The Master Harper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  Sucho shook his head. "That wall's been there since my hold was built."

  "Since my hold was built, you mean," Tortole said.

  "Then it's small wonder that it has fallen. The mortar would have deteriorated over the turns," Robinton said. "But that does not keep it from having two sides. You' – he pointed over the fallen wall at Tortole – "will build your side, smack up against Sucho's." He turned to the herder. "And you will be sure to build your side smack up against Tortole's. You alternate putting in the mortar, to be sure that both sides are bound together."

  "And we will see you started in the morning," Groghe said.

  "But we've other work to do!" Tortole shouted, outraged.

  "I've herds to tend," Sucho bellowed simultaneously.

  "I notice that you each have two sons," Robinton put in. "Strong fellows, and you have the stones to hand. I wonder which of you, working three to a side, can finish your side first."

  "Why, my sons and I ..."

  "My sons and I ..."

  Tortole and Sucho glared at each other.

  "Then we will see just who does win tomorrow, won't we?" Robinton said as pleasantly as possible, smiling amiably.

  "You'll stay with us," Sucho said, jerking a thumb at his chest.

  "No, they'll stay with us in a decent cot--' Tortole replied.

  "No!" Robinton's well-trained bellow silenced them both. "Since Groghe is Fort, he will stay with his holder. And I, not being beholden to either Fort or Tillek, will stay with Tortole. However, if this evening anyone will care for a song or two, I will sit on that post -" he pointed to the one still standing, where a gate of sorts must once have been, allowing access from one holding to the other "– and sing for both families. Since a harper is obliged to be impartial."

  Then, before the astonished men could argue further, he swung up on the Ruathan runner and urged it forward, finding a narrow place where the animal could hop easily over the scattered stones.

  "Will it be possible to have a wash before dinner?" he asked his appointed host as he paused by him.

  Groghe was drawing Sucho with him towards the cot, where several more figures had appeared in the doorway. Groghe was initiating pleasantries, and Robinton heard the grumbles of answers.

  "I do hope that we will not put you out for our dinner. We have our own provisions," Robinton said. "A nice plump wherry that I took off its branch this morning." He patted the carcass, which he had fastened to the back of his saddle.

  "How'd you get it?" one of the sons asked, peering at the beheaded avian.

  "Knife throw," Robinton said indifferently. It wouldn't hurt to suggest that he was proficient with a blade. He was, but it bore repeating with these rough-living folk. Tortole was taller than he, and massive. His sons, while younger, were no less substantial. It amused him that the herders looked equally able to take care of themselves, which probably contributed to the stand-off.

  "And you a harper?" The son sounded surprised.

  "Oh, I have to travel long distances on my own," Robinton said as they reached the forester's cot. He nodded pleasantly to the three women who came out, their curiosity getting the better of their shyness. "Hunting's necessary from time to time." He gave a courteous bow to the oldest of the women, dressed in rough skin pants and clearly embarrassed to have a visitor. "I have begged shelter from your spouse. And bring this to add to the supper pot." He bowed again as he handed over the wherry.

  She opened and closed her mouth several times without getting a sound out.

  One of the others took it from her, examining it with a knowledgeable eye, and managed a grin. "Young and fresh. Thanks, Harper." She nudged the other, who was too surprised to respond to his smiles in any way. "It'll do just fine. If these louts would do more hunting instead of herding, we'd not take yours from you." She gave the men a withering smile and then, grabbing the old woman by the arm and prodding the other with the wherry carcass in her hand, she propelled them all into the cot.

  "I'll get the loft ready for you, Harper," one of the lads said, remembering the duties of hosting.

  "I'll do your mount. Ruathan, isn't it?" the other said, taking the reins from Robinton's hand and casting an approving eye over the runner.

  "I'll just ... take my things," Robinton said, slipping open the knot which tied the saddlebags and grabbing them and his gitar.

  "You'll play for us this evening?" the first lad asked, eyes glinting with hope.

  "I said I will. And I will. On the post so both -' and he paused for emphasis – "can enjoy."

  The cot, while somewhat primitive, was larger inside than it looked from outside. The main room was obviously where most interior work was done, but it was separated into sections: one for the women's tasks, another for the men's, with an eating area and well-made chairs set near the good-sized fireplace. There were rooms off each end, and off the long wall that the hearth dominated; ladders led to lofts on both sides. If he were to be accommodated above, Robinton decided, he'd best remember to keep his head down.

  But he was escorted to one of the side rooms, which contained one large bed. The son cleared clothing from the two stools and one chest, where he gestured for Robinton to place his bags.

  "Who am I displacing?" the journeyman asked.

  "My father and mother." The son gave a chuckle. "The honour is theirs, and ours, to have a harper as guest. I'm Valrol. My brother is Torlin. My mother's name is Saday; the girl who took the wherry is my spouse, Pessia, from Tillek FishCraftHall. My sister is Klada. She would like to spouse Sucho's son, but my parents won't let her because of the wall. But, if she spouses him, then Pessia and I will have a room to ourselves."

  alrol spoke in a low voice and quickly, trying to give Robinton all the necessary information before an extended absence brought his father to see what was delaying them.

  I'll show you where the bath is," he said, and Robinton murmured thanks, rummaging in his pack for his towel, soap and a clean shirt.

  The bath was actually heated by some connection with the hearth, so it was not the cold wash that he could have expected. He did not loll in the warm water, though he would have liked to soak the aches of travel out of his bones, but he was grateful for the luxury.

  A trestle table had been set up, but Robinton had the impression that the family usually ate sitting in the chairs by the fireplace.

  Pessia was putting the last of the wherry sections into the bubbling cauldron swung over the fire. Saday was busy tearing greens into a beautifully crafted wooden bowl, while Klada – still in shock from being in the presence of a stranger, and a harper at that – was trying to put cups on a tray without dropping them. With an exclamation at her awkwardness, Torlin took the tray from her and, grabbing up a wine-skin, gestured for the harper to take a seat at the table.

  Foxy though the wine was, Robinton was grateful for the cup and gave a proper harper toast to his hosts, smiling at Saday when she shyly placed the salad bowl on the table.

  "That's beautifully done, Holder Saday," he said pleasantly, rubbing a finger along the rim. "Local wood?"

  She nodded, managing a smile, and then looked anywhere but at him, taking a long drink from her cup.

  By the time dinner was served and eaten, she had grown sufficiently accustomed to him that she suddenly blurted out that she had turned the bowl herself.

  "Do you send your wares to the Gathers?" he asked. Many people made a few extra marks from their home-made things.

  She shook her head vigorously. "Not good enough."

  "I think so," he said kindly, "and I've worked in wood. I make my own instruments."

  She bent her head, and that was the last he heard from her in conversation. His reassurance sat well with Tortole, though, who was far more amiable as the meal progressed. The men dominated the talk, asking questions and listening eagerly to Robinton's answers; their original rancour over his solution to the wall problem was easing. Pessia, having been reared in a large community, felt comfortable enough to brea
k in several times with cogent queries about the rest of Pern, and Valrol beamed proudly at her.

  Seen in a less threatening posture, Valrol was a good-looking young man. Robinton noticed the fond glances exchanged by the two and understood why she had taken him, despite the hold's isolation. Klada was attractive too, or would be if she looked up at anyone.

  The pleasant after-dinner talk was truncated by a knock on the door. All three men lurched to their feet and Saday gave a fearful squeak, but it was Robinton who reached the door first, forestailing further unpleasantness.

  Groghe stood in the doorway, a glowbasket in one hand and his pipe in the other.

  "Damned near broke my neck over that sharding wall," he muttered under his breath. "Are you finished eating, Journeyman Robinton, so that we can have the soothing benefit of new songs?"

  A glowbasket appeared in Tortole's hand. Shawls and jackets appeared on the Tortole contingent as they all stepped out, forming a sort of cordon which moved with Robinton.

  "Pessia, grab my gitar, would you please?" he asked, pointing to the side room where he had put his things.

  Once she returned, smiling at being given such an honourable task, he joined Groghe and they all made their way to the post where he had said he would sing. The Sucho group had brought out chairs, and instantly Tortole ordered his sons to bring seating for his folk.

  "Lovely evening," Robinton said as Groghe found himself a seat on the broken wall and settled down. The harper returned the Holder's wink with a nod and a grin and tuned his gitar.

  Despite this being a very small gathering, he started off with the Duty Song, Groghe joining him with his pipes.

  The look on the faces in the light of the glowbasket, their hunger for music, for companionship – which made this estrangement over a wall even more ridiculous – was a scene which Robinton doubted he would forget. And one which made his profession all the more important in his own eyes. He had taken so much for granted in his life.

  He played and sang until he went hoarse. As the gathering progressed, one after another of his listeners began to sing choruses with him. In fact, by the time he could sing no more he had quite a good chorus going, with three-part harmony in places.

  It was Groghe who called a halt. Robinton could no longer feel his buttocks, they'd been mashed against the post so long.

  "We have a long day's travel, my friends, and you have a wall to build tomorrow," the Holder said. "You have sung in harmony this evening. Continue that mood tomorrow."

  "I'll only build my half of the wall," Tortole said, unwilling to concede.

  "And Sucho will build his," Robinton said quickly, pointing at Sucho who hesitated briefly before nodding. "Your women don't need you two fighting," he added. "They are lonely enough up on this hill without being unable to share their lives with another family."

  The women agreed loudly.

  The two families were already at work – the women of both working together to mix new mortar and crack the old off the stones -by the time Groghe and Robinton were ready to mount. Robinton's parting gift was a sheaf of songs, which he gave to Pessia.

  "You have a good, strong alto. Get them singing again."

  "I will. I've missed it fearfully," she said, holding on to his hand a moment before taking the music. "Thank you," she added under her breath.

  By the time they had reached the trail winding through the forest, Groghe kicked Robinton's stirruped foot, grinning. "A wall has two sides, indeed! You've a glib tongue on you, Harper, but what a great notion! My father will howl with laughter."

  Robinton grinned, though the image of the dignified Lord Grogellan howling with laughter was more than he could manage.

  He was, in truth, rather pleased with himself because of the success of their interference.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  By the time they reached Tillek Hold, however, he had got tired of hearing Groghe repeat the tale of their little foray into arbitration at every hold they sheltered in on the long coastline leading to the tip of Tillek and the Hold. Lord Melongel was relieved to hear that the situation had been remedied – and very pleased to procure Journeyman Robinton's addition to his staff with such an instance of his abilities in the field. To offset this minor success, Robinton felt obliged to explain the circumstances under which he had left Benden Hold.

  "He'll learn, young Raid will," Melongel said after Robinton had been candid with him. "His loss, Tillek's gain. Come, meet my Lady and my tribe of promising Bloods. Master Minnarden's off doing an arbitration service for me, so you'll have to wait to hear what your precise duties are here. However, I'll warn you now that I like to change journeymen every three or four turns, so don't take it personally when either Minnarden or I suggest we make a change."

  Robinton grinned back, liking the man's manner: a refreshing change from the two much older Lords he had served, and a decided relief after Raid's didacticism. Melongel was in his prime, active and vigorous, with ragged good looks, though not quite as tall as his harper. He seemed to have time to attend to all his duties and still go out with the fishing fleet from time to time. Since Tillek Hold not only hosted the FishCraftHall but the MasterFishman, and did most of the western ship-building, Melongel thoroughly understood the needs of that Craft as well as the agriculture and forestry which made Tillek a profitable Hold. He had even qualified for his captaincy, but had never taken a command. On one cruise around the Southern Sea to Nerat, Melongel had found a major Holder's daughter, espoused her, and carried her back to his Hold. Robinton heard him call that the most profitable journey he'd ever made.

  When Master Minnarden returned two days later, he welcomed his new journeyman effusively, with reminiscences of earlier days spent at the Harper Hall and duets sung with the MasterSinger Merelan. Robinton held his breath, but the MasterHarper did not embarrass him in front of the other two journeymen with tales of Merelan's little boy.

  "I understand you're very patient with the slow, and I've several here I'd like to see you bring up to the level the others are at. With one it may not be possible. But if you can do anything, his parents and I would be grateful."

  Robinton murmured something polite.

  "To offset that chore, I'd like you to take the singers of the Hold for choral practice. I've had to do so much mediation lately, that I've had to give up a steady progression for them. You'll stand the necessary Drum Tower watches." At that, Minnarden grimaced, for the long hours of listening and little action were a penance for most harpers, who tended to be gregarious by nature. "If you can find a couple of lads in the Hold to train up to drumming, I'd be grateful. Shorten our hours. I've not had the time, and neither Mumolon nor Ifor has the top rating you got from the Hall DrumMaster."

  Again Robinton nodded. He had had the advantage of being raised in the Harper Hall and learning to decipher messages long before he took the actual course.

  "The usual evening divertissements, but we trade off." Then Master Minnarden looked quizzically at him. "Bring any new songs with you?" When Robinton smiled in assent, Minnarden sighed with relief. "Both Mumolon and Ifor are good harpers, excellent teachers, but couldn't compose if you gave them words and music to put together. That's your special skill, I understand ... and don't turn modest on me."

  Robinton chuckled.

  "You're quartered well?"

  Robinton bowed his head gratefully, for he had an outside room, small but private, with a window facing east and a bath next door.

  "Need anything?"

  Robinton shook his head.

  "Good. Tillek is not as much a warren as many big Holds. But that's because the cliff doesn't have that many caves, so they've used the local stone to build sturdy, Threadproof housing."

  Robinton looked at him sharply. This was the first time anyone had mentioned Thread.

  "Hmmm, yes, young harper, I believe we'll see Thread again," Minnarden said solemnly. "I've read too much in the Archives to think Pern will escape its return ... in due time. Are you of my mind?
Which, I must add, is not shared by many, including Melongel, though he's a well-read man."

  "The dragons told me. And I've friends in the Weyr..." Robinton admitted hesitantly. But if Minnarden believed Thread would return, he wouldn't object to Robinton's friendship with a dragonrider.

  "Keep them. Cherish them," Minnarden said. Then he cocked his head to one side. "Is that why young Lord Raid let you go?" He held up his hand when Robinton moved uneasily in the chair "I know, I know. If you believe in anything – anything – keep that faith. Now," he went on, rising, "if you've any questions after you've settled in, I prefer my harpers talking to me rather than complaining to each other. One last item, though, since this Hold's main source of income is from fishing, I'd like it if you could see your way clear to learn as much of this different lifestyle as you could. Never hurts. Even the hull of a ship has two sides."

  Robinton groaned: he was getting mighty tired of that reference! But he had to grin at Minnarden, who was clearly delighted with his new journeyman's adventure.

  Minnarden then retrieved from the shelf behind him a squared-off, leather-bound record book and slid it across the table to Robinton.

  "If you haven't memorized the Charter, you'd better, and study the examples of some of the more common infractions." Minnarden grinned. "That aspect of our job can be quite interesting at times ..." He paused to sigh. "And at others, about as infuriating as dealing with the dumbest, most insubordinate, mentally deficient adolescent male." Melongel's middle children – he had nine – were part of the chores group that Robinton was to rehearse. Bright, intelligent and curious, the two boys and one girl were musical enough so that any of the three could have apprenticed in the Harper Hall. His oldest, just a turn younger than Robinton, was Oterel – a rangy, awkward lad needing to grow into his bones. Oterel was delighted to have Groghe share both his room and his duties, for he already had stewardship responsibilities, which went more swiftly with help.