quarters.