Anne McCaffrey - Dragonsinger

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 Domick’s 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, who also turned to glare at Menolly. But Menolly smiled at Audiva and, as she stood by the tall craft-girl, 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.