Dragonsinger (13 page)

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

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

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

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

‘Sea reeds? Not fresh water?’

‘Fresh water, but I cured them in the sea.’

‘How’d you get this dark shine?’

‘Mixed fish oil with sea grass and rubbed it in, warm …’

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

‘I think so.’

‘Any particular type of sea grass? Or fish oil?’

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

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

‘I can try.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Now, young Piemur, come forward.’

Menolly looked around in surprise, wondering how long Piemur had been sitting quietly by the door.

‘The other morning, Menolly, our ears were assailed by pure sound, in descant to a chorus. Piemur here seems of the opinion that the fire lizards will sing for or with anyone. Do you concur?’

‘They certainly sang the other morning, but I was singing, too. I do not know, sir.’

‘Let us conduct a little experiment then. Let us see if they will sing when invited to do so.’

Menolly winced a little at his phrasing, but Piemur’s wry smile told her that this was Master Shonagar’s odd version of humour.

‘Supposing I just sing the melody of the chorus we were doing the other morning,’ said Piemur, ‘because
if
you sing
with
me, they’re still singing with you and not along with me?’

‘Less chatter, young Piemur, more music,’ said Master Shonagar, sounding extremely bass and impatient.

Piemur took a breath, properly, Menolly noticed, and opened his mouth. To her surprise and delight, a true and delicately sweet sound emerged. Her astonishment registered in the twinkle in Piemur’s eyes, but his voice reflected none of his inner amusement to her reaction. Belatedly she encouraged her fire lizards to sing. Beauty flitted to her shoulder, wrapping her tail lightly around Menolly’s neck as she peered towards Piemur, cocking her head this way and that as if analysing the sound and Menolly’s command. Rocky and Diver were less restrained. They flew from their perch on the sandtable and, rearing to their haunches, began to sing along with Piemur. Beauty gave a funny scolding sound before she sat up, one forepaw resting lightly on Menolly’s ear. Then she took up the descant, her fragile voice rising sure and true above Piemur’s. His eyes rolled in appreciation and, when Mimic and Brownie joined in, Piemur backed up so that he could see all of the singing fire lizards.

Anxiously, Menolly glanced at Master Shonagar, but he sat, his fingers shading his eyes, engrossed in the sounds, giving absolutely no indication of his reception. Menolly made herself listen critically, as the Master was undoubtedly doing, but she found little to criticize. She hadn’t taught the fire lizards how to sing: she had only given them melody to enjoy. They had enjoyed it, and were expressing that enjoyment by participation. Their voices were not limited to the few octaves of the human voice. Their piercingly sweet tones resonated through their listeners. She
could
feel the sound in her ear bones, and, from the way Piemur was pressing behind his ears, he felt it as well.

‘There, young fellow,’ said Master Shonagar as the echo of the song died away, ‘that’ll put you in your place, won’t it?’

The boy grinned impudently.

‘So they will warble with someone besides yourself,’ the Master said to Menolly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Menolly saw Piemur reach out to stroke Rocky who was nearest him. The bronze immediately rubbed his head along Piemur’s hand, whether in approval of the singing or in friendship was irrelevant, judging by the charmed expression on the boy’s face.

‘They’re used to singing because they like it, sir. It’s difficult to keep them quiet when there’s music about.’

‘Is that so? I shall consider the potentialities of this phenomenon,’ and with a brusque wave, Master Shonagar dismissed them all. He settled his head against his propped arm and almost immediately began to snore.

‘Is he really asleep? Or shamming?’ Menolly asked Piemur when they were out in the courtyard.

‘Far’s anyone’s been able to tell, he’s asleep. The only thing that’ll wake him is a flat tone or meals. He never goes out of the chorus hall. He sleeps in a little room at the back. Don’t think he could climb steps anyway. He’s too fat. Hey, you know, Menolly, even in scales, you got a pretty voice. Sort of furry.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Don’t mention it. I like furry voices,’ Piemur went on, undismayed by her sarcasm. ‘I
don’t
like high, thin, screechy ones like Briala or Pona …’ and he jerked his thumb towards the cot. ‘Say, hadn’t we
better
feed the fire lizards? It’s nearly suppertime, and they look kinda faded to me.’

Menolly agreed, as Beauty, riding on her shoulder, began to creel piteously.

‘I sure hope that Shonagar wants to use the fire lizards with the chorus,’ Piemur said, kicking at a pebble. Then he laughed, pointing to the kitchen. ‘Look, Camo’s ready and waiting.’

He was there, one thick arm wrapped about an enormous bowl, heaped high with scraps. He had a handful raised to attract the fire lizards who spiraled in on him.

Uncle and the two green Aunties had decidedly adopted Camo as their feeding perch. They took so much of his attention that he didn’t notice that Rocky, Lazy and Mimic draped themselves about Piemur to be fed. It certainly made it easier to apportion the scraps fairly, with three people feeding. So, when she caught Piemur glancing about the courtyard to see if anyone was noticing his new task, Menolly suggested that he’d be needed on a permanent basis if that didn’t get him into any trouble with the masters.

‘I’m apprenticed to Master Shonagar.
He
won’t mind! And I sure as shells don’t.’ Whereupon Piemur began to stroke the bronze and the two browns with an almost proprietary affection.

As soon as the fire lizards had finished gobbling, Menolly sent Camo back into the kitchen. There had been no loud complaints from Abuna, but Menolly had been conscious of being watched from the kitchen windows. Camo went willingly enough, once she assured him that he’d be feeding the fire lizards again in the morning. Sated, the nine lazily spiraled upwards to the outer roof of the Hall, to bask in the late afternoon sun. And not a moment too soon. They were only
just
settling themselves when the courtyard became full of boys and men filing into the Hall for their supper.

‘Too bad you gotta sit with them,’ Piemur said, jerking his head at the girls seated at their table.

‘Can’t you sit opposite me?’ asked Menolly, hopeful. ‘It would be nice to have someone to talk to during the meal.’

‘Naw. I’m not allowed anymore.’

‘Not allowed?’

Alternating between sour disgust and pleased recollection, Piemur gave a shrug. ‘Pona complained to Dunca, and she got on to Silvina …’

‘What did you do?’

‘Oh, nothing much,’ Piemur’s shrug was eloquent enough for Menolly to guess that he’d probably been downright wicked. ‘Pona’s a sorry wherry-hen, you know, rank-happy and pleased to pull it. So I can’t sit near the girls anymore.’

She might regret the prohibition, but it enhanced her estimation of Piemur. As she reluctantly made her way towards the girls, it occurred to her that all she had to do to avoid sitting with them was to be late to meals. Then she’d have to sit where she could. That remedy pleased her so much that she walked more resolutely to her place and endured the hostility of the girls with fortitude. She matched their coldness with stony indifference and ate heartily of the soup, cheese and bread and the sweet pasty that finished the simple supper. She listened politely to the evening announcements of rehearsal times and the fact that Threadfall was expected midday tomorrow. All were to hold themselves close to the Hall, to perform their allotted tasks before, during and after Fall. Menolly heard, with private amusement, the nervous whispering of the girls at the advent of Threadfall and
permitted
herself to smile in disdain at their terror. They couldn’t
really
be that afraid of a menace they’d known all their lives?

She made no move to leave the table when they did, but she was sure that she caught Audiva’s wink as the girl followed the others out. When she judged them well away, she rose. Maybe she’d be able to get back into the cot again without confronting Dunca.

‘Ah, Menolly, a moment if you please.’ The cheery voice of the Masterharper sang out as she reached the entrance. Robinton was standing by the stairs, talking to Sebell, and he gestured for Menolly to join them. ‘Come and check our eggs for us. I know Lessa said it would be a few more days but …’ and the Harper shrugged his anxiety. ‘This way …’ As she accompanied the two men to the upper level, he went on. ‘Sebell says that you’re a mine of information.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Didn’t ever think you’d have to talk fish in a Harper Hall, did you?’

‘No, sir, I didn’t. But then, I don’t think I really knew what does go on in a Harper Hall.’