By evening, Onn was getting desperate. He had barred the door-no sense in letting the rumor get out if a chance Deaf should enter-and with the snow now forming puddles on the ground, he was feeling quite damp and uncomfortable. He resolved not to leave the room until he had decided. But he could not decide.
And so, early in the morning, after a fitful sleep, he got up, keyed the door to open to his hand, locked it behind him, and began prowling the Stalls and Chambers, the Common Rooms and the toilets and the kitchens, hoping that some startling idea would occur to him, or that his indecision would be resolved, so that he could choose someone to replace Esste.
It was afternoon when, despondent, he stepped into a Common Room where a group of Breezes were being taught. He came just for solace; the young voices were unskilled enough that their singing did not force him to pay attention, yet they were good enough that their harmonies and countermelodies were a pleasure to hear.
As he sat at the back of the room, he began to watch the teacher, began to listen to her. He recognized her immediately, of course. She had enough ability that she ought to have been teaching in Stalls and Chambers-her own voice was refined and pure. But she was not young, and never likely to be advanced to be a high master or Songmaster, and so she had asked to remain in the Common Room, since she loved the children and would not be ashamed or disappointed to end her life teaching them. Esste had immediately given consent, since it was good for children to learn from the best possible voices, and this woman was the best singer of any of the teachers in the Common Room.
Her manner with the children was loving but direct, kind but accurate. It was plain that the children were devoted to her; the normal squabbles that were bound to break out in a class this age were easily handled, and they were touchingly eager to sing well for her approval. When a song was especially good, she would join in, not loudly, but in a soft and beautiful harmony that would excite the children and inspire them to sing better.
Onn had made up his mind before he realized it. Suddenly he found himself protesting a decision he had not known that he had made. She's too inexperienced, he told himself, though in fact there was no one but him who really had experience in doing some of the work of the High Room. She's too quiet, too shy to work her will in the Songhouse, he insisted, but knew that as she guided the children with love, not power, she would be able to guide the Songhouse as well.
And finally all his objections came down to the last one: pity. She loved teaching the little children, and in the High Room she would only have time for one or two children, and those, would have to be in Stalls and Chambers. She would not be happy to give up a work she so enjoyed doing to accept a task that she herself and most others would think was beyond her.
Onn was certain, however. Watching her he knew that she should take Esste's place. And if it was hard for her, and she had to give up something to do it-well, the Songhouse exacted high prices from its children, and she would do her duty willingly, as all the people of the Songhouse would.
He arose, and she ended the song to ask him what he wanted.
Rruk, he said, Esste has died.
He was pleased that it did not occur to her that she was being called to replace Esste. Instead her dismay was heartfelt, and nothing but mourning for her beloved Song-master Esste. She sang her grief, and the children tentatively joined in. Her song had begun with all the technique she had, but as the children tried to join her, she simplified almost by habit, put her music within their reach, and together they sang touchingly of love that had to end with death. It moved Onn greatly. She was a generous woman. He had chosen well.
When her song ended, he said the words that would cause her, he knew, much misery.
Rruk, I found her body, and I ask you to make the funeral arrangements.
She understood instantly, and her Control held, though she said softly, Songmaster Onn, the chance that led you to find her body was cruel, but the chance that brought you to me was madness.
Nevertheless, it is your task.
Then I will do it. But I think I will not be the only one to mourn the fact that for the first time, our custom has failed to choose the one best-suited for that duty.
They were singing to each other, their voices controlled but beautiful with emotions that the children were hardly experienced enough to comprehend.
Our custom has not failed, Onn said, and you will be sure of that in time.
She left her class then, and the students scurried away to tell everyone the news, and all over the Songhouse songs of mourning for Esste began, along with whispers of amazement that Onn was not the successor, that he in fact had for the first time in history chosen a Songmaster for the High Room who was not even a master, who was merely a teacher of Breezes.
Onn and Rruk carefully tended to Esste's body. Naked, the old woman looked incredibly frail, nothing like the image of power she had always presented. But then, she had lived among those to whom the body meant nothing and the voice was the key to what a person was, and by that standard no one more powerful had been known in the Songhouse in many lifetimes. Onn and Rruk sang and talked as they worked, Rruk asking many questions and Onn trying to teach her in a few hours what had taken him many years to learn.
Finally, in frustration, she said, I cannot learn it.
And he answered, I will be here and help you all you need.
She agreed, and so, instead of immediately trying to assert her authority as Songmaster, she began merely as a mouthpiece for Onn's decisions. Such a thing could not be kept hidden, and there were those who thought Onn might have done better to choose them, but that he had chosen Rruk because she was so weak he could rule the Songhouse through her.
Gradually, however, she began to perform her duties alone, and slowly the people of the Songhouse came to realize that she had made them all, somehow, happier; that while the music had not noticeably improved or got worse, the songs had all become somehow happier. She treated all the children with as much respect as due any adult; she treated all the adults with as much patience and love as due any child. And it worked. And when Onn died not too many years afterward, there was no doubt that he had chosen correctly-in fact, there were many who said that chance had been kind to the Songhouse, by making Rruk and not Onn Songmaster in the High Room. For the Songhouse had not lost his expertise, and had gained Rruk's understanding as well.
This is why Rruk was the Songmaster in the High Room when Ansset came home.
3
The doorkeeper did not recognize him, of course. It had been too many years, and though the doorkeeper had been a Groan when Ansset was in Stalls and Chambers, there was no way to connect that aging face and the shock of white hair with the beautiful blond child whose songs had been so pure and high.
But the Songhouse was not unkind, and it was obvious that the old man at the door was not overburdened with wealth-his clothing was simple and he carried no purse and wore no ornaments. He refused to state his business, only that he wanted to see the Songmaster in the High Room, which was out of the question, of course. But as long as he wanted to wait in the door-room, he was welcome to wait, and when the doorkeeper saw that he had brought no food, she led him to the kitchens and let him eat with a group of students from Stalls and Chambers.