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.

Eastern Sea Hold Song

 

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 cliff-side 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 journeyman had chatted, as courtesy required, and then he skipped to the front of the stall before anyone else could intervene.

“Back so soon, young rascal. Well, let’s have a look it what you’ve brought. Hmm . . . stamped as you said . . .” Pergamol examined more than the stamp on the tambourine, Menolly noticed, and the Smithcrafter’s eyes slid to hers as he pinged the stretched hide of the tambourine with his finger, and raised his eyebrows at the sweet-sounding tinkle of the tiny cymbals under the rim. “So how much were you looking to receive for it?”

“Four marks!” said Piemur with the attitude that he was being eminently reasonable.

“Four marks?” Pergamol feigned astonishment, and the interchange of bargaining began in earnest.

Menolly was delighted, and more than a little impressed by Piemur’s shrewdness when the final figure of three and a half marks was handclasped. Piemur had pointed out that for a journeyman-made tambourine, four marks was not unreasonable: Pergamol did not have to say who made it, and he saved a thirty-second on turnover. Pergamol replied that he had the carriage of the tambourine. Piemur discounted that since Pergamol might very well sell the item here at the gather, since he could price it under the Harpercraft stall. Pergamol replied that he had to make more than a few splinters profit for his journey, his effort and the rent of the stall from the Lord Holder. Piemur suggested that he consider the fine polish on the wood, listen again to the sweet jingle of the best quality metal, thinly hammered, just the sort of instrument for a lady to use . . . and a hide tanned evenly, no rough patches or stains. Menolly realized that, for all the extreme seriousness with which the two dickered, it was a game played according to certain rules, which Piemur must have learned at his foster mother’s knee. The bargaining for the pipe went more smartly since Pergamol had noticed a pair of small holders waiting discreetly beyond the stall. But the bargaining was done and handsealed, Piemur shaking his head at Pergamol’s stinginess and sighing mightily as he pocketed the marks. Looking so dejected that Menolly was concerned, the boy motioned for her to follow him to the spot where the others waited. Halfway there, Piemur let out a sigh of relief and his face broke into the broadest of his happy grins, his step took on a jauntier bounce and his shoulders straightened.

“Told you I could get a fair deal out of Pergamol!”

“You did?” Menolly was confused.

“Sure did. Three and a half for the tambourine? And three for the pipe? That’s top mark!” The boys crowded round him, and Piemur recounted his success with many winks and chuckles. For his efforts, he got a quarter of a mark from each of the boys, telling Menolly that that was an improvement, for them, on the full half-mark the Harpercraft charged for selling.

“C’mon, Menolly, let’s gad about,” Piemur said, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back into the stream of slowly moving people. “I can smell the pies from here,” he said when he had eluded the others. “All we have to do is follow our noses . . .”

“Pies?” Master Robinton had mentioned bubbling pies.

“I don’t mind treating you, since today is your first gather . . . here . . .” he added hastily, looking to see if he’d offended her, “but I’m not buying for those bottomless pits.”

“We just finished dinner-“

“Bargaining’s hungry work.” He licked his lips in anticipation. “And I feel like something sweet, bubbling hot with berry juice. Just you wait. We’ll duck through here!”

He maneuvered her through the crowd, going across the moving traffic in an oblique line until they reached a wide break in the square. There they could see down to the river and the meadow where the traders’ beasts were grazing, hobbled. People were moving up all the roads, arriving from the outlying plain and mountain holds. Their dress tunics and shirts made bright accents to the fresh green of the spring fields. The sun shone brilliantly over all. It was a glorious day, thought Menolly, a marvelous day for a gather. Piemur grabbed her hand, pulling her faster.

“They can’t have sold all the pies,” she said, laughing.

“No, but they’ll get cold, and I like ‘em hot, bubbling!”

And so the confections were, carried from an oven in the baker’s hold on a thick, long-handled tray: the berry juices spilling darkly over the sides of the delicately browned crusts that glistened with crystalized sweet.

“Ho, you’re out early, are you, Piemur? Let me see your marks first.”

Piemur, with a show of great reluctance, dragged out a thirty-second bit and showed it to the skeptic.

“That’ll buy you six pies.”

“Six? Is that all?” Piemur’s face reflected utter despair. “This is all me and my dorm mates could raise.” His voice went up in a piteous note.

“Don’t give me that old wheeze, Piemur,” said the baker with a derisive snort. “You know you eat ‘em all yourself. You wouldn’t treat your mates to as much as a sniff.”

“Master Palim . . .”

“Master me nothing, Piemur. You know my rank same as I know yours. It’s six pies for the thirty-second or stop wasting my time.” The journeyman, for that was the badge on his tunic, was slipping six pies off the tray as he spoke. “Who’s your long friend here? That dorm mate you’re always talking about?”

“She’s Menolly . . .”

“Menolly?” the baker looked up in surprise. “The girl who wrote the song about the fire lizards?” A seventh pie was set beside the others.

Menolly fumbled in her pocket for her two-mark piece.

“Have a pie for welcome, Menolly, and any time you have a spare egg that needs a warm home . . .” He let the sentence peter out and gave her a broad wink, and a broader smile so she’d know he was joking.

“Menolly!” Piemur grabbed her wrist, staring at the two-marker, his eyes round with surprise. “Where’d you get that?”

“Master Robinton gave it to me this morning. He said I’m to buy a belt and some bubbly pies. So please, journeyman, I’d like to pay for them.”

“No way!” Piemur was flatly indignant, knocking her extended hand away. “I said it was my treat ‘cause this is your first gather. And I know that’s the first mark piece you’ve ever had. Don’t you go wasting it on me.” He had half turned from the baker and was giving Menolly a one-eyed wink.

“Piemur, I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you these past few days,” she said, trying to move him out of her way so she could give Palim the marker. “I insist.”

“Not a chance, Menolly. I keep my word.”

“Then put your money where your mouth is, Piemur,” said Palim, “you’re blocking my counter,” and he indicated the balking figure of Camo bearing down on them.

“Camo! Where’ve you been, Camo?” cried Piemur. “We looked all over for you before we started for the pies. Here’s yours, Camo.”

“Pies?” And Camo came forward, huge hands outstretched, his thick lips moist. He wore a fresh tunic, his face was shining clean, and his straggling crop of hair had been brushed flat. He had evidently homed in on the sweet aroma of the pies as easily as Piemur.

“Yes, bubbly pies, just like I promised you, Camo,” Piemur passed him two pies.

“Well, now, you wasn’t having me on, was you, about feeding your mates. Although how come Menolly and Camo . . .”

“Here’s your money,” said Piemur with some haughtiness, thrusting the thirty-second piece into Palim’s hand. “I trust your pies will live up to standard.”

Menolly gaped, because there were now nine small bubbly pies on the counter front.

“Three for you, Camo.” Piemur handed him a third. “Now don’t burn your mouth. Three for you, Menolly,” and the pastry was warm enough to sting Menolly’s scarred palm, “and three for me. Thank you, Palim. It’s good of you to be generous. I’ll make sure everyone knows your pies . . .” and despite the heat of the crust, Piemur bit deeply into the pastry, the dark purple juices dribbling down his chin, “ . . . are just as good as ever,” and he said that last on a sigh of contentment. Then more briskly, “C’mon, you two.” He waved to the baker who stared after them before he uttered a bark of laughter. “See you later, Palim!”

“We got nine pies for the price of six!” she said when they’d got far enough away from the stall.

“Sure, and I’ll get nine again when I go back, because he’ll think I’m sharing with you and Camo again. That’s the best deal I’ve pulled on him yet.”

“You mean . . .”

“Pretty smart of you to flash that two-marker about. He wouldn’t have been able to change it this early in the afternoon. I’ll have to try that angle again, next gather. The large marker, I mean.”

“Piemur!” Menolly was appalled at his duplicity.

“Hmmmm?” His expression over the rim of the pie was unperturbed. “Good, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but you’re outrageous. The way you bargain . . .”

“What’s wrong with it? Everyone has fun. ‘Specially this early in the season. Later on they get bored, and even being small and looking sorrowful doesn’t help me. Ah, Camo,” and Piemur looked disgusted. “Can’t you even eat clean?”

“Pies good!” Camo had stuffed all three pies into his mouth. His tunic was now stained with berry juices, his face was flecked with pastry and berry skins, and his fist had smeared a purple streak across one cheek.

“Menolly, will you look at him! He’ll disgrace the Hall. You can’t take your eyes off him a moment. C’mere!”

Piemur dragged Camo to the back of the line of stalls until he found a water skin dangling from a thong on a stall frame. He made Camo cup his hands and wash his face. Menolly found a scrap of cloth, not too dirty, and they managed to remove the worst of the pie, stains from Camo’s face and front.

“Oh, blast the shell and sear the skin!” said Piemur in a round oath as he took up his third pie. “It’s cold. Camo, you’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes.”

“Camo trouble?” The man’s face fell into deep sorrowful lines. “Camo cold?”

“No, the pie’s cold. Oh, never mind. I like you, Camo, you’re my friend.” Piemur patted the man’s arm reassuringly, and the numbwit brightened.

“Cold or not,” Menolly said after she took a bite from her third, and cooled, pastry, “they’re every bit as good as you said, Piemur.”

“Say,” and Piemur eyed her through narrowed lids, “maybe you’d better bargain the next lot out of Palim.”

“I couldn’t eat another.”

“Oh, not now. Later.”

“It’ll be my treat then.”

“Sure thing!” He agreed with such amiability that Menolly decided that she’d taken the bait, hook and all. “First,” he went on, “let’s find the tanner’s stall.” He took her by the hand and Camo by the sleeve and hauled them down the row. “So you’re really Master Robinton’s apprentice? Wow! Wait’ll I tell the others! I told ‘em you would be.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Piemur shot her a startled look. “He did say that you were his apprentice when he gave you that two-marker, didn’t he?”

“He’d told me I was before today, but I didn’t think that was unusual. Aren’t all the apprentices in the Hall his apprentices? He’s the Masterharper . . .”

“You sure don’t understand.” Piemur’s glance was one of undiluted pity for her denseness. “Every master has a few special apprentices . . . I’m Master Shonagar’s. That’s why I’m always running his errands. I don’t know how they did it in your Sea Hold, but here, you get taken in as a general apprentice. If you turn out to be specially good at something, like me at voice, and Brolly at making instruments, the Master of that craft takes you on as a special apprentice, and you report to him for extra training and duties. And if he’s pleased with you, he’ll give you the odd mark to spend at a gather. So . . . if Master Robinton gave you a two-marker, he’s pleased with you, and you’re his special apprentice. He doesn’t tap many.” Piemur shook his head slowly from side to side, with a soft emphatic whistle. “There’s been lots of heavy betting in the dorm as to who he’d pick since Sebell took his walk as journeyman . . . not that Sebell doesn’t still look to the Masterharper even if he is a rank up . . . but Ranly was so sure he’d be tapped.”

“Is that why Ranly doesn’t like me?”

Piemur dismissed that with a gesture. “Ranly never had a chance, and the only one who didn’t know that was Ranly! He thinks he’s so good. Everyone else knew that Master Robinton was hoping to find you . . . the one who’d written those songs! Look, there’s the tanner’s stall. And just spy that beautiful blue belt. It’s even got a fire lizard for a buckle tongue!” He’d pulled her up and lowered his voice for the last words. “And blue! You let me bargain, hear?”

Before she could agree, Piemur approached the stall, acting casually, glancing over the tabards, soft shoes and boots displayed, apparently oblivious to the belt he’d just indicated to Menolly.

“They’ve got some blue boot hide, Menolly,” he said, to her.

Knowing the shrewdness Piemur had already displayed, Menolly followed his cue, and, glancing at the tanner for permission, touched the thick wherry leather. She could see the belt over his shoulder, and the tongue had been fashioned like a slim fire lizard.

“Now, don’t tell me you have money in your trous, short stuff,” the tanner journeyman said to Piemur and then peered uncertainly at Menolly’s cropped hair, trousers and apprentice badge.

“Me? No, but she’s buying. Her slippers are a disgrace.”

The tanner did look down, and Menolly wanted to hide her scuffed footwear.

“This is Menolly,” Piemur went on, blithely unaware of the embarrassment he was causing her. “She’s got nine fire lizards, and she’s Master Robinton’s new apprentice.”

Wondering what on earth was possessing Piemur, she glanced anywhere but at the curious journeyman. She caught a glimpse of bright filmy materials, and richly decorated tunics. She steadied her gaze and saw Pona, her arm through a tall lad’s. He was wearing the yellow of Fort Hold and the shoulder knot of the Lord Holders family. Behind Pona came Briala, Amania and Audiva, each of the girls escorted by a well-dressed youth, fosterlings of Lord Groghe’s to judge by the different hold colors and rank knots.

“Here, Menolly, what do you think of this hide?” asked Piemur.

“And be sure she has the marks for it,” said Pona, pausing. Her voice was too smooth to be insulting, and yet her manner gave her words an offensive ring. “For I’m certain she’s only wasting your time and will finger Your wares dirty. Whereas I want to commission you to make me some soft shoes for the summer. She held up a well-filled waist pouch.

“She’s got two marks,” Piemur said, turning to challenge Pona, his eyes flashing with anger.

“If she does, she stole it,” replied Pona, abandoning her indolent manner. “She’d nothing on her when she was still permitted to live in the cot.”

“Stolen?” Menolly felt herself tensing with fury at the totally unexpected accusation.

“Stolen, nothing!” Piemur replied hotly. “Master Robinton gave it to her this morning!”

“I claim insult from you, Pona,” cried Menolly, her hand on her belt knife.

“Benis, she’s threatening me!” Pona cried, clinging to her escort’s arm.

“Now, see here, apprentice girl. You can’t insult a lady of the Holders. You just hand over that mark piece,” said Benis, gesturing peremptorily to Menolly.

“Menolly, don’t take insult,” Audiva pushed her way past the others and grabbed her arm, restraining her. “It’s what she wants.”

“Pona’s given me too many insults, Audiva.”

“Menolly, you mustn’t-“

“Get the mark, Benis,” Pona said in a hiss. “Make her pay for threatening me!”

“Out of the way, Benis, whoever you are,” said Menolly. “Pona has to answer for the insults she gives, lady holder or not.” Menolly moved sideways, countering Pona’s attempt to evade her.

“Benis, she can be dangerous! I told you so!” Ponds voice went up in a frightened, breathless squeak.

“You mustn’t, Menolly,” Audiva said, catching Menolly’s sleeve. “She wants you to . . . Piemur, help me!”

“Don’t you dare, Audiva!” Pona’s voice was now edged with angry malice. “Or I’ll settle you good as well.”

“Come, girl, the money. Hand it over and we’ll say no more about attempted insult . . .” said Benis in a patronizing tone.

“Pona’s insulted Menolly!” cried Piemur indignantly. “Just because you’re a-“

“Close your mouth!” Benis wasted no courtesies on Piemur. He took a stride to close the distance between himself and Menolly, his jaw set in a disagreeable grin as he disdainfully measured the three slight and defiant adversaries.

Pona gave a little squeal as Benis left her standing on her own. Then, another as Menolly, stepping away from Benis, made a lunge at her, trying to catch her long plaited hair.

“Hey, now just a minute, you,” said the tanner in a loud voice, sensing an imminent fight. He ducked under the counter of his stall, emerging into the walkway. “This is a gather, not a . . .”

Benis was quick on his feet, too, and he grabbed Menolly by the shoulder, spinning her toward him and securing her left arm, which he immediately twisted up behind her. With a cry of triumph, Pona darted forward, her hands busy with Menolly’s belt pouch. Piemur sprang to Menolly’s assistance, kicking Benis in the shins and grabbing Pona by the hair. The kick made Benis loosen his hold on Menolly’s arm. With a strength developed by Turns of hauling and handling heavy nets, she wrenched free of his grasp, dancing out of his way.

“I settle Pona!” She shouted to Piemur, beckoning him away.

“Benis, save me!” Pona screamed, rushing to the young Holder, but Piemur was still hanging onto her plait.

Benis let fly a kick at Piemur, tripping him up and added another one to the ribs as the boy measured his length in the dust.

“Leave him alone!” Forgetting her quarrel with Pona, Menolly launched herself at Benis. Putting shoulder and body behind her fist, she drove it right into Benis’s face. He staggered back, roaring in outrage and pain. One of the other fosterlings came charging forward, fist cocked to slam Menolly, but Audiva hung onto his arm.

“Viderian! Menolly’s a seaholder! Help us!”

Startled, her escort bounded in to help Audiva, just as Menolly ducked under Benis’s swing and tried to protect Piemur, who was struggling to get on his feet, blood streaming from his nose.

The next moment, the air was full of shrieking, clawing, fighting fire lizards. Piemur was screaming that Benis better not hit the Harper’s apprentice, or there’d be real trouble; Camo was howling that his pretty ones were afraid, and he waded in, thick arms flailing, hitting indiscriminately at friend and foe. Menolly got a clout across the ear as she tried to restrain the misguided Camo.

“Shells! It’s the Hall’s dummy!” “Scatter!” “Get her!” “Knock him down!” “Got her, Menolly!”

The fire lizards were not hampered by Camo’s inability to distinguish friend and foe. They went for Pona, Briala, Amania, Benis and the other lads. Menolly, trying to catch her breath, realized that things were completely out of hand and desperately tried to call off the fire lizards. The girls were scattering, screaming, vainly trying to cover their heads, hair and eyes. Attacked from above, so did the fosterlings.

“Be still! Everyone!” The bellow was stentorian enough to penetrate shriek, howl and battle cries, and stern enough to command instant obedience. “You there, hang on to Camo! Douse him with that skin of water! You, tanner, help them with Camo. Sit on him, knock his feet out from under him if necessary. Menolly, control your fire lizards! This is a gather, not a brawl!”

The Harper strode into the midst of the melee, yanking a fosterling to his feet, spinning one of the girls to the arms of the folk who had converged on the scene, giving a bloody-nosed Piemur a hand up from the dust. The Masterharper’s actions were somewhat hampered by the distressed squeals of the little bronze fire lizard clinging tightly to his left arm, but there was little doubt of the Master’s fury. A silence broken by the gulping sobs of Pona and Briala held attacker, attacked and witnesses alike.

“Now,” said the Harper, his voice controlled although his eyes were flashing with anger, “just what has been going on here?”

“It was her!” Pona staggered a step toward Master Robinton, jabbing her finger at Menolly and struggling to control her sobs. Long scratches marred her cheeks, her head scarf was torn and her hair pulled from its plaits. “She’s always causing trouble-“

“Sir, we were minding our own business,” said Piemur indignantly, “which was buying a belt that you said Menolly ought to have, when Pona here-“

“That little sneak tripped me as we were passing, and then her hideous beasts attacked all of us. They’ve done it before. I have witnesses!”

She stopped mid-gulp, arrested by the look on the Harper’s face.

“Lady Pona,” he said in an all too gentle voice, “you are overwrought. Briala, take the child back to Dunca. The excitement of a gather appears to be too much for such a fragile spirit. Amania, I think you ought to help Briala.” Though his voice expressed concern for their well-being, it was obvious that the Harper was disciplining the three girls who bore evidence of the unfriendly attentions of the fire lizards.

Now he turned to the Hold fosterlings. Benis, his left eye already bruising, his lip cut, his hair tousled and forehead bearing fire lizard marks, was straightening his tunic and brushing dust from his sleeve and trousers. The other youths who had been escorting the now banished girls maintained the rigid stance they had adopted as soon as they recognized the Masterharper.

“Lord Benis?”

“Masterharper?” Benis continued to adjust his garments, awarding the briefest of glances to the Harper.

“I’m glad you know my rank,” said Robinton, smiling slightly.

Menolly had been soothing Beauty and Rocky who had refused to leave when she sent the others away. At his tone, she looked at the Harper, amazed that he could express so profound a reprimand with a brief phrase and a smile.

One of the other fosterlings jabbed Benis in the ribs, and the young man looked angrily about.

“I expect you have business elsewhere . . . now!” said the Masterharper.

“Business? This is a gather day . . . sir.”

“For others, indeed, it is, but not, I think, for you,” and the Masterharper indicated with his hand that Benis had better retire. “Or you, and you, and you,” he added, indicating the other fosterlings who displayed claw marks. “Will you occupy yourselves quietly in your quarters or will I have to mention this to Lord Groghe?” He accepted the frantic shakings of their heads.

Then he turned his back on them and pleasantly indicated to those who were avidly observing his summary justice that they should now continue their interrupted pursuits. He walked to where Camo was still being restrained by three large journeymen, blubbering noisily about his pretties being hurt and struggling to free himself.

“The pretties are not hurt, Camo. Not hurt. See? Menolly has the pretties.” The Harper’s voice soothed the wretched man as he gestured for Menolly to come forward into Camo’s line of sight.

“Pretties not hurt?”

“No, Camo. Brudegan, who else is about?” the Harper asked his journeyman. Several other harpers obediently moved against the tide of the dispersing crowd. “Camo had better go back to the hall. Here,” and the Harper reached into his pouch and passed Brudegan a mark piece. “Buy him a lot of those bubbly pies on your way back. That’ll help settle him.”

The crowd had melted away. The Masterharper, stroking his gradually quieting fire lizard, turned back to the small group still clustered together. He gestured them to the unoccupied space between the nearest stalls.

“Now, let me hear the sequence of events, please,” he said, but his voice no longer held that chilling note of displeasure.

“It wasn’t Menolly’s fault!” said Piemur, batting at Audiva’s hands as she tried to staunch the flow from his nose with the berry-stained cloth used earlier on Camo. “We were looking at belts . . .” He turned to the tanner for confirmation.

“I don’t know about belts, Master Robinton, but they weren’t causing any trouble when the blonde girl, Lady Pona, started pulling rank on your apprentice. Made a nasty accusation about the girl having money she oughtn’t to have.”

A look of dismay crossed the Harper’s face. “You didn’t lose the mark in the fuss, did you, Menolly?” He scuffed around the trampled area with his boot toe. “I don’t have many two-mark pieces, you know.”

The tanner stifled a bark of laughter, and the Harper sighed with almost comic relief as Menolly solemnly displayed the cause of the trouble.

“That’s a mercy,” Master Robinton said with a smile of approval for Menolly. “Go on,” he added to the tanner.

“Then this lass,” and the tanner gestured toward Audiva, “took Menolly’s part. So did the young seaholder. I think all would have come to nothing if Camo hadn’t got upset, and the next thing I know the air’s full of fire lizards. Are they all hers?” He jerked his thumb at Menolly.

“Yes,” said the Harper, “a fact that ought to be borne in mind since they do seem able to recognize Menolly’s . . . ammm . . .”

“Sir, I didn’t call them . . .” Menolly said, finding her voice.

“I’m sure you didn’t need to.” He closed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

“Master Robinton, Pona bears a grudge against Menolly” said Audiva in a rush as if she had to make the admission before she could change her mind. “And she’s got no real cause at all.”

“Thank you, Audiva, I’ve been aware of the prejudice.” The Harper made a slight bow, acknowledging the tall girl’s loyalty. “The Lady Pona will not trouble you further, Menolly, nor you, Audiva,” he continued, that hint of implacability tinging an otherwise pleasant tone. “Good of you, Lord Viderian, to support another seaholder, though it is a loyalty I would prefer to render unnecessary.”

“My father, Master Robinton, is very much of Your mind, which is why I am fostered in a landbound Hold” said Viderian with a respectful bow. He stiffened, his eyes widening at some disturbing sight. He swallowed hard, anxiety plainly written on his face.

“Ah,” said the Harper, having followed the direction of Viderian’s gaze. “I wondered how long it would take Lord Groghe to respond to promptings . . .” He grinned, highly amused at some inner reflection. “Viderian, do make off with Audiva. Now! And enjoy yourselves!”

Audiva needed no urging and grabbed the young seaholder’s arm, hastening down the aisle until they were lost in the crowd.

“It’s Lord Groghe!” said Piemur in a croak, pulling at Menolly’s sleeve.

The Harper caught the boy by the shoulder. “You’ll stay by me, young Piemur, so we may have an end of this affair now!” Then he turned to the tanner. “Which belt tempted Menolly?”

“The one with the fire lizard on the buckle,” said Piemur in an undertone to the Harper and then edged himself carefully so that the Harper was between him and the oncoming Lord Holder.

“Robinton, my queen’s doing it again. Ah, Menolly, just the person!” said Lord Groghe, his florid face lighting with a smile. “Merga’s been ... humph! She’s stopped!” The Holder regarded his queen accusingly. “She’s been fussing! Right up until I reached the square . . .”

“That’s rather easily explained,” said Robinton in an off-handed manner.

“Is it? Both of ‘em are at it now.”

Menolly had been aware of it first, because Beauty was chirping and squeaking at Merga through Lord Groghe’s conversation. She felt color rising in her cheeks. The discourse finished as quickly as it had begun. The two little queens flipped their wings closed on their backs and became totally disinterested in each other.

“What was that all about?” Lord Groghe demanded.

“I suspect they were catching up on the news,” said Robinton, with a chuckle, for that was what it had sounded like: a spate of urgent gossip. “Which reminds me, Lord Groghe; I heard that the wineman has a keg of good, aged Benden wine.”

“He does?” Lord Groghe’s interest was diverted. “How did he get his hands on it?”

“I think we ought to check.”

“Humph! Yes! Now!”

“Wouldn’t do to waste good Benden wine on people unable to appreciate it, would it?” Robinton took Lord Groghe’s arm.

“Not at all.” But the Holder could not be completely diverted and turned to frown at Menolly. She steeled herself before she realized that his frown was not menacing. “Want a chance to talk to this girl. Didn’t seem the time or place to do so t’other day with the Hatching and all.”

“Of course, Lord Groghe, when Menolly’s finished her bargaining . . .”

“Bargaining? Humph. Well, can’t interrupt a bargain at a gather . . . humph!” Lord Groghe pushed out his lower lip as he looked from Menolly to the hovering tanner. “Don’t be all day about it, girl. Th’afternoon’s a good time to talk. Dont have many chances to sit and talk.”

“Finish your dicker for that belt, Menolly,” the Harper told her, one arm gently propelling the Lord Holder away from the apprentices, “and then join us at the wineman’s stall. And you,” the Masterharper’s forefinger pointed down at Piemur, “wash your face, keep your mouth closed, and stay out of trouble. At least until I’ve had some Benden wine to fortify me.” Lord Groghe humphed at the delay. “If it is Benden wine . . . This way, my Lord Holder.” The two men walked off together, in step, each steadying the fire lizards they carried.

A soft whistle at her elbow broke the trance holding Menolly as she stared after the two most influential men in the Hold. Piemur was dramatically dragging a hand across his brow to signalize a close escape.

“What do you bet, Menolly, that the subject of your cracking Benis in the face never comes up? And where’d you learn to punch like that?”

“When I saw that big bully kicking you, I was so flaming mad, I . . . I . . .”

“May I add my congratulations to Piemur’s?” asked a quiet voice. The two whirled to see Sebell, leaning against the side of the tanners stall. The eyes of his young queen were still whirling with the red of anger.

“Oh, no,” said Menolly with a groan, “not you, too! What am I going to do with them?” She was utterly discouraged and dejected. It had been bad enough to have the fire lizards diving and swooping at plain noise; outrageous of them to have flown at Master Domick because he’d only spoken angrily to her. And now this very public fracas with the son of the Fort Lord Holder.

“It wasn’t your fault, Menolly,” said Piemur stoutly.

“It never is, but it is!”

“How long have you been here, Sebell?” Piemur asked, ignoring Menolly’s wail.

“On the heels of Lord Groghe,” said the journeyman, grinning. “But I caught a glimpse of young Benis making tracks out of the Hold proper, so it wasn’t hard to figure out where he got the scratches,” he went on, glancing at the perched fire lizards and absently stroking Kimi. “I have only one burning question: Who had the audacity to give Benis a colored eye?”

“A rare sight that was,” said the tanner who been keeping back but now stepped up. “The girl landed as sweet a punch in that young snot’s eye as ever I’ve seen, and I’ve been to many a gather that boasted a good brawl. Now, young harper girl, which belt had you in mind before the fracas started? I thought you was after boot leather.” He eyed Piemur sharply.

“Menolly wants the blue one with the fire lizard buckle.”

“It’d be much too expensive,” Menolly said hastily.

The tanner ducked back under his counter and picked the coveted belt from its hook.

“This the one?”

Menolly looked at it wistfully. Sebell took it from the tanner’s hands, examined it, gave it a tug to see if there were flaws or if the hide was too thin to wear well.

“Good workmanship in that belt, Journeyman,” the tanner said. “Proper for the girl to have it, with her owning the fire lizards.”

“How much were you asking for it?” asked Piemur, settling down to the business of bargaining.

The tanner looked down at Piemur, stroked the belt, which Sebell had handed back to him, then glanced at Menolly.

“It’s yours, girl. And I’ll not take a mark from you. Worth it to me to see you plant one on that young rowdy’s face. Here, wear it in good health and long life.”

Piemur gaped, mouth wide, eyes popping.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” and Menolly extended the two-mark piece. The tanner promptly closed her fist over the marker and laid the belt on her wrist.

“Yes, you could and you will, apprentice harper! And that’s the end of the matter. I’ve struck the bargain.” He pumped her hand in the traditional courtesy.

“Ah, Tanner Ligand,” Sebell stepped up, leaning on the counter and beckoning the tanner to bend close to him. “While I didn’t see much of the affair . . .” Sebell began to rub his forefinger on one side of his nose, “it’s not exactly the sort of incident . . .”

“I take your meaning, Harper Sebell,” the tanner replied, nodding his head in acceptance of the adroit suggestion. His grin was rueful. “Not that the truth doesn’t make fine telling. Still, those fire lizards of yours are young, aren’t they, girl, excitable-like, not used to a gather, I expect . . . Oh, I’ll say what’s proper. Don’t you worry, harpers.” He patted Menolly’s hand, still outstretched with the marker. “Now cheer up, you’ve a face like a wet Turn. You’ve done more good than harm this gather day. And when you’ve the need for slippers to match the belt, just you send me the work. I won’t do you in the mark,” and he flashed a look at the skeptical Piemur. “Not that I don’t like a good tight bargain now and then . . .”

Piemur made a gargling sound in his throat and would have disputed the statement.

“Let’s clean you up, Piemur, as Master Robinton suggested,” said Sebell, warning the boy by the tilt of his head to be silent.

“I’ve a water-carrier at the back of the stall you’re welcome to use,” said Ligand, “And here’s a cleaner cloth than the one Menolly has!” He held out a white square to her and dismissed her profuse thanks with a smile and a wave to be off.

No sooner had Sebell and Menolly pulled Piemur to the back of the tanner’s stall than people began to step up to his counter.

“Hah!” said Piemur, looking over his shoulder. “He’s sly, that Ligand, giving you the belt. He’ll get three times as much business because you-“

“Close your mouth,” suggested Sebell, as he rubbed firmly at the bloody streaks on Piemur’s face. “Hold him, Menolly.”

“Hey . . . I . . .” but Piemur’s complaints were effectively muffled by the damp cloth Sebell used in earnest.

“The less mentioned about this matter, Piemur, the better. And what I said to Ligand holds for you as well. Here and in the Hall. There’ll be enough rumor and wrangle without you adding your bits.”

“Do you think . . . mumble . . . mumble . . . I’d do anything . . . leave me alone ... to hurt Menolly?”

Sebell suspended the cleaning operation and regarded the boy’s flashing eyes and the indignant set of his jaw. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. If only not to lose your chance at feeding the fire lizards.”

“Now, that’s not fair . . .”

“Sebell, what am I going to do about them?” Menolly asked, finally getting out the fears she’d been suppressing.

“They were only protecting . . .” Piemur began, but Sebell silenced him with a hand over his mouth and a stem look.

“Today they apparently had cause, as Piemur said. The other evening they reacted to what was going on at Benden Weyr with F’nor and Canth, through Brekke’s fire lizard. Again, cause.” Sebell glanced back toward the tanner’s stall and noticed that some of the throng were surreptitiously regarding the three harpers. He motioned to Menolly and Piemur to walk out of sight, down behind the stalls, away from the curious. “All of this,” and Sebell’s hand took in the towering face of the Hold cliff behind them, the Harper Hall across the paved square now lined with stalls, “is as new to you as to them. Enough to cause alarm and apprehension. They’re young and so are you, for all you’ve managed to accomplish. It’s again a question of discipline,” he said, but his smile was reassuring.

“I had no discipline this afternoon,” she said, repenting of her attack on Pona. She might well have jeopardized everything, crying insult from Pona.

“What d’you mean? You had a fantastic right punch!” cried Piemur, demonstrating with a grunt. “And you’d every right to cry insult on Pona, after all she’s done to you . . .” Piemur hastily covered his mouth, his eyes widening as he realized he was being indiscreet.

“You cried insult on Pona?” asked Sebell, frowning in surprise. “I thought that Silvina and I told you to leave the matter.”

“She called me a thief. She tried to get Benis to take my two-marker from me.”

“The two-marker that Master Robinton himself had given Menolly to buy that belt,” said Piemur, staunchly confirming the affair.

“If Pona has added insult to the injury she’s already tried to do you,” said Sebell slowly, “then, of course, you had to take action, Menolly.” He smiled slightly, his eyes still considering her face. “In fact, it’s good to know that you will take action on your own behalf. But, the fire lizards part . . .”

“I didn’t call them, Sebell. But, when Benis tripped Piemur and then kicked him, I was scared. He just lay there . . .”

“Sure, smartest thing to do in a kicking fight,” Piemur replied, unperturbed.

“I cannot, however, condone apprentices fighting with each other or with holders . . . especially holders of any of rank . . .”

“Benis is the biggest bully in the Hold, Sebell, and you know we’ve all had trouble with him.”

“Enough, youngster,” said Sebell more sharply than Menolly had yet heard him speak. As quiet and selfeffacing as the journeyman usually was, when he spoke in that authoritative tone of voice, it would take a stalwart person to disobey him. “That was not, however, what I meant by discipline, Menolly. I meant the ability to stick with a project, like that song you wrote yesterday . . . Was it really only yesterday?” he added. He smiled tenderly down at Kimi who was now asleep in a ball, snuggled between his body and elbow.

“You wrote a new song?” Piemur brightened. “You didn’t tell me. When’ll we get to hear it?”

“When will you get to hear it?” Menolly heard her voice cracking on the last few words.

“What’s the matter, Menolly?” Sebell took her arm and gave her a little shake but she could only stare at them.

“It’s just that . . . it’s so different . . .” She stammered unable to express the upheaval in her mind, the reversal of all that she had been expected to do. “D’you know . . . d’you know what used to happen to me when I wrote a song?” She tried to stop the words that were threatening to burst from her, but she couldn’t, not with Piemur’s face contorted with distress for her. And Sebell quietly encouraging her to speak with the sympathy so plain on his face. “I used to get beaten by my father for tuning, for twiddles as he called them. When I cut my hand. . .” she held it up, looking at the red scar and then turning it to them, “. . . gutting packtails, they let it heal all wrong so I wouldn’t be able to play. They wouldn’t even allow me to sing in the Hall, for fear Harper Elgion would figure out that it was me who’d taught the children after Petiron died. They were ashamed of me! They were afraid I’d disgrace them. That’s why I ran away. I’d rather have died of Threadscore than live in Half-Circle another night . . .”

Tears of bitter and keenly felt injustice streamed down Menolly’s cheeks. She was aware of Piemur urgently begging her not to cry, that it was all right, she was safe now, and he loved every one of her songs, even the ones he hadn’t heard. And he’d tell her father a thing or two if he ever met him. She was conscious that Sebell had put his right arm about her shoulders and was stroking her with awkward consolation. But it was Beauty’s anxious chirping in her ear that reminded her that she’d better get her emotions under control. Master Robinton and Lord Groghe wouldn’t be pleased by a second alarm incited by her lack of self-discipline. Particularly if it dragged them away from good Benden wine.

She dashed the tears from her eyes, and gulping down one last sob, looked defiantly into the startled faces of Sebell and Piemur.

“And I wanted you to teach me how to gut fish!” Sebell let out a long sigh. “I wondered why you were so hesitant. I’ll find someone else, now I understand why you hate it.”

“Oh, I want to teach you, Sebell. I want to do everything I can, if  it’s gutting fish or teaching you to sail. I may be only a girl, but I’m going to be the best harper in the entire Hall . . .”

“Easy, Menolly,” said Sebell, laughing at her excess. “I believe you.”

“I do, too!” said Piemur in a low, intense tone of reassurance. “I never knew you’d had that kind of hold life. Didn’t anyone ever listen to your songs?”

“Petiron did, but after he died . . .”

“I can see now why it’s been so hard for you, Menolly, to appreciate how important your songs are. After what you’ve been through,” and Sebell gently squeezed her left hand, “it would be hard to believe in yourself. Promise me, Menolly, to believe from now on? Your songs are very important to the Harper, to the Hall and to me. Master Domick’s music is brilliant, but yours appeals to everyone, holder and crafter, landsman and seaman. Your songs deal with subjects, like the fire lizard and Brekke’s call to F’nor and Canth, that will help change the sort of set attitudes that nearly killed you in your home hold.

“There’s something wrong in not appreciating one’s own special abilities, my girl. Find your own limitations, yes, but don’t limit yourself with false modesty.”

“That’s what I’ve always liked about Menolly: she’s got her head on right,” said Piemur with all the sententiousness of an ancient uncle.

Menolly looked at her friend and then began to laugh, as much at Piemur as at herself. Her outburst had at long last lifted a weight of intolerable depression. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at her friends, flinging out her arms to signal her release.

They all heard the happy warbling of the fire lizards. Beauty crooned with pleasure, rubbing her head against Menolly’s cheek, and Kimi gave a drowsy chirp that made the trio of harpers laugh.

“You are feeling better now, aren’t you, Menolly?” said Piemur. “So we’d better follow orders, because it doesn’t do to keep a Lord Holder waiting, much less Master Robinton. You’ve got your belt and I’m washed up, so we’d better get to the wineman’s stall.”

Menolly hesitated just a moment.

“Well?” asked Sebell, raising his eyebrows to encourage her to answer.

“What if he finds out I’m the one who hit Benis?”

“Not from Benis he won’t,” replied Piemur with a snort. “Besides, he’s got fifteen sons. And only one fire lizard. He wants to talk to you about her. Not even the Masterharper knows as much about fire lizards as you do. Come on!”