Masterharper of Pern (6 page)

“Ah!” Lorra pointed a finger at her distraught visitor. “You’ve said it. He
expected
such excellence from his own son! If Robie hadn’t been as accurate and correct as Petiron expected,
then
you’d’ve heard all about it, now wouldn’t you?”

Merelan paused in her pacing and stared at the headwoman. Then, with a rueful laugh, her anger dissipating, she sat herself down in the other comfortable chair, chuckling.

“You’re right, of course. If Robie hadn’t been note-perfect, he would have had to repeat the Duty Song until he was. Oh, by the First Egg, what am I to do? The boy so much needs, and wants, his father’s approval. He’s never, never going to get it.”

“Shouldn’t wonder, since Petiron’s shyer about giving credit where it’s due than any other harper in the Hall. But,” Lorra pointed out, “now you don’t have to fret so much about when Petiron finds out his own son is lengths ahead of him musically.”

Merelan shot Lorra a stunned look.

“Oh, c’mon, Merelan,” Lorra returned, “you know it yourself. The boy’s already more of a musician than apprentices three times his age. I shouldn’t wonder but that he makes journeyman by the time he’s sixteen.”

“A journeyman has to be eighteen . . .” Merelan began in a feeble denial.

“Well, by the time he’s sixteen, we’ll see. Meanwhile, I’d say that after today, you won’t have to watch Robie around his father so carefully. It’ll be easier for Rob, too. It’s obvious to me that Petiron won’t notice much until Robie’s voice breaks and he realizes his ‘infant’ son is nearly a man.”

“Really?” Merelan asked pensively, considering Lorra’s facetious words seriously.

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” Lorra replied with a flick of her fingers. “Now you stop fretting so much. The strain’s coming out in your voice—I’m sorry to mention that to you, but I don’t think anyone else would. Except Petiron, and it’s as well he hasn’t noticed. Or am I overstepping the line?”

“No, you’re not, Lorra. Never.” Merelan hastily laid her hand on Lorra’s plump forearm. “I just didn’t think anyone would notice. I’ve just been vocalizing and tried to go easy on my voice . . .”

“Not easy when you’re in between a rock and a hard place with those two men in your life.” Lorra leaned forward and patted Merelan’s nervously drumming fingers. “I’m not a healer, but a glass of wine would not go amiss right now. For both of us.” She rose and went to the cabinet, taking down a wineskin and two glasses. Merelan waved away the courtesy but Lorra insisted. “There’re a lot of things Petiron won’t notice, including wine on your breath, if that’s what you’re worried about. And right now you need to relax, which is what my herbal cordial will help you do.”

Merelan glanced out of the office at Robie, who was making the girls giggle, his round, happy face smeared with deep purplish berry juice. She settled back, accepting the glass.

“Has Master Gennell told you about the new girl yet?” Lorra asked.

“Halanna?” When Lorra nodded, Merelan went on. “Yes, I’d a letter from the Hold’s harper, Maxilant. He’s done as much as he can with her vocal training and says she’s too good to be messed up by an amateur like himself.” She smiled over Maxilant’s modesty.

“Petiron would be happy to have a good contralto on hand, too,” Lorra said. She sang in that range, though never as a soloist. “Odd, isn’t life? You never really know how things’ll turn out until they do, do you?”

“No, you don’t.” As Merelan sipped, she could feel the cordial seeping down her veins and the knot of tension in her belly beginning to ease.

“She’s of an age with the Hold daughters here, so I’ve placed her with them in the cottage,” Lorra said. “They may be here only until Turnover, but they’ll help her ease into the routine here. It can take a bit of getting used to, can’t it?”

Merelan couldn’t help smiling at Lorra’s use of the word “routine” in connection with the Harper Hall. No two days were ever alike in the fascinating, and sometimes frantic, atmosphere within this rectangle. She did very vividly remember her own first days there and would help young Halanna as much as she could, to become accustomed to the requisite study and practice. In fact, if Lorra was correct about Petiron, and she rather suspected the headwoman was, Merelan herself would welcome having a female student to bring on. She’d have less time to fret herself into stress over all the confrontations she imagined between son and spouse.

CHAPTER III

H
ALANNA ARRIVED, AND
created an instant impression on all who met her of an overly self-confident seventeen-Turn-old young woman who found fault with everything at the Harper Hall, and especially the cottage where she was lodged. She was accustomed to a room of her own, she informed Isla, who acted as foster mother to her charges; she’d never be able to sleep, sharing a room. Why was there so little fresh food to be had when she was used to plenty of fruit? The weather was dreadful and she hadn’t the right clothing, though the three large bundles laboriously taken up by carrier beast from the ship that had delivered her at Fort Hold Harbor contained an immense quantity of clothing. Nor had she sufficient space to arrange half her things in the dinky room she had to share! And where could she practice in peace and quiet with all the instruments and voices blaring constant cacophony into the quadrangle.

The only one who found her at all bearable was Petiron. Once he heard her sing, he dismissed Merelan’s remarks about her lack of discipline and a lack of general information about music that was close to illiteracy. He was jubilant over having a contralto with such a rich timbre and wide range with no “break” whatever. He immediately began to write contralto solos into the Turnover music he was currently composing. He discounted Merelan’s suggestions that the girl would not be able to “read” the contralto line, much less manage the tempi changes or the cadenzas.

Unfortunately, Petiron’s approval merely increased Halanna’s already overbearing manner. Merelan needed all her tact, and the weight of her position as Mastersinger, to get the girl to do the vocalizes that would strengthen her breath control, sustain her range, and prepare her for the rigors of singing Petiron’s sort of vocally extravagant music. That Petiron had also envisaged a soprano/contralto duet did nothing to help Merelan, for it automatically put the girl on a par with a Mastersinger, which Halanna clearly was not, despite an amazing natural voice.

Merelan hadn’t a jealous bone in her body and was quite willing to prepare the girl or remedy the gaps in her education—if Halanna had been the least bit amenable. But the younger singer decided that, if she was good enough to sing a duet with the leading Mastersinger of Pern, she had no need to do such dull exercises and study vocal scores. She sang
loudly,
completely ignoring any dynamic alteration for the appropriate performance of a song or aria, concerned only with showing off the power of her vocal equipment. “Soft” was an unknown quality.

“If she keeps on shrieking like that,” Washell said to Merelan when she approached him for advice on how to deal with Halanna, “she won’t
have
a voice in a couple of Turns. That’ll solve that problem rather neatly, I’d say.”

“Washell!” Merelan was shocked by the acid tone of his voice.

He raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead, and gave her a long look.

“Of course, it’s a lot harder to sing softly, since it requires considerable breath control. I’ve had many difficult students in my life as a teacher, m’dear, but that one is unique in my experience. Whatever was Maxilant thinking of to encourage her to think so highly of her ability?”

“Sheer desperation, I’d imagine,” Merelan replied with understandable disgust. “And a chance to get her out of his hair.”

“You may be right. Though how he could let her get away with so
little
fundamental understanding of note values is really beyond me.”

“And quite possibly beyond Halanna,” Merelan added. They exchanged understanding grins.

“Let Petiron handle this one, m’dear,” Washell said, winking. “He won’t like her messing up his music, you know.”

“There is that,” Merelan mused, and then grimaced. “Only he’s likely to find me lacking as an instructor. And I’m not!” she added with a touch of desperate anger in her voice.

“By no means, m’dear, as everyone else in the Hall will vouch.” Washell patted her arm. Then he paused, thinking. “There may be another way. We’ll contrive. Just you wait and see.”

Many of the masters, and even journeymen, at the Harper Hall were eccentric in one fashion or another, traits that were respected or, sometimes, endured as a necessary evil. But they had all put in the essential work to master the basic mechanics of music. Halanna could not be bothered with such slogging. Merelan kept at it, as obstinate in her attempts to instruct Halanna as the girl was to avoid such lessons.

Halanna was an accomplished flirt, and quickly isolated those whom she would favor—because of their rank, either within the Hall, or from prestigious holds. She chose only the attractive journeymen and masters, of whom there were quite a few just then, back at the Hall either for reassignment or to take part in the Turnover rehearsals. Not only did she have a voice, even her worst enemies had to admit that she was a beauty. Blond hair bleached almost silver by the sun of Ista, a flawless tan that accentuated her light green eyes and white, even teeth, a figure more mature than that of most girls her age—and she knew far more than she ought of how to flaunt her sensuality. She did not obey the cottage keeper’s basic rules, deciding they were for children and not the daughter of a holder, though all the other boarders were the same rank, and some more prestigious than hers. She was caught time and again sneaking in late at night.

Then Halanna took a dislike to Robinton.

Merelan conducted her voice lessons in her own quarters, as they were spacious enough and offered some privacy. Right now, preparing for the Turnover celebrations, she was coaching quite a few students and often had to schedule them when Robie was not in the Hall nursery school. He had always played quite happily and quietly in the other room. Halanna said his very presence so close to her was distracting, even with the connecting door closed, and she hated anyone to overhear her lessons.

That was too much for Merelan. Nor was that an excuse to find favor with Petiron, who was busy dreaming of the success of his new composition.

“Since it
is
so important to you, love,” Merelan said from behind gritted teeth, “I really think you ought to take over her coaching. As you may have observed,” she added, knowing perfectly well that he hadn’t, “she will probably do better with a male coach. I’ve already more than I can handle with the secondary parts.”

“But I can’t teach her what you can,” Petiron protested in surprise. Merelan was, in his estimation, much the better vocal coach, and he couldn’t quite understand how she was having difficulties with a voice as fine as Halanna’s. “You’re not annoyed that I’ve written in a duet for you to sing with her?”

“Me? No, why should I be? She has a magnificent voice, but she’s a little shy on technique and I know she’ll respond better to your comments.”

Petiron was not at all sure of that, but there was something about Merelan’s attitude that made him keep his private views to himself. He anticipated no trouble at all.

“She’s a musical
idiot
!” he railed when he returned from her first lesson with him. “Haven’t you been able to teach her
anything
in the full month she’s been here?”

“No,” Merelan said quietly, and pointed to the closed door where Robinton was taking a nap.

“But she can’t even read notes, even when I beat out the tempo for her. Nor is she able to maintain pitch when I change signatures. She expects me—me—” And Petiron laid an eloquent hand on his chest. “—to teach her the entire score by rote. Could Maxilant have done that with her?” he inquired in a petulant tone.

“I believe Maxilant only raved on about her beautiful voice, love, and said nothing about the lacks in her general musical education.” Merelan spoke as levelly as she could, having great difficulty masking her inner jubilation.

“She wouldn’t vocalize to warm her voice and told me”—Petiron swung on his spouse—“that you didn’t bother . . .”

“I didn’t ‘bother’ because I could never get her to see the necessity, Petiron,” she replied with considerable vehemence. “Washell is of the opinion that if she continues to sing
in alt
for another few years, she won’t be able to squeak.”

Petiron recoiled in surprise at his gentle spouse’s critical remark.

“No wonder you were so eager for me to coach her,” he said almost sullenly.

“If you can’t, no one in this Hall will be able to,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye. “She might believe you, where she’s certain I’m jealous of your interest in her.”

Petiron scowled. “Aren’t you?”

Merelan laughed. “My love, I wouldn’t be that child for all the diamonds on Ista’s beaches. Washell’s right, you know. She won’t have a voice left if she keeps on this way.”

“He is right,” Petiron admitted and scowled more deeply. “Well, she is
not
—” He paused dramatically. “—ruining either the duet or the aria. I shall make some changes in both that will put the music at a level she should be able to sing.”

Merelan merely nodded.

When Petiron held his next session with Halanna, she was so insulted that she tried to walk out on him. The argument that ensued was heard by nearly everyone on the quadrangle as the two voices, one baritone and one contralto, rose in volume and piercing clarity.

“You can’t do that!” Halanna began, an astonished screech in her voice.

“Oh, yes I can! You’re incapable of singing what I wrote.”

“Incapable? How dare you?”

“How dare you address a master in such a tone, young woman! I don’t know what Maxilant taught you, but it wasn’t manners and it certainly wasn’t how to read a simple score.”

“Simple score? You’re notorious all over Pern for the complexity of your music. I never hear anyone singing what
you
write. No one can!”

“The first-year apprentices have no trouble. But then, they can read music and know the value of the notes they’re singing.”

“I do, too, know how to read music.”

“Then prove it.”

“No!”

“You will sing.”

“You can’t force me!”

Many allowed as how they had heard the crack of flesh hitting flesh. And it was true that the right side of Halanna’s face was darker than the left when she was finally allowed to leave the studio. But she did begin to sing in a much muted voice. And she continued to sing the music as written until she did so correctly, sometimes until she was hoarse.

“I hope he didn’t push her too far,” Merelan murmured to Washell.

“Perhaps it might be better for all of us if he did,” he replied uncharitably.

After that session, Halanna hurried out of the studio and disappeared. She was seen a little later on her way across the great Fort Hold courtyard to the cottage, where she slammed and bolted the door of the room she still shared.

What they didn’t realize, until the next morning, was that she had bribed a drum heights apprentice to send an urgent message to her father, Halibran, saying she was being abused. Petiron admitted that he had slapped her, to stop her hysterical ranting—to which everyone in the Hall had been audience. Any master was permitted to chastise a student for inattention or failure to learn assigned lessons.

When MasterHarper Gennell and Journeywoman Healer Betrice interviewed her about the impropriety of her action, not to mention the content of the message, she was defiantly tearful.

“No one understands me in this place. I’m being humiliated at every turn, and I had expected so much from you!” she said. “So much, and you’re like everyone else after all!”

Betrice later told Merelan she almost laughed out loud at such a performance.

“No one has humiliated you, young woman,” Gennell replied, as stern as Betrice had ever seen him. “You were welcomed, and the very best instructors assigned. You have been paid a high compliment by Master Petiron, who wrote a part especially to show off your voice—scarcely a humiliation, but an honor you seem unable to appreciate. You will apologize to Master Petiron for your unresponsiveness—”

“Apologize?” Halanna rose from the stool in amazement. “I am the daughter of a holder, and I apologize to no one. He’s to apologize for slapping me, or—”

“That’s enough out of you,” Gennell said, and turned to his spouse. “She’s to be quartered in an appropriate room and given only basic rations.”

That was more easily said than done. It took Gennell, Betrice, and Lorra to get her, screeching and struggling, up to the third story of the Harper Hall to one of the spare rooms used by messengers or overflow guests. She refused to eat the food supplied at mealtimes and actually emptied the first three pitchers of water until her thirst got the better of her histrionics. Since it took nearly six days before her clandestine message brought results, she got hungry enough to devour what she was given, though she refused to apologize or promise to remedy her attitude. Such interviews usually resulted in her hurling threats and promises of just retribution at those trying to talk sense into her. Even Masterhealer Ginia had no luck in trying to talk sense into the girl.

The sentry on the Fort Hold eastern tower spotted the ten armed men racing up the harbor road and blew the alarm, alerting both Lord Grogellan and the Harper Hall. Having been informed of the illegal drum message, Grogellan assembled a larger force from his sons, nephews, and armsmen to meet the newcomers just as they turned into the Harper Hall quadrangle. Master Gennell, Betrice, Ginia, Petiron, and Merelan were waiting on the broad steps, and every apprentice, journeyman, and master had found some vantage point from which to view the confrontation.

As Halibran and his troop halted their runners, he had no trouble locating his “abused” daughter, screeching at the top of her lungs from an upper window.

“She’s been at it again, Father,” one of Halibran’s riders said in disgust. “She was the one abusing, I’ve no doubt.” The resemblance to his sister was obvious and he was not the only young blond male in the group with a similar cast of countenance.

Halibran, dismounting, waved the young man to hold his tongue. Not a major holder, though a wealthy one from the produce of his lands and the mines under them, he had none of his daughter’s arrogance as he mounted the steps and held out his hand to the MasterHarper.