Dragonsinger (24 page)

Menolly caught sight of the girls emerging from the cot, brightly clad, with filmy scarves to protect their hair from the light wind. Oh, what she’d like to do to their hair! Pona’s hair, with its long neat plaits to be pulled out by the roots … Menolly stopped her thoughts, a little appalled at the intensity of her dislike. After all, the girls had failed in their aim – to prejudice Lord Groghe against her. Why was she bothering her head about them? She’d better things to occupy herself with. She was an apprentice harper,
not
a sometime student. She was Masterharper Robinton’s apprentice. Of course, since he was Master of the Harper Hall, everyone within was
his
apprentice.

But she was an apprentice. And she intended to remain one. More than ever now that the girls had made an effort to jeopardize her tenure. She was going to stay, to spite them, and her parents. She was going to make her place here because this was where she belonged, as Master Robinton had said. Here was where she could perfect her music. Here she could make her own place for herself, not slip into a spot left by someone else, anyone else. Just as she’d made the cave her own, she would make her own place here in the Harper Hall. And no-one, particularly a sneaky little twitterhead whose only claim to importance was being someone’s granddaughter, was going to dislodge her! Or a conniving coward like cotholder Dunca!

Menolly wondered if Silvina had done anything about settling the rumours. Really, it just wasn’t important, Menolly told herself sternly. Particularly when Lord Groghe seemed to approve of her and had actually suggested that she help him train his queen, Merga.

Menolly laughed to herself. Just wait till those sissies heard about that! She, apprentice trainer of fire lizards, the only successful one on Pern. The teacher just one step ahead of the student. She giggled now, covering her mouth with her hands because she knew she was acting the wherry. But she’d been silly not to see before that she had several tunes to play in this Harper Hall: the tunes she made, her fire lizards – yes, and how to gut fish and trim sail whenever some harper needed to know. And why did Sebell need to know? She sighed gustily.

Too bad about those girls, though. She wished
Audiva
didn’t have to stay with them; she was above the general sort at the cot, and it would have been nice to have a girl friend. Not that she didn’t have a good friend in Piemur. When Piemur grew up and lost his brilliant voice, would he have to leave the Craft Hall? No, because they must surely be training him to play one of those ‘other’ tunes. She didn’t quite see him stepping into Master Shonagar’s slippers …

She rose from the window ledge, reminded of the task that Master Robinton had set her as his apprentice. She tuned her gitar and began to rehearse the Brekke song, softly lest the Harper was busy in his rooms. Did he honestly think that song, a twiddle to while the time away until Sebell returned, was good enough to be perfected?

Of their own volition, her fingers were plucking out the melody. She found herself caught up once more in the poignancy of Brekke’s anguished command!
Don’t leave me alone!
She played the song through, agreeing with the Harper that the fourth phrase needed polishing … ah, yes, if she dropped to the fifth, it would intensify the phrase and complement the chord.

The tocsin rang for mealtime finally, and shouts and laughter broke her concentration. She was almost angry with the disruption. But with a renewed awareness of her surroundings, she realized how her hand ached. Her back and neck muscles were stiff from crouching over the gitar. She’d no idea she’d been practising that long, but the song was set in her mind and her fingers now. She would have it finished in next to no time once she had more ink and those paper sheets.

She changed into the clothes she wanted to wear to the gather: not as rich as the girls would be wearing, but new. The close-woven trousers and the contrasting
coloured tunic with the sleeveless hide jumper displaying the apprentice badge meant more to her than fine cloth and filmy scarves. As she pulled on her slippers, she noticed that the constant scuffing on the stone floors was wearing soles and toes out. At least here, she needn’t fear to approach Silvina, and perhaps her feet were healed enough for proper boots, which would last longer.

CHAPTER NINE

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 hearty 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 enquiringly.

‘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’s 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 honourable journeyman or craftmaster, now can you? Or someone from the Hold?’ He jerked his thumb towards the cliffside 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 towards 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 towards 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 at 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 an 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 hand-sealed, 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 bubbly 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 manoeuvred 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 marvellous day for a gather. Piemur grabbed her hand, pulling her faster.