Dragonsinger (15 page)

‘I did, sir. They’re fine.’

‘Come this way, then, step lively now … if you can …’ Domick said, frowning as he belatedly recalled her disability.

‘My feet are nearly as good as new now, sir,’ she told him.

‘Well, you’re not to run any races with Thread today, hear?’

Menolly wasn’t certain, as she followed the three men into the study, if Domick were teasing her or not. He sounded so sour, it was difficult to tell, but Sebell caught her eye and winked.

Domick’s study, well-lit by huge baskets of glows, was dominated by the biggest sandtable Menolly had ever seen, with all its spaces glass-covered, though she politely averted her eyes from the inscriptions. Domick might not like people peering at his music. The shelves were jammed with loose record hides, and thin, white-bleached sheets of some substance evenly cut along the edges. She tried to get a closer look at them, but Master Domick called her to attention by telling her to take the middle stool.

Sebell and Talmor were already settling themselves before the music rack and tuning their instruments.
So
she took her place and cast a quick glance at the music before them. With a thrill of surprise, she saw that it was for four instruments, and no easy read.

‘You’re to play second gitar, Menolly,’ Domick said, with the smile of one who is conferring a favour. He picked up a metal pipe with finger stops, one of the flutes that Petiron had told her were used by more accomplished pipers. She politely suppressed her curiosity, but she couldn’t control her delighted surprise when Domick ran a test scale. It sounded like a fire lizard’s voice.

‘You’ll need to look through the music,’ he said, observing her interest.

‘I will?’

Master Domick cleared his throat. ‘It
is
customary with music you’ve never seen before.’ He tapped the music with his pipe. ‘That,’ and his tone was very acid, ‘is no children’s exercise. Despite your display for Talmor yesterday, you will not find this easy to read.’

Rebuked, she skimmed the music, trying an alternative chording in one measure to see which would be easier on her hand at that tempo. The complexity of the chording was so fascinating that she forgot she was keeping three harpers waiting. ‘I beg your pardon.’ She turned the music back to the beginning and looked at Domick for him to give them the beat.

‘You’re ready?’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Sir?’

‘Very well, young woman, at the beat,’ and Domick sternly tapped out the time with a strong stamp.

It had been fun, always, for Menolly to play with Petiron, particularly when he let her improvise around his melody. It had been a pleasure yesterday to see new music in Talmor’s lesson, but now, the
stimulation
of playing with three keen and competent musicians gave her such impulsion that she seemed to be an irrelevant medium for fingers that had to play what her eager eyes saw. She was lost completely in the thrall of the music, so that when the rushing finale ended, she suffered a shock as keen as pain.

‘Oh, that was marvellous. Could we play it again?’

Talmor burst out laughing, Domick stared at her, and Sebell covered his eyes with his hands as he bowed his head over his harp.

‘I didn’t believe you, Talmor,’ Domick said, shaking his head. ‘And I’d played with her myself. True, only basic things. I didn’t think she was up to any demanding standard.’

Menolly inhaled sharply, worried that she had somehow erred, as she had with the girls the previous day.

‘And I know,’ Domick went on in that tight, dry tone, ‘that you can’t ever have seen that piece of music before …’

Menolly stared at the Master. ‘It was fascinating. The interweaving of melody from flute to harp and gitar. I’m sorry about this section,’ and she flipped back the sheets. ‘I should have used your chords but my hand …’

Domick stared at her until her voice trailed off. ‘Did Sebell warn you what would happen this morning?’

‘No, sir, only to say that I mustn’t fail to come today.’

‘Enough, Domick. The child’s worried sick that she’s done something wrong. Well, you haven’t, Menolly,’ Talmor said, patting her hand encouragingly. ‘You see,’ he went on, glaring in a good-natured fashion at Domick, ‘he just finished writing it. You’ve played the fingers off Sebell and me. Domick’s panting for breath. And you’ve managed to plow through one
of
Domick’s torturous inventions with … well, I did hear one faulty chording besides the one you just pointed out, but, as you say, your hand …’

Now Sebell lifted his head, and Menolly stared at him because his eyes were overflowing with tears. But at the same time, he was laughing! Convulsed with mirth he wagged an impotent finger at Domick, unable to speak.

Domick batted irritably at Sebell’s hand and glared at both journeymen. ‘That’s enough. All right, so the joke’s on me, but you’ll have to admit that there was good precedent for my skepticism. Anyone can play solo …’ He turned on the bewildered Menolly. ‘Did you play a great deal with Petiron? Or any of the other musicians at Half-Circle?’

‘There
was
only Petiron who could play properly. Fishing leaves a man’s hands too stiff for any fine music.’ She flicked a glance at Sebell. ‘There were a few drummers and stick-men …’

Her reply set Sebell laughing again. He hadn’t seemed the sort, Menolly thought, being so calm and quiet. To be sure he was laughing without roaring but …

‘Suppose you tell me exactly what you did do at Half-Circle Sea Hold, Menolly. Musically, that is. Master Robinton’s been too busy to confer with me at any length.’

Domick’s words implied that he had the right to know whatever it was she might tell Master Robinton, and she saw Sebell nodding his head in permission. So she thought for a moment. Would it be proper, now, to tell the harpers that she had taught the children after Petiron had died and before the new Harper had come? Yes, because Harper Elgion must have told Master Robinton, and
he
hadn’t chided her for stepping into a man’s duties. Further, Master Domick had
taunted
her with telling the truth once before. Rather than antagonize him for any reason, she had best be candid now. So she spoke of her situation at Half-Circle Sea Hold: how Petiron had singled her out when she was old enough to learn her Teaching Ballads and Sagas. He had taught her to play gitar and harp, ‘to help with the teaching,’ she assured her listeners, ‘and with the evening singing,’ Domick nodded. And how Petiron had shown her all the music he had, ‘but he’d only three pieces of occasional music because he said there wasn’t need for more. Yanus, the Sea Holder, wanted music to sing to, not listen to.’

‘Naturally,’ Domick replied, nodding again.

And Petiron had taught her how to cut and hole reeds to make pipes, to stretch skin on drum frames, large and small, the principles involved in making a gitar or small harp, but there was no hardwood in the Sea Hold for another harp, and no real need for Menolly to have either harp or gitar. Two Turns ago, however, she’d had to take over the playing of the Teaching because Petiron’s hands had become crippled with the knuckle disease. And then, of course, and now Menolly felt the lump of grief rising in her throat, she’d done all the teaching when Petiron had died because Yanus realized that the young must be kept up in their Teaching Ballads and Songs since he knew his duty to the Weyr, and she was the only person in the Hold who could be spared from the fishing.

‘Of course,’ Domick had said. ‘And when you cut your hand?’

‘Oh, the new Harper, Elgion, had arrived so I … wasn’t required to play any more. And beside,’ she held her hand up explanatorily, ‘it was thought I’d never be able to play again.’

She wasn’t conscious of the silence at first, her head bent, her eyes on her hand, rubbing the scar with her
right
thumb, because the intensive playing had caused it to ache again.

‘When Petiron was here at the Hold, there was no finer musician, no better instructor,’ Master Domick said quietly. ‘I had the good fortune to be his apprentice. You’ve no need ever to be ashamed of your playing …’

‘Or of your joy in music,’ Sebell added, no laughter in his eyes now as he leaned towards her.

Joy in music!
His words were like a release. How could he have known so acutely!

‘Now that you’re at the Harper Hall, Menolly, what would you like best to do?’ Master Domick asked her, his tone so casual, so neutral that Menolly couldn’t think what answer he expected of her.

Joy in music
. How could she express that? In writing the kind of songs Master Robinton needed? How would she know what he needed? And hadn’t Talmor said that Domick had composed the magnificent quartet they had just played? Why did Master Robinton need another composer if he already had Domick in the Hall?

‘You mean, play or sing, or teach?’

Master Domick widened his eyes and regarded her with a half-smile. ‘If that’s what you wish?’

‘I’m here to learn, aren’t I?’ She avoided his taunt.

Domick acknowledged that that was true enough.

‘So I’ll learn the things I haven’t had the chance to learn before because Petiron told me there were a lot of things he couldn’t teach me. Like how to use my voice properly. That’s going to take a lot of hard work with Master Shonagar. He only lets me breathe and sing five-note scales …’ Talmor grinned so broadly at her, his eyes dancing as if he knew so exactly her feelings that she took encouragement from him. ‘I’d really love …’ Then she hesitated because of what
Domick
might say and she dreaded his clever-edged tongue.

‘What do you really want, Menolly?’ asked Sebell kindly.

‘You’re frightening her, Domick,’ Talmor said at the same time.

‘Nonsense, are you frightened of me, Menolly?’ He sounded surprised. ‘It’s having to train idiots that sours me, Menolly,’ said Master Domick, but his voice was suddenly gentler. ‘Now tell
me
what facet of music appeals to you most?’

He caught her gaze and would not release her eyes, but his phrasing had given her the answer.

‘What appeals to me most? Why, playing like this, in a group.’ She got the words out in a rush, gesturing at the rack in front of her. ‘It’s so beautiful. It’s such a challenge, to hear the interweaving harmonies and the melody line changing from instrument to instrument. I felt as if I was … was flying on a dragon!’

Domick looked startled and blinked, a slow pleased smile lighting his otherwise dour face.

‘She means it, Domick,’ Talmor said in the pause that followed.

‘Oh, I do. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever played. Only …’

‘Only what?’ urged Talmor when she faltered.

‘I didn’t play it right. I should have studied the music longer before I started playing because I was so busy watching the notes and time changes that I didn’t, I couldn’t, follow the dynamic markings … I
am
sorry.’

Domick brought his hand against his forehead in an exasperated smack. Sebell dissolved again into his quiet laughter. But Talmor just howled, slapping his knee and pointing at Domick.

‘In that case, Menolly, we will play it again,’
Domick
said, raising his voice to drown the amusement of the others. ‘And this time …’ he frowned at Menolly, an expression which no longer distressed her because she knew that she had touched him, ‘watching those dynamic signs, which I put in for very good reason. Now, on the beat …’

They did not play the music through. Domick stopped them, time and again, insisting on a retard here, a variation of the designated time here, a better balance of the instruments in another section. In some respects, this was as satisfying as playing for Menolly, since Domick’s comments gave her insights to the music as well as its composer. Sebell had been right about her studying with Domick. She had a lot to learn from a man who could write music like this, pure music.

Then Talmor began to argue interpretation with Domick, an argument cut short by the eerie sound that began softly and increased in volume and intensity so that it was almost unbearable in the close room. Abruptly her fire lizards appeared.

‘How did they get in here like that?’ Talmor demanded, hunching his shoulders to protect his head as the study got overcrowded with nervous fire lizards.

‘They’re like dragons, you know,’ Sebell said, equally wary of claw and wing.

‘Tell those creatures to settle down, Menolly,’ commanded Domick.

‘The noise bothers them.’

‘That’s only the Threadfall alarm,’ said Domick, but the men were putting down their instruments.

Menolly called her fire lizards to order, and they settled on the shelves, their eyes wheeling with alarm.

‘Wait here, Menolly,’ Domick said as he and the others made for the door. ‘We’ll be back. That is, I will …’

‘And I,’ ‘I, too,’ said the others, and then they all stamped out of the room.

Menolly sat uneasily, aware that the Hall was preparing for Threadfall, as she had prepared for the menace all her conscious years. She heard racing feet in the corridors, for the door was half ajar. Then the clanging of shutters, the squeal of metal, many shouts and a gradual compression of air in the room. The sudden throb as the great ventilating fans of the Hall were set into motion for the duration of Threadfall. Once again, she found herself wishing to be back in the safety of her seaside cave. She had always hated being closed in at Half-Circle Sea Hold during Threadfall. There never seemed to be enough air to breathe during those fear-filled times. The cave, safe but with a reassuringly clear view of the sea, had been a perfect compromise between security and convention.

Beauty chirped enquiringly and then sprang from the shelf to Menolly’s shoulder. She wasn’t nervous at being closed in, but she was very much aware of Thread’s imminence, her slim body taut, her eyes whirling.

The clatter and clangs, the shouts and stampings ceased. Menolly heard the low murmur of men’s voices on the steps as Domick and the two journeymen returned.

‘Granted that your left hand won’t do octave stretches yet,’ Domick said, addressing Menolly but more as if he were continuing a conversation begun with the two journeymen, ‘how much harp instruction did Petiron give you?’