“Now, young Piemur, come forward.”
Menolly looked around in surprise, wondering how long Piemur had been sitting quietly by the door.
“The other morning, Menolly, our ears were assailed by pure sound, in descant to a chorus. Piemur here seems of the opinion that the fire lizards will sing for or with anyone. Do you concur?”
“They certainly sang the other morning, but I was singing, too. I do not know, sir.”
“Let us conduct a little experiment then. Let us see if they will sing when invited to do so.”
Menolly winced a little at his phrasing, but Piemur’s wry smile told her that this was Master Shonagar’s odd version of humor.
“Supposing I just sing the melody of the chorus we were doing the other morning,” said Piemur, “because if you sing with me, they’re still singing with you and not along with me?”
“Less chatter, young Piemur, more music,” said Master Shonagar, sounding extremely bass and impatient. Piemur took a breath, properly, Menolly noticed, and opened his mouth. To her surprise and delight, a true and delicately sweet sound emerged. Her astonishment registered in the twinkle in Piemur’s eyes, but his voice reflected none of his inner amusement to her reaction.
Belatedly she encouraged her fire lizards to sing. Beauty flitted to her shoulder, wrapping her tail lightly around Menolly’s neck as she peered toward Piemur, cocking her head this way and that as if analyzing the sound and Menolly’s command. Rocky and Diver were less restrained. They flew from their perch on the sandtable and, rearing to their haunches, began to sing along with Piemur. Beauty gave a funny scolding sound before she sat up, one forepaw resting lightly on Menolly’s ear. Then she took up the descant, her fragile voice rising sure and true above Piemur’s. His eyes rolled in appreciation and, when Mimic and Brownie joined in, Piemur backed up so that he could see all of the singing fire lizards.
Anxiously, Menolly glanced at Master Shonagar, but he sat, his fingers shading his eyes, engrossed in the sounds, giving absolutely no indication of his reception. Menolly made herself listen critically, as the Master was undoubtedly doing, but she found little to criticize. She hadn’t taught the fire lizards how to sing: she had only given them melody to enjoy. They had enjoyed it, and were expressing that enjoyment by participation. Their voices were not limited to the few octaves of the human voice. Their piercingly sweet tones resonated through their listeners. She could feel the sound in her ear bones, and, from the way Piemur was pressing behind his ears, he felt it as well.
“There, young fellow,” said Master Shonagar as the echo of the song died away, “that’ll put you in your place, won’t it?”
The boy grinned impudently.
“So they will warble with someone besides yourself,” the Master said to Menolly.
Out of the comer of her eye, Menolly saw Piemur reach out to stroke Rocky who was nearest him. The bronze immediately rubbed his head along Piemur’s hand, whether in approval of the singing or in friendship was irrelevant, judging by the charmed expression on the boy’s face.
“They’re used to singing because they like it, sir. It’s difficult to keep them quiet when there’s music about.”
“Is that so? I shall consider the potentialities of this phenomenon,” and with a brusque wave, Master Shonagar dismissed them all. He settled his head against his propped arm and almost immediately began to snore.
“Is he really asleep? Or shamming?” Menolly asked Piemur when they were out in the courtyard.
“Far’s anyone’s been able to tell, he’s asleep. The only thing that’ll wake him is a flat tone or meals. He never goes out of the chorus hall. He sleeps in a little room at the back. Don’t think he could climb steps anyway. He’s too fat. Hey, you know, Menolly, even in scales, you got a pretty voice. Sort of furry.”
“Thanks!”
‘Don’t mention it. I like furry voices,” Piemur went on, undismayed by her sarcasm. “I don’t like high, thin, screechy ones like Briala or Pona…” and he jerked his thumb toward the cot. “Say, hadn’t we better feed the fire lizards? It’s nearly suppertime, and they look kinda faded to me!”
Menolly agreed, as Beauty, riding on her shoulder, began to creel piteously.
“I sure hope that Shonagar wants to use the fire lizards with the chorus,” Piemur said, kicking at a pebble. Then he laughed pointing to the kitchen. “Look, Camo’s ready and waiting.”
He was there, one thick arm wrapped about an enormous bowl, heaped high with scraps. He had a handful raised to attract the fire lizards who spiraled in on him.
Uncle and the two green Aunties had decidedly adopted Camo as their feeding perch. They took so much of his attention that he didn’t notice that Rocky, Lazy and Mimic draped themselves about Piemur to be fed. It certainly made it easier to apportion the scraps fairly, with three people feeding. So, when she caught Piemur glancing about the courtyard to see if anyone was noticing his new task, Menolly suggested that he’d be needed on a permanent basis if that didn’t get him into any trouble with the masters.
“I’m apprenticed to Master Shonagar. He won’t mind! And I sure as shells don’t.” Whereupon Piemur began to stroke the bronze and the two browns with an almost proprietary affection.
As soon as the fire lizards had finished gobbling, Menolly sent Camo back into the kitchen. There had been no loud complaints from Abuna, but Menolly had been conscious of being watched from the kitchen windows. Camo went willingly enough, once she assured him that he’d be feeding the fire lizards again in the morning. Sated, the nine lazily spiraled upward to the outer roof of the Hall, to bask in the late afternoon sun. And not a moment too soon. They were only just settling themselves when the courtyard became full of boys and men filing into the Hall for their supper.
“Too bad you gotta sit with them,” Piemur said, jerking his head at the girls seated at their table.
“Can’t you sit opposite me?” asked Menolly, hopefully. It would be nice to have someone to talk to during the meal.
“I’m not allowed anymore.” “Not allowed?”
Alternating between sour disgust and pleased recollection, Piemur gave a shrug. “Pona complained to Dunca, and she got on to Silvina…”
“What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Piemur’s shrug was eloquent enough for Menolly to guess that he’d probably been downright wicked. “Pona’s a sorry wherry hen, you know, rank-happy and pleased to pull it. So I can’t sit near the girls anymore.”
She might regret the prohibition, but it enhanced her estimation of Piemur. As she reluctantly made her way toward the girls, it occurred to her that all she had to do to avoid sitting with them was to be late to meals. Then she’d have to sit where she could. That remedy pleased her so much that she walked more resolutely to her place and endured the hostility of the girls with fortitude. She matched their coldness with stony indifference and ate heartily of the soup, cheese and bread and the sweet pasty that finished the simple supper. She listened politely to the evening announcements of rehearsal times and the fact that Threadfall was expected midday tomorrow. All were to hold themselves close to the Hall, to perform their allotted tasks before, during and after Fall. Menolly heard, with private amusement, the nervous whispering of the girls at the advent of Threadfall and permitted herself to smile in disdain at their terror. They couldn’t really be that afraid of a menace they’d known all their lives?
She made no move to leave the table when they did, but she was sure that she caught Audiva’s wink as the girl followed the others out. When she judged them well away, she rose. Maybe she’d be able to get back into the cot again without confronting Dunca.
“Ah, Menolly, a moment if you please.” The cheery voice of the Masterharper sang out as she reached the entrance. Robinton was standing by the stairs, talking to Sebell, and he gestured for Menolly to join them. “Come and check our eggs for us. I know Lessa said it would be a few more days but…and the Harper shrugged his anxiety. “This way…” As she
accompanied the two men to the upper level, he went on. “Sebell says that you’re a mine of information.” He grinned down at her. “Didn’t ever think you’d have to talk fish in a Harper Hall, did you?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. But then, I don’t think I really knew what does go on in a Harper Hall.”
“Well said, Menolly, well said,” and the Harper laughed as well as Sebell. “The other crafts can jibe that we want to know too much about what is not strictly our business, but I’ve always felt knowledge of matters minor or major makes for better understandings. The mind that will not admit it has something more to learn tomorrow is in danger of stagnating.”
“Yes, sir.” Menolly caught Sebell’s eye, anxiously hoping that the Harper had not heard the minor—or was it major—matter about her missing her scheduled lesson with Domick. An almost imperceptible shake of the brown man’s head reassured her.
“Give me your opinion of our eggs, Menolly, for I must be out and about a great deal, but I don’t wish to risk the Hatching without me in attendance. Right, Sebell?”
“Nor do I wish two fire lizards instead of the one I’m entitled to have.”
The two men exchanged knowing glances as Menolly obediently checked the eggs in their warm pots. She turned each one slightly so that the colder side faced the heat of the glowing embers on the hearth. Robinton added a few more blackstones and then eyed her expectantly.
“Well, sir, the eggs are hardening, but they are not hard enough to hatch today or tomorrow.”
“So, will you check again tomorrow morning for me, Menolly? I must be away, although Sebell will always know where I can be reached.”
Menolly assured the Masterharper that she would keep a watchful eye on the eggs and inform Sebell if there were any alarming changes. The Harper walked her back through his study to the door.
“Now, Menolly, you’ve played for Domick, been thoroughly catechized by Morshal and sung for Shonagar. Jerint says your pipes are quite allowable, and the drum is well-constructed and should dry out sound. The fire lizards will sing sweetly with others than yourself, so you’ve accomplished a very great deal in your first days here. Hasn’t she, Sebell?”
Sebell agreed, smiling at her in a quiet, kind way. She wondered if either man knew how Dunca and the girls felt about her presence in the Harper Hall.
“And I can leave the matter of the eggs in your good hands. That’s grand. That’s very good, indeed,” the Masterharper said, combing his fingers through his silvered hair.
For a fleeting moment, his usually mobile face was still, and in that unguarded moment, Menolly saw signs of strain and worry. Then he smiled so cheerfully that she wondered if she’d imagined his weariness. Well, she could certainly spare him anxiety about the fire lizards. She’d check them several times during the day, even if it made her late to Master Shonagar.
As she returned to the cot, pleased that there was some small way in which she could serve the Masterharper, she recalled what he’d said about fish in a Harper Hall. For the first time, Menolly realized that she’d never really thought about life in a Harper Hall—except as a place where music was played and created. Petiron had spoken hazily about apprentices and his time as a journeyman, but nothing in detail. She had imagined the Harper Hall as some magical place, where people sang all conversations, or earnestly copied Records. The reality was almost commonplace, up to and especially including Dunca and the spiteful Pona. Why she had considered all Harpers, and harper people, above such pettiness, endowed with more humanity than Morshal or Domick had shown her, she did not know. She smiled at her naivety. And yet, Harpers like Sebell and Robinton, even Domick, were above the ordinary. And Silvina and Piemur were basically good, and certainly had been kind to her. She was in far better circumstances than she’d ever enjoyed in Half-Circle, so she could put up with a little unpleasantness, surely.
It was as well she had reached this conclusion because, no sooner was she inside the door, than Dunca pounced on her with a list of grievances. Menolly received a tirade about her fire lizards, how dangerous and unreliable the creatures were, how they must behave themselves or Dunca would not tolerate them, that Menolly had better realize how little rank mattered in Dunca’s cot and that, as the newcomer, she must behave with more deference to those who had been studying far longer at the Craft Hall. Menolly’s attitude was presumptuous, uncooperative, unfriendly and discourteous, and Dunca was not having a tunnel-snake in her cot where the girls were as friendly and as considerate of one another as fosterer could wish.
After the first few sentences, Menolly realized that she could put forth no defense of herself or her friends acceptable to Dunca. All she could do was say “yes” and “no” at appropriate intervals, when Dunca was forced to stop for breath. And every time Menolly thought the woman must surely have exhausted the subject, she would surge onto another imagined slight until Menolly seriously considered calling Beauty to her. The appearance of the fire lizard would certainly curtail the flow of abuse, but would irrevocably destroy any possibility of getting into Dunca’s fair record.
“Now, have I made myself plain?” Dunca asked unexpectedly.
“You have,” and since Menolly’s calm acceptance momentarily robbed Dunca of speech, the girl flew up the steps, ignoring the stiffness of her feet and grinning at the explosive and furious reprimands Dunca made at her retreat.
Chapter 6
The tears I feel today
I’ll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I’ll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight:
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
But my grief will never go.
Beauty woke her at sunrise. The other fire lizards were awake, too, though one thing was sure, no one else in the cot was awake yet.
Last night, when Menolly had reached the relative safety of her room, she had closed and barred the door, and then opened the shutters to admit her friends. She had recovered her composure by oiling their patchy skin with Master Oldive’s salve. This was the first opportunity she’d had since they’d left the cave by the Dragon Stones to tend and fondle each one. They, too, were communicative. She got many impressions from them, mostly that they’d been bathing daily in the lakes above Fort Hold, which weren’t much fun because there weren’t any waves to sport in. Menolly caught pictures from their minds of great dragons and of a Weyr differing in shape from Benden. Beauty’s pictures were the sharpest. Menolly had enjoyed her quiet evening with them; it had made up for Dunca’s irrational attitudes.
Now, as she became aware of the early morning stillness, she knew she’d have time to do a few tasks for herself. She could get a bath and wash the fruit stains out of her tunic. It ought to dry quickly on the window ledge in the morning sun. There should be time before Threadfall, for she remembered that would occur today.
Quietly she unbarred the door, listening in the corridor, and heard only the faintest echo of a snore. Probably Dunca. Adjuring her fire lizards to silence, she walked noiselessly down the steps to the bathing room at the back of the first level. She’d always heard of the thermal pools in the big Holds and Weyrs, but this was her first experience with them. The fire lizards came clustering in behind her, and she hushed their excited twitterings at the sight of the waist-high trough of steaming water. Menolly dipped her fingers in the warm water, checked to see if there were sandsoap and then, throwing her clothes on the floor, slipped into the bath.
The water was delightfully warm and soft to her skin, a change from the harsh sea or the mineral-heavy water in Half-Circle Sea Hold. Menolly submerged completely and came up, shaking her hair. She’d wash all over. One of the others pushed Auntie Two into the bath, and she let out a high-pitched squeal of protest and fright, then paddled happily about in the warm water. The next thing Menolly knew, all the fire lizards were splashing about, their ta
lons unexpectedly catching her bare skin or tangling in her hair. She hushed them often and sternly, because she wasn’t sure how far noise carried from the bathing room: all she’d need, after last night, was for Dunca to come charging in, roused from her night’s rest by her least-wanted guests.
Dragonriders of Pern 4 - Dragonsinger Page 12