“I can stand, really I can, sir,” Menolly protested, for something in Felena’s manner told her that this man was too-important to be toting sore-footed girls. “Felena, I couldn’t stop him.”
“I’m only being my usual ingratiating self,” the man told her, “and do stop struggling. You’re too heavy!”
Felena was laughing at his exaggeration as she led the way to Menolly’s table above the egg basket.
“You’re a terrible fellow, Master Robinton, indeed you are. But you’ll have your wine while Menolly picks out the best of the clutch. Have you spotted the queen egg, Menolly?”
“After the way Menolly’s queen has been attacking me, I’d be safer with any other color, Felena. Now do get that wine for me, there’s a good woman. I’m utterly parched.”
As he gently settled her into her chair, Menolly heard Felena’s teasing remark, “…terrible fellow, Master Robinton…terrible fellow, Master Robinton…” She stared at him, disbelieving.
“Now, what’s the matter, Menolly? Did my exercise bring out spots on my face?” He mopped at his cheeks and brow and examined his hand. “Ah, thank you, Felena. You’ve saved my life. My tongue was quite stuck to the roof of my mouth. And here’s to you, young queen, and thank you for your courtesy.” He raised his cup to Beauty, who was perched on Menolly’s shoulder, her tail firmly entwined as she glared at him. “Well?” he asked kindly of Menolly.
“You’re the Masterharper?”
“Yes, I’m Robinton.”He sounded quite casual about it. “And I think you need some wine, too.”
“No, I couldn’t.” Menolly held up her hands in refusal. “I get hiccups. And go to sleep.” She hadn’t meant to say that either, but she had to explain why she was discourteous enough to refuse his cup. She was also acutely aware now of her stained overshirt, her sandy clothes and slippers, her complete disarray. This wasn’t how she imagined her first meeting with the Masterharper of Pern, and she hung her head in emharassment.
“I always advise eating before drinking,” remarked Master Robinton in the nicest possible way. “I shouldn’t wonder but that’s half the problem right now,” he added and then raised his voice. “This child is faint with hunger, Felena.”
Menolly shook her head, denying his suggestion and trying to forestall Felena, but she was already ordering one of the lads to bring klah, a basket of breads, and a dish of sliced meats. When she was served, just as if she were one of the Weyrwomen, she kept her head bent over her cup, blowing to cool the contents.
“Do you think there’s enough here for a starving man?” asked Masterharper Robinton, his voice so plaintive and faint with his pretended hunger that Menolly was startled into glancing up at him. His expression was at once so wistful, appealing and kind that, despite her deep chagrin, she smiled in response to his foolishness. “I’ll need strength for this evening’s work, and a base for my drinking,” he added in a very quiet, worried voice.
She had the feeling that he had let her share his responsibilities, but she wondered at the sadness and anxiety. Surely everyone in the Weyr was happy today?
“A few slices of meat on a slab of that good bread,” and Robinton made his voice quaver like a peevish old uncle’s. “And…” his voice returned to his normal baritone range, “a cup of good Benden wine to wash it down…”
To her consternation, he rose then, bread and meat in one hand, the wine mug in the other. He bowed to her with great dignity and, with a smile, was off.
“But, Masterharper, your fire lizard eggs…”
“Later, Menolly. I’ll come back later for them.”
His tall figure, his head visible above the bustling activity, retreated across the cavern, away from her. She watched until he was out of sight amid the visitors, bewildered, and all too keenly aware that there was no way in which she would be able to ask Masterharper Robinton about her songs. Twiddles they were, as Yanus and Mavi had always said: too insignificant to be presented for serious consideration to such a man as Masterharper Robinton.
Beauty crooned softly and headstroked Menolly’scheek. Rocky hopped down from his wall perch to her shoulder. He nuzzled her ear, humming in a consoling tone.
Mirrim found her that way, and she roused from her apathy to rejoice with her friend.
“Oh, I’m so very happy for you, Mirrim. You see it did come right!” If Mirrim, with all her worries, had been able to keep a good face, surely Menolly, with much to be grateful for, could manage to follow her example.
“Did you see it? You were in the Hatching Ground? I was so terrified that I didn’t dare watch,” Mirrim said, no trace of terror now in her radiant face. “I made Brekke eat, the first food she’s taken in just days. And she smiled at me, Menolly. She smiled at me, and she knew me. She’s going to be perfectly all right. And F’nor ate every speck of the roast wherry I brought him.” She giggled, all mischievous girl, not Mirrim-Felena, or Mirrim-Manora. “I snitched the best slices of the spiced wherry breast, too. And you know, he ate every bit of it! He’ll probably eat himself sick at the Feast as well. Then I told him to take poor Canth down to feed because that dragon’s just about transparent with hunger.” Her voice dropped in awe. “Canth tried to protect Wirenth from Prideth, you know. Can you imagine that? A brown protecting a queen! It’s because F’nor loves Brekke so. And now it’s all right. It’s well and truly all right. So tell me.”
“Tell you? What?”
Irritation flashed across Mirrim’s face. “Tell me exactly what happened when Brekke got on the Hatching Ground. I told you I didn’t dare look myself.”
So Menolly told her. And told her again until she ran out of answers to all the detailed questions Mirrim found to ask her.
“Now you tell me why everyone’s so upset about this Jaxom Impressing the little white dragon. He saved his life, you know. The dragon would have died if Jaxom hadn’t broken the shell and cut the sac.”
“Jaxom Impressed a dragon? I didn’t know!” Mirrim’s eyes widened with consternation. “Oh! Now why would that kid do such a dreadful thing?”
“Why is it dreadful?”
“Because he’s got to be Lord Holder of Ruatha Hold, that’s why.”
Menolly was a bit annoyed with Mirrim’s impatience and said so.
“Well, he can’t be Lord Holder and dragonrider. Didn’t you learn anything in that Sea Hold of yours? And, by the way, I saw the Half-Circle Harper, I think his name is Elgion. Shall I tell him you’re here?”
“No!”
“Well, no need to bite my head off.” And with that Mirrim flounced off in a huff.
“Menolly, will you forgive me? I completely forgot to come back for you,” T’gellan said, striding up to the table before Menolly had a chance to catch her breath. “Look, the Masterminer is supposed to have two eggs. He can’t stay for the whole Feast, so we’ve got to fix something for him to carry the eggs home in. And the rest of the eggs as well. No, don’t get up. Here, you, come be feet for Menolly,” he ordered, beckoning to one of the weyrboys.
So Menolly spent most of that evening in the kitchen cavern sewing furry bags to carry eggs safely between. But she could hear all the jollity outside; and with no small effort, she made herself enjoy the singing. Five Harpers, two drummers and three pipers made music for the Impression Feast. She thought she recognized Elgion's strong tenor in one song, but it was unlikely he'd look for her at the back of the kitchen cavern.
His voice made her briefly homesick for seawinds and the taste of salty air; briefly too, she longed for the solitude of her cave. Only briefly; this Weyr was the place for her. Her feet would heal soon; she’d no longer be Old-Auntie-Sit-by-the-Fire. So how would she make her place in the Weyr? Felena had enough cooks, and how often would the Weyr, used to meat when it wished, want to eat fish? Even if she knew more ways of preparing it than anyone else? When she came down to it, the only thing in which she excelled was gutting fish. No, she would not think about harpering anymore. Well, there had to be something she could do.