“I do feel, that to be convincing, I’d better know how to gut fish as well. That seems a more integral part of the craft than actual sailing. So that will take priority in your instruction. N’ton said he could acquire some fresh fish for me with no problems.”
Again Menolly suppressed her curiosity as to why a journeyman harper needed to be conversant with the seacraft.
“Tomorrow’s a rest day,” Sebell continued. “There may even be a gather if the weather holds, which to my landsman’s eye, seems likely. So, if the fire lizards break shell, and if we can disappear circumspectly, perhaps some day after that…”
“I can’t miss my lessons with Master Shonagar…”
“Has he got you dithering so soon?”
“He is so emphatic…”
‘Yes, he usually is. But he really knows how to build a voice, if that’s any consolation to you. I could always play an instrument…” and Sebell grinned in reminiscence, “…but I never thought I’d make a singer. I was terrified I’d be sent away from the Hall…”
“You were?”
“Oh, indeed I was. I’d wanted to be a harper since I learned my first Ballads. I’m landsman bred, so harpering is very respectable. My foster father gave me all the assistance I needed, and our Hold Harper was a good technician, not very creative,” and Sebell waggled a hand, “but capable of teaching the fundamentals thoroughly. I thought myself a right proper musician…until I got here.” Sebell uttered a self-deprecating noise at his boyish pretensions. “Then I learned just how much more there is to harpering than playing an instrument.”
Menolly grinned with complete understanding. “Just like there’s more to being a seaman than knowing how to gut a fish and trim sail?”
“Yes. Exactly. Which reminds me, Domick did excuse you from this morning’s session, but he hasn’t excused you from the work… So, we might as well put waiting time to use. Incidentally, my compliments on your manner with Domick yesterday. You struck exactly the right note with him.”
“I never play flat.”
Sebell gave her a wide-eyed stare. “I didn’t mean, playing.” He stared at her a moment more. “You mean, you really like that sort of music? You weren’t dissembling?”
“That music was brilliant. I’ve never heard anything like it.” Menolly was a bit disconcerted by Sebell’s attitude.
“Oh, I guess it would seem so to you. I only hope you have the same opinion several Turns from now after you’ve had to endure more of Domick’s eternal search for pure musical forms.” He gave a mock shudder. “Here…” and he spread out sheets of new music. “Let’s see how you like this. Domick wants you to play first gitar, but you’re to learn the second as well.”
The occasional music for two gitars was extremely complex, switching from one time value to another, with chording difficult enough for uninjured hands. She and Sebell had to work out alternative fingering for the passages that her left hand could not manage. The repetitive theme had to dominate, but it swung from one gitar part to the other. They had gone through two of the three sections before Sebell called a break, laughing at his surrender as he stretched and kneaded tired fingers and shoulders.
“We won’t get this music note-perfect in one sitting, Menolly,” he protested when she wanted to finish the third movement.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“Will you stop apologizing for the wrong things?”
“I’m sor– Well, I didn’t mean to…” She had to rephrase what she wanted to say as Sebell laughed at her attempt to obey his injunction. “This sort of music is a challenge. It really is. For instance here…” and she turned to a quick time passage that had been extremely difficult to finger.
“Enough, Menolly. I’m bone tired, and why you aren’t…”
“But you’re a journeyman harper…”
“I know but this journeyman harper cannot spend all his time playing…”
“What do you do? Besides cross-craft.”
“Whatever the Harper needs me to do. Primarily I journey…looking among the youngsters in hold and craft to see if there’re any likely ones for the Craft Hall. I bring new music to distant harpers…your music most recently—”
“My music?”
“First to flush you out because we didn’t know you were a girl. Second, because were exactly the songs we need.”
“That’s what Master Robinton said.”
“Don’t sound so surprised…and meek. Admittedly it’s nice to have one modest apprentice in this company of rampant extroverts…what’s the matter?”
“Why isn’t music like Master Domick’s—”
“Your music can be played easily and well by any half-stringed harper or fumble-fingered idiot. Not that I’m maligning your songs. It’s just that they’re an entirely different kettle of fish—to use a seamanly metaphor—to Domick’s. Don’t you judge your songs against his standard! More people have already listened to your melodies and liked them, than will ever hear Domick’s, much less like them.”
Menolly swallowed. The very notion that her music was more acceptable than Domick’s was incredible, and yet she could appreciate the distinction that Sebell was making. Domick was a musician’s composer.
“Of course, we need music like Master Domick’s, too. It serves a different purpose, for the Hall, and the Craft. He knows more about the art of composing—which you have to learn—”
“Oh, I know I do.” Then, because the problem had been weighing heavily on her conscience, she spilled the words out in a rush. “What do I do, Sebell, about the fire lizard song? Master Robinton rewrote it, and it’s much, much better. But he’s told everyone that I wrote it.”
“So? That’s the way the Harper wishes it to be, Menolly. He has his reasons.” Sebell reached out to grip her knee and give her a little shake. “And he didn’t change the song much. Just sort of…” Sebell gestured with both hands, compressing the space between them, “…tightened it up. He kept the melody as you’d written it, and that’s what everyone is humming. What you have to do now is learn how to polish your music without losing its freshness. That’s why it’s so important for you to study with Domick. He has the discipline: you have the originality.”
Menolly could not reply to that assessment. There was a lump in her throat as she remembered the beatings she’d taken for doing exactly what she was now encouraged to do.
“Don’t hunch up like that,” Sebell said, almost sharply. “What’s the matter? You’ve gone white as a sheet. Shells!” This last word came out as an expletive and caused Menolly to look in surprise at the journeyman. “Just when I didn’t want to be interrupted…”
She followed the line of his gaze and saw the bronze dragon circling down to land beyond the courtyard.
“That’s N’ton. I’ve got to speak to him, Menolly, about our teaching tip. I’ll be right back.” He was out of the room at a trot, and she could hear him taking the steps in a clatter.
She looked at the music they’d been playing, and Sebell’s words echoed through her mind. “He has the discipline; you have the originality.” “Everyone’s been humming it.” People liking her twiddles? That still didn’t seem possible, although Sebell had no more reason to lie to her than the Masterharper when he’d said that her music was valuable to him. To the Harper Craft. Incredible! She struck a chord on the gitar, a triumphant, incredible chord, and then modulated it, thinking undisciplined that musical reaction had been.
They were still twiddles, her songs, unlike the beautiful, intricate musical designs that Domick composed. But if she studied hard with him, maybe she could improve her twiddles into what she could honestly call music.
Firmly she turned her thoughts toward the gitar duet and ran through the tricky passages, slowly at first and then finally at time. One of the chords modulated into tones that were so close to the agonized cry of the previous night that she repeated the phrase.