Chapter 5

 

My nightly craft is winged in white;

A dragon of night-dark sea.

Swiftborn, dreambound and rudderless;

Her captain and crew are me.

I sail a hundred sleeping tides

Where no seaman’s ever been

And only my white-winged craft and I

Know the marvels we have seen.

 

The next day did not start propitiously for Menolly. Her sleep was broken by shrieks: Dunca’s, the girls’, and the fire lizards. Dazed, Menolly at first tried to calm the fire lizards swooping about the room, but Dunca, standing in the doorway, would not be quiet; and her terror, whether assumed or real, only stimulated the fire lizards into such aerial acrobatics that Menolly ordered them all out the window.

This only changed the tone of Dunca’s screams because the woman was now pointing at Menolly’s nudity until she could snatch up the discarded shirt and cover herself.

“And where were you all night?” Dunca demanded in a sobbingly angry voice. “How did you get in? When did you get in?”

“I was here all night. I got in by the front door. You weren’t in the cottage.” Then, seeing the look of complete disbelief on Dunca’s plump face, Menolly added, “I came here directly after supper. Piemur helped me across the court.”

“He was at rehearsal. Which was just after supper,” said one of the girls crowding in at the door.

“Yes, but he got there out of breath,” Audiva said, frowning, “I remember Brudegan rounding him on it.”

“You must always inform me when you come in,” said Dunca, by no means pacified.

Menolly hesitated and then nodded her head in acquiescence; it was useless to argue with someone like Dunca, who had obviously made up her mind not to like Menolly and to pick every fault possible.

“When you are washed and decently attired,” and the tone of Dunca’s voice suggested that she doubted Menolly was capable of either, “you will join us. Come, girls. There is no reason for you to delay your own meal.”

As the girls filed obediently past the open doorway, most of the faces reflected Dunca’s disapproval. Except Audiva who winked solemnly and then grinned before she schooled her features into a blank expression.

By the time Menolly had attended to her feet, had a quick wash, dressed and found the small room where the other girls were eating, they were almost finished. As one, they stared critically at her before Dunca brusquely motioned her to take the empty seat. And as one, they all watched her so that she felt doubly awkward about the simple acts of chewing and swallowing. The food tasted dry and the klah was cold. She managed to finish what had been set before her and mumbled thanks. She sat there, looking down at her plate, only then noticing the fruit stains on her tunic. So, they had reason to stare. And she had nothing to change into while this top was washed, except her old things from her cave days.

Though she had eaten, she was still conscious of hunger pangs. The fire lizards were waiting to be fed! She doubted that Dunca would supply her need, but her responsibility to her friends gave her the courage to ask.

“May I be excused, please? The fire lizards must be fed. I have to go to Silvina . . .”

“Why would you bother Silvina with such a detail?” demanded Dunca, her eyes popping slightly with indignation. “Don’t you realize that she is the headwoman of the entire Harper Craft Hall? The demands on her time are enormous! And if you don’t keep those creatures of yours under proper control . . .”

“You startled them this morning.”

“I’m not having that sort of carry-on every morning, frightening my girls with them flying at such dangerous speeds.”

Menolly refrained from pointing out that it had been Dunca’s screaming that had alarmed the fire lizards.

“If you can’t control them . . . Where are they now?” She looked wildly about her, her eyes bulging with alarm.

“Waiting to be fed.”

“Don’t get pert with me, girl. You may be the daughter of a Sea Holder, but while you are in the Harper Craft Hall and in my charge, you are to behave yourself. We’ll have no ranking here.”

Half-torn between laughter and disgust, Menolly rose. “If I may go, please, before the fire lizards come in search of me . . .”

That sufficed. Duties couldn’t get her out of the cot fast enough. Someone sniggered, but when Menolly glanced up she wasn’t sure if it had been Audiva or not. It was a small encouragement that someone had recognized Dunca’s hypocrisy.

As she stepped out into the crisp morning air, Menolly realized how stuffy the cot had been and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, all the shutters, except her own, were closed tight. As she crossed the wide court, she received morning grins and greetings from the farmholders making their way to the fields, from apprentices dashing to their masters. She looked about her for her fire lizards and saw one wheeling down behind the outer wing of the Craft Hall. As she walked under the arch, she saw the others clinging to the kitchen and dining hall ledges. Camo was in the doorway, a great bowl in the crook of his left arm, a hunk of something dangling from his right hand as he tried to entice the fire lizards to him.

She was halfway across the courtyard before she realized that it was much easier to walk on her feet today. However, that was one of the few good things that happened. Camo was chastized by Abuna for trying to coax the fire lizards to eat when he should have been delivering the cereal to the dining hall (for the fire lizards would not eat from his hands until Menolly arrived). Then the fire lizards were frightened away when the apprentices and journeymen came tearing out of the dining hall, filling the courtyard with yells and shrieks and wild antics as they made their way to their morning classes. Menolly looked vainly for Piemur, and then, as abruptly, the courtyard was clear. Except for some older journeymen. One of them paused by her, officiously demanding to know why she was hanging about the yard. When she said that she hadn’t been told where to go, he informed her that she obviously should be with the other girls and to get herself there immediately. As he gestured in the general direction of the archroom, Menolly assumed that was where the girls met.

She reached the archway room to find the girls already practicing scales on their gitars with a journeyman, who told her she was late, to get her instrument and see if she could catch up with the others. She mumbled an apology, found her precious gitar, and took a stool near the others. But the chords were basic and even with her injured hand she had no trouble with the drill. Not so the others. Pona seemed unable to bridge strings with forefinger: the joint kept snapping up; and although the journeyman, Talmor, patiently showed her an alternative chording, she couldn’t get to it fast enough to keep the rhythm of the exercise. Talmor had great patience, Menolly thought, and idly ran silent fingers down the neck of her gitar, doing his alternative placement. Yes, it was a bit awkward if you were after speed, but not as impossible as Pona was making it out to be.

“Since you are so good at it, Menolly, suppose you demonstrate the exercise. In the time . . .” and Talmor directed the beat.

She caught it with her eyes, keeping her head still, for Petiron abhorred a musician who had to use unnecessary body motion to keep a rhythm going. She went through the chords on the scale as directed and then saw Audiva regarding her with fierce intent. Pona and the others glowered.

“Now use the regular fingering,” Talmor said, coming over to stand by Menolly, his eyes intent on her hands. Menolly executed the run. He gave a sharp nod of his head, eyed her inscrutably, and then returned to Pona, asking her to try it again, though he outlined a slower time. Pona mastered the run the third time, smiling with relief at her success.

Talmor gave them another set of scales and then brought out a large copy of a piece of occasional music. Menolly was delighted because the score was completely new to her. Petiron had been, as he phrased it, a teaching Harper, not an entertainer, and though she had learned the one or two occasional pieces of music he had in his possession, he had never acquired more. The Sea Holder, Menolly knew, had preferred to sing, not listen; and most occasional music was instrumental. In the bigger Holds, Petiron had told her, the Lord Holders liked music during the dinner hour and at night when they entertained guests in conversation rather than song.

This was not a difficult piece, Menolly realized, scanning it and silently fingering the one or two transitional chords that might be troublesome.

“All right, Audiva, let’s see what you can make of it today,” Talmor said, smiling at the girl with encouragement.

Audiva. gulped, exhibiting a nervousness that puzzled Menolly. As Audiva began to pick out the chords, nodding her head and tapping one foot at a much slower rhythm than the musical notation required, Menolly’s perplexity grew. Well, she thought, charitably, maybe Audiva was a new student. If she was, she was far more competent than Briala, who apparently had trouble just reading the music.

Talmor dismissed Briala to the table to copy the score for later practice. Pona was no improvement on the other two. The sly-faced, fair-haired girl played with great banging against the gitar belly, at time, but with many inaccuracies. When it was finally her own turn, Menolly’s stomach was roiled by frustrated listening.

“Menolly,” said Talmor at the end of a sigh that expressed his own frustration and boredom.

It was such a relief to play the music as it should be that Menolly found herself increasing the time and emphasizing the chords with a variation of her own in the strum.

Talmor just looked at her. Then he blinked and exhaled heavily, pursing his lips together.

“Well, yes. You’ve seen it before?”

“Oh, no. We had very little occasional music in Half-Circle. This is lovely.”

“You played that cold?”

Only then did Menolly realize what she’d done: made the other girls look inadequate. She was aware of their cold, chill silence, their hostile stares. But not to play one’s best seemed a dishonesty that she had never practiced and could not. Belatedly she recognized that she could have hedged: with her scarred hand she could have faltered, missed some of the chordings. Yet it had been such a relief, after their limping renditions, to play the music as it was meant to be played.

“I was the last to go,” she said in a lame effort to retrieve matters, “I’d more time to study it, and see . . .” She’d started to say, “see where they went wrong.”

“Yes, well, so you did,” Talmor said, so hastily that Menolly wondered if he’d also realized what a break she’d made. Then he added in a rush of impatience and irritation. “Who told you to join this class? I’d rather thought . . .” A snigger interrupted his query, and he turned to glare at the girls. “Well?” he asked Menolly.

“A journeyman . . .”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I was in the courtyard, and he asked me why wasn’t I in class. Then he told me to come here.”

Talmor rubbed the side of his jaw. “Too late now, I suppose, but I’ll inquire.” He turned to the other girls. “Let’s play it in . . .” The girls were staring pointedly at the doorway, and he looked about. “Yes, Sebell?”

Menolly turned, too, to see the man to whom the other coveted fire lizard egg had gone. Sebell was a slender man, a hand or so taller than herself: a brown man, tanned skin, light brown hair and eyes, dressed in brown with a faded Harper apprentice badge half-hidden in the shoulder fold of his tunic.

“I’ve been looking for Menolly,” be said, gazing steadily at her.

“I thought someone ought to be. She was misdirected here.” Talmor sounded irritated, and he gestured sharply for Menolly to go to Sebell.

Menolly slipped from the stool, but she was uncertain what to do about the gitar and glanced questioningly at Sebell.

“You won’t need it now,” he said so she quietly put it away on the shelf.

She felt the girls staring at her, knew that Talmor was watching and would not continue the lesson until she had gone, so it was with intense relief that she heard the door close behind her and the quiet brown man.

“Where was I supposed to be?” she asked, but he motioned her down the steps.

“You got no message?” His eyes searched her face carefully although his expression gave no hint of his thoughts.

“No.”

“You did breakfast at Dunca’s?”

“Yes . . .” Menolly couldn’t suppress her distaste for that painful meal. Then she caught her breath and stared at Sebell, comprehension awakening. “Oh, she wouldn’t have . . .”

Sebell was nodding, his brown eyes registering an understanding of the matter. “And you wouldn’t have known yet to come to me for instructions . . .”

“You . . .” Hadn’t Piemur said something about Sebell walking the tables, to become a journeyman? “. . . sir?” she added.

A slow smile spread across the man’s round face.

“I suppose I do rate a ‘sir’ from a mere apprentice, but the Harper is not as strict about such observances as other masters. The tradition here is that the oldest journeyman under the same master is responsible for the newest apprentice. So you are my responsibility. At least while I’m in the Hall and I’m enjoying a respite from my journeyings. I didn’t have the chance to meet you yesterday, and this morning . . . you didn’t arrive as planned at Master Domick’s . . .”

“Oh, no.” Menolly swallowed the hard knot of dismay. “Not Master Domick!” Even Piemur was careful not to annoy him. “Was Master Domick very . . . upset?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But don’t worry, Menolly, I shall use the incident to your advantage. It doesn’t do to antagonize Domick unnecessarily.”

“Not when he doesn’t like me anyhow.” Menolly closed her eyes against a vision of Master Domick’s cynical face contorted with anger.

“How do you construe that?”

Menolly shrugged. “I had to play for him yesterday, I know he doesn’t like me.”

“Master Domick doesn’t like anyone,” replied Sebell with a wry laugh, “including himself. So you’re no exception. But, as far as studying with him is concerned . . .”

“I’m to study with him?”

“Don’t panic. As a teacher, he’s top rank. I know. In some ways I think Master Domick is superior, instrumentally, to the Harper. He doesn’t have Master Robinton’s flare and vitality, nor his keen perception in matters outside the Craft.” Although Sebell was speaking in his customary impersonal way, Menolly sensed his complete loyalty and devotion to the Masterharper. “You,” and there was a slight emphasis on the pronoun, “will learn a great deal from Domick. Just don’t let his manner fuss you. He’s agreed to teach you, and that’s quite a concession.”

“But I didn’t come this morning . . .” The magnitude of that truancy appalled Menolly.

Sebell gave her a quick reassuring grin. “I said that I can turn that to your advantage. Domick doesn’t like people to ignore his instructions. It is not your worry. Now, come on. Enough of the morning has been lost.”

He had directed her up the steps into the Hall, and to her surprise opened the door into the Great Hall. It was twice the size of the dining hall, three times the size of the Great Hall at Half-Circle. Across the far end was fitted a raised and curtained platform that jutted into the floor space. Tables and benches were piled haphazardly against the inner walls and under windows. Immediately to her right were a collection of more comfortable chairs arranged in an informal grouping about a small round table. To this area Sebell motioned her and seated himself opposite her.

“I’ve some questions to put to you, and I can’t explain why I need to have this information. It is Harper business, and if you’re told that, you’ll be wise to ask no further. I need your help . . .”

“My help?”

“Strange as that might seem, yes,” and his brown eyes laughed at her. “I need to know how to sail a boat, how to gut a fish, how to act like a seaman . . .”

He was ticking off the points on his fingers, and she stared at his hands.

“With those, no one would ever believe you had sailed . . .”

He examined his hands impersonally. “Why?”

“Seamen’s hands get gnarled quickly from popping the joints, rough from salt water and fish oil, much browner than yours from weathering . . .”

“Would anyone but a seaman know that?”

“Well, I know it.”

“Fair enough. Can you teach me to act, from a distance,” and his grin teased her, “like a seaman? Is it hard to learn to sail a boat? Or bait a hook? Or gut a fish?”

Her left palm itched, and so did her curiosity. Harper business? Why would a journeyman harper need to know such things?

“Sailing, baiting, gutting . . . those are a question of practicing . . .”

“Could you teach me?”

“With a boat and a place to sail, yes . . . with hook and bait, and a few fish.” Then she laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“Just that . . . I thought when I came here, that I’d never need to gut a fish again.”

Sebell regarded her sardonically for a long moment, a smile playing at the comers of his mouth. “Yes, I can appreciate that, Menolly. I was landbred and thought I’d done with walking about. Just don’t be surprised at anything you’re asked to do here. The Harper requires us to play many tunes for our Craft . . . not always on gitar or pipe. Now,” and he went on more briskly, “I’ll arrange for the boat, the water and the fish. But when?” At this requisite, he whistled softly through the slight gap between his two front teeth. “Time will be the problem, for you have lessons, and there are the two eggs . . .” He looked her squarely in the eye then, and grinned. “Speaking of which, have you any idea what color mine might be?”

She smiled back. “I don’t think you can really be as sure with fire lizard eggs as you can with the dragon’s, but I kept the two largest ones for Master Robinton. One ought to be a queen, and the other should turn out to be a bronze at least.”

“A bronze fire lizard?”

The rapt expression on Sebell’s face alarmed her. What if both eggs produced browns? Or greens? As if he sensed her apprehension, Sebell smiled.

“I don’t really care so long as I have one. The Harper says they can be trained to carry messages. And sing!” He was a great teaser, this Sebell, thought Menolly, for all his quiet manner and solemn expressions, but she felt completely at ease with him. “The Harper says they can get as attached to their friends as dragons do to their riders.”

She nodded. “Would you like to meet mine?”

“I would, but not now,” he replied, shaking his head ruefully. “I must pick your brains about the seaman’s craft. So, tell me bow goes a day at a Sea Hold?”

Amused to find herself explaining such a thing in the Harper Hall, Menolly gave the brown journeyman a drily factual account of the routine that was all she’d known for so many Turns. He was an attentive listener, occasionally repeating cogent points, or asking her to elaborate others. She was giving him a list of the various types of fish that inhabited the oceans of Pern when the tocsin rang again and her explanation was drowned by shouts as apprentices erupted into the courtyard on their way to the dining hall.

“We’ll wait until the stampede has settled, Menolly,” Sebell said, raising his voice above the commotion outside, “just give me that rundown on deep water fishes again.”

When Sebell escorted her to her place, the girls treated her with a stony silence, emphasized by pursed lips, averted eyes and then sniggers to each other. Buoyed by Sebell’s reassurances, Menolly ignored them. She concentrated on eating the roast wherry and the crusty brown tubers, bigger than she’d ever seen and so fluffy inside their crust that she ate more of them than bread.

Since the girls were so pointedly snubbing her, Menolly looked about the room. She couldn’t spot Piemur, and she wanted him to come help her feed the fire lizards in the evening. She’d better strengthen what friendships she could within the Harper Hall.

The gong again called their attention to announcements; and to her surprise, Menolly heard her own name called to report to Master Oldive. Immediately the girls fell to whispering among themselves, as if such a summons was untoward, though she couldn’t imagine why, unless they were doing it to frighten her. She continued to ignore them. And then the gong released the diners.

The girls remained where they were, pointedly not looking in her direction, and she was forced to struggle from the bench.

“And where in the name of the first shell were you this morning?” asked Master Domick, his face set with anger, his eyes slitted, his voice low but projected so that the girls all cowered away from him.

“I was told to go to-“

“So Talmor informed me,” and he brushed aside her explanation, “but I had left word with Dunca for you to report to me.”

“Dunca told me nothing, Master Domick,” Menolly flicked a glance beyond him to the girls and saw in their smug expression the knowledge that they, too, had known there’d been a message for her, which Dunca had deliberately neglected to pass on.

“She said she did,” said Master Domick.

Menolly stared back at him, bereft of any response and heartily wishing for Sebell to produce his assistance.

“I realize,” Domick went on sarcastically, “that you’ve been living holdless and without authority for some time, but while you are an apprentice here, you will obey the masters.”

In the face of his wrath, Menolly bowed her head. The next moment, Beauty came diving into the room, with two bronze and two brown shapes right behind her.

“Beauty! Rocky! Diver! Stop it!”

Menolly jumped in front of Domick, arms outstretched, protecting him from the onslaught of winged retaliation.

“What do you mean, disobeying me? Attacking Master Domick? He’s a Harper! Behave yourselves.”

Menolly had to shout because the girls, seeing the fire lizards swooping down, screamed and tried variously to get under the table or off the benches, overturning them; anywhere away from the fire lizards.

Domick had sense enough to stand still, incredulous as he was at the attack. Despite the girls’ shriek, Menolly had the lungs to be heard when she wished to.

Twittering, Beauty circled once and then came to Menolly’s shoulder, glaring balefully at Domick from behind her mistress. The others lined up on the mantel, wings still spread, hissing, their jeweled eyes whirling, looking ready and quite willing to pounce again. As Menolly stroked Beauty to calmness, she struggled with an apology to Domick.

“Back to work, you! The rest of you, along to your sections,” Domick said, raising his own voice to energize the stragglers in the dining hall who had observed the strange attack, and the boys who were clearing the tables. “I’d forgot about your loyal defenders,” he told Menolly in a tight but controlled voice.

“Master Domick, will you ever forgive . . .”

“Master Domick,” said another voice near the floor, and Audiva crawled from under the table. Domick extended a hand to help the girl to her feet. She glanced toward the entrance, then gave Menolly a brief nod. “Master Domick, Dunca told Menolly nothing about your message, but we all knew about it. Fair’s fair.” With one more glance at Menolly, she hurried across the dining hall to catch up with the other girls in the courtyard.

“How did you contrive to alienate Dunca?” asked Domick, his expression sullen but less fierce.

Menolly gulped and glanced at the fire lizards.

“Oh, them! Yes! I can quite see her point.” There was no flexibility in Master Domick’s attitude. “They do not, however, intimidate me.”

“Master Domick-“

“That’s enough, girl. Since you haven’t the native intelligence to be tactful, I shall have to-“

“Master Domick-“ Sebell came hurrying up.

“I know, I know,” and the Master cut off the journeyman’s explanation. “You do seem to acquire some champions at any rate. Let’s hope the end result is worth the effort. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, promptly after breakfast, in my study, which is on the second level to the right, fourth door on the outside. You will take your pipes this afternoon to Master Jerint for the first hour. I’m told you made the pipes yourself in that cave of yours? Good! Then the second hour you’re to see Master Shonagar. Now, get yourself off to Master Oldive. His office is at the top of the steps on the inside, to your right. No, Sebell, you do not need to hover about her so protectingly. I’m not so lost to common sense as to punish her for being the victim of envy.” He gestured imperatively at the journeyman to accompany him and then strode out of the hall. Sebell gave her a quick nod and followed.

“Pssst!” Attracted by the sound, Menolly looked down and saw Piemur crouched under the table.

“Is it safe to come out?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in chore section?”

“Yeah, but never mind. I’ve got a few seconds leeway. Hey, those fribbles have it in for you, don’t they? Or maybe Dunca made them not tell you?”

“How much did you overhear?”

“All of it.” Piemur grinned, getting to his feet. “I don’t miss much around here.”

“Piemur!”

“Menolly, can I help you feed the fire lizards tonight?” he asked, eyeing Beauty warily.

“I was going to ask you.”

“Great!” He beamed with pleasure. “And don’t worry about them,” he added, jerking his head toward the door, meaning the girls. “You’re much nicer’n them.”

“You just want to make friends with my fire lizards . . .”

“Too right!” His grin was impudence itself, but Menolly felt that he’d have been her friend without Beauty and the others. “Gotta scamper, or I’ll be put on. See you!”

She made her way to Master Oldive’s office. He had the hard-gum ball for her and showed her bow to exercise her hand around it.

“Not,” he said, giving her the grimace of his smile, “that your hand will lack exercise of other sorts around here. How much does it ache?”

She mumbled something, so he gave her a stem look and laid a small pot in her hand.

“There is only one excuse on this planet for the existence of that odorous plant known as numbweed, which is to ease pain. Use it when needed. The salve is mild enough to give you relief without loss of sensitivity.”

Beauty, who’d observed everything from her perch on Menolly’s shoulder, gave an admonitory chirp, as if agreeing with Master Oldive. The man chuckled, eyeing the little queen.

“Things are lively with you lot about, aren’t they?” he said, addressing the fire lizard directly. She chittered in response, turning her head this way and that as if looking him over. “How much larger will she grow?” he asked Menolly. “I understand yours are not long out of the shell.”

Menolly coaxed Beauty from her shoulder to her forearm so that Master Oldive could examine her closely.

“What’s this? What’s this?” he asked, glancing from Beauty to Menolly. “Patchy skin?”

Menolly was horrified. She’d been so engrossed in her own problems that she hadn’t been taking proper care of her fire lizards. And here was Beauty, her back skin flaking. Probably the others were in trouble, too.

“Oil. They need to be oiled . . .”

“Don’t panic, child. The matter is easily taken care of,” and with one long arm, he reached to the shelving above his head, and without seeming to look, brought down a large pot. “I make this for the ladies of the Hold, so if your creatures don’t mind smelling like females fair . . .”

Shaking her head, Menolly grinned with relief, remembering the stinking fish oil she’d used first for the fire lizards at the Dragon Stones cave. Master Oldive scooped up a fingertip of the ointment and gestured toward Beauty’s back. At Menolly’s encouraging nod, he gently smoothed the stuff on the patchy skin. Beauty arched her back appreciatively, crooning with relief, and then she stroked her head against his hand in gratitude.

“Most responsive little creature, isn’t she?” Master Oldive said, pleased.

“Very,” but Menolly was thinking of Beauty’s deplorable attack on Master Domick.

“Now, I’ll have a look at your feet. Hmmm. You’ve been on them too much; there’s quite a bit of swelling,” he said sternly. “I want you off your feet as much as possible. Did I not make that clear?”

Beauty squeaked angrily.

“Is she agreeing with me or defending you?” asked the Master.

“Possibly both, sir, because I had to stand a lot yesterday . . .”

“I suppose you did,” he said, more kindly, “but do try to keep off your feet as much as possible. Most of the masters will be understanding.” He dismissed her then, giving her the extra jars and reminding her to return the next day after dinner.

Menolly was glad the Master had an inside office, or he’d have seen her trudging across the courtyard after her pipes; but there was no other way, if she was to report with them to Master Jerint. And she didn’t wish to offend another master today.

The chore sections were at work in the courtyard, sweeping, cleaning, raking and doing the general heavy drudgery to keep the Harper Hall in order. She was aware of furtive glances in her direction but affected not to notice them.

The door to the cot was half-closed when she reached it, but Menolly clearly heard the voices raised inside.

“She’s an apprentice,” Pona was shouting in strident and argumentative tones. “He said she was an apprentice. She doesn’t belong with us. We’re not apprentices! We’ve rank to uphold. She doesn’t belong in here with us! Let her go where she does belong . . . with the apprentices!” There was a vicious, hateful edge to Pona’s voice.

Menolly drew back from the doorway, trembling. She lay flat against the wall, wishing she were anywhere but here. Beauty chirped questioningly in her ear and then stroked her head against Menolly’s cheek, the perfumed salve a sweetness in Menolly’s nostrils.

One thing was certain: Menolly did not want to go into the cottage for her pipes. But what would happen if she went to Master Jerint without them? She couldn’t go into the cot. Not now. Her fair swirled about, deprived of their customary landing spot by the closed shutters of Menolly’s disputed room, and she wished with all her heart that she could consolidate her nine fire lizards into one dragon and be borne aloft, and between, back to her quiet cave by the Dragon Stones. She did belong there because she’d made it her place. Hers alone! And really, what place was there for her in the Harper Hall, much less the cot? She might be called an apprentice, but she wasn’t part of their group either. Ranly had made that plain at the dining table.

And Master Morshal didn’t want her to “presume” to be a harper. Master Domick would as soon she disappeared, for all he’d been willing to teach her. She had played well for him, scarred hand and all. She was certain of that. And she was clearly a far better musician than the girls. No false modesty prompted that evaluation.

If her only use at the Harper Hall was to instruct people on being bogus seamen or turning fire lizard eggs, someone else could as easily perform those services. She’d managed to alienate more people than she’d made friends, and the few friends she’d acquired were far more interested in her fire lizards than they were in her. Briefly she wondered what welcome she would have received if she hadn’t brought the fire lizards or the two eggs with her. Then there would have been no fire lizard song for the Masterharper to rewrite. And he’d apologized to her for that. The Masterharper of Pern had apologized to her, Menolly of Half-Circle Sea Hold, for improving on her song. Her songs were what he needed, he said. Menolly took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

She did have music in the Harper Hall, and that was important! There might not be girl harpers, but no one had ever said there couldn’t be girl song-crafters and that mightn’t be a bad future.

Not to think of that now, Menolly, she chided herself. Think what you’re going to do when you appear before Master Jerint with no pipes. He might seem absentminded, but she doubted very much if he really was. The pipes were in her room, on the little press, and nothing, not even obedience to, and love of, the Masterharper would force her into the cot while those girls were raging on about her.

Beauty took off from her shoulder, calling to the other fire lizards, and when they were all midair above her, they disappeared. Menolly pushed herself away from the cot’s wall and started back to the Harper Hall. She’d think of something to say to Master Jerint about the pipes.

The fire lizards exploded into the air above her, squealing so shrilly that she looked up in alarm. They were grouped in a tight cluster, hovered just a split second while her eye took in their unusual formation, and then they parted. Something dropped. Automatically she held out her hands, and the multiple pipes smacked into her palms.

“Oh, you darlings. I didn’t know you could do that!” She clutched the pipes to her, ignoring the sting of her hands. Only the stiffness in her feet prevented her from dancing with the joy of relief and the discovery of this unexpected ability of her friends. How clever, clever they were, going to her room and bringing her the pipes. No one could ever again say in her presence that they were just pets and nuisances, good for nothing but trouble!

“The worst storm throws up some wood on the beach,” her mother used to say; mostly to soothe her father caught holdbound during a storm.

Why, if she hadn’t needed the pipes so badly, and if the girls hadn’t been so nasty, she’d never have discovered how very clever her fire lizards could be!

It was with a considerably lightened heart that she entered Master Jerint’s workshop. The place was unexpectedly empty. Master Jerint, bent over a vise attached to his wide and cluttered worktable, was the only occupant of the big room. As she could see that he was meticulously glueing veneer to a harp shaft, she waited and waited. And waited until, bored, she sighed.

“Yes? Oh, the girl! And where have you been this long time? Oh, waiting, I see. You brought your pipes with you?” He held out his hand, and she surrendered them.

She was a bit startled by the sudden intensity of his examination. He weighed the pipes in his hand, peered closely at the way she had joined the sections of reed with braided seaplant; he poked a tool into the blow and finger holes. Muttering under his breath, he brought the pipes over to the rank of windows and examined them minutely in the bright afternoon sun. Glancing at her for permission, he arranged his long fingers appropriately and blew on the pipes, his eyebrows arching at the pure clear tone.

“Sea reeds? Not fresh water?”

“Fresh water, but I cured them in the sea.”

“How’d you get this dark shine?”

“Mixed fish oil with sea grass and rubbed it in, warm . . .”

“Makes an interesting hint of purple in the wood. Could you duplicate the compound again?”

“I think so.”

“Any particular type of sea grass? Or fish oil?”

“Packtail,” and despite herself, Menolly winced at having to mention the fish by name. Her hand twitched. “And shallow-water sea grass, the sort that clings to sandy bottoms rather than rock.”

“Very good.” He handed her back the pipes, gesturing for her to follow him to another table where drum rings and skins of varying sizes had been laid out, as well as a reel of the oiled cord necessary to secure drum hides to frame. “Can you assemble a drum?”

“I can try!”

He sniffed, not critically-reflectively, Menolly thought-and then motioned for her to begin. He turned back to his patient woodworking on the harp.

Knowing that this was likely another test, Menolly examined each of the nine drum frames carefully for hidden flaws, for the dryness and hardness of the wood. Only one did she feel worth the trouble, and the drum would be a thin, sharp-sounding instrument. She preferred a drum with deep full notes, one that would cut through male voices in a chorus and keep them on the beat. Then she reminded herself that here she would scarcely have to worry about keeping singers in time. She set to work, putting the metal clips on the frame edge to hold the skin. Most of the hides were well cured and stretched, so that it was a matter of finding one the proper size and thinness for her drum frame. She softened the chosen hide in the tub of water, working the skin in her hands until it was flexible enough to draw across the frame. Carefully she made slits and skewered the hide to the clips, symmetrically, so that one side wasn’t pulled tighter than another lest it make an uneven tone along the outside of the drum and a sour one in the center. When she was sure she had the hide evenly placed, she lashed it around the frame, two fingers from the edge of the surface. When the hide dried, she’d have a taut drum.

“Well, you do know some of the tricks of the trade, don’t you?”

She nearly jumped out of her own hide at the sound of Master Jerint’s voice right by her elbow. He gave her a little wintry smile. She wondered how long he’d been standing there watching her. He took the drum, examining it minutely, humphing to himself, his face making a variety of contortions that gave her no real idea of his opinion of her handiwork.

He put the drum carefully on a high shelf. “We’ll just let that dry, but you’d better get yourself off to your next class. The juniors are about to arrive, I hear,” he added in a dry, unamused tone.

Menolly became immediately conscious of exterior noise; laughter, yells and the dull thudding of many booted feet. Dutifully she made her way to the chorus room where Master Shonagar, seemingly not having moved since she’d left him the day before, greeted her.

“Assemble your friends please, and have them dispose themselves to listen,” he told her, blinking a bit as the fire lizards swept into the high ceilinged hall. Beauty took up her favorite position on Menolly’s shoulder, “You!” And one long fat forefinger pointed directly to the little queen. “You will find another perch today.” The forefinger moved inexorably toward a bench. “There!”

Beauty gave a quizzical cheep but obediently retired when Menolly silently reinforced the order. Master Shonagar’s eyebrows ascended into his hair line as he watched the little fire lizard settle herself, primly flipping her wings to her back, her eyes whirling gently. He grunted, his belly bouncing.

“Now, Menolly, shoulders back, chin up but in, hands together across your diaphragm, breathe in, from the belly to the lungs . . . No, I do not want to see your chest heaving like a smith’s bellows . . .”

By the end of the session, Menolly was exhausted: the small of her back and all of her midriff muscles ached, her belly was sore, and she felt that dragging nets for offshore fishing would have been child’s play. Yet she’d done no more than stand in one spot and attempt, in Master Shonagar’s pithy phrase, to control her breathing properly. She’d been allowed to sing only single notes, and then scales of five notes, each scale done on the breath, lightly but in true tone and on pitch. She’d have gutted a whole net of packtail with less effort, so she was intensely grateful when Master Shonagar finally waved her to a seat.

“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 boys 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.

“Naw, 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 sand-filled, 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 only 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 cynical 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 Harper 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 any 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.