Chapter 10

 

Then my feet took off and my legs went, too,

And my body was obliged to follow.

Me with my hands and my mouth full of cress

And my throat too dry to swallow.

 

Menolly’s “Running Song”

 

To Menolly’s intense relief, all Lord Groghe did want to talk about was the fire lizards-his in particular and in general. The four of them, Robinton, Sebell, Lord Groghe and herself, sat at a table apart from the others, on one side of the square, each of them with a fire lizard. Menolly was torn between amusement and awe that she, the newest of apprentices, should be in such exalted company. Lord Groghe, for all his clipped speech and an amazing range of descriptive grimaces, was very easy to talk to, once she got over her initial nervousness about the fracas with Benis. She heard, in detail, about the Hatching of Merga, smiled when Lord Groghe guffawed reminiscently over his early anxieties about her.

“Could’ve used someone with your knowledge, girl.”

“You forget, sir, that my friends broke shell at about the same time Merga did. I wouldn’t have been much help to you then.”

“You can be now, though. How do I go about teaching Merga to fetch and carry for me? Heard about your pipes.”

“She’s just one. It took all nine of mine to bring me the pipes. They’re heavy.” Menolly considered the problem, seeing the disappointment on Lord Groghe’s features. “For just Merga alone, it would have to be something light, like a message, and you’d have to want it very badly. It was . . . well, my feet still hurt and it was such a long walk to the cot . . .”

His eyes, which were a disconcertingly light brown, fixed on hers. “Got to want it badly, huh? Humph. Don’t know as I want anything badly!” He gave a snort of laughter at her expression. “You want things badly when you’re young, girl. When you’re my age, you’ve learned how to plan.” He winked at her. “Take the point, though, since Merge’s a bundle of emotion, aren’t you, pet?” He stroked her head with a remarkably tender touch for a big, heavy-fingered man. “Emotion, that’s what they respond best to. Want’s sort of an emotion, isn’t it? If you want something bad enough . . . Humph.” He laughed again, this time with an oblique look at the Harper. “Emotion, then, Harper, not knowledge, is what these little beasties communicate. Emotion, like Brekke’s fear t’other night. Hatching’s emotional, too. And today . . .” he turned his light eyes back to Menolly.

“Today . . . that was all my fault, sir,” Menolly said, grabbing at a remark of Piemur’s for excuse. “My friend, Piemur, the little fellow,” and Menolly measured Piemur’s height from the ground with her free hand, “stumbled in the crowd. I was afraid he’d be trampled . . .”

“Was that what that was all about, Robinton?” asked Lord Groghe. “You never did explain,” but Lord Groghe seemed more interested in the lack of wine in his cup. Robinton politely topped the cup from the wineskin on the table.

“It never occurred to me, Lord Groghe,” said Menolly with genuine contrition, “that I’d be alarming you or the Masterharper or Sebell.”

“The young of every kind tend to be easily alarmed,” remarked the Harper, but Menolly could see the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “The problem will disappear with maturity.”

“And increases now with so many fire lizards about her” added Lord Groghe with a grunt. “How much more d’you think they’ll grow, girl, if yours are the same age as Merga?” He was frowning at Beauty and glancing back to Merga.

“Mirrim’s three fire lizards at Benden Weyr were from the first clutch, weren’t they? They’re not more than a fingertip longer,” said Menolly, eagerly seizing on the new topic. “They’d be older by several sevendays, I think.” She glanced at the Masterharper who nodded in confirmation. “When I first saw F’nor’s queen, Grall, I thought it was my Beauty.” Beauty squeaked indignantly, her eyes whirling a little faster. “Only for a moment,” Menolly told her in apology and stroked Beautys head, “and only because I didn’t know the Weyrs had also discovered the fire lizards.”

“Any notion how old they must be to mate?” asked Lord Groghe, scowling in hopes of a favorable answer.

“Sir, I don’t know. T’gellan, Monarth’s rider, is going to keep a watch on the cave where my fire lizards hatched, to see if their queen will come back to clutch there again.”

“Cave? Thought fire lizards laid their eggs in sand on the beaches?”

Master Robinton indicated that she was to speak freely to the Lord Holder, so Menolly told him how she’d seen the fire lizard queen mating near the Dragon Stones, how she’d happened to be back that way, looking for spiderclaws (“Good eating, those,” Lord Groghe agreed and gestured for her to get on with the tale) ... and helped the little fire lizard queen lift the eggs from the sea-threatened strand into the cave.

“You wrote that song, didn’t you?” Lord Groghe’s frown was surprised and approving. “The one about the fire lizard keeping the sea back with her wings! Liked that one! Write more like it! Easy to sing. Why didn’t you tell me a girl wrote it, Robinton?” His scowl was now accusatory.

“I didn’t know it was Menolly at the time we circulated the song.”

“Humph. Forgot about that. Go on, girl. Did it happen just as you wrote the song?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How come you were there in the cave when they hatched?”

“I was hunting spiderclaws and went further down coast than I should have. Threadfall was due. I was caught out, and the only shelter I could think of was the cave where Id put the fire lizard eggs. I arrived . . . with my sack of spiderclaws . . . just as the eggs began to break. That’s how I Impressed so many. I couldn’t very well let them fly out into Thread. And they were so hungry, just out of the shell . . .”

Lord Groghe grunted, sniffed and mumbled to the effect that he’d had enough trouble keeping one fed, his compliments for handling nine! As if mention of food had penetrated their sleep, Kimi and Zair roused, creeling.

“I mean no discourtesy, Lord Groghe,” said Master Robinton, rising as hastily as Sebell.

“Nonsense. Don’t go. They eat anything, anywhere.” Lord Groghe swung his heavy torso about. “You there, what’s your name . . .” and he waved impatiently at the wineman’s apprentice, who came running. “Bring a tray of those meatrolls from the stalls. A big tray. Heaped. Enough to feed two hungry fire lizards and a couple of harpers. Never known a harper who wasn’t hungry. Are you hungry, harper girl?”

“No, sir; thank you, sir.”

“Making a liar out of me, harper girl? Bring back some bubbly pies, too,” the Lord Holder roared after the departing apprentice. “Hope he heard me. So you’re the daughter to Yanus of Half-Circle Sea Hold.”

Menolly nodded acknowledgement of the relationship.

“Never been to Half-Circle. They brag about that cavern of theirs. Does it hold the fishing fleet?”

“Yes, sir, it does. The biggest can sail in without unstepping the masts, except, of course when the tides run exceptionally high. There’s a rock shelf for repairs and careening, a section for building, as well as a very dry inside cave for storing wood.”

“Hold above the docking cavern?” Lord Groghe seemed dubious about the wisdom of that.

“Oh, no, sir. Half-Circle Sea Hold really is a half circle.” She cocked her thumb and curved her forefinger. “This,” and she angled her right hand to show the direction of the curve, after squinting to see where the sun was, “my thumb is the docking cavern, and this,” and she pointed to the length of her forefinger, “is the Hold . . . the longer part of the half circle, and then this much,” and she touched the webbing, “is sandy beach. They can draw dinghies up on it or gut fish, sew nets and mend sail there in fair weather.”

“They?” asked Lord Groghe, his thick eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Yes, sir, they. I’m a harper now.”

“Well said, Menolly,” replied Lord Groghe, slapping his thigh with a crack that made Merga squeal in alarm. “Girl or not, Robinton, you’ve a good one here. I approve. I approve.”

“Thank you, Lord Groghe, I was confident you would,” said the Masterharper with a slight smile, which he shared with Sebell before he nodded reassuringly at Menolly.

Beauty chirped a question, which Lord Groghe’s Merga answered in a sort of “that’s that” tone.

“Cross-crafting works, Robinton. Think I’ll have to spot a few more of my sons about. Seaholds, too.”

The notion of Benis in Half-Circle Sea Hold appealed to Menolly, though she didn’t know if that was whom Lord Groghe had in mind.

The slap of running feet and hoarse breathing interrupted the conversation as the apprentice lad, juggling two trays, all but slid the contents into the laps of those he served.

As the new fire lizards were fed, Menolly saw that more and more people were filing into the central square, taking seats at tables and benches. At one end was a wooden platform. Now a group of harpers took their places and began to tune up. Immediately sets were formed for a call-dance. A tall journeyman harper gave his tambourine a warning shake and then called out the dance figures in a loud voice that carried above the music while his tambourine emphasized the step rhythm.

Those watching on the sidelines clapped in time to the music, shouting good-natured encouragements to the dancers. To Menolly’s surprise, Lord Groghe added a hearty smacking beat of his hands, stamping his feet and cheerfully grinning about at everyone.

Once the music started, the square filled up, and still more benches were angled into any free space. Menolly saw colors of all the major crafts on journeymen and apprentices from the halls of the Fort Hold complex. Groups of men stood about, drinking wine and watching the dancing, their heavy boots and clean, though earthstained, trousers marking them as small holders in from neighboring farms for the restday and a bit of trading at the gather. Their womenfolk had congregated along one side of the square, chattering, tending smaller children, watching the dancing. When the sets changed, some of the holders dragged their giggling but willing women out to make up new groups as the musicians began another foot-tapping, hand-clapping tune.

The third was a couple’s dance, a wild gyration of swinging arms and skipping legs, an exercise that rendered every participant breathless and thirsty to judge by the calls on the wineman’s lads when the dance ended.

A change of harpers occurred now, the dance-players giving up the platform to Brudegan and three of the older apprentices who ranged themselves slightly behind Brudegan. At his signal they sang the song that Elgion had sung the night of his arrival at Half-Circle Sea Hold: it was one Menolly had never had a chance to learn. She leaned forward, eager to catch every word and chord. On her shoulder, Beauty sat up, one forepaw lightly clasping Menolly’s ear for balance. The little queen gave a trill, glanced inquiringly at Menolly.

“Let her sing,” said Master Robinton. Then he leaned forward, “But, if you can keep the others where they are on the roofs, I think that might be wise.”

Menolly sent a firm command to her friends just as Merga rose to her haunches on Lord Groghe’s shoulder and added her voice to Beautys.

As the fire lizards’ descant rose above the harpers’ voices, Menolly was conscious of being the focus of startled attention. Lord Groghe was beaming with pride, a smug smile on his face, the fingers of one hand drumming the beat on the table while he waved the other as if he were directing the extemporaneous chorus.

Wild applause followed the song, and cries of ‘The Fire Lizard Song’!” “Sing the Queen’s song!” ‘Does she know it?” “Fire lizard!”

From the platform, Brudegan beckoned imperiously to Menolly.

“Go on, girl, what’s holding you back? Lord Groghe flicked his fingers at her to obey the summons. “Want to hear you sing it. You wrote it. Ought to sing it. Shake yourself up, girl. Never heard of a harper not wanting to sing.”

Menolly appealed to Master Robinton, but the Harper had a wicked twinkle in his eyes, despite the bland expression on his face.

“You heard Lord Groghe, Menolly. And it’s time you did a turn as a harper!” She heard the emphasis on the last word. He rose, holding out his hand to her as if he knew very well how nervous she was. She’d no choice now, for to refuse would be to shame him, slight the Hall, and annoy Lord Groghe.

“I’ll accompany you, Menolly, if I may. You do remember the new wording?” Robinton asked as he handed her up to the platform.

She mumbled a hasty affirmative and then wondered if she did. She hadn’t actually sung the new words, or the tune, for that matter, since she’d composed it so very long ago in the little hall in Half-Circle Hold. But there was Brudegan, grinning a welcome, and gesturing to two gitar players to hand over their instruments to her and the Masterharper.

Menolly turned and saw all the faces, all the people massed on each side of the square. A hush fell, and into that attentive silence, the Harper struck the first chords of her fire lizard song. Master Shonagar’s oft-repeated advice flashed through her mind: “Stand straight, take your breath into your guts, shoulders back, open your mouth . . . and sing!”

“The little queen all golden

Flew hissing at the sea.

To stop each wave

Her clutch to save

She ventured bravely.”

 

The applause that greeted the final verse of the song was so deafening that Beauty rose on wing, squealing with surprised alarm. Then the crowd laughed and gradually the noise subsided.

“Sing something from your Sea Hold,” said the Master Harper in her ear as he played a few idle chords. “Something these landsmen might not have beard. You start: we’ll follow.”

The crowd was noisy, and Menolly wondered how she’d be heard, but as soon as she struck the first notes, the gather quieted. She used the chorus for introduction, giving the Masterharper the chording, and smiling, even as she sang, to find herself so well accompanied.

“Oh wide sea, A sweet sea,

Forever be my lover.

Fare me on your gentle wave

Your wide bed over.”

 

Over the applause when she finished, she heard the Masterharper saying right in her ear, “They’ve never heard that one before. Good choice.” He bowed, gestured for her to take a bow and then motioned to the harpers waiting just beyond the platform to start the second dance group.

Smiling and waving to various people, he led Menolly from the platform and back to the table where Lord Groghe was still enthusiastically clapping. Sebell grinned approvingly and rose to pass back to the Masterharper the very irritated little Zair.

Menolly would have preferred to sit down and recover from the surprise of her first public appearance as a harper and the warmth of the reception, but Talmor came up.

“You’ve done your duty by crafthall now, Menolly, let’s dance!” He spied Beauty on her shoulder. “But could she sit this one out? No telling how she’d misconstrue my man-handling you in a dance!”

The harpers had already struck a fast prance tune.

“Will she stay with me?” asked Sebell, offering his arm and a padded sleeve. “Zair didn’t mind too much . . .”

Menolly coaxed Beauty, who chattered with annoyance but allowed herself to be transferred to Sebell’s shoulder. Talmor, one arm about Menolly’s waist, swung her expertly and quickly into the whirling dancers.

After that, it seemed to Menolly that she’d no more than time to take a quick sip of wine to moisten her parched throat and reassure Beauty, before she was claimed by another partner. Viderian took her for the next set dance, with Talmor partnering Audiva in the same group. Then Brudegan caught her hand for a dance and, to her complete surprise, Domick after him. She acceded to Piemur’s boast that he could dance as well as any journeyman and master and wasn’t he her best friend, despite a lack of hands in height and Turns in age.

Quartets of singers spelled the dance players until Menolly was certain that every single harper must have performed. Both of the songs that Petiron had sent to the Harper were so frequently requested that Menolly writhed a bit with embarrassment until Sebell caught her eye, cocking an eyebrow and grinning at her discomfort.

As full dark settled over Fort Hold, the crowd began to thin, for those with a distance to travel had to start their journeys home. Stalls were taken down and folded away, the grazing herdbeasts and runners were captured and saddled to bear their owners down the roads from the Hold. The wineman, since he kept a hold in the Fort cliff, continued to serve those unwilling to end a gather.

Pecking Menolly urgently on the cheek, Beauty reminded her that the fire lizards had politely waited for their supper long enough. Abashed at her thoughtlessness, Menolly rushed back to the Harper Hall. On the kitchen steps, Camo sat disconsolately, his thick arms cradling an enormous bowl of scraps, his eyes on the archway. The instant he caught sight of her and the fire lizards wheeling and diving as escort, he rose, calling to her.

“Pretties hungry? Pretties very hungry! Camo waiting. Camo hungry, too.”

From nowhere, Piemur appeared.

“See, Camo, I told you she’d be back. I told you she’d want us to feed her fire lizards!”

Piemur stopped her breathless apologies as he handed out gobs of meat to his usual trio.

“Told you gathers were fun, didn’t I, Menolly? Told you it was about time you had some, too. And you sang just great! You should always sing ‘The Fire Lizard Song’! They loved it! And how come we don’t know that sea song? It’s got a great rhythm.”

“That’s an old song-“

“I never heard it.”

Menolly laughed because Piemur sounded as testy as an old uncle instead of a half-grown boy.

“Hope you know some more new ones like that because I’m so bored with all the stuff I’ve heard since I was a babe . . . Hey, you had the last piece, Lazy. It’s Mimic’s turn . . . there! Behave yourself.”

The hungry fire lizards made short work of Camo’s bowl. Then Ranly leaned out of the dining room window, urging them to come and eat before the food was cleared away. There weren’t many in the dining hall: Piemur had been right that they got scanty rations on a gather day, but the cheese, bread and sweetings were all Menolly could eat.

When the Apprentice Master marshalled the younger ones to the dormitory, Menolly quietly ascended the steps to her own room. The lilting strains of still another dance tune drifted on the night air. She’d done her first turn as a harper, and done well. She felt like a harper for the first time, as if she really did belong here in the Hall. Lulled by the music and distant laughter, she fell asleep, the warm bodies of the fire lizards nestling against her.

The next morning, looking from her window to the place where the gather had been held, she saw few traces of litter, only the dew-glistening trampled earth of the dancing square. Holders trudged toward the fields, herdsmen were guiding their beasts to the meadows, and apprentices dashed up and down the holdway on their errands. Down the ramp from Fort Hold paced a troop of leggy runners, fresh after a day’s rest, fretting against the slow pace to which their riders held them until they were past the ambling herdbeasts. They disappeared in a cloud of dust down the long road to the east.

Menolly heard the noise from the apprentices’ dormitory, and a soft, all but inaudible, creeling closer by. She threw on her clothes and dashed down the steps.

“Knew you wouldn’t miss, Menolly,” said Silvina, meeting her on the steps from the kitchen. She carried a tray, which she thrust ahead. “Do take this up to the Harper, like a pet, would you? Camo’s just about finished wielding that chopper of his for your fair.”

Menolly’s polite tap at the Masterharper’s door brought an instant response. He had a fur clutched around him and an insistently creeling fire lizard clawing at his bare arm.

“How’d you know?” he asked, delighted and relieved to see her. “Thank goodness you did. I really can’t appear in the kitchen wrapped in a sleeping fur. There, there! I’m stuffing your face, you bottomless pit. How long does this insatiable appetite continue, Menolly?”

She held the tray for him so he could feed Zair as they crossed the room. She slid the tray onto the middle of the sandtable and, anticipating the Harper’s own requirements, offered Zair his next few pieces of meat while Master Robinton gratefully gulped down steaming klah. He grabbed a piece of bread, dipped it into the sweeting, had another sip of klah and then, his mouth full, waved at Menolly to leave.

“You’ve got your own to feed, too. Don’t forget to work on your song. I’ll require a finished copy later this morning.”

She nodded and left him, wondering if she ought to check and see if Sebell was managing with Kimi. He was, seated at one of the journeymen’s tables, with more than enough willing assistants.

Her fire lizards waited patiently at the kitchen steps with Piemur and Camo. Once her friends had been fed, she was enjoying a second cup of klah when Domick came striding across the court toward her.

“Menolly,” and he was frowning with irritation, “I know Robinton wants you to finish that song for him, but will it take all morning? I wanted you to go through that quartet music with Sebell, Talmor and myself. Morshal has the girls for theory on firstday so Talmor’s free. I’ll never get that quartet ready for performance unless we have a few more good rehearsals.”

“I’ll start the copy right now, only . . .”

“Only what?”

“I don’t have any copying tools.”

“Is that all? Finish your klah quickly. I’ll show you Arnor’s den. Just as well I’m taking you,” Domick said, guiding her toward the door in the opposite corner of the court. “Robinton wants the song done on those sheets of pulped wood, and Arnor won’t hand them out to apprentices.”

Master Arnor, the Hall’s archivist, occupied the large room behind the Main Hall. It was brilliantly lit with glow baskets in each comer, in the center of the room, and smaller ones depending above the tilted worktables where apprentices and journeymen bent to tasks of copying faded record hides and newer songs. Master Arnor was a fusser: he wanted to know why Menolly was to have sheets; apprentices had to learn how to copy properly on old hide before they could be entrusted with the precious sheets; what was all the hurry about? And why hadn’t Master Robinton told him himself if it was all this important? And a girl? Yes, yes, he’d heard of Menolly. He’d seen her in the dining hall, same as he saw all the other nuisancy apprentices and holder girls and, oh, well, all right, here was tool and ink, but she wasn’t to waste it now, or he’d have to make more and that was a lengthy process and apprentices never paid close attention to the simmering and if the solution boiled, it would be ruined and fade too soon and oh, he didn’t know what the world was coming to!

A journeyman had been unobtrusively assembling the various items, and he handed them to Menolly, giving her an amused wink for his master’s querulousness. His smile also conveyed to Menolly the tip that the next time she should come directly to him rather than approach his cranky master.

Domick got her away from the old archivist after the barest of courtesies. As they walked back to the Hall entrance, he again directed her not to be all morning at the copying or he’d never get the new quartet sufficiently rehearsed before the Festival. As he opened the door to the Main Hall, she heard the Masterharper’s voice and sped up the stairs.

As she worked in her room, her concentration was penetrated now and then by voices raised in discussion in the Hall below. Absently she identified the various masters: Domick, Morshal, Jerint, the Masterharper and, to her surprise, Silvina, and others whose voices she couldn’t recognize as readily. As the conversations apparently had to do with posting journeymen to various positions about the country, she paid scant heed.

She was, in fact, just finishing the third and looser interpretation of the song when a brisk tapping at the door startled her so much she almost smeared the sheet. At her answer, Domick strode in.

“Haven’t you finished yet?”

She nodded to the sheets, spread out to dry. Scowling with exasperation, he strode across the room and picked up the nearest sheet. Before she could warn him about damp ink, she noticed that he took the sheet carefully by the edges.

“Hmmm. Yes. You copy neatly enough to please even old Arnor. Yes, now . . .” he was scanning the other sheets. “Traditional forms all duly observed . . . Not a bad tune, at all.” He gave her an approving nod. “Bit bare of chord, but the subject doesn’t need musical embellishment. Come, come, finish that sheet, too.” He pointed to the one before her. “Oh, you have! Fair enough.” He blew gently across the sheet to dry the last line of still glistening ink. “Yes, that’ll do. I’ll just be off with these. Take your gitar across to my quarters, Menolly, and study the music on the rack. You’re to play second gitar. Pay special attention to the dynamic qualities of the second variation.”

With that he left her. Her right hand ached from the cramped position of copying, and she massaged it, then shook her fingers vigorously from the wrist to relieve the strain.

“Now,” she heard the Masterharper’s voice from the room below, “the point is that all but one of the formalities has been observed. Admittedly, there’s not been much time spent in the Hall, but an apprenticeship served elsewhere under a competent journeyman has always been admissible. Does anyone wish to register any reservations about the competence of that journeyman?” There was a short pause. “So that’s settled. Ah, yes, thank you, Domick. Now, Master Arnor . . .” and Menolly lost the sound of his voice as he evidently moved away from the window.

She was uncomfortably aware that she was not only an inadvertent eavesdropper on Craft matters not her business, but disobedient to Master Domick’s orders. Not that she didn’t wish to follow them. She picked up her gitar. Playing with Talmor, Sebell and Domick was a pure delight. Had Master Domick meant to intimate that she’d be part of that quartet in a performance? Well, if yesterday was any sample of being a harper, yes, she probably would be performing in that quartet, new as she was to the Harper Hall. That was part of being a harper, after all.

When Menolly entered Domicks quarters, Talmor and Sebell, Kimi disposed on his shoulder and not looking too pleased to be shifted from the crook of his arm, were already discussing the music. They greeted her cheerfully and asked if she’d enjoyed her first go in a gather at Fort Hold. They both laughed at her enthusiastic replies.

“Everyone’s the better for a good gather,” said Talmor.

“Except Morshal,” said Sebell, and, glancing sideways at Talmor as if they shared some secret, rubbed the side of his nose.

“Let us play, journeyman Sebell,” Menolly thought that Talmor sounded reproving.

“By all means, journeyman Talmor,” said Sebell, not the least bit perturbed. “If you will join us, Apprentice Menolly.” The brown man gestured elaborately for Menolly to take the stool beside him.

As Menolly checked the tuning of her gitar, Talmor turned the sheets of music on the rack. “Where does he want us to start?”

“Master Domick told me to study the dynamics of the second variation,” said Menolly with helpful deference.

“That’s right, that’s where,” said Talmor, snapping his fingers before he flipped the correct sheets to the front. “At the beat then . . . sweet shells, he’s changing the time in every third measure . . . what does he expect of us?”

“Are the dynamics difficult?” asked Menolly, feeling apprehensive.

“Not difficult, just Domick all over,” said Talmor with the sigh of the long-suffering. But he tapped the appropriate beat on the wood of his gitar and gave a more emphatic fifth beat for them to start.

They’d had a chance to go through the second variation once before Domick entered the room. Nodding courteously to them, he took his place.

“Let’s start at the beginning of the second variation, now that you’ve had a chance to play through it.”

They worked steadily, going straight through the music once. The second time they paused frequently to perfect the more difficult passages and balance the parts. The dinner bell punctuated the brisk notes of the finale. Talmor and Sebell put down their instruments with small sighs of relief, but Menolly refingered the final three chords softly before she laid her instrument down.

“Does your hand hurt?” asked Domick with unexpected solicitude.

“No, I was just wondering if the string was true.”

“If you heard a sour sound, it was my stomach,” said Talmor.

“Too much gathering?” asked Sebell with little sympathy.

“No, not enough breakfast, thank you!” replied Talmor with the brusqueness of someone being teased. He rose and left the room, followed closely by the silently laughing Sebell.

“Master Shonagar has you this afternoon, Menolly?” asked Domick, motioning for Menolly to come with him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then you’d have to continue that voice instruction anyway,” he said in a cryptic fashion. Menolly decided he must be wishing to have her practice with him more steadily, but Master Robinton had been specific: her mornings were scheduled to Master Domick; afternoons she was to go to Master Shonagar.

When they entered the dining hall, the room was already well filled. Domick turned to the right toward the masters’ table. Menolly caught one glimpse of Master Morshal, already seated, his face set in the sourest lines she had yet seen on the bad-tempered old man, so she looked quickly away.

“Pona’s gone!” Piemur pounced on her from the left, his face wreathed with smug satisfaction. “So I can sit with you, near the girls, now. Audiva said I could ‘cause it was Pona who got snotty. Audiva says will you please sit with her.”

“Pona’s gone?” Menolly, both surprised and nervous, permitted Piemur to pull her toward the hearthside table. There were two empty places, one on either side of Audiva, who smiled hesitantly as she saw Menolly approaching. She beckoned to the seat on her right, away from the other girls.

“See, Pona is gone! She got taken away a-dragonback,” Piemur added, his pleasure in her departure somewhat allayed by the prestigious manner of her going.

“Because of yesterday?” The thin knot of worry in her middle grew larger and colder. Pona in the cot, contained by the discipline of the Harper Hall, was bad enough; but, in her grandfather’s Hold, pouring out acid vengeance, she was much more dangerous for Harper apprentice, Menolly.

“Naw, not just yesterday,” Piemur said firmly. “So don’t you go feeling guilty about it. But yesterday was the final crack, the way I heard it, bearing false witness against you. And Dunca’s been raked over by Silvina! That pleased her no end; she’s just been itching to take Dunca down.”

Timiny was straddling three seats across from Audiva, and gesturing urgently to Menolly and Piemur to take them.

“You sit with Timiny, Piemur. I’m going to sit next to Audiva. Looks like she’s being put on by Briala with that empty seat and all.”

As she stepped to the place, she caught Briala’s startled, antagonistic glance. The dark girl nudged her neighbor, Amania, who also turned to glare at Menolly. But Menolly smiled at Audiva and, as she stood by the tall craftgirl, she felt Audiva’s hand fumble for hers and the grateful pressure of her fingers. Stealing a sideways glance, she noticed that Audiva’s eyes looked red and her cheeks showed the puffiness of recent and prolonged weeping.

The signal to be seated was given, and the meal began. If Menolly felt too self-conscious and Audiva too upset to talk, Piemur suffered no inhibitions and babbled on about how he’d made his marks count.

“I got nine more bubbly pies, Menolly,” he told her gaily, “cause the baker thought they were for you, me and Camo. I did share with Timiny, didn’t I, Tim? And then I won a wager on the runners. Anyone with half an eye could tell the one with the sore hoof would run faster . . . so he wouldn’t have to run so long.”

“So, how many marks did you come back with?”

“Ha!” Piemur’s eyes flashed with his triumph. “More’n I went to the gather with, and I’m not saying how much that is.”

“You’re not keeping it in the dorm, are you?” asked Timiny, worried.

“Haw! I gave it to Silvina to keep safe for me. I’m no fool. And I told the entire dorm where my marks are, so they know it’s no good putting on me to find out where I’ve hid ‘em. I may be small, but my glows not dim.”

Briala, who was pretending to ignore them all, made a disagreeable sound. Piemur was about to take umbrage when Menolly kicked his shin to warn him to be silent.

“You know what, Menolly,” and now Piemur leaned across the table, exuding mystery as be glanced from her to Audiva and Timiny, “they’re posting journeymen.”

“Are they?” asked Menolly, mystified.

“You ought to know. Couldn’t you hear anything in your room? I saw the windows of the Main Hall open, and you’re right over ‘em.”

“I was busy,” Menolly said sternly to Piemur. “And I was brought up not to listen to other people’s private conversations.”

Piemur rolled his eyes in exasperation for such niceties. “You’ll never survive in a Harper Hall then, Menolly! You’ve got to be one jump ahead of the masters . . . and the Lord Holders . . . A harper’s supposed to learn as much as be can . . .”

“Learn, yes; overhear, no,” replied Menolly.

“And you’re an apprentice,” added Audiva.

“An apprentice learns to be a harper by overhearing his master, doesn’t be?” demanded Piemur. “Besides, I gotta think ahead. I gotta be good at something besides singing. My voice won’t last forever. Do you realize that only one out of hundreds,” and he waved his arms in such an expansive gesture that Timiny had to duck, “of boy sopranos have any voice when they hit the change? So, if I’m not lucky, but if I’m good at digging things out, maybe I’ll get posted like Sebell and have a fire lizard to take important messages from hold to hall . . .” Then Piemur froze, and cautiously turned to look at Menolly, his eyes wide with consternation.

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. Timiny, who had obviously heard Piemur’s long-range plan before, gulped so fiercely that his neck cartilage bobbed up and down his throat like a net floating in a fast current.

“I really do like the fire lizards, Menolly, I really do,” said Piemur, trying to undo the indiscretion and reinstate himself in Menolly’s good graces.

She couldn’t resist a pretense of disdain, and ignored him, but his expression was so genuinely panic-stricken that she relented sooner than she intended.

“Piemur, you’ve been my best and first friend in the Hall. And I really do think my fire lizards like you. Mimic, Rocky and Lazy let you feed them. I may not be able to help, but if I do ever have any say in the matter, you’ll get an egg from one of Beauty’s clutches.”

Piemur’s exaggerated sigh of relief attracted attention from the other girls, who were still pretending that that end of the table didn’t exist. Platters of stewed meats and vegetables were now being served, and Menolly took advantage of the general noise to ask Audiva how things were with her.

“All right, once the furor died down. I rank the rest of them, even if rank is not supposed to be a consideration while we’re at the Harper Hall.”

“You’re also the best musician of the lot,” said Menolly, trying to cheer Audiva. She sounded very depressed, and she must have been crying a lot to have such puffy cheeks.

“Do you really think I can play?” asked Audiva, surprised and pleased.

“From what I heard that morning, yes. The others are hopeless. If there’s no reason you have to stay at Dunca’s when you have free time, maybe you’d like to come to my room. We could practice together if that would help.”

“Me? Practice with you? Oh, Menolly, could I please? I really do want to learn, but all the others want to do is talk about the fosterlings at the Hold, and their clothes, and who their fathers are likely to choose as husbands for them, and I want to learn how to play well.”

Menolly extended her hand, palm up, and Audiva gratefully seized it, her eyes sparkling, all traces of her unhappiness erased.

“Just wait till I tell you what happened in the cot,” she said in a confidential tone that reached only Menolly’s ears. She saw Piemur cocking his head to try and hear, and waved him away. “It was a treat! A rare treat! What Silvina said to Dunca!” Audiva giggled.

“But won’t there be trouble about Pona being sent back? She is the granddaughter of the Lord Holder of Boll.”

Audiva’s face clouded briefly. “The Harper has the right to say who stays in his own Hall,” replied Audiva quickly. “He has equal rank with a Lord Holder, who can dismiss any fosterling he chooses. Besides, you’re a holder’s daughter.”

“Holder’s, not Lord Holder’s. Only I’m an apprentice now.” Menolly touched her shoulder badge, which meant more to her than being her fathers daughter.

“You’re the Masterharper’s apprentice,” said Piemur who indeed had sharp ears if he’d heard their whispers. “And that makes you special.” He glanced toward Briala, who had also been trying to overhear what Menolly and Audiva were saying. “And you’d better remember that, Briala,” he said, making a fierce grimace at the dark girl.

“You may think you’re special, Menolly,” said Briala in a haughty voice, “but you’re only an apprentice, after all’s said and sifted. And Pona’s her grandfather’s favorite. When she tells him all that’s been going on here, you may not be that anymore!” And she snapped her fingers in a derisive gesture.

“Close your mouth, Briala! You talk nothing but nonsense,” said Audiva, but Menolly caught the note of uncertainty in her voice.

“Nonsense? Just wait’ll you hear what Benis plans for that Viderian of yours!”

They were all distracted by a sudden groan from Piemur.

“Shells, Pona has gone! That means that I’m stuck with singing her part! What a ruddy bore!” His dismay was comic, but it turned the talk to a discussion of the upcoming Spring Festival.

Piemur told Menolly that if she thought a gather was fun, she should just wait for the Festival. Everyone in the Hold cliff doubled up so that the entire western half of Pern could be under shelter there for the two days of the Festival. Dragonmen came from all over, and harpers and craftmasters and holders, large and small. That’s when any new craftmasters were made, and new apprentices tapped, and it was great fun, even if he would have to sing Pona’s role, and there’d be dancing all night long instead of just until sundown.

The gong sounded, and the chores were assigned: most of the sections were to clean up the gather area and rake the fields where the beasts had been tethered. Piemur made a huge grimace since his section drew the field duty. Briala smiled maliciously at his chagrin, and he would have answered in kind, but Menolly toed his shins sharply again. He rolled his eyes at her but, when she cocked her head meaningfully and tapped her shoulder, he subsided, realizing that he would have to stay in her good record to get his fire lizard.

She reported, as ordered, to Master Oldive who checked her feet and pronounced them sound enough. He suggested that she see Silvina about boots. Her hand showed improvement, but she was to be careful not to overstretch the scar tissue. Slowly but surely was the trick, and she wasn’t to neglect the healing salve.

As she crossed the courtyard for her lesson with Master Shonagar, the fire lizards appeared in the air. Beauty landed on her shoulder, broadcasting images of a lovely swim in the lake and how warm the sun had been on the flat rock. Merga had evidently been with them, for Beauty projected a second golden queen on the rocks. They were all in good spirits.

Master Shonagar had not moved. One thick fist upheld the heavy head on the supporting arm, his other arm was cocked, hand on thigh. At first Menolly thought he was asleep.

“So, you return to me? After singing at the gather?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to sing?” Menolly halted so abruptly in her astonishment at the reprimand in his voice that Beauty cheeped in alarm.

“You are never to sing without my express permission.” The massive fist connected with the tabletop.

“But the Masterharper himself . . .”

“Is Master Robinton your voice instructor? Or am I?” The bellowed question rocked her back on her heels.

“You are, sir. I only thought . . .”

“You thought? I do the thinking while you are my student . . . and you will remain my student for some time, young woman, until your voice is properly trained for your duties as a harper! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t know I was disobeying . . .”

“Well,” and his tone abruptly modified to one of such benevolence that Menolly again stared in disbelief, “I hadn’t actually mentioned that I didn’t consider you ready to sing in public yet. So I accept your apology.”

Menolly gulped, grateful for the reprieve.

“You didn’t, all things considered, perform too badly yesterday,” he went on.

“You heard me?”

“Of course I heard you!” The fist landed again on the table, though with less force than the previous thump. “I hear every singing voice in this Hall. Your phrasing was atrocious. I think we’d better go over that song now so that you can correct your interpretation.” He heaved a sigh of profound resignation. “You will undoubtedly be obliged to sing it again in public; that’s obvious, since you wrote it, and it is undeniably popular. So you might just as well learn to sing it well! Now, we shall start with breathing exercises. And we can’t,” another crash on the sandtable, “do that when you’re halfway across the hall and trembling all over. I won’t eat you, girl,” he added in the gentlest of the voices he had yet used in her presence. A slight smile parted his lips. “But I will,” and his tone took on a sterner note, “teach you to make the most of your voice.”

Although the lesson began with a totally unexpected scolding, Menolly left Master Shonagar’s presence with a feeling of considerable accomplishment. They had gone over “The Fire Lizard Song,” phrase by phrase, occasionally accompanied by Beauty’s trilling. By the end of the session, Menolly stood in further awe of Master Shonagar’s musical acumen. He had drawn from her melody every possible nuance and shading of tone, heightening its total impact.

“Tomorrow,” Master Shonagar said as he dismissed her, “bring me a copy of that latest thing you wrote. The one about Brekke. At least you have wit enough to write music you can sing, that lies in the best part of your voice. Tell me, do you do that on purpose? No, no, that was an invidious question. Unworthy of me. Inapplicable to you. Away with you now, I’m excessively wearied!”

His fist came up to support his head, and he was snoring before Menolly could express her gratitude for his stimulating lesson.

Beauty flew to her perch on Menolly’s shoulder, chittering happily, and Menolly, beginning to feel as weary as Master Shonagar claimed to be, absently checked to see where her other friends were. As usual, they were sunning on the rooftops, where they’d undoubtedly remain until feeding time.

Menolly entered the Hall, wondering if she should ask Silvina about boots, but she could hear a lot of bustle and noise from the kitchen and decided to bide her time. She made her way to her room, saw the door ajar, and was surprised to find Audiva waiting for her.

“I took you at your word, Menolly, but, honestly, if I had to stay one more moment in that poisonous atmosphere . . .”

“I meant it.”

“You look tired. Master Shonagar’s lessons are exhausting. We have only one in the week, and you have to go every day? Was he in one of his banging moods?” Audiva giggled, and her eyes sparkled with merriment.

Menolly laughed, too. “I sang yesterday at the gather without his express permission.”

“Oh! Great stars.” Audiva was torn between giggles and concern. “But  why would he complain? You sang so beautifully. Viderian said it was the best he’d heard that sea song done. You’ve made another good friend in Viderian, if that’s any consolation. That fist in Benis’s face. He’s wished so often that he could bang that arrogant booby.”

“Audiva, could Lord Sangel of Boll make Master Robinton . . . “

“You didn’t pay heed to that spiteful wherry, Briala? Oh, Menolly . . .”

“But can an apprentice . . .”

“An apprentice, an ordinary apprentice, yes,” Audiva said, with a reluctant sigh for the truth, “because  apprentices have no rank. Journeymen do. But you are Master Robinton’s own special apprentice, just as Piemur said, and it’d take more than a Lord Holder to shift Master Robinton when he’s made up his mind. Besides, you  weren’t at fault. Pona was. Bearing false witness. Now, you listen to me, Menolly, don’t you dare let that bunch  of sly slippers worry you! They’re just jealous. That was Pona’s problem, too. Besides,” and Audiva’s face  brightened as she thought of the telling argument, “Lord Groghe needs you here to help him train Merga.   There’s your new song. Oh, Menolly, Talmor was playing it, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. ‘Live for my living/or else I must die.’” Audiva had a throaty contralto voice that throbbed poignantly on the  deep note. “I wanted to weep, and while I know I’m just a silly girl-“

“You’re not just silly. You stood up for me against Pona . . .”

Audiva bit her lip guiltily, her expression contrite. “I didn’t tell you about Master Domick’s first message . . .” She paused, full of self-reproach. “I knew about it. I heard him tell Dunca. We all did. And I knew they were trying to make trouble for you because you had the fire lizards. . .”

“But you told Master Domick that I hadn’t been told.”

“Fair’s fair.”

“Well, then, if fair’s fair, you did stand up with me against Pona and all those fosterlings when it really mattered. Let’s forget everything else . . . and just be friends. I’ve never had a girl friend before,” Menolly added shyly. “You haven’t?” Audiva was shocked. “Weren’t you fostered out?”

“No, being the youngest and Half-Circle being so isolated and with Thread falling, and that’s what the Harper usually does, and Petiron never . . .”

“Just as well old Petiron kept you by him, the way things turned out, isn’t it?” Audiva grinned. “But we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

And they sealed the bargain with a handshake.

“Are they really practicing my song?” asked Menolly, a little apprehensive.

“Yes, and hating every minute of it because you wrote it.” Audiva was delighted. “I’d be obliged if you’d teach me some simpler chords than the ones youve written. I cannot get my hands . . .”

“They are simple.”

“For you, maybe, but not for me!” Audiva groaned over her inadequacy.

“Here,” and Menolly thrust her gitar at Audiva. “You can start with a simple E chord . . . go on, strum it . . . Now, modulate to an A Minor . . .”

Menolly soon realized that she didn’t have as much patience as she ought to with Audiva, especially since Audiva was her best friend now, and she certainly did try to follow Menolly’s instructions; but both girls were relieved when Beauty’s creeling interrupted the practice. Audiva declared that she’d have to fly to change before supper. She wouldn’t have the time after, or she’d be late to rehearsal. She gave Menolly a quick and grateful embrace, and clashed down the steps ahead of her.

Camo and Piemur were waiting for Menolly at the kitchen level. It seemed incredible to Menolly as she fed her hungry friends that she’d only been at Harper Hall a sevenday. So much had happened. And yet the fire lizards had settled in as if they’d never lived anywhere else. She had established a routine in her sessions with Domick and the journeymen in the mornings, with Shonagar in the afternoon. Above all, she had the right, the exquisitely sweet right-no, an injunction from the Masterharper-to write the songs that had once been totally forbidden her.

Seven days ago, standing in this very courtyard, she’d been scared to tears. What had T’gellan said? Yes, he’d given her the sevenday to get adjusted. And he’d been right in that, though she’d doubted him at the time. He’d also said that she didn’t have anything to fear from harpers. True enough, but she had experienced envy and to some extent overcome it: she’d made staunch friends, and good impressions on those in Hall and Hold who mattered to her future. She’d made not one, but several places for herself in the Craft Hall: with her songs, her fire lizards and, unexpectedly, her knowledge of seacraft.

Only one small worry nagged at her: what if the vengeful Pona could prejudice her grandfather, Lord Sangel, against a lowly apprentice in the Craft Hall? Not all Lord Holders were tolerant men like Lord Groghe. Not all of them had fire lizards. Menolly had had too much stripped from her before in her home Hold to calm that anxiety.