“Half-Circle Sea Hold is a long way from Fort Hold!”
Silvina chuckled. “And one of the few places isolated enough to prevent Dunca from following him, child. As if Petiron would ever have taken another woman after Merelan. She was the loveliest person, a voice of unusual beauty and range. Ah, I miss her still.”
More people were about: field workers coming in for their midday meal; a party of men on leggy runners, slowing to an amble through the crowd. An apprentice, intent on his errand, ran right into Menolly. He was mouthing an apology when Beauty, peering through Menolly’s hair, hissed at him. He yelped, ducked with an apprentice’s well-developed instinct, and went pelting back the way he’d come.
Silvina laughed. “I’d like to hear his tale when he gets back to his hall.”
“Silvina, I’m—”
“Not a word, Menolly! I will not have you apologizing for your fire lizards. Nor will Master Robinton. There will always be fools in the world like Dunca, fearful of anything new or strange.” They had entered the archway of the Harper Hall. “Through that door, across the stairhall, and you’ll find the workshop. Master Jerint is in charge. He’ll find you an instrument so you can play for Master Domick. He’ll meet you there.” With an encouraging pat and a smile, Silvina left her.
Chapter 3
Speak softly to my lizard fair
Nor raise your hand to me.
For they are quick to take offense
And quicker to champion me.
Menolly wished that Silvina had stayed long enough to introduce her to Master Jerint, but she guiltily realized how much of the headwoman’s valuable time she had already had, So, squaring her shoulders against her ridiculous surge of nervousness, Menolly entered the square stairhall and saw the door that must lead to the workshop, of Master Jerint.
She could hear the sounds of workshop industry: hammering, the scrape of saw on wood, toots and thumps; but the instant she opened the door, she and Beauty got the full impact of various noises of tuning, sanding, sawing, pounding, the twanging of tough wherhide being stretched over drum frames and snapping back. Beauty let out a penetrating shriek of complaint and took off, straight for the bracing beams of the high-ceilinged workshop. Her raucous call and her flight suspended all activity in the room. The sudden silence, and then the whisperings of the younger workers, all staring at Menolly, attracted the attention of the older man who was bent almost double, gluing a crucial piece of inlay on the gitar in his lap. He looked up and around at the staring apprentices.
“What? Well?”
Beauty gave another cry, launching herself from the rafter beam back to Menolly’s shoulder now that the distressing sounds had ceased.
“Who made that appealing noise? It was animal, not instrumental.”
Menolly didn’t see anyone pointing at her, but suddenly Master Jerint was made aware of her presence by the door.
“Yes? What are you doing here? And what’s that thing on your shoulder? You oughtn’t be carting pets about, whatever it is. It isn’t allowed. Well, lad, speak up!”
Titters in various parts of the workroom indicated to the man that he was in some error.
“Please, sir, if you’re Master Jerint, I’m Menolly…”
“If you’re Menolly, then you’re no lad.”
“No, sir.”
“And I’ve been expecting you. At least, I think so!” He peered down at the inlay he’d been gluing as if accusing the inanimate object of his absentmindedness. “What is that thing on your shoulder? Did it make that noise?”
“Yes, because she was startled, sir.”
“Yes, the noise in here would startle anyone with hearing and wit.” Jerint sounded approving and now craned his head forward, withdrawing the instant Beauty gave one of her little chirps and frowning in surprise that she reacted to his curiosity. “So she is one of those mythical fire lizards?” He acted skeptical.
“I named her Beauty, Master Jerint,” Menolly said, determined to win other friends for her fire lizards that day. She firmly unwound Beauty’s tail from her neck and coaxed her to her forearm. “She likes to have her headknob stroked…”
“Does she?” Jerint caressed the glowing golden creature. Beauty closed the inner lid of her brilliant eyes and submitted completely to the Master’s touch. “She does!”
“She’s really very friendly, it’s just all that noise and so many people.”
“Well, I find her quite friendly,” Jerint replied, one long calloused and glue-covered finger stroking the little queen with growing confidence as Beauty began to hum with pleasure. “Very friendly indeed. Are dragons’ skins as soft as hers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Charming creature. Quite charming. Much more practical than dragons.”
“She sings, too,” said a stocky man sauntering from the back of the hall, wiping his hands on a towel as he came.
As if this newcomer released a hidden spring, a murmurous wave of half giggle, half excited whisperings rippled through the apprentices. The man nodded at Menolly.
“Sings?” asked Jerint, pausing in mid-caress so that Beauty butted her nose at his hand. He continued to stroke the now coyly curved neck. “She sings, Domick?”
“Surely you heard this morning’s glorious descant, Jerint?”
This stocky man was Master Domick for whom she must play? True, he wore an old tunic with a faded journeyman’s markings, but no journeyman would have addressed a master by his bare name nor would be so self-assured.
“This morning’s descant?” Jerint blinked with surprise, and some of the bolder apprentices chortled at his confusion. “Yes, I remember thinking the pitch was a bit unusual for pipes, and besides that Saga is traditionally sung without accompaniment, but then Brudegan is always improvising…” He gave an irritable wave of his hand.
Beauty reared up on Menolly’s arm, startled into fanning her wings for balance and digging her talons painfully through Menolly’s thin sleeve.
“Didn’t mean you, you pretty thing,” Jerint said by way of apology and caressed Beauty’s headknob until she’d subsided to her former position. “But all that sound from this little creature?”
“How many were actually singing, Menolly?” asked Master Domick. “Only five,” she replied reservedly, thinking of Dunca’s reaction to the figure nine.
“Only five of them?”
The droll tone made her glance apprehensively at the stocky Master, wondering if he were taunting her, since the half-smile on his face gave her no real hint.
“Five!” Master Jerint rocked back on his heels with amazement. “You…have five fire lizards?”
“Actually, sir, to be truthful…”
“It is wiser to be truthful, Menolly,” agreed Master Domick, and he was teasing her, not too kindly either.
“I Impressed nine fire lizards,” said Menolly in a rush, “because, you see, Thread was falling outside the cave, and the only way I could keep the hatchlings from leaving and getting killed by Thread was to feed them and that…”
“Impressed them, of course,” Domick finished for her, when she faltered because Master Jerint was wide-eyed with astonishment and incredulity. “You will really have to add another verse to your song, Menolly, or possibly two.”
“The Masterharper has edited that song as he feels necessary, Master Domick,” she said with what she hoped was quiet dignity.
A slow smile spread across the man’s face. “It is wiser to be truthful, Menolly. Didn’t you train all your fire lizards to sing?”
“I didn’t actually train them, sir. I played my pipes, and they’d sing along…”
“Speaking of pipes, Jerint, this girl has to have an instrument until she can make one herself. Or didn’t Petiron have enough wood to teach you, girl?”