Masterharper of Pern (11 page)

“Will it do?” Falloner asked, cocking his head, obviously amused by Robinton’s goggle-eyed inspection.

“Mother will certainly like it. She loves dark red things.”

Then they heard voices in the hall, and the others arrived. Nodding in surprise to see that the two lads had arrived so quickly, Lady Hayara gestured for Merelan to precede her into the room.

“We even have a bathtub, Mother,” Robinton exclaimed. “Over my head, at least!”

Merelan laughed at him, but behind her Maizella raised her eyebrows contemptuously. Robinton was about to bristle when Falloner winked at him, reminding him of what he’d said about the girl a few minutes before.

“More high than wide like ours at the Hall,” he added defensively.

“We tap into the Weyr’s heat source here at the Hold,” Lady Hayara said, “which is such a blessing. So many holds have to heat bathing water. I do hope you’ll be comfortable, Merelan,” she added as she led the way to the larger bedroom. “I think there’s enough room for a small bed in here, if you’d rather your son sleeps—”

“Goodness me,” Merelan said with a laugh, “Robinton’s much too big a lad not to have his own room.”

Robinton wanted to put his tongue out at Maizella for the haughty expression on her face, but he knew his mother wouldn’t like him to. She reminded him of Halanna, and he really didn’t need to have to deal with another Halanna disliking him.

“Well, we’ll let you get settled in then. Come on, children, you can make friends at suppertime,” Lady Hayara said, resettling the child she carried in her arms as she gestured for the others to clear out. “Ah, I see there’s a tray for you since I know you’ve missed your usual lunchtime coming here. We’ll be eating in another two hours, you know, what with the time difference coming east and all.”

Merelan smiled her gratitude and escorted her hostess to the door, the rest of the children following. When they were gone, she turned to Robie.

“Well!” she said with a big sigh, and then she smiled—a sad sort of smile—at her son. “Let me see your room, love.”

“It’s a lot like mine at the Hall, Mother . . .” And Robinton trailed off, the sadness in her smile suggesting he’d better not ask
why
they had left so abruptly and with no warning.

Though he did not follow her, his mother did look into his room in a perfunctory fashion.

“Did you and Falloner make friends on your way up?” she asked, wandering about the living room and touching this and that.

“He’s weyrbred,” Robinton replied, still somewhat awed.

“Yes, he is. And I hope he’s as eager to learn as the others. That’s why I’m here.” And then she sat down in a chair and burst into tears.

Robinton rushed to her side, patting her arm and stroking her hair. His mother rarely cried. She hugged him to her, her tears soaking his shirt, but he knew only to hold on to her and repeat that they’d be fine, they were together, and Benden Hold seemed nice and the Lord Holders were so friendly and wanted them here.

“Yes, they do want us here, don’t they?” she said finally, giving herself a little shake and sitting up straight. “I’m sorry to have sprung this on you so abruptly, Robie, but Lord Maidir’s been after me to come and teach music to these very promising youngsters. Suddenly, I thought it might be a good idea for both of us to take a break from the Hall. Master Gennell thought so, too, and urged me to take the posting. And there was the dragon . . .”

“Spakinth is his name,” Robinton said when she paused.

She smiled through the last of her tears. “How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“C’rob told you?”

“No, Spakinth.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You can hear dragons?”

“Well, when they want me to, I do.”

“Oh, Robie!” She embraced him tightly. “Not many do. It might even mean you’d Impress, and
that
would solve everything.” She spoke the last over his shoulder as if more to herself than to him.

“But I could still be a harper, couldn’t I?” He hadn’t had a definitive answer to that question from the dragons. Maybe his mother would know.

“I think that depends on many things,” she said, drying her eyes, and suddenly she seemed more like herself. “Like if there’s a clutch when you’re the right age. Dragons don’t have as many eggs during an Interval, you see, and you’re only Impressionable until you’re twenty, and the weyrbred have preference. At least, you’ll get to understand more about the Weyrs, and that’s all to the good.”

Again her remark was not meant for him, but he didn’t mind because he’d like to know more about the Weyrs. The abandoned Fort Weyr was forbidden by order of Lord Grogellan. That might have been one reason why every boy had to go up there alone for a night when he turned twelve, or he’d be considered cowardly.

“Will I be able to visit the Weyr?” Robinton asked eagerly. That way, he’d know what a Weyr was like, and then an empty one wouldn’t be as scary.

“I think that’s likely. One of the reasons I’m here is to help C’gan, their current Weyrsinger. He desperately wants more training.” His mother gave a little laugh. “I’ll be so busy I won’t—” She broke off and stood up. “Well, let’s get ourselves settled in, shall we? Or are you hungry enough to sample what’s here?”

Robinton spotted the large selection of sweet biscuits and pointed.

“Well, just two of them, so as not to spoil your appetite. I’ll have one, too—they smell so good. Fresh . . . every bit as good as Lorra makes.” And she chattered away as she insisted on helping him put his things away. “I didn’t want to overload the dragon,” she said, “so I didn’t bring everything you own, love, but your newest drum and pipes . . . we’ve my gitar to practice on, and maybe we can get enough wood for you to start your own, because I know Master Bosler said you could start preparing the wood, which takes most of the time it takes to make a gitar, you know. I’m sure we can find gut for strings when it comes time to do that step. And your new Gather clothes, because they entertain quite a bit here at Benden, Lord Maidir and Lady Hayara being so popular on this coast. There’s a schoolroom, too, so we’ll just leave these in the carisak now, shall we? Now, that’s done and you can help me.”

As he did, Robinton knew that his mother hadn’t brought many of her own clothes. Only one Gather dress and one of the long, fine dresses she’d use when she gave concerts. And while she had lots of new musical scores, mainly the ones she’d teach from, there was nothing in his father’s familiar broad script. That was odd. His stomach felt a little queasy suddenly, and it wasn’t from eating the sweet biscuits.

“Mother, will Father come visit us?”

She paused, her back to him at that moment, and slowly turned, her expression unusually bleak.

“That will be up to your father, Robinton,” she said, and turned back to fuss with the things in the top drawer of the chest. “Likely he’ll come to the Spring Gather here at Benden,” she added in a totally different tone of voice, as if it made no difference to her at all. “Now, let’s wash up, shall we? I think that soon enough it’ll be time to eat.” She gestured toward the fading light and then pulled the heavy drapes across each of the narrow windows, as if shutting out more than the end of this day.

At dinner that night, Robinton had a place with the Hold children. It was a crowded table for his age-group—he counted twenty-four—but Falloner had held a place for Robinton beside him.

“No, you got to take his things up,” one of the Holder boys said, rushing to crowd into the space on Robinton’s right. “Mother said we’ve all got to make him feel at home, and you had your chance.”

“Rob and I are buddies,” Falloner said loftily, “but you can sit on the other side, Hayon. He’s Lady Hayara’s oldest son,” he added and started naming everyone at their end of the table. “Rasa’s beside him, then there’s Naprila, Anta, Jonno, and Drevalla on the other side.”

Robinton had a moment to glance up at the head table where his mother sat beside Lord Maidir, with Raid on her other side and Maizella by her stepmother.

“They got graduated off the younglings’ table last year,” Falloner said with a sniff. He took the bread and board from the serving drudge and started cutting neat slices from the loaf, flipping them from the knife point up and down this end of the table until everyone had a piece. “Stew, I betcha,” he added. His bet was a fair one, because the next thing to come was a big pot.

“My turn,” Anta said, standing up and grabbing the ladle before he could.

“Fair enough, only don’t slop,” he said, sitting down again and shoving a friendly elbow into Robinton’s side as he grinned.

The upper table was not receiving stew, Robinton noted, but bowls of soup first and then slices of what looked like wherry, sauces, dishes of vegetables, and individual loaves of bread. He also noticed that his mother was mushing her food around her plate instead of eating, although she was talking to both father and son and seemed her usual self. Except she didn’t smile as much as she usually did at the head table in the Harper Hall. He didn’t hear her laugh once. The stew was good, and so was the bread, and he was hungry. And the “afters” served at their table were small cakes and fruit that disappeared with amazing rapidity, though Robinton didn’t see them all eaten at the table. Maybe his mother was getting special treatment what with her being Mastersinger, which he felt was only right and proper. Especially as he was getting specials, too.

His mother sang, too, after the head table finished eating. And there were good voices joining in the choruses, so he wondered why Benden Hold would need a Mastersinger of his mother’s standing. A good journeyman would have done as well. No, she was also here to teach Maizella. Robinton wrinkled his nose: It was obvious from the loud way the girl was singing that she thought her voice was good. It wasn’t bad, he had to admit, but she didn’t need to shriek and she hadn’t much breath control.

His mother sang only four songs, though, and smiled and nodded encouragingly when instruments appeared and she gestured for the musicians to come forward into a unit closer to the head table. There were two gitarists, a tall, pale older man and a younger one who looked enough like the older to be son or nephew; one violinist who played with his instrument held on his knee instead of under his chin, but his fingering was very good; a woman playing flute; two pipers, both young; and a drummer who had the sense to keep to a mute beat. Of course, when Merelan gestured encouragingly, the rest of the Hold sang the choruses to her first song. The harmonies weren’t bad either, Robinton decided, though he didn’t sing out as he would have done back in the Hall. Falloner sang lustily in a good strong alto treble, however, as did all the other younglings at the table—showing off to him, probably, but Robinton was used to the way new-come apprentices to the Harper Hall acted, so he pretended not to notice.

“It doesn’t cost any marks to be gracious, no matter where you are or what you’re doing,” his mother was always saying. “No singer of a professional caliber would think of drowning out other singers” was another point she often made. Especially when she had been having all that trouble with Halanna. He hoped Maizella wouldn’t be as difficult.

Although he knew all the words, Robinton didn’t sing along with her in the new song she presented as her final one of this evening. Then she sweetly begged to be excused for such a short program, but she promised she would be more forthcoming when she’d caught up with Benden time.

She sat down to very enthusiastic applause and shouting.

Falloner then nudged Robinton and rose. “Can you find your way back to your room, Rob?” he asked. “That was the signal for us to get out of the Hall and let the adults have it to themselves.”

Lady Hayara had risen, too, and gestured toward the younglings so that they all obediently rose and started to leave the Hall. His mother caught his eye and motioned him to wait for her.

“I’ll go up with Mother,” Rob said, though he would have liked more time to ask Falloner questions.

“You’re lucky,” Falloner said under his breath. “A room of your own. I have to sleep in with a half a dozen. Oh, well, I did at the Weyr, too,” he added in a philosophical tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I ’spect.”

“Thanks, Falloner,” Robinton said, a little shy but meaning his thanks. Falloner grinned a response as he started herding some of the younger ones ahead of him toward the inner staircase.

Robinton never did find out from his mother the real reason for their precipitous departure from the Harper Hall, but he did learn that no one at Benden Hold had ever expected the famous Mastersinger to come there. And because she curbed the loudness of Maizella’s rather good basic voice, she was very welcome indeed, not just by the girl’s disenchanted half brothers and sisters, but by many of the adults who resided in the Hold. Lord Maidir was a good man, and generally fair, but he adored his daughter, Maizella, who at sixteen hadn’t the wisdom or common sense that characterized her brother, Raid. Robie found him a bit stuffy and prim, but Raid had inherited his father’s sense of fair play and would take criticism from any of the more senior members of the large group of people who managed the big Holding. Unlike his sister, he was popular. And there was a discreet understanding that Hayon, Rasa, and Naprila, the older of Lady Hayara’s children, were to be protected from Maizella, who either teased them outrageously or ignored them as the fancy took her.

Inured to such tactics as Robinton was, having survived Halanna’s antics, he learned to smile and keep his tongue in his mouth. He had a sort of revenge a little later when his mother required Maizella to sing duets with him. He knew he had a good treble voice and had been more than adequately trained by Washell as well as his mother. In fact, he would have stepped into Londik’s place as senior boy soprano when Londik’s voice changed, but he’d also observed what happened to apprentices who flaunted their prowess. Besides which, his mother wouldn’t have stood for such behavior from him for one moment longer than it took to twist his ear to remind him to keep his place.

Dealing with Halanna had also taught Merelan a trick or two about overdeveloped conceits.