Chapter 3
Some of the candidates were also helping to bag firestone; and one of the lads, a thin undersized boy, scarcely looking the minimum twelve turns, tentatively approached T'rin.
"J-journeyman, I heard you're taking candidate Mira as an apprentice" he ventured, looking almost overwhelmed by his own temerity.
T'rin raised an eyebrow; and nodded. Really, he thought, news in a weyr spread faster than among Harper apprentices – dragonmen were a bunch of gossipy old women!
The boy swallowed, and went on.
"Would – would it be presumptuous to ask if you would hear me play? My – my hands aren't fully healed yet but…."
He faltered to a stop as T'rin took his grimy hands and examined them.
The weals across the boy's palms were nasty; and T'rin's mouth tightened.
"Have you seen Calla?" he asked brusquely.
The boy shook his head.
"No sir."
"Why by The Red Star not?" demanded T'rin, regardless of Prism's squawk of outrage as the mention of that dread planet sent her between momentarily in fright "R'gar!" he called; and the crusty, one-eyed Weyrlingmaster came over quickly.
Silently T'rin displayed the boy's hands to him.
R'gar frowned; and the lad looked even more terrified.
"Why did you not show this to me?" demanded R'gar. "You should not be doing a dirty job like this. And you should have dressings on those welts. Who has hurt you like this?"
The boy's eyes welled tears.
"It was punishment" he whispered, gazing half fearfully half worshipfully at T'rin.
"Punishment? For what? By whom?" asked the young harper.
The boy hung his head.
"My father. He – he caught me with the gitar. I – I'd been making up tunes again."
"You make tunes?" T'rin asked interested.
Two big tears welled out.
"I – I'm sorry, but I just can't help it!" he managed. "They – they just come into my head!"
T'rin stared, baffled.
"You speak as though it were a crime, lad, not the thing to be proud of that it is!" he said.
R'gar cleared his throat.
"Menolly" he said laconically. "Remember her story? Or maybe you never heard it. M'gol was at Benden when she outran Thread. She was punished for tuning. Son, are you a fisherboy?"
The lad nodded.
"HHRMPH!" commented R'gar "get that boy seen to, T'rin, and take him under your wing."
Journeyman Harper T'rin grinned.
"Yes father" he said, meekly, and led the small boy firmly across the Bowl.
"He – the Weyrlingmaster – is your father?" whispered his charge.
"My foster father. My own is dead. He was a weaver. But R'gar has been all to me and more than any real father could" the note of pride he could not suppress crept into his voice. T'rin thought R'gar was the best!
The boy tried to hide his surprise that anyone should hold their father in any degree of affection; T'rin reflected that it would take him time to see how loving families could work, but that he'd soon see enough around the weyr.
"So, what is your name and where are you from?" the harper asked conversationally.
"My name is Lyseder. Do I have to tell you where I'm from?" he asked fearfully. T'rin shrugged.
"I guess not, if it really bothers you. But I shan't go and thump your father for trying to steal a potential Harper by such cruel damage, no matter how much I'd like to – if that's what you're worried about. Some people just can't help having no soul."
The boy seemed relieved that he was not to be interrogated.
"Who brought you in?" T'rin asked, casually. "That won't give away too much. The same riders sweep several outlying communities."
The boy paled. T'rin gave him a sharp look.
"Whatever is wrong, boy?" he asked pointedly; and remembering his own aversion to being addressed 'boy' thus, added gently, "Lyseder, no-one can hurt you now. You are Weyrfolk. Whether you Impress or not, you don't have to leave; and if you are good enough I shall sponsor you to the Harper Hall. I have to say 'if you are good enough' because I don't yet know your potential; but if you feel you HAVE to make tunes, well then, that is very encouraging!"
The lad burst into tears; and between sobs T'rin unravelled something about being sent away and false pretences. He put an arm around the boy's skinny shoulders; but his tone was firm as well as soft.
"Lyseder, pull yourself together and tell me what this nonsense is in a coherent manner."
The fisherlad hiccoughed and wiped a sleeve across his nose.
"Because I stowed away in baskets of fish brought dragonback, I'm not a proper candidate so I'm afraid you won't let me stay" he sniffed.
"Oh is that all" T'rin ruffled the boy's tousled locks cheerfully. "Lyseder, if it is your desire to be taken on Search, it is your Right to come." He said firmly. "And no-one can prevent you. But you have been here – what, a day and a night?" Lyseder nodded, and T'rin went on, "And your parents, however hidebound and harsh must be concerned for your safety if you did not get taken in the regular way."
"I don't care" Lyseder sniffed defiantly.
"I do" said T'rin, grimly. "Because T'bor, who is one of the best men on Pern, could get in trouble for kidnapping if we don't let them know right away."
Lyseder looked horrified.
"Dragonmen can get into trouble?" he cried.
"And well they should, if they've done wrong" admonished T'rin seriously. "Else they could become as bad as some of the Oldtimers. And we need to tell your parents right away that you have found your way to the Weyr and asked to come on Search."
Lyseder hung his head and muttered the information; and T'rin took him without further delay to Calla and her strict but gentle ministrations while he himself went to write a careful letter to the boy's father. He signed it in his capacity of Harper, explaining that he had taken a deposition from Lyseder that it was his wish to attempt Impression and that the appropriate authorities had given him leave to stand as a candidate, it being his right. He sealed it; and went to tell the whole to R'gar.
R'gar groaned.
"Did you check the boy was of age?" he asked.
T'rin's mouth dropped open; and he smote his brow.
"No, father, it didn't occur to me to ask."
"Let's leave it that way" said R'gar grimly. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis then folly to be wise. And an oversight is easier to explain than wilfully keeping a lad under age….which I'd be prepared to wager he is."
T'rin grimaced.
"I thought I'd ask Y'lara to deliver the letter. She'll take no crackdust from anyone."
R'gar chuckled.
"And being seabred, there's no language he could use that she doesn't know."
T'rin felt it wise to explain the whole to Y'lara. She had the reputation for being…..short…..with anyone who did not provide her with all the relevant information necessary for a mission!
As it turned out, T'rin's choice of messenger was wise; Lyseder's father lost his cool and screamed at Y'lara. The young Green Rider explained to him succinctly and pithily in short words that he would understand (as she informed him) that she was only the message carrier and that exercising his procreationally oriented vocabulary at her at full volume did no good at all. She added parenthetically that if this were his normal means of communication, and if she were his get, she'd leave home too. Simmering, she left him gaping.
Y'lara had acquired a measure of wisdom in her time at the Weyr, and had learned some sense of her due and her duty as a junior weyrwomen; and when she left the small sea hold she flew directly to Lord Oterel. It did no harm that the wise Lord Holder was a distant kinsman of hers – T'lana was wont to joke that anyone in the western reaches of Pern who had ever got their toe wet in the sea was a relative of Y'lara's – and he listened gravely when she made her report that one of the gross impropriety of one of his minor underlings bad mouthing a weyrwomen, however junior. Oterel sighed; and asked for the whole story, off the record, as he had hastily added. Y'lara summed up the whole.
"The boy is happy where he is?" the Lord Holder asked.
"Seems to be" replied the girl laconically.
Oterel nodded.
"I'll do my best if it looks like blowing out of proportion" he promised.
Y'ara gave him her rare flashing smile.
"I knew I could rely on you, my Lord" she said. "I thought you ought to know what was going on in case these idiots are idiots enough to try to cause trouble."
"And you wanted to get your revenge in first, hmm?"
She chuckled.
"You might say so, my Lord – I'd really rather not comment."
In the meantime, T'rin had checked with Calla and on being adjured not to stretch Lyseder too much went to seek out the boy to tell him to report with Mira that evening. Calla felt that the good done to the cowed lad's mental health would outweigh any minor hurt he might cause his hands – providing T'rin was careful with him. And T'rin was a young man who had more than his fair share of caring for someone with a disability; and was one Calla trusted to take care.
Mira was actually rather pleased to find that she was not the only apprentice. Receiving the sole attentions of two such exalted people as Impressed Journeymen made her feel nervous even though she knew them both slightly from the Logicator debates. She quickly introduced herself to the skinny, tongue-tied boy and exclaimed in horror over his hands when he winced on shaking.
"You won't be able to play properly…do T'rin and L'gal know?"
He nodded wordlessly, a little overwhelmed by being an apprentice in company with a grown up lady. Mira smiled hesitantly at him.
"Don't worry – they're kind" she reassured him. "You can tell that from the things they say at the Logicator meetings."
"What's that?" he asked, interested enough to find the temerity to speak up.
"'Logicating' is a word T'lana invented….it means using logic to work things out about people or situations by really using your eyes and ears. T'lana has solved lots of mysteries for people, even working out who has done murders!" she told him. His eyes were big.
"You can bring him along if he wants to come" T'rin's crisp voice cut in as he and L'gal entered. "No-one is barred from learning Logicating, Lyseder. All you need is an interest. But now we have a more pressing problem of how to test you with your hands in that state."
"I could improvise, sir."
"This once I will permit it. But improvisation leads to bad habits – I know this, Lyseder, for I too was self-taught; and I had to unlearn a lot before I could progress. It doesn't always seem logical – but believe me, there ARE reasons behind every exercise. Very well, show me."
T'rin passed the boy his gitar; and hesitantly at first Lyseder picked out a well-known tune. His playing became better as he relaxed, but pain made him fumble a complex chording.
T'rin nodded.
"Anything else you play?"
Lyseder looked at his feet and shook his head.
"Try this."
T'rin held out his practice harp. Tentatively the boy plucked each of the strings in turn; then picked out another melody. He made mistakes; but it was recognisable.
"Have you had any formal training at all?" asked L'gal. Lyseder shook his head again. "Mira?" queried L'gal. she too shook her head.
The two journeymen exchanged looks.
"Well," said T'rin, "That means we start you both right at the beginning with basic theory. And you need your brain more for that than your fingers. I shall do most of that, because I've more experience with less experienced apprentices."
L'gal pulled a comical face at T'rin over the heads of the two new apprentices; what T'rin meant was that Master Morshall had foisted his least able or shyest pupils onto T'rin!
"I" said L'gal "Will start you on voice training. Even if your singing voices are not good – and few people's really are – you can use them as an instrument to put theory into practice and to tune your instruments."
T'rin looked surprised.
"Oh – I whistle to tune mine!" he commented.
"Yes, but you also sing like a wherry farting." Reminded L'gal.
"Oh yeah – there is that."
The two apprentices grinned. Such a small class could evidently be a bit more informal.
"I'm curious" said L'gal "Why neither of you were picked out by the Harper in your respective Holds."
"We don't have a Harper" said Lyseder. L'gal looked shocked as he went on "Our Holder doesn't hold with Harpers. He says they're lazy good-for-nothings who spread lies and unwanted babies."
L'gal and T'rin exchanged looks.
"Mira?" asked T'rin. She flushed.
"My parents don't hold with girls getting too much education because it spoils them as wives by making them dissatisfied; and wastes Harper time in the meanwhile." She explained with some asperity. "They let me save up for a flute as a hobby because I could always give it up when I get married. As if I could ever give music up!" she added indignantly.
"How did they feel about you being picked on Search?" asked T'rin.
She pulled a face.
"They think they thought it an honour…I doubt they seriously expect me to have any real chance of Impressing, so after that I'm expected to return home and marry well. Or maybe they'd like me to pick a Bronze Rider as a lover; it's a kind of status in itself" she grimaced. "Don't get me wrong, journeymen – my parents love me and I love them, but we just don't have a lot in common. Mother seems to think that having a baby every turn and hoping some of them live past babyhood is fulfilment enough. I'm afraid that for me fulfilment is more than being filled full."
T'rin laughed.
"With a wicked tongue like that, and a fine appreciation of word plays, my girl, you'll make a fine Harper! Yes, I know the attitudes. It's what we as Harpers are supposed to help challenge" he told her.
"Please sir!" put in Lyseder, on tenter hooks, "Do you think that I've a chance of showing you I'm good enough when my hands are better?"
T'rin looked surprised.
"Had you not gathered that we think you good enough already?" he asked. "Your hands must be rested – Calla spoke to me quite firmly about that. Which is why we shall stick largely to theory for the time being. But Lyseder! Even as wounded as you are, you are far better than many who start apprenticeships at the Harper Hall. You'll be just fine. And if you have any tune ideas, you can hum or whistle them to one of us and we'll write them down for the time you are fit enough to work on them for yourself. And when you really ARE old enough to be put to egg" he grinned at the expression on the boy's face at being found out "you'll also be old enough for a full apprenticeship at the Harper Hall if you still wish it."
T'rin and L'gal put the word about concerning the attitudes in Lyseder's Hold. It turned out that he was the first candidate from the small fish-hold; talking to Dragonmen and going on Search was as much discouraged as Harpers.
"Or indeed, any form of civilised behaviour." Y'lara put in.
"You recognise civilised behaviour, Y'lara?" quipped T'rin, and dodged the lazy punch she threw at him.
"They don't like Harpers. They don't like Dragonfolk. Well" said the Green Rider "Within the bounds of our oath to protect them, there are plenty of ways to withdraw goodwill. If they don't want to be a part of our society structure, we are not obligated to make their lives any easier. And without a Harper Advocate they're going to find it difficult to whinge."
T'rin grinned.
"Y'lara, you're a genius." He said.
"I know." She replied sweetly.
Discussion about the removal of goodwill was widespread; it was generally felt that such extremely hidebound attitudes were best nipped in the bud as soon as possible lest others feel they could get away with flouting the law. H'llon came up with an idea and visited the Woodcrafter Hall with it. Master Woodcrafter Bendarek did not hold with spite; but nor did he hold with people trying to ignore the presence of dragonfolk and harpers, the very glue, as he put it, that held society together.
The fish-hold woodcrafter was suddenly withdrawn "for ideas exchange". He was highly relieved by his new posting – learning papermaking from H'llon and teaching boat building in return. He enjoyed protracted trips with R'cal to the Eastern Island possible weyr site; and where they went from there to collect hardwood samples he was never told – and never asked! He could hardly believe his luck to have been removed from that dour, unfriendly cove hold.
His absence would not seriously discommode the hold; most there had some boat building skills. But it made life a little harder. As did the removal, once word spread, of the weavercrafter who spun most of the thread for netting.
After all, most women knew the rudiments of spinning and weaving. But again, it was an inconvenience.
It so happened that the Master Weaver was related through marriage to Master Bendarek. And as the woodcrafter said,
"When a crafter of one type is despised, others will not be treated well either."
It is to be recorded that the journeyman weaver taken from the fish-hold began his next assignment with a hangover from over indulgent celebration at his removal.
By this time, Lord Oterel had received an official complaint that the interfering dragonmen had stolen a child and were intimidating personnel into leaving. The first reply that the canny Lord Holder sent to the seahold was a request that their Harper attend him personally to clarify matters.
The matter was dropped.
L'gal and T'rin did their own reporting of the matter in its entirety to the Harper Hall. Master Robinton was not amused. He remembered too well the way Fax had taken over by discrediting Harpers; and more recently he remembered Menolly's plight at the hands of her backward looking family. He told the young journeymen that they could leave the matter in his hands; which indeed had been what they had hoped!
Lyseder in the meantime slipped into life as an apprentice as though he had been born to it; he and Mira applied themselves diligently to their lessons. And word of the Harper classes spread around the Weyr. One of Keerana's nieces, Keeralda, came to see T'rin and L'gal with her sons, Garald and Garvan, aged eleven and nine turns respectively. Keeralda asked nervously if her boys could try for an apprenticeship.
"They're always playing tunes on things." She said.
T'rin agreed to listen; and was agreeably surprised. The younger boy had more talent than his brother; but both had potential, and he said so.
After this, several mothers presented their offspring in the fond and usually mistaken belief that they would prove to be precocious. T'rin and L'gal firmly turned them down, explaining that a love of music was not the only requirement. One boy only came close to making the grade; and T'rin might have considered arguing L'gal into accepting him but for the lad's attitude. He performed well enough but there was none of the joy and enthusiasm Garvan and Garald had shown. T'rin took the lad, Keet, aside out of earshot of his mother, and asked bluntly,
"Keet, do you want to be a Harper?"
The child shook his head.
"No, sir, thank you sir. My mother likes music, and I guess I do too, to listen to….but when you have to make it it becomes a chore, and music shouldn't be a chore, should it?" he asked.
"No, Keet, it shouldn't" replied T'rin gravely. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to be a sailor!" the boy's eyes shone. "I've heard lots of stories of the sea from the seabred candidates!"
T'rin sighed.
"Does your mother know?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. She thinks I'll grow out of it."
T'rin bit his lip.
"You might well. But meantime go talk to Bronze Rider V'gion. Tell him I sent you." He added as the boy looked awed. "He can tell you what you need to study to help prepare yourself if you don't change your mind."
The boy beamed.
"THANK you sir!"
T'rin could not fathom why anyone in his right mind would rather be a sailor than a Harper; but it took all sorts!