She nodded.
"Why, I do believe the entire Hall could be in on the secret education of our burgeoning young genius ..."
"Genius?" Merelan's hand went to her throat.
"Of course, Robinton's a musical genius and, though I've never encountered one before in my decades here, I can certainly recognize one when I get the chance. Petiron's good, but he is not quite in the same class as his son."
"Oh!" The little exclamation she let slip before she guarded her mouth with her hand was far more eloquent than she intended.
"A child who can tootle that ridiculous little pipe into the sweetest tone and then produce rather sophisticated variations on a simple theme at three Turns is, unquestionably, a genius. And we must all protect him."
"Oh! Protect him? Petiron's not a monster, Washell ..." She shook her head vigorously.
"No, of course he isn't, but he does have rather strong views about his competence and achievements. On the other hand, what else could he expect of a child from such a fine musical background, who is being raised in the Harper Hall with music all around him?"
"Not all the Hall children are musical by virtue of their environment," Merelan said in a droll tone.
"But when one is, as your Robinton, there couldn't be a better environment, and we shall see that the matter is handled as diplomatically and ... kindly as possible. I give you my hand on that, MasterSinger Merelan." He held it out and she took it gladly, the relief– and even her guilt at the promised subterfuge – easily read by Master Washell. "We'll do no more than what the lad is able, and willing, to absorb. Ease him gently' – his thick fingers rippled descriptively – "into the discipline so that when' – and he clapped his hands together – "we suddenly discover that this five– ... maybe six-Turn-old lad is so musically inclined, why, we can be as surprised and delighted as Petiron will be."
"But won't Petiron be at all suspicious when he discovers how much Robie already knows?"
Washell raised his arm in a broad gesture. "Why, the boy absorbed it from his parents, of course. Why would he not, with two such talented musicians?"
"Oh, come now, Washell. Petiron is scarcely stupid ..."
"With musical scores and instruments all around... you'll doubtless mention that you've heard him humming tunes now and then .. on key. That you gave him the little pipe, and a drum, since he begged for them. Bosler will say he only thought to amuse the lad one afternoon while you were busy with rehearsing and taught him how to place his fingers on the gitar strings... It won't be hard to get our MasterArchivist to connive to teach the boy more than his letters ... And we'll all be so amazed that Petiron will have such a student to bring on. He's always better with the quicker students, you know. They don't try his patience the way the younger or slower ones do." Thoroughly pleased with the plot he was spinning, Washell once more patted Merelan's hands reassuringly. Then, abruptly, he pulled the quartet sheet between them. "Beat it out one more time, Merelan, as I sing the bass line. You should--"
The door opened, and there were Petiron and Robinton.
"I really do think, Petiron, that you write some passages just to tease me," she said. "And did you get the plate and pitcher safely down to Lorra, dear?"
"I did, Mother."
"Well, then, off with you, Rob," his father said, giving his son a slight push towards the other room. "Why you should have any trouble with the tempo surprises me, Merelan"
"Because your scribbling is almost unreadable, Petiron," Washell said firmly, his bass voice rumbling in mock rebuke. "See here?" His thick index finger pounded the culprit measure. "One can barely see the dot. No wonder Merelan was having difficulty with the beat when she couldn't even see the dot after the half note. It's clearly marked on my copy, but not on this."
Petiron peered down at the offending score. "It is a little faint at that. Sing it for me." And he gave her the upbeat.
Washell could not resist singing the bass line as Merelan faultlessly sang hers.
"You did help, Wash, thank you so much," she said. "And thank you for bringing along the cakes and klah."
"My pleasure, MasterSinger."
Harper and Healer Halls, allowed young Robie into her classes before his fourth Turn began.
"He's well advanced as far as wanting to learn, Merelan," the woman said. "I could wish half my class were at the same level, but I'll give him little extra musical-type things to do while the others are catching up."
Then there was a morning when Kubisa brought a bloody-nosed, sobbing Robinton back to his mother for aid and comfort.
"Oh, Robie," Merelan said, folding her weeping child in her arms while Kubisa busied herself getting a wet cloth to clean his face.
"They wuz hurting' him," Robie sobbed.
"Hurting who?" Merelan asked, more of Kubisa than her son.
"I'll say this for Robie, he may be young and small, but he knows who needs his protection."
"Who needs it?" his mother asked, carefully mopping away the blood.
"The watch wher," Kubisa said.
Merelan paused, surprised and beginning to feel more pride than concern. The apprentices were not above sticking bright glows into the Harper Hall watchwher's lair to make the light-sensitive creature cry. Or throwing him noxious things, knowing the creature would eat just about anything that came within the range of its
chair. Rob would always run and tell an adult if he saw such antics.
"Were they being mean to the poor beast again?"
Sniffing, he nodded his head up and down. "I made "em stop, but one of "em busted me one."
"So I see," his mother murmured.
"Some of the beastholder children who really ought to know better," Kubisa said. "I'll have a word with their parents, now that I've delivered Rob to you." She patted his head. "I'd pick on someone my size, next time. Or better still, have your father teach you how to duck."
Grinning, she left the apartment.
"I can teach you how to duck, my brave lad," Merelan said, hugging him again, knowing that such training did not fall in Petiron's scope of paternal duties. "I used to be able to beat some of my big brothers and cousins when I got going."
"You?" Robie's eyes widened at the very notion of his mother beating anything, much less big brothers and cousins.
So she gave him his first lesson in hand-to-hand combat, and showed him how best to head-butt an assailant. "It keeps you from having bloody noses, too, if you use your head in a right."
That daily respite of his hours with Kubisa gave Merelan a rest from constantly being alert to intervene between her son and his father. The subterfuge she had to practise was wearing on her nerves. However, she – and Kubisa – could at least honestly report Robie's excellent conduct and progress in school.
"And you're learning all the Teaching Ballads?" Petiron asked absently.
"Yes, and I can prove it." Robinton wanted so desperately to please his father, but he never seemed able to – however hard he tried to be good, obedient, courteous and, most of all, quiet.
Somewhat surprised at his son's tone of voice, Petiron leaned back in his chair. With an indolent and supercilious wave of his hand, he indicated that Robie should perform.
Merelan held her breath, unable to think of a single thing to say to postpone Petiron's discovery of his son's talent.
Robie took a breath – properly, not gasping air into his lungs as so many novices did – and then launched into a note-perfect rendition of the Duty Song. Petiron did look a trifle surprised at the firmness of tone the boy projected in his treble voice. Petiron did beat the time with one finger on the arm-rest, but he listened with a much less disdainful expression on his face.