Dragonriders of Pern 6 - Dragondrums

by Anne McCaffrey

  It took Piemur a few minutes to talk Rocky into landing on his shoulder and even more time to soothe the little creature until his eyes calmed into tones of greeny blue. All the time the miner apprentice watched, eyes bugged out.

  “There now, Rocky. I’m all right, but I have to stay the night here. I’m all right. You can tell Menolly that you’ve found me, can’t you? That I’m all right?”

  Rocky gave a half-chirp that sounded so skeptical Piemur had to laugh. “Is that fire lizard yours?” asked the Miner curiously as he approached Piemur, eyeing Rocky all the time.

  “No, sir,” said Piemur with such chagrin the Miner smiled. “This is one of Menolly’s, Master Robinton’s journeywoman. His name is Rocky. I help Menolly feed him mornings, because she’s got the nine and they’re a right handful, so he knows me pretty well.”

  “I didn’t think the creatures had enough sense to find people!”

  “Well, sir, I have to say it’s the first time it’s happened to me,” and Piemur couldn’t suppress the smug satisfaction he was feeling that Rocky had been able to find him.

  “Now that he’s found you, what good will that do?” asked the Miner with a revival of his skepticism.

  “Well, sir, he could go back to Menolly and make her understand that he’s seen me. But it would be much more useful if you’d let me have a bit of hide for a message. Tied on his leg, he’ll take it back, and they’ll know exactly…”

  The Miner held up his hand admonishingly. “I’d rather nothing in script about the Oldtimers’ visit.”

  “Of course not, sir,” replied Piemur, offended that he needed to be cautioned.

  A terse message was all he could scribe on the scrap of hide the Miner grudgingly produced for him. The hide was so old, had been scraped so often for messages, that the ink blurred as he wrote. “Safe! Delayed!” Then it occurred to him to add in drum measures, “Errand completed. Emergency. Old Dragon.”

  “You’ve a way with the little things, haven’t you?” said the Miner with reluctant respect as he watched Piemur tying the message on Rocky’s leg, an operation the fire lizard oversaw as carefully as the Miner.

  “He knows he can trust me,” said Piemur.

  “I’d say there were not many,” replied the Miner in such a dry tone that Piemur stared at him in surprise. “No offense meant!”

  Piemur had to concentrate just then on imagining Menolly as strongly as he could in his mind. Then, lifting his hand high, he gave a practiced flick to send Rocky into flight.

  “Go to Menolly, Rocky! Go to Menolly!”

  He and the Miner watched until the little fire lizard seemed to disappear in the dimming light to the east. Then the apprentice called them to their meal.

  As he ate, Piemur wondered what the Miner had meant by that remark. “Not many that fire lizards could trust?” “Not many people that trusted Piemur?” Why would the Miner say a thing like that? Hadn’t he saved the miners’ sapphires for them? It wasn’t as if he’d told any lies to do so. Further he’d never taken any real advantage of his friends in bargaining at a Gather or failing to keep a promise. All of his friends came to him for help. And, Shells, wasn’t the Masterharper entrusting him with this errand? And knowing about Harper Hall secrets? What had the Miner meant?

  “Piemur!” Someone shook him by the shoulder.

  Abruptly the young harper realized that he’d been addressed several times.

  “You’re a harper! Can you not give us a song?”

  The eagerness of the request from men isolated for long periods of time in a lonely hold gave Piemur a genuine pang of regret.

  “Sirs, the reason I’m messenger is that my voice is changing and I’m not allowed to sing just now. But,” he added seeing the intense disappointment on every face, “that doesn’t mean I can’t talk them to you. If you’ve something I can drum to give the rhythm.”

  After several attempts, he found a saucepan that did not sound too flat, and while the men stomped their heavy boots in time, he talked the newest songs from the Harper Hall, even giving them Domick’s new song about Lessa. The Shell knew when they’d hear it sung, though no one was supposed to hear it until Lord Groghe’s feast. If the performance of the spoken song lacked much in Piemur’s estimation, Master Shonagar couldn’t hear, Domick would never know, and the men were so grateful that he felt completely justified.

  He left the minehold with the first rays of the sun and made the trip back to the Harper Hall at a downhill pace that all but forced his voice back up to the treble range. At times his runner slithered unnervingly down tracks that they had laboriously climbed the day before. Piemur closed his eyes, held tightly to the saddle pad, and fervently hoped not to go sailing off the track into the deep gorges. When he returned the stolid runner to Banak, it was barely sweated under the midstrap while Piemur knew that his armpits and back were damp with perspiration.

  “Safe back, I see,” was Banak’s only remark. “He may be slow, but he’s sure-footed,” said Piemur with such exaggerated relief that Banak laughed.

  As Piemur jogged into the Harper Hall court, he heard Tilgin bravely singing his first solo as Lessa. Piemur grinned to himself, for Tilgin’s voice sounded tired even if he was note-wise. None of Menolly’s fair was sunning on the ridge, but Zair was sprawled on the ledge of the Harper’s window so Piemur took the steps two at a time. While he sort of wished someone would encounter him on his triumphant return, he was also relieved that he’d have no temptation to blurt out his adventures.

  Master Robinton’s greeting, however, was warm enough to make Piemur puff his chest out in pride.

  “You make the most of your opportunities, young Piemur—but kindly explain your cryptic measures before I burst with curiosity! ‘Old dragon’ does mean Oldtimers, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir,” and Piemur took the seat the Harper indicated and began. “T’ron and Fidranth with two blue dragons came to relieve the Miner of his sapphires!”

  “You’re positive beyond doubt that it was T’ron and Fidranth?”

  “Positive! I did see them once or twice before they were exiled. Besides, the Miner knew them all too well.”

  The Harper gestured for him to continue, and the day’s events made good telling with the best of all audiences in the Masterharper, who listened intently without a single interruption. He then asked Piemur to repeat, this time questioning a detail here, a response there, and extracting from Piemur every nuance of the confrontation of Miner and Oldtimer. He laughed appreciatively at Piemur’s strategy and lauded his caution of putting the four cut gems in his boots. It was only then that Piemur remembered to hand the precious stones to the Harper. The sun sparkled off the facets as the sapphires lay on the table.

  “I’ll have a word with Master Nicat myself. And I think I’ll see him today,” said Robinton, holding up one of the gems between thumb and forefinger and squinting at it in the sunlight. “Beautiful workmanship! Not a flaw!”

  “That’s what the Miner said,” and then Piemur daringly added. “I gather it’s not easy to find the right blues for masterharpers.”

  Master Robinton regarded Piemur, a startled expression on his face, which changed to amusement. “You will keep that to yourself as well, young man!”

  Piemur nodded solemnly. “Of course, if I’d had a fire lizard of my own, you wouldn’t have had to worry about me and the stones, and perhaps something could have been done about T’ron.”

  The Harper’s face altered and the flash in his eyes had nothing to do with amusement. Now Piemur couldn’t imagine what had prompted him to say such a thing. He didn’t even dare look away from the Harper’s severe gaze, although he wanted more than anything else to creep away and hide from his Master’s disapproval. He did stiffen, fully expecting a blow for such impertinence.

  “When you can keep your wits about you as you did yesterday, Piemur,” said Master Robinton after an interminable interval, “you prove Menolly’s good opinion of your potential. You have also just proved the mai
n criticism that Hall masters have expressed. I do not disapprove of ambition, nor the ability to think independently, but,” and suddenly his voice lost the cold displeasure, “presumption is unforgivable. Presuming to criticize a dragonrider is the most dangerous offense against discretion. Further,” and the Harper’s finger was raised in warning, “you are rushing toward a privilege you have by no means earned. Now, off with you to Master Olodkey and learn the proper drum measure for ‘Oldtimer.’ ”

  The kindly note in his tone was almost too much for Piemur, who could more easily have borne blows and a tirade for his transgressions. He made his way to the door as fast as his leaden legs could bear him.

  “Piemur!” Robinton’s voice checked him as he fumbled for the latch. “You did handle yourself very well at the Minehold. Only do,” and the Harper sounded as resigned as Master Shonagar often had, “do please try to guard your quick tongue!”

  “Oh, sir, I’ll try as hard as I can, really I will!” His voice cracked ignominiously, and he spun around the door so that the Harper wouldn’t see the tears of shame and relief in his eyes.

  He stood for a moment in the quiet hall, intensely grateful that it was empty at this time of day as he conquered dismay at his untimely insolence. The Harper was so right: he had to learn to think before he spoke; he never should have blurted out that unfortunate criticism of dragonriders. He’d’ve rated a right sound beating from any other Master. Domick wouldn’t have hesitated a moment, nor even languid Master Shonagar, whose hand he’d felt many a time for his brashness. But how had he dared criticize dragonriders, even Oldtimers, to Master Robinton? Certainly that took the prize for impudence, even from him.

  Piemur shivered and vowed fervently to mind his thoughts and, even more carefully, his tongue. Particularly now, when he did know something of real significance. For he had been aware, previous to his imprudent comment, that the appearance of the Oldtimers at the mine, not to mention their errand, was unwelcome news to the Harper.

  Besides, what could have been done about the Oldtimers’ illegal return to the North?

  Piemur gave his own ear a clout that made his eyes swim and then started down the corridor. Now, how was he to find out the drum code for Oldtimers? Under the circumstances he couldn’t just ask Dirzan outright without having to explain why he needed to know. Nor could he ask one of the other apprentices. They were annoyed enough with him and his quick studying. There’d be a way, he was sure.

  Then he wondered why Master Robinton had asked him to find out. Was it a code he’d need? Did that mean the Harper expected this wouldn’t be the first such visit by the Oldtimers? Or what?

  The speculations on this subject occupied Piemur’s mind off and on for the next few days until he did have the chance to check the code.

  Somewhat to Piemur’s disgust, Dirzan treated him as if he had deliberately protracted his errand to avoid the drums. This was his first task, and because Piemur couldn’t polish when the drums were in use, it dragged on until the midday meal.

  That afternoon Piemur began to participate in another activity of the drumheights, since he had unfortunately learned the drum measures so well. All apprentices were supposed to stop and listen when messages came in and write down what they heard, if they could. Then Dirzan checked their interpretations of the message. It seemed harmless enough, but Piemur soon learned that it was one more road to trouble for him. All drum messages were considered private information. A bit silly to Piemur’s way of thinking, since most journeymen and all masters had to be adept in drum messages. A full third of the Harper Hall would understand most of a drum message booming across the valley. Nonetheless, if word of something especially sensitive became common knowledge about the Hall, it was deemed the fault of a gossipy drum apprentice. Piemur was twigged for that role now!

  When Dirzan first accused him of loose talk, a day or two after he started writing messages, he stared in utter astonishment at the journeyman. And got a hard clout across the head for it.

  “Don’t try your ways on me, Piemur. I’m well aware of your tricks.”

  “But, sir, I’m only in the Hall at mealtimes, and sometimes not even then.”

  “Don’t answer back!”

  “But, sir…”

  Dirzan fetched him another clout, and Piemur nursed his grievance in silence, rapidly trying to figure out which of the other apprentices was making mischief for him. Probably Clell! And how was he going to stop it? He certainly didn’t want Master Robinton to hear such a wretched lie.

  Two days later a rather urgent message for Master Oldive was drummed through from Nabol. As Piemur was on duty, he was dispatched with it to the Healer. Mindful of a possible repeat accusation, Piemur noted that no one was about in court or hall as he delivered his message. Master Oldive bade him wait for a reply which he wrote on a then carefully folded sheet. Piemur raced across the empty court, up the stairs to the drumheights and arrived out of breath, shoving the note into Dirzan’s hand.

  “There! Still in its original folds. I met no one coming or going.” Dirzan stared at Piemur, his scowl deepening. “You’re being insolent again.” He raised his hand.

  Piemur stepped back deliberately, catching sight of the other apprentices watching the scene with great interest. The especially eager glint in Clell’s eyes confirmed Piemur’s suspicion.

  “No, I’m trying to prove to you that I’m no babble-mouth, even if I did understand that message. Lord Meron of Nabol is ill and requires Master Oldive urgently. But who’d care if he died after what he’s done to Pern?”

  Piemur knew he’d merited Dirzan’s blow then and didn’t duck.

  “You’ll learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, Piemur, or it’s back to the runner hold for you.”

  “I’ve a right to defend my honor! And I can!” Piemur caught himself just in time before he blurted out that Master Robinton could attest to his discretion. As rife with rumor as the Harper Hall generally was, there hadn’t been a whisper about the Oldtimers’ raid on the mine.

  “How?” Dirzan’s single derisive word told Piemur forcibly how very difficult that would be without being rightfully accused of indiscretion.

  “I’ll figure a way. You’ll see!” Piemur glared impotently at the delighted grins of the other apprentices.

  That night, when everyone else slept through the dead hours, Piemur lay awake, restless with agitation. The more he examined his problem, the harder it was to solve it without being indiscreet on some count or another. When he’d still been free to chatter with his friends, he could have asked the help of Brolly, Bonz, Timiny or Ranly. Among them, they’d surely have been able to discover a solution. If he approached Menolly or Sebell about such a piffling problem, they might decide he wasn’t the right lad for their needs. They might even consider his complaint a lack of discretion in itself.

  How right Master Robinton had been when he said that Piemur might possibly be plagued into disclosing matters best left unmentioned! Only how could the Harper have known that Piemur was stuck in the one discipline, as a drum apprentice, where he was most likely to be accused of indiscretions?

  One possibility presented itself to his questioning mind: the apprentices, even Clell as the oldest, were still plodding through the medium hard drum measures. Therefore some parts of every long message reaching the Harper Hall were incomprehensible to them. Now, if Piemur learned drum language beat perfect, he’d understand the messages in full. Not that he’d let Dirzan know that when he wrote the message down for him. But he’d keep a private record of everything he translated. Then, the next time there was a rumor of a half-understood message, Piemur would prove; to Dirzan that he had known all the message, not just the parts the other apprentices had understood.

  To further achieve his end, Piemur kept to the drum-heights even at mealtimes. Preferably within the sight of Dirzan, the Master, or one of the other duty journeymen. If he wasn’t near others, he couldn’t be accused of gossiping to them. Even when he was sent on message-runs,
he made the return trip so fast no one could possibly accuse him of dawdling and gossiping on the way. The only other time he was in the court was to help Menolly feed the fire lizards. Messages came through, some of them urgent, some tempting enough, Piemur would have thought, for one of the apprentices to repeat, but no whisper of rumor repaid his immolation. In despair he gave up his plan and tore up the messages he had written. But he still held himself away from others.