“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 toward 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.”
“Well said, Menolly, well said,” and the Harper laughed as well as Sebell. “The other crafts can jibe that we want to know too much about what is not strictly our business, but I’ve always felt knowledge of matters minor or major makes for better understandings. The mind that will not admit it has something more to learn tomorrow is in danger of stagnating.”
“Yes, sir.” Menolly caught Sebell’s eye, anxiously hoping that the Harper had not heard the minor—or was it major—matter about her missing her scheduled lesson with Domick. An almost imperceptible shake of the brown man’s head reassured her.
“Give me your opinion of our eggs, Menolly, for I must be out and about a great deal, but I don’t wish to risk the Hatching without me in attendance. Right, Sebell?”
“Nor do I wish two fire lizards instead of the one I’m entitled to have.”
The two men exchanged knowing glances as Menolly obediently checked the eggs in their warm pots. She turned each one slightly so that the colder side faced the heat of the glowing embers on the hearth. Robinton added a few more blackstones and then eyed her expectantly.
“Well, sir, the eggs are hardening, but they are not hard enough to hatch today or tomorrow.”
“So, will you check again tomorrow morning for me, Menolly? I must be away, although Sebell will always know where I can be reached.”
Menolly assured the Masterharper that she would keep a watchful eye on the eggs and inform Sebell if there were any alarming changes. The Harper walked her back through his study to the door.
“Now, Menolly, you’ve played for Domick, been thoroughly catechized by Morshal and sung for Shonagar. Jerint says your pipes are quite allowable, and the drum is well-constructed and should dry out sound. The fire lizards will sing sweetly with others than yourself, so you’ve accomplished a very great deal in your first days here. Hasn’t she, Sebell?”
Sebell agreed, smiling at her in a quiet, kind way. She wondered if either man knew how Dunca and the girls felt about her presence in the Harper Hall.
“And I can leave the matter of the eggs in your good hands. That’s grand. That’s very good, indeed,” the Masterharper said, combing his fingers through his silvered hair.
For a fleeting moment, his usually mobile face was still, and in that unguarded moment, Menolly saw signs of strain and worry. Then he smiled so cheerfully that she wondered if she’d imagined his weariness. Well, she could certainly spare him anxiety about the fire lizards. She’d check them several times during the day, even if it made her late to Master Shonagar.
As she returned to the cot, pleased that there was some small way in which she could serve the Masterharper, she recalled what he’d said about fish in a Harper Hall. For the first time, Menolly realized that she’d never really thought about life in a Harper Hall—except as a place where music was played and created. Petiron had spoken hazily about apprentices and his time as a journeyman, but nothing in detail. She had imagined the Harper Hall as some magical place, where people sang all conversations, or earnestly copied Records. The reality was almost commonplace, up to and especially including Dunca and the spiteful Pona. Why she had considered all Harpers, and harper people, above such pettiness, endowed with more humanity than Morshal or Domick had shown her, she did not know. She smiled at her naivety. And yet, Harpers like Sebell and Robinton, even Domick, were above the ordinary. And Silvina and Piemur were basically good, and certainly had been kind to her. She was in far better circumstances than she’d ever enjoyed in Half-Circle, so she could put up with a little unpleasantness, surely.
It was as well she had reached this conclusion because, no sooner was she inside the door, than Dunca pounced on her with a list of grievances. Menolly received a tirade about her fire lizards, how dangerous and unreliable the creatures were, how they must behave themselves or Dunca would not tolerate them, that Menolly had better realize how little rank mattered in Dunca’s cot and that, as the newcomer, she must behave with more deference to those who had been studying far longer at the Craft Hall. Menolly’s attitude was presumptuous, uncooperative, unfriendly and discourteous, and Dunca was not having a tunnel-snake in her cot where the girls were as friendly and as considerate of one another as fosterer could wish.
After the first few sentences, Menolly realized that she could put forth no defense of herself or her friends acceptable to Dunca. All she could do was say “yes” and “no” at appropriate intervals, when Dunca was forced to stop for breath. And every time Menolly thought the woman must surely have exhausted the subject, she would surge onto another imagined slight until Menolly seriously considered calling Beauty to her. The appearance of the fire lizard would certainly curtail the flow of abuse, but would irrevocably destroy any possibility of getting into Dunca’s fair record.
“Now, have I made myself plain?” Dunca asked unexpectedly.
“You have,” and since Menolly’s calm acceptance momentarily robbed Dunca of speech, the girl flew up the steps, ignoring the stiffness of her feet and grinning at the explosive and furious reprimands Dunca made at her retreat.
Chapter 6
The tears I feel today
I’ll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I’ll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.