Dragonriders of Pern 4 - Dragonsinger

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I kept trying to tell them,” said Piemur, throwing his hands out, his eyes bright with injured innocence because Menolly was now glaring at him. Then he clutched dramatically at his throat because his voice had squeaked on the last word. “I’ve gone hoarse talking…”

  “Can’t have the golden throat hoarse, can we?” said Ranly sarcastically.

  Piemur was testing klah pots on the table to see if there were any that was still warm. Finding one he poured two mugs, offering one to Menolly. He gurgled as he downed half a mug, rubbed his hand across his mouth and then told her that she’d better eat quickly because they’d be clearing any minute.

  “Now, let’s get back to the mark problem. This will be only the second gather of the Turn, so I figure that they’ll be sending an older journeyman from the Smithcraft Hall, to keep an eye on the younger fellows and supervise the bargaining. And that journeyman is just likely to be my father’s friend, Pergamol; and if it’s Pergamol, then I can guarantee that you’ll get top marks for your work. And…” he held up a silencing hand as Ranly opened his mouth to comment, “if it isn’t Pergamol, it’ll be someone who knows him.”

  “And if it’s just a young journeyman who’s on to you, Piemur?” Ranly asked in a caustic tone.

  “Then I blubber!” Piemur dismissed this problem with all the disdain of the practiced dissembler. “I’m just a li’l feller, and I never have much and I…” Great tears welled up in his eyes, and his face was a mask of trusting and anxious innocence.

  “If I may disturb this tactical meeting,” said a different voice, and all the boys looked guiltily around to see Sebell, fire lizard cradled in his arm, “for a few words with Menolly…”

  She rose and followed the journeyman to the window. He pressed her rolled-up belt in her hand, as he thanked her for saving his dignity that morning.

  “Now, can I keep Kimi with me all the time?” he asked, lightly stroking the fire lizard’s folded wings. Even in her sleep she responded to his touch with a sigh.

  “The more she’s with you the stronger the bond will grow. If not on you, near you.”

  “Is she too young to be taught to sit on my shoulder like your Beauty does? I’ve got to have both hands for a while today.”

  “When she wakes, put her on your shoulder!” Menolly grinned. “And get used to having your neck throttled.”

  “How often does she eat?”

  “She’ll let you know.” Menolly laughed at Sebell’s consternation. “At least you don’t have to go catch it. Keep a few meatrolls in your belt pouch, although I’m sure Camo will always be ready to chop-chop for you any time.” Sebell chuckled, too. “One thing you’ll need to do daily is oil her skin.”

  “Does it have to stink like the stuff you use?” Sebell was dismayed.

  Menolly suppressed a giggle. “Master Oldive had that oil on hand. He said he makes it for the ladies of the Hold to use on their faces…”

  “Oh, no.”

  “But I’m sure he’d make you something more suitable for your…” She paused, not certain just how much she could tease Sebell.

  “My male dignity and rank?” Sebell grinned at her. “I’ll just have a word with him now,” and he strolled off with a lilt in his step.

  Menolly was very pleased that she’d suppressed the boys’ misapprehension over the fire lizards’ hatching. Sebell was so nice. And, it wasn’t as if Master Robinton had been upset at Impressing the bronze. He genuinely hadn’t cared a whit once Zair had Impressed and was his very own. And if Master Robinton was content, the rest of the Hall shouldn’t quarrel!

  Then she worried about the girl’s gossip: if the apprentices could take a simple switch like the Hatching and derive deep insult from it, what had the girls done with her reputation at the Hold?

  “Look, Menolly,” Piemur said, popping up beside her, “I gotta couple of things to do now, but after dinner, you want me to take you round the gather? Seeing as how you haven’t been to one…here, that is.”

  She readily agreed, curious to see just how his plans would affect his bargaining. He darted out of the Hall then, the others boys hard on his heels.

  A few journeymen still lounged at the oval table, drinking klah, but most of the apprentices had dispersed. At the round table, Master Morshal now glowered darkly at her as he ate in solitary dignity. Menolly left the dining hall for the sanctuary of her room.

  Her fire lizards were curled up on the deep window ledge, their wings glinting brilliantly in the sun but their jeweled eyes closed behind their several lids. Beauty stirred, raised her head, parted the outer lid, squeaked softly and, when Menolly stroked her reassuringly, sighed and resumed her interrupted nap.

  From the vantage point of the second level, Menolly could see the square beyond the Harper Hall and the broad roadway. There was already considerable activity: burdenbeasts moving up the river road, their slow long stride one of indolence, rather than labor under heavy weight. Stalls were being assembled, forming a loose square about an open space. Tables and benches were already in place, facing the dance square. For dancing there would surely be, with a hundred or more harpers to do the playing. There’d be more dancing than she’d ever seen. And probably different dances from the ones popular in her Sea Hold. Oh, this would be a grand gather. Her first here, and her first since Thread started falling.

  Menolly caught sight of the girls emerging from the cot, brightly clad, with filmy scarves to protect their hair from the light wind. Oh, what she’d like to do to their hair! Pona’s hair, with its long neat plaits to be pulled out by the roots… Menolly stopped her thoughts, a little appalled at the intensity of her dislike. After all, the girls had failed in their aim—to prejudice Lord Groghe against her. Why was she bothering her head about them? She’d better things to occupy herself with. She was an apprentice harper, not a sometime student. She was Masterharper Robinton’s apprentice. Of course, since he was Master of the Harper Hall, everyone within was his apprentice.

  But she was an apprentice. And she intended to remain one. More than ever now that the girls had made an effort to jeopardize her tenure. She was going to stay, to spite them, and her parents. She was going to make her place here because this was where she belonged, as Master Robinton had said. Here was where she could perfect her music. Here she could make her own place for herself, not slip into a spot left by someone else, anyone else. Just as she’d made the cave her own, she would make her own place here in the Harper Hall. And no one, particularly a sneaky little twitterhead whose only claim to importance was being someone’s granddaughter, was going to dislodge her! Or a conniving coward like holder Dunca!

  Menolly wondered if Silvina had done anything about settling the rumors. Really, it just wasn’t important, Menolly told herself sternly. Particularly when Lord Groghe seemed to approve of her and had actually suggested that she help him train his queen, Merga.

  Menolly laughed to herself. Just wait till those sissies heard about that! She, apprentice trainer of fire lizards, the only successful one on Pern. The teacher just one step ahead of the student. She giggled now, covering her mouth with her hands because she knew she was acting the wherry. But she’d been silly not to see before that she had several tunes to play in this Harper Hall: the tunes she made, her fire lizards—yes, and how to gut fish and trim sail whenever some harper needed to know. And why did Sebell need to know? She sighed gustily.

  Too bad about those girls, though. She wished Audiva didn’t have to stay with them; she was above the general sort at the cot, and it would have been nice to have a girl friend. Not that she didn’t have a good friend in Piemur. When Piemur grew up and lost his brilliant voice, would he have to leave the Craft Hall? No, because they must surely be training him to play one of those “other” tunes. She didn’t quite see him stepping into Master Shonagar’s slippers…

  She rose from the window ledge, reminded of the task that Master Robinton had set her as his apprentice. She tuned her gitar and began to rehearse the Brekke song, sof
tly lest the Harper was busy in his rooms. Did he honestly think that song, a twiddle to while the time away until Sebell returned, was good enough to be perfected? Of their own volition, her fingers were plucking out the melody. She found herself caught up once more in the poignancy of Brekke’s anguished command! Don’t leave me alone! She played the song through, agreeing with the Harper that the fourth phrase needed polishing…ah, yes, if she dropped to the fifth, it would intensify the phrase and compliment the chord.

  The tocsin rang for mealtime finally, and shouts and laughter broke her concentration. She was almost angry with the disruption. But with a renewed awareness of her surroundings, she realized how her hand ached. Her back and neck muscles were stiff from crouching over the gitar. She’d no idea she’d been practicing that long, but the song was set in her hand and her fingers now. She would have it finished in next to no time once she had more ink and those paper sheets.

  She changed into the clothes she wanted to wear to the gather: not as rich as the girls would be wearing, but new. The close-woven trousers and the contrasting colored tunic with the sleeveless hide jumper displaying the apprentice badge meant more to her than fine cloth and filmy scarves. As she pulled on her slippers, she noticed that the constant scuffing on the stone floors was wearing soles and toes out. At least here, she needn’t fear to approach Silvina, and perhaps her feet were healed enough for proper boots, which would last longer.

  Chapter 9

  The fickle wind’s my foe,

  With tide his keen ally.

  They’re jealous of my sea’s love

  And rouse her with their lie.

  Oh sweet sea, oh dear sea,

  Heed not their stormy wile

  But bear me safely to my Hold

  And from their watery trial.

  There was an excitement in the air of the dining hall, the boys chattering more loudly than ever, a conversational buzz that dropped off only slightly when they were seated and the heavy platters of steaming meat slices were brought around. She sat with Ranly, Piemur and Timiny, who all urged her to eat heartily for they’d be lucky to get stale bread for supper.

  “Silvina counts on our stuffing ourselves on our own marks at the gather,” Piemur told Menolly as he crammed meat into his mouth. He groaned as she heaped tubers on his plate. “I hate ’em.”

  “You’re lucky to have ’em. They were treats where I come from.”

  “Then you have mine.” He was generosity itself, but she made him eat his own.

  No one spent time over the meal, and the diners were dismissed as soon as Brudegan had called out the list of names. “Well, I’m not on a turn today,” said Piemur with the air of a last minute reprieve.

  “Turn?”

  “Yeah, being Harper Hall and all, this Hold expects continuous music, but no one does more than one set, either singing or dance music. No great problem. You know, Menolly, you’d better tell your fire lizards to stay away,” Piemur said as they all made their way across the courtyard to the archway. The other boys nodded in agreement. “No telling what ragtag is going to appear at a gather.” He sounded darkly foreboding.

  “Who’d hurt a fire lizard?” Menolly asked, surprised.

  “Not hurt ’em. Just want ’em.”

  Menolly looked up and saw her friends sunning on the window ledges. As if her notice was sufficient, Beauty and Rocky came streaking down to her, chirping inquiringly.

  “Couldn’t I just take Beauty? No one sees her when she hides in my hair.”

  Piemur shook his head slowly from side to side. The other boys mimicked him with earnest expressions of concern.

  “We,” and he meant Harpers, “know about you and having nine. There’re some dimwits coming today who wouldn’t understand. And you’re wearing an apprentice badge: apprentices don’t own nothing or count for anything. They’re the lowest of the low and have to obey any journeyman, or master, or even a senior apprentice in any other craft. Shells, you know how Beauty acts when someone tries to rank you? You can’t have Beauty taking a swipe at an honorable journeyman or craftmaster, now can you? Or someone from the Hold?” He jerked his thumb toward the cliffside as he dropped his voice to keep the mere possibility of such discourtesy from exalted ears.

  “That would get Master Robinton in trouble?” Considering the gossip work already done at the Hold, Menolly would as soon remain anonymous to them.

  “It could!” Ranly and Timiny nodded in solemn accord.

  “How do you manage to stay out of trouble, Piemur?” Menolly asked.

  “ ’Cause I watch my step at a gather. One thing to cut up in the Hall when it's all Harpers, but…”

  “Hey, Piemur.” They all turned and saw Brolly and another apprentice whom Menolly did not know running toward them. Brolly had a brightly painted tambourine and the other a handsomely polished tenor pipe.

  “Thought we might have missed you, Piemur,” the boy gasped. “Here’s my pipe, and Master Jerint stamped it and Brolly’s tambourine. Will you take ’em to the marksman now?”

  “Sure. And it’s my father’s friend, Pergamol, like I told you it would be.”

  Piemur took charge of the instruments, and with a quirk of a smile at Menolly, led the way toward the loosely arranged stalls on the perimeter of the gather’s square.

  For the first time Menolly realized how many people lived in this Hold area. She would have liked to watch a bit on the sidelines, to get used to such a throng of people, but grabbing her hand, Piemur led her right into their midst.

  She nearly piled into Piemur when he came to a sudden complete stop in the space between two booths. He glanced warningly over his shoulder, and Menolly noticed that he had the instruments behind his back as he composed his face into an expression of wistful ingenuousness. A tanner journeyman was bargaining with the well-dressed marksman in the stall, his Smithcraft badge gleaming with a gold thread in the design.

  “See, it is Pergamol,” Piemur said out of the side of his mouth. “Now you lot go on, across there to the knife stand until I’m finished. Men don’t like a lot of hangers about when they’re agreeing the mark. No, Menolly, you can stay!” Piemur snatched her back by the jerkin as she obediently started to follow the others.

  Although Menolly could see Pergamol’s lips moving, she heard nothing of his speech and only an occasional murmur from the bargaining journeyman. The Smithcraft marksman continually stroked the finely tanned wherhide as he dickered, almost as if he hoped to find some flaw in the hide so he could argue a further reduction. The hide was a lovely blue, like a summer sky when the air is clear and the sun setting.

  “Probably dyed to order,” Piemur whispered to her. “Selling it direct neither has to pay turnover fee. With us, once Jerint has stamped the instrument, the marksman doesn’t have to say it was apprentice-made. So we get a better price not selling at the Harper booth, where they have to say who made it.”

  Now Menolly could appreciate Piemur’s strategy.

  The bargain was handsealed, and marks slipped across the counter. The blue hide was carefully folded and put away in a travel bag. Piemur waited until the man had chatted, as courtesy required, and then he skipped to the front of the stall before anyone else could intervene.