Menolly had been so fascinated by the richness and variety of the Master’s tones that she didn’t really pay heed to the content.
“Well?” he demanded. She blinked at him, drawing in her breath, belatedly aware that he was waiting for her to sing.
“No, not like that! Dolt! You breathe from here,” and his fingers spread across his barrel-width midsection, pressing in so that the sound from his mouth reflected that pressure. “Through the nose, so…” and he inhaled, his massive chest barely rising as it was filled, “down the windpipe,” and he spoke on a single musical note, “to the belly,” and the voice dropped an octave. “You breathe from your belly…if you breathe properly.”
She took the breath as suggested and then expelled it because she didn’t know what to sing with all that breath.
“For the sake of the Hold that protects us,” and he raised his eyes and hands aloft as if he could grasp patience from thin air, “the girl simply sits there. Sing, Menolly, sing!”
Menolly was quite willing to, but he had so much to say before she could start or think of what to sing.
She took another quick breath, felt uncomfortable seated, and without asking, stood and launched into the same song that the apprentices had been singing that morning. She had a brief notion of showing him that he wasn’t the only one who could fill the hall with resounding tones, but some fragment of advice from Petiron came to mind, and she concentrated on singing intensely, rather than loudly.
He just looked at her. She held the last note, letting it die away as if the singer were moving off, and then she sank down onto the stool. She was trembling, and now that she’d stopped singing, her feet began to throb in a dull beat.
Master Shonagar only sat there, great folds of chin billowing down his chest. Without lifting his hand, he tilted his body backward and stared at her from under his fleshy and black-haired brows.
“And you say that Petiron never taught you to use your voice?”
“Not the way you did,” and Menolly pressed her hands demonstratively against her flat belly, “He told me always to sing with my gut and heart. I can sing louder,” she added, wondering if that’s why Shonagar was frowning.
He waggled his fingers. “Any idiot can bellow. Camo can bellow. But he can’t sing.”
“Petiron used to say, ‘If you sing loud, they only hear noise, not sound or song.’ ”
“Ha! He told you that? My words! My words exactly. So he did listen to me, after all.” The last was delivered in an undertone to himself. “Petiron was wise enough to know his limitations.”
Silently Menolly bridled at the aspersion. From the window ledge, Beauty hissed, and Rocky and Diver echoed her sentiment. Master Shonagar raised his head and regarded them in mild perplexity,
“So?” and he fixed his deep eyes on her. “What the mistress feels the pretty creatures echo? And you loved Petiron and will hear no ill-word against him?” He leaned forward slightly, wagging a forefinger at her. “Know this, Menolly who runs, we all have limitations, and wise is he who recognizes them. I meant,” and he settled back into his chair, “no disrespect for the departed Petiron. For me that was praise.” He tilted his head again. “For you, the best thing possible; for Petiron had sense enough not to meddle but to wait until I could attend to your vocal education. Temper and refine what is natural—and produce…” now Master Shonagar’s left eyebrow was jerking up and down, the one arching while the other remained unmoved, so that Menolly was fascinated by his control, “…produce a well-placed, proper singing voice.” The Master exhaled hugely.
Then Menolly took in the sense of what he’d been saying, no longer distracted by his facial contortions.
“You mean, I can sing?”
“Any idiot on Pern can sing,” the Master said disparagingly. “No more talk. I’m weary.” He began brushing her away from him. “Take those other sweet-throated freaks along with you, too. I’ve had enough of their baleful looks and assorted noises.”
“I’ll see that they stay…”
“Stay away? No.” Shonagar’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Bring them. They learn from example, one assumes. So you will set them a good example.” A distant look clouded his face, and then a slow smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Go, Menolly. Go now. All this has wearied me beyond belief.”
With that, he leaned his elbow on the sandtable so heavily that the opposite end left the floor. He cushioned his head against his fist and, while Menolly watched bemused, began to snore. Although she didn’t think any human could fall asleep so quickly, she obeyed the implicit dismissal and, beckoning to her fire lizards, quietly departed.
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.