“Well spoken.” Lord Groghe turned his heavy torso in Silvina’s direction, favoring the headwoman with a fierce stare.
“Well-spoken child. Not what I expected. Can’t trust other people’s opinions. Never did. Never will. I’ll arrange something with Robinton later. Not too much later. But later. Good day to you all.” With that the Lord Holder of Fort strode from the room, nodding and smiling to the harpers still gathered in the corridor.
Menolly saw Sebell and Silvina exchanging worried glances, and she moved across the room to stand before them.
“What did Lord Groghe mean, Silvina? I’m not what he expected?”
“I was afraid you’d catch that,” Silvina said, her eyes narrow with a contained anger. She patted Menolly’s shoulder absently. “There’s been loose talk, which has done them no good and you no harm. I’ve a few knees to set knocking, so I have.”
Menolly was thoroughly and unexpectedly consumed with anger. Beauty chittered, her eyes beginning to whirl redly.
“Those cot girls stay up at the Hold during Threadfall, don’t they?”
Silvina gave Menolly a long, quelling look. “I said I’ll handle the matter, Menolly. You,” and Silvina pointed at her, “will occupy yourself with harper business.” She was clearly as furious as Menolly, and flicked imaginary dust from her skirt with unnecessary force. “You’re to stay here, both of you, and be sure nothing disturbs the Harper. Nothing, you understand!” She pinned apprentice and journeyman with a stern glare. “He’s asleep, and he’s to stay asleep as long as that little creature lets him. That way he might get caught up on himself for a change before he’s worn to death.” She picked up the tray. “I’ll send your suppers up with Camo. And their suppers as well!”
She closed the door firmly behind her. Menolly looked at the closed door for a long moment, still feeling the anger in her guts. She’d not really done the girls any kind of harm, so why would they try to prejudice the Lord Holder against her? Or perhaps it was all Dunca’s connivance? Menolly knew that the little cotholder hated her for the humiliation caused by the fire lizards. Now that Menolly was at the Hall, why should Dunca persist? She glanced back to Sebell, who was regarding her even as he cradled his sleeping queen.
“Leave it, Menolly,” he said in a quiet but emphatic tone. He gestured her to the sandtable. “Harper business is better business for you now. Master Robinton said you were to copy the song onto sheets.” Moving carefully so as not to disturb his little queen, he got supplies from the shelves and put them on the center board. “So, copy!”
“I don’t understand what they thought they’d accomplish, prejudicing Lord Groghe against me. What would he do?” Sebell said nothing as he hooked a stool under him, and sat down. He pointed at the music. “It’s only right for me to know. The insult is mine to settle.”
“Sit down, Menolly. And copy. That’s far more important to the Harper and the Hall than any petty machinations of envious girls.”
“They could do me a mischief, couldn’t they? If they’d got Lord Groghe to believe what they said. I never hurt those girls.”
“True enough but that is not harper business. The song is. Copy it! And one more word from you on any other subject and I’ll—”
“If you’re not quiet, you’ll wake your fire lizard,” Menolly said, but she sat down at the table and started copying. She could recognize obstinacy when she saw it, and it would do her no good to set Sebell against her. “What are you going to name her?” she asked.
“Name her?” Sebell was startled, and Menolly was dismayed to realize how much of his joy in his queen had been diminished by her silly concern over gossip. “Why, I can have the privilege of naming her, can’t I? She’s mine. I think…” and his eyes glowed with affection for the hatchling, “I think I’ll call her Kimi.”
“That’s a lovely name,” replied Menolly and then bent to her copying with a good heart.
Chapter 8
Gather! Gather! It’s a gather day!
No work for us, and Thread’s away.
Stalls are building, square’s swept clear,
Gather all from far and near.
Bring your marks and bring your wares,
Bring your family for there’s
Food and drink and fun and song.
The Hold flag flies: so gather along!
“What’s wrong with the Hold?” Menolly asked Piemur the next morning as she, the boy and Camo were feeding the fire lizards. Piemur kept craning his neck past the roofs of the Harper Hall to see the fire heights of Fort Hold.
“Nothing’s wrong. I want to see if the gather flag’s up.”
“Gather flag?” Menolly recalled that Sebell had mentioned a gather.
“Sure! It’s spring, and sunny. It’s a restday. Thread’s not due, so there ought to be a gather!” Piemur regarded her a long moment, then his face screwed up into an incredulous expression. “You mean, you don’t have gathers?”
“Half Circle is isolated,” Menolly replied defensively. “And with Thread falling…”
“Yeah, I forgot that. No wonder you’re such a smashing musician,” he said, shaking his head as if this were no real compensation. “Nothing to do but practice! Still,” he added somewhat skeptical, “you must have had gathers before Thread started?”
“Of course we did. Traders came through the marshes three and four times a Turn.” Piemur was unimpressed. Menolly realized that she herself had only the vaguest memories of such events. Threadfall had started when she was barely eight Turns old.
“We have gathers as often as it’s sunny on a restday,” Piemur said, chattering away, “and there isn’t any Thread due. Of course, our being a Hold with several small crafthalls, as well as the main Harper Craft Hall, does make for great gathers. You don’t happen,” and he cocked his head slyly, “to have any marks on you?”
“Marks?”
Piemur was thoroughly disgusted with her obtuseness. “Marks! Marks! What you get in exchange for what you’re selling at a gather?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out four small white pieces of highly polished wood, on which the numerals 32 had been incised on one side and on the other, the mark of the Smithcraft. “Only thirty-seconds, but with four I got an eighth, and Smithcraft at that.”
Menolly had never actually seen marks before. All trading transactions had been carried out by her father, the Sea Holder. She was astonished that so young a boy Piemur had possession of marks and said so.
“Oh, I sang, you know, even before I got apprenticed. I’d always get a mark of some amount or other. My foster mother kept them for me until I came here.” Piemur wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But you don’t get paid for singing at gathers if you’re a harper, and you have to do your own turn anyway. I haven’t anything to give the marksmen here. I keep trying, but Master Jerint won’t put his seal on my pipes, so I have to figure out other ways of turning the odd… Hey, look, Menolly,” and he grabbed her arm, “there goes the flag! There’ll be a gather!” He went flying across the court as fast as he could to the apprentice dormitory. On the top of the Fort Hold fire heights, Menolly now saw the bright yellow pennant, and flapping below it on
the mast, the red and black barred streamer that apparently signaled a gather. She heard Piemur’s cries echoing in the apprentice dormitory and the sounds of sleepers stirring in complaint.
As if Piemur’s sighting of the pennant had been a signal, the drudges, herded by Abuna and Silvina, entered the kitchen. The flag and pennant on the Hold mast were duly noted and the meal preparations were conducted in a cheerful humor.
Menolly dispersed her fair to their sunning and bathing and, finding Silvina in the kitchen with Abuna, offered to take breakfast to the Harper and his bronze, whom he’d named Zair.