"It wouldn't be like Father to hurry on ahead unless everything was all right," he said.
"Sometimes, Robie," she told him, putting her hand under his chin and tipping his face up, "you're too forgiving."
He didn't feel so forgiving when it seemed to take an age for his father to greet his family.
"Trouble on the way, Petiron?" his mother asked, turning from the window and the brilliant sunset.
"Two lame runner-beasts, because they thought to get home faster," he said, swinging saddlebags and instrument case to the bench. "You had the safer way to travel." He came over to her and
gave her a peck on her cheek. "Londik's voice is gone."
"I can sing instead, then," Robinton piped up.
His father, almost as if just realizing his son was in the room too, frowned slightly. "That's as it may be. But it is way past your bedtime, Robinton, and your mother and I have a lot to discuss. Good night."
"And you've no more welcome than that for your son, Petiron?" Merelan asked in such a tense voice that Robie was startled.
"It's all right, Mother. Good night, Father," he said and left, almost running out of the room in his dismay.
"Petiron, how could you?"
Robie shut the door on whatever reply his father made, glad that
he couldn't hear anything through the thick wooden panels. He flung himself on his bed and wished he was back at Benden Hold.
Even Lord Maidir was nicer to him than his father was. Why couldn't he please his own father? What had he done wrong?
Why couldn't he do something right? He probably shouldn't have said that he could take Londik's place. But he could. He knew he could. His mother had said that his voice was every bit as good as Londik's, and he was the better musician. And she didn't just say things like that to make you feel good – not about professional matters.
He muffled the sobs he could not control in his pillow. And when he heard some shouting later, he pulled the pillow over his head and pushed it tight against his ears so that he couldn't hear anything except his own pulse.
He had to audition for the position of solo treble singer in front of all the Masters, which made him a little nervous. The requirement had made his mother furious.
"Are you doubting my professional opinion, Petiron?" she asked when she heard what was proposed. All the windows were open, making it impossible for Robinton to avoid hearing.
"Any singer who is to be a soloist for the Harper Hall has to be auditioned," his father had answered.
"Only if he hasn't been heard by all the Masters before," Merelan had said, tight-voiced.
"I do not wish anyone to think that I am pushing my son into a place that another also qualifies for."
"There is no other treble as qualified! And everyone but you knows very well that Robinton has a splendid treble."
"Then there is no problem in following protocol, is there?"
"Protocol! Protocol? For your own son?"
"Of course. For him more than any other. Surely you can see that, MerelanT
"I wish, Petiron, I do sincerely wish that I could."
Robie had flinched when he heard the outer door slam. He felt his throat tighten, and then reminded himself sternly that he had no time for that right now. He was harper-trained and he'd prove -especially to his father – that he was well trained.
Because he was, of course, facing his auditors, he caught the little reassuring gestures they made, and his mother's encouraging expression as she played the introduction to the music they had decided he should present first. He was to sing two songs, showing off his abilities, an optional piece and then a score he had not seen before.
"That," his mother had said in an odd voice, "is going to be very difficult because he knows all the music."
"There will be one he doesn't know," his father had said, giving his head the one final nod which indicated this subject was closed.
So he sang the Question Song, and that made all the Masters sit up, including his father. But the song suited his range and showed good phrasing as well as voice control, as he let the final note die away without breaking it off.
"Odd choice," was his father's comment after the warm applause had died. Petiron handed him a double sheet. "This would have been Londik's next solo. Not even he has seen it. You may have a few minutes to look through it." He held out his hand to take Merelan's gitar from her and sat on the stool, prepared to accompany his son himself.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Robinton turned his eyes down to his father's bold notations. But by the time he had to turn the page, he felt a surge of relief. If his father thought this would show up his unsuitability, he might even get a pleasant surprise.
"I'm ready," Robie said, turning the music back to the first page.
"You should take more time than that," his father told him.
"I've read it through, Father," Robinton replied. His father didn't know how quickly he memorized music, even the complex tempo Petiron liked to use and the odd intervals he was fond of putting in: "To jar the audience awake," one of the journeymen had said in Robie's hearing.
"Let's not make the lad nervous, Petiron," Master Gennell said. "If he says he's ready, we'll have to take him at his word."
"I'll play the first measure, then go back to the top," Petiron said, as if conferring a special favour.
Robinton saw his mother's warning finger go up, so he said nothing. But he was spot perfect coming in at the top. He didn't need to, but he kept the score in front of his eyes, not wanting to look in his father's direction. He had no trouble singing the unusual intervals, or keeping an accurate tempo, even when it changed almost every other measure. There was one run, which would have suited Londik's flexible voice too, and a trill which Rob had no trouble with either, his mother having used him to show Maizella how to deal with that sort of vocal embellishment.
"I do believe we have a more than adequate replacement for Londik," Master Gennell said, rising and speaking over the applause. "That was very well done, Robie. Surprised you too, didn't he, Petiron? You've been working the lad hard at Benden, Merelan, but it shows. It shows."
Petiron was looking at his son, his mouth slightly open, his right hand silencing the strings of the gitar.
"I do believe, Petiron, that you've forgotten that Robie turned ten while we were in Benden," Merelan said briskly.
"Yes, I had." Petiron rose slowly, putting the gitar carefully back in its case. "But you must read the dynamics of a new piece more carefully, Son. In the fourth measure--"
"Petiron, I don't believe you," Master Gennell said. "The lad did not so much as falter once, singing difficult music – for you don't write any other kind – which he had never seen before, and you're quibbling about the dynamics in one measure?"
"If he is to take Londik's place, he must be accurate in all particulars," Petiron said. "And he will be. From now on, I shall oversee his musical education. There's a lot to be done ..."
"Ah, but you're in error there, my good Petiron," Master Gennell said in his mildest voice, his round face quite bland. "You' – he pointed his finger at the MasterComposer – "teach at journeyman level. We must follow the protocol, you know." And he beamed at a stunned Petiron.
Robinton heard a stifled noise and looked round at his mother, who gave him the oddest smile.
"Robinton is not old enough to be an apprentice, though as our lead treble he is now definitely under Hall jurisdiction. But," Gennell went on in a very satisfied tone, "I think that he would benefit from special lessons with his mother, since obviously Merelan has brought his voice along this far with her usual excellent training." He nodded and bowed to her. "And, of course, he'll continue his regular lessons with Kubisa, for we can't short him on general knowledge and the basics, now can we, simply because he has a splendid treble? You did very well, Robinton." Gennell's beam now included Robinton, and he awarded the boy a proprietary caress on his head and a final decisive pat. "Yes, and I think some of us here – I, certainly – will be more than willing to oversee other elements of his training until he does reach apprentice age." Gennell then sighed abruptly. "Of course, when his voice breaks, we'll just have to see what his other musical qualifications are."