Chapter 4

 

Harper, your song has a sorrowful sound

Though the tune was written as gay.

Your voice is sad and your hands are slow,

And your eye meeting mine turns away.

 

Menolly would have liked to find someplace to curl up and sleep herself, but Beauty began to creel softly. Silvina had said something about saving scraps, so Menolly crossed the courtyard to the kitchen door. She couldn’t see either Silvina or Camo with all the coming and going. Then she saw the half-wit staggering in from the storage rooms, his arms clasping a great round yellow cheese. He saw her, grinned and deposited the cheese on the only clear space at one of the worktables.

“Camo feed pretty ones? Camo feed?”

“Camo, get on with that cheese, there’s a good fellow,” said the woman Menolly remembered as Abuna.

“Camo must feed.” And the man had grabbed up a bowl, unceremoniously dumping its contents onto the table, and marched back to the storeroom.

“Camo! Come back and take care of this cheese!”

Menolly was sorry she’d come to the kitchen, but Abuna saw her.

“So you’re the problem with him. Oh, all right. He’ll be no use till he’s helped you feed those creatures! But keep them out of my kitchen!”

“Yes, Abuna. I’m sorry to bother you-“

“And so you should be in the middle of getting ready the supper but . . .”

“Camo fed pretty ones? Camo feed pretty ones?” He was back trailing gobbets of meat from an overfull bowl.

“Not in my kitchen, Camo. Outside with you. Outside now. And send him back in when they’ve et, will you, girl? One thing he can do is get the cheese ready!”

Menolly assured Abuna, and smiling at Camo, drew him out of the kitchen and up the steps. Beauty and the others immediately converged on them. The two Aunties and Uncle again perched on convenient portions of Camo. The man’s face was ecstatic, and he stood rigid, as if the slightest motion on his part would discourage his unusual guests, as the other fire lizards swooped to snatch food or clung to him long enough to eat directly from the bowl. Beauty, Rocky and Diver fed by preference from Menolly’s hands, but the bowl was soon empty.

“Camo get more? Camo get more?”

Menolly caught him, forcing him to look at her. “No, Camo. They’ve had enough. No more, Camo. Now you must work on the cheese.”

“Pretty ones leave?” Camo’s face became a mask of tragedy as he watched one after the other of the fire lizards circle lazily up to the gable points of the hall. “Pretty ones leave?”

“They’re going to sleep in the sun now, Camo. They’re not hungry anymore. You go back to the cheese now.” She gave him a gentle shove toward the kitchen. He went, bowl in both hands, staring back over his shoulder at the fire lizards so intently that this time he did bang right into the doorframe, corrected his direction without ever taking his eyes from the fire lizards, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Could I help feed them? Maybe? Once?” asked a wistful voice at her elbow. Startled, she whirled to see Piemur, fringe of hair damp about his face and a line of rearranged dirt on each side of his neck up to his ears.

Other lads and some of the journeymen were beginning to drift across the courtyard to the Hall. “Rascal,” Master Shonagar had called Piemur, and Menolly agreed, for a gleam lurked in Piemur’s eyes for all his plaintive voice.

“Got a bet on with Ranly?”

“Bet on?” Piemur gave her a searching look. Then he chuckled. “A small guy like me, Menolly, has got to stay a jump ahead of the big ones, like Ranly, or they put on me in the dorm at night.”

“So what did you put up with Ranly?”

“That you’d let me feed the fire lizards because they like me already. They do, don’t they?”

“You really are a rascal, aren’t you?”

Piemur’s grin became a calculated grimace, and he shrugged admission of the charge.

“I’ve already got Camo falling over himself to feed . .”

“. . . ‘Pretty Beauty,’” and Piemur mimicked the older man’s thick voice perfectly, “’Feed pretty Beauty . . .’ Oh, don’t worry Menolly, Camo and me are friends. He won’t object to me helping, too.”

As if that had settled the matter, Piemur grabbed Menolly’s hand to pull her up the steps. “Hey, you don’t want to be late for the table again,” he said, leading her toward the dining hall.

“Menolly!”

The two halted at the sound of the Harper’s voice and turned to see him descending the stairs from the upper level.

“How’s the day gone for you, Menolly? You’ve seen Domick, Morshal and Shonagar, have you? I must make you known to Sebell, too, very soon. Before the eggs hatch!” The Masterharper grinned, much as Piemur had just done, in anticipation of the event. “And this scamp has attached himself to you, has he? Well, maybe you can keep him out of trouble for awhile. Ah, Brudegan, a word with you before supper.”

“Quick . . .” Piemur had her by the arm and was hurrying her into the dining hall so that betwixt the Harper and Piemur, it looked to Menolly as if neither wished her to meet journeyman Brudegan, whose practice her fire lizards had interrupted. “Sebell’s a real clever fellow,” Piemur added in such a casual fashion that Menolly berated herself for imagining things. “He’s to get the other egg.” Piemur whistled in his teeth. “You think you got troubles? Sebell’s only just walked the tables-“

“Walked the tables?” Menolly was startled.

“That’s what we say when you’ve been promoted a grade. It happens at supper. If you’re an apprentice, a journeyman stands by your seat and then walks you to your new place.” He was pointing from the long tables to the oval ones at the far end of the dining hall. “And a master escorts a journeyman from them to the round table. But it’ll be a long time before any of that happens to me,” he said, sighing. “If it ever does.”

“Why? Don’t all apprentices become journeymen?”

“No,” replied the boy with a grimace. “Some get sent home as useless. Some get dull jobs around here, helping journeymen or masters, or sent to a smaller crafthall elsewhere.”

Maybe that was what the Masterharper had in mind for her, helping a journeyman or a master in some hold or crafthall. That made good sense, at least, but Menolly sighed. A sigh echoed by Piemur.

“How long have you been here?” Menolly asked. He looked a poorly grown nine or ten Turns, the age at which boys were customarily apprenticed, but he sounded as if he’d been in the Hall a long time.

“Two Turns I’ve been apprenticed” he answered with a grin. “I got taken in early on account of my voice.” He said that without the least bit of conceit. “Now, look, you go on over there where the girls sit. And don’t worry. You rank ‘em.”

Without explaining that, he darted in between the first and second tables. Menolly tried not to hobble as she moved to the benches he had indicated, keeping her shoulders back, her head up, and walking slowly so as to disguise her pain-footed gait. She was aware of, and tried to ignore, the overt and covert glances of the boys already in position at the tables. She’d better let Piemur help her feed the fire lizards: keeping on his good side might be as important as staying in the Harper’s good graces.

The seats evidently reserved for the girls were marked by flaps of cushion on the hard wood. She took the end position, away from the fiercest heat of the hearth fire and stood politely waiting.

The girls entered the dining hall together. Together in more than one sense, for all regarded her steadily as they crossed to the table. Their unity was also maintained in their blank expressions. Menolly swallowed against the dryness in her throat, glanced around her, anywhere but at the fast approaching girls. She caught Piemur’s eyes, saw him grin impishly, and she had to smile back.

“You’re Menolly?” asked a quiet voice. The girls were ranged beyond their spokesman, again in a line that betokened unity.

“She couldn’t be anyone else, could she?” asked the dark girl just behind her.

“My name is Pona, my grandfather is Lord Holder of Boll.” She held out her right hand, palm up, and Menolly, who had never had an opportunity to make the gesture of formal greeting, covered it with hers.

“I am Menolly,” and, remembering Piemur’s comment about rank, she added, “my father is Yanus, Sea Holder of Half-Circle Sea Hold.”

There was a startled murmur of surprise from the others.

“She ranks us,” said someone, rebellious and astonished.

“There’s rank in the Harper Hall?” asked Menolly, disturbed and wondering what other elements of courtesy she might unwittingly have neglected. Hadn’t Pediron always told her that the Harper Craft, in particular, laid stress on skill and musical achievement rather than natal rank? But Piemur had said, “You rank ‘em.”

“Half-Circle is not the oldest seahold. Tillek is,” said the dark-complexioned girl, rather crossly.

“Menolly is daughter, not niece,” said the girl who had mentioned outranking. She now extended her hand, less grudgingly, Menolly thought. “My father is Weaver Craftmaster Timareen of Telgar Hold. My name is Audiva.”

The dark-complexioned girl was about to name herself, her hand extended, when a sudden shuffling of feet alerted them all, and they took their places at the bench as everyone in the hall stood straight and looked forward. Menolly was then facing a tall boy whose slightly protuberant eyes were bulging with interest on the little scene he had just witnessed. Looking over his left shoulder and through a gap, she saw Piemur, rolling his eyes as far to his right as possible. Menolly tried peering in the same direction and decided it must be the Harper’s table that Piemur watched. Then everyone was jumping over the benches to get seated, and she hastened to do the same.

Heavy pitchers of a thick, meaty, hot soup were passed, and trays of the yellow cheese, which Camo must eventually have taken care of, as well as baskets of crusty bread. Evidently meals were reversed here in the Harper Craft Hall, with the heaviest meal in the middle of the day. Menolly ate hungrily and quickly until she realized that the girls were all taking half-spoonsful and breaking their bread and cheese into dainty bite-sized portions. Pona and Audiva watched her surreptitiously, and one of the other girls tittered. So, thought Menolly grimly, her table manners differed from theirs? Well, to change would mean admitting that hers were faulty. She did slow down, but she continued to eat heartily, making no bones about asking for more while the girls were still but halfway through their first serving.

“I understand that you were privileged to attend the latest Hatching at Benden Weyr,” Pona said to Menolly with all the air of one conferring a favor by such conversation.

“Yes, I was there.” Privileged? Yes, she supposed it would be considered a privilege.

“I don’t suppose you can remember who made Impression?” Pona was vitally interested.

“Some of them, yes. Talina of Ruatha Hold is the new queen’s weyrwoman . . .”

“You’re certain?”

Menolly glanced beyond her to Audiva and saw merriment in her eyes.

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Too bad those three candidates from your grandfather’s Hold didn’t Impress, Pona. There’ll be other times,” said Audiva.

“Who else do you remember?”

“A lad from Master Nicat’s Craft Hall Impressed a brown . . .” For some reason that seemed to please Pona. “Master Nicat also received two of the fire lizards’ eggs.”

Pona turned her head to stare haughtily at Menolly. “How ever did it come about that you . . .” and Menolly was made intensely aware of her unworthiness “. . . have nine fire lizards?”

“She was in the right place at the right time, Pona,” said Audiva. “Luck doesn’t recognize rank and privilege. And it’s thanks to Menolly that there were fire lizard eggs for Master Robinton and Master Nicat.”

“How do you know that?” Pona sounded surprised but her tone lost its affectedness.

“Oh, I had a word or two with Talmor while you were busy trying to make up to Jessuan and Benis.”

“I never . . .” Pona was evidently as quick to take offense as give it, but she lowered her tone at Audiva’s warning hiss.

“Don’t worry, Pona. Just so long as Dunca doesn’t catch you flipping your skirts at a son of the Hold, I’ll hold my peace.”

Whether Audiva was subtly deflecting Pona from pestering Menolly with snide questions or not, Menolly didn’t know, but the girl from Boll ignored her for the rest of the meal. As Menolly had been taught that it was impolite to talk through or around someone, she couldn’t converse with the apparently friendly Audiva, and the boy beside her was talking to his mates, his back to her.

“My uncle of Tillek says that fire lizards are going to be nothing more than pets, and I thought pets weren’t allowed in the cottages . . .” said the dark girl, her mouth setting primly, as she cast a sideways look toward Menolly.

“The Masterharper doesn’t rate fire lizards as pets, Briala,” said Audiva in her droll way, and she winked at Menolly over Pona’s head. “Of course, you’ve only got one at Tillek Hold.”

“Well, my uncle says the Weyrmen are spending too much time on these creatures when they ought to get down to basic problems and go after Thread on the Red Star. That’s the only way to stop this dreadful menace.”

“What are the dragonriders supposed to do?” asked Audiva scornfully. “Even you should know that dragons can’t go between blind.”

“They ought to just flame the Red Star clean of Thread, that’s what.”

“Could they really?” asked the girl beyond Briala, her eyes round with amazement and a sort of hopeful horror.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Amania,” said Audiva in disgust. “No one’s ever been to the Red Star.”

“They could try to get there,” replied Pona. “That’s what my grandfather says.”

“Who’s to say the first dragonmen didn’t try?” asked Audiva.

“Then why isn’t there a Record of the attempt?” demanded Pona with haughty condescension.

“They’d certainly have written a song about it if they had,” said Briala, pleased to see Audiva confounded.

“Well, the Red Star is not our problem,” said Audiva.

“Learning songs is.” Briala’s voice had a wailing edge to it. “And when are we going to have a chance to learn that music Talmor set us today? We’ve got rehearsal tonight, and it’ll go on and on because those boys are always-“

“The boys? Just like you to blame it on the boys, Briala,” said Audiva. “You had plenty of time this afternoon to practice your lessons, same as the rest of us.”

“I had to wash my hair, and Dunca had to let out the seams of my red gown . . .”

“If you’d stop . . . Oh, not redfruit again?” Pona sounded aggrieved, but Menolly eyed the basket of delicacies with surprised delight.

Pona might affect indifference, but she was quick to snatch the curiously shaped fruit from the basket when it was passed to her. Menolly took hers and ate it quickly, getting as much of the sweet, tangy juice as possible. She wished she had the courage to lick her fingers the way the boys were doing. But the girls were so stuffy and mannered, she knew they’d stare if she did.

Suddenly the demands of the day, the excitements and tensions, sapped the last of Menolly’s energy. She found it almost unbearable to have to sit at the table amid so many unknown people, unable to guess what more might be asked of her before she could seek the quiet and solitude of her bed. She worried about her fire lizards, and then tried not to, for fear they would seek her out. She was conscious of her throbbing feet; her hand ached, and the scar begged to be scratched. She shifted on the bench, wondering why they were held here at table. Restlessly she craned her neck to peer around at the Harper’s table. She couldn’t see Master Robinton but the others were laughing, obviously enjoying an aftermeal conversation. Was that why everyone was being held so long? Until the masters had stopped talking?

She longed for the peace of her cave near the Dragon Stones. Even for the little cubicle in her father’s Sea Hold. She’d usually been able to slip away to it without accounting to anyone for her disappearance. At least once the day’s work was done. And somehow, she’d never thought of the Harper Craft Hall being so . . . so populated, with so much to be done and doing, and all the masters and Silvina and . . .

She was caught unawares and had to struggle to her feet as the others rose more gracefully to theirs. She was so relieved to be able to go that at first she didn’t realize no one was leaving the benches but masters and journeymen. Pona’s hiss caught her attention before she’d moved more than a few strides. Embarrassed, she stood with all the girls glaring at her as if she had committed a far more heinous crime than moving out of turn. She edged back toward her vacated place. Then, as soon as the apprentices and the girls began to saunter out of the dining hall, she sat down again. She did not want to be among people, especially all these strange people who had odd notions and different manners, and seemingly, no sympathy for the newcomer. The Weyr had been as big and well-populated, but she had felt at home there, with friendly glances and uncritical, smiling faces.

“Your feet hurting again?” It was Piemur asking, his brows contorted in a worried scowl.

Menolly bit her lip.

“I guess I’m just suddenly very tired,” she said.

He wrinkled his nose drolly and then twitched it to one side. “I’m not surprised, your first day here and all, and having the masters giving you a poke and prod. Look, you can lean on my shoulder across to Dunca’s. I can still get back in time for rehearsal . . .”

“Rehearsal? Do I have to be somewhere else now?” Menolly fought an almost overwhelming desire to weep.

“Shouldn’t think so, your first day here. Unless Master Shonagar said something? No? Well, they can hardly have sorted out what your standard is, even if you couldn’t play note one. And you know, you look ruddy awful. Awful tired, I mean. C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“But you have a rehearsal . . .”

“Don’t you worry your head about me, Menolly.” He grinned mischievously. “Sometimes an astest . . . asset . . . to be small,” and he made a weaving motion with his band, then squared his shoulders and stood, radiating innocent attention. He was so comic that Menolly giggled.

She rose, excessively grateful to him. He rattled on about the rehearsal for the usual spring affair at Fort Hold. The rehearsal was usually fun because Brudegan was in charge this season. He was good at explaining exactly what he wanted you to do, so if you listened sharp, you didn’t make mistakes.

The swift spring evening was settling over the complex of Hold and Hall so there were very few passers-by. Piemur’s physical presence and his chatter, blithely ignoring her silence, were more supportive than his bony shoulder, but she couldn’t have made the walk without it. Menolly was grateful that she’d only the short flight of steps to go. The fire lizards chirped sympathetically at her from the window ledge outside her fast-shuttered room.

“You’re okay now, with them,” said Piemur, grinning up at the fire lizards. “I’ll dash off. You’ll be fine in the morning, Menolly, with a good night’s rest under your ear. That’s what my foster-mother always told us.”

“I’m sure I will, Piemur, and thank you so much . . .”

Her words trailed off because he was dashing and out of earshot. She opened the door, calling tentatively for Dunca, but there was no answer, nor any sign of the plump cotkeeper. Grateful for that unexpected mercy, Menolly began to climb the steep steps, one at a time, pulling herself along by the railing and taking as much pressure off her feet as she could. Halfway up, Beauty appeared, chirruping encouragement. Rocky and Diver joined her on the top step and added their comforting noises.

With a sense of utmost relief, Menolly closed the door behind her. She hobbled to the bed and sank down, fumbling with the ties of the sleeping furs, not really aware of the scratching on the closed shutters until Beauty let out an authoritative squawk. Fortunately, Menolly only had to stretch out her arm to open the shutters. Aunties One and Two fell in, catching themselves by wing just off the floor, scolding her soundly as they flew about the room. Lazy, Brownie and Uncle entered with more dignity and Mimic waddled to the window edge, yawning.

Menolly remembered to rub the salve on her feet, though they were so tender, tears jumped to her eyes. Briefly she wished that Mirrim was there, with her brisk chatter and gentle touch. Feet were indeed very awkward to tend yourself. She rubbed the other stuff into her hand scar, restraining the urge to scratch the itching tissue.

She slipped out of her clothes and under the sleeping furs, only vaguely aware that the fire lizards were making themselves comfortable about her. Nothing to fear from harpers, hub? T’gellan’s comment mocked her. As she fell deeply asleep, she wondered if envy was akin to fear?