Энн Маккефри - Dragondrums стр 4.

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Piemur loved the storerooms, redolent with the smell of well-cured hides and the eye-smarting acridity of newly dyed fabrics. He liked the glowing colors of the cloth bales, the jumble of boots, belts, packs hanging from hooks about the walls, the boxes with their odd treasures. Silvina rapped his knuckles with her keys several times for opening lids to investigate.

The jacket fit, the stiff new leather bucking against his thighs as he pranced about, swinging his arms to make the shoulders settle. It was long in the body, but Silvina was pleased: hed need the length. Fitting him with new boots showed her how ragged his trousers were, so she found him two new pairs, one in harper blue and the other in a deep gray leather. Two shirts with sleeves too long, but which no doubt would fit him perfectly by midwinter, a hat to keep his ears warm and his eyes shaded, and heavy riding gloves with down-lined fingers.

He left the stores, his arms piled high with new clothes, boots dangling from their laces over his shoulder and bumping him front and back, his ears ringing with Silvinas promise of dire things happening to him if he snagged, tore, or scuffed his new finery before hed had it on his back a sevenday.

He happily employed the rest of the morning by dressing in his new gear, examining himself from all angles in the one mirrored surface of the apprentice dormitory.

He heard the burst of shouts as the chorus was released and peered cautiously over the sill. Most of the boys and young men swarmed across the Court to the Hall. But Master Domick, music rolled in one fist, strode purposefully toward Master Shonagars hall. The last to exit was Tilgin, head bowed, shoulders slumped, weary from what must have been an exhausting rehearsal. Piemur grinned; he had warned Tilgin to study the part. One never knew when Master Domick might call on the understudy. There was always the chance of a bad throat or a hacking cough for a soloist. Not that Piemur had ever been sick for performanceuntil this one. Piemur gave a sour note. He really had wanted to sing Lessa in Domicks ballad. Hed sort of counted on coming to the Benden Weyrwomans notice that way. It was always wise to be known to the two Benden Weyrleaders, and this would have been the perfect opportunity.

Ah well, there were more ways of skinning a herdbeast than shaving him with a table-knife.

He folded his new clothing carefully in his bedpress, giving the fur a smoothing twitch. Then quickly glanced out the window again. Now, while Master Domick was busy with Master Shonagar, would be the time for him to slip into the dining hall, Keep out of sight, and soon enough hed be out of Domicks mind. Not that Piemur was at fault. This time.

A shame, really. Lessas melody was the loveliest Domick had ever written. It had so suited his range. Once again a lump pushed up in his throat at the sadness of the lost opportunity. And probably a Turn before he could try to sing again. Nor was there a guarantee that hed have anywhere near as good a singing voice as an adult as hed had as a boy. None at all. Hed miss being able to astonish people with the pure tone he could produce, the marvelous flexibility, the perfect sense of pitch and timing, not to mention his particularly acute skill at note-reading.

His reflections caused him sufficient pangs of regrets so that, when he drifted past the first group of apprentices in the court, they paused in their play and watched his slow progress with awed silence.

He trudged up the steps, past apprentices and journeymen, eyes down, hands flopping at his sides, the picture of dejection. Scorch it, would he have to pretend to have lost his appetite? He could smell roast wherry, succulent, and dripping with juices. And then, berry pies.

However, if he managed his tablemates adroitly Hunger warred with greed, and there was nothing feigned about his expression of sad reflection when the dining room began to fill.

Piemur, deep in his plans, was aware of being flanked by silent boys. But the chubby fist visible on the left was Brollys. The stained, dirty, calloused, nail-bitten hand on the right was Timinys. His good friends were standing by him in this moment of loss. He let out a long, draggling sigh, heard Brolly shift his feet uncomfortably, saw Timiny extend his hand tentatively to draw it back slowly, uncertain how a gesture of sympathy would be received. Well, Timiny might just give him both pies, Piemur thought.

Suddenly everyone moved, and a quick glance at the round table told Piemur that Master Robinton had taken his place. A flash of blue and gray past his lowered eyes was probably Menolly moving to take her place at a journeymans table.

Ranly and Bon sat directly opposite Piemur, regarding him with wide and worried eyes. He gave them a sad half-smile. When the platter of roast wherry slices came to him, he heaved another sigh and fumbled for a slice. He stared at it on his plate instead of attacking it immediately. But then, generally, hed have taken as many slices as he could knife onto his plate without raising uproars from his mates. He did like roast tubers, but restrainedly took only a small one. He ate slowly so that his stomach would think it was getting more. A rumbling belly would ruin his ploy for bubbly pies.

None of his friends spoke, either to him or to each other. At their end of the table, gloomy silence prevailed. Until the bubbly pies were served. Piemur maintained his air of tragic indifference as the first ripple of delighted surprise sighed down from the kitchen end of the table. He could hear the rise of happy voices, the quick interest of his friends as they saw the burden of the sweet tray.

Piemur, its bubbly pies, said Timiny, pulling at his sleeve.

Bubbly pies? Piemur kept a querulous note in his voice, as if even bubbly pies had no magic to revive him.

Yes, bubbly pies, said Brolly, determined to rouse him.

Your very first favorite, Piemur, said Bonz. Here, have one of mine, he added and, with only an infinitesimal show of reluctance, pushed the coveted pie across to Piemur.

Oh, bubbly pies, repeated Piemur on the end of a quavering semi-interested sigh and picked up one of the offerings as though he was forcing himself to exhibit interest.

Its an awfully good bake, Piemur. Ranly bit into his with exaggerated relish. Just take a bite, Piemur. Youll see. Get a bubbly or two inside you, and youll feel more like yourself. Imagine! Piemur not wanting all the bubblies he can eat! Ranly glanced at the others, urging them to second him.

Bravely Piemur ate slowly of the first bubbly pie, wishing they were still hot. That did taste good, he said with a trifle brighter tone and was promptly encouraged to eat another.

By the time he had consumed eight because three more were donated from the other end of the table, Piemur affected to lose the edge of his gloom. After all, ten bubbly pies when he might only have had two was a good days scrounge.

The journeyman rose to deliver announcements and assignments. Piemur toyed with the notion of several different reactions to the news of his change in status. Shock, yes! Delight? Well, some because it was an honor, but not too much, otherwise they might doubt the performance that had won so many pies.

Sherris, report to Master Shonagar

Sherris? Surprise, shock, and consternation, totally unrehearsed or anticipated brought Piemur straight up off the bench and prompted his neighbors to seize him by the shoulders and push him down. Sherris? That little snip, that wet-eared, wet-bottomed, wet-bedded

Timiny clamped his hand firmly over Piemurs mouth, and the next few announcements were lost to that section of the apprentice tables. Indignation revitalized Piemur, but he was no match for the concerted efforts of Timiny and Brolly, determined that their friend should not suffer the extra humiliation of a public reprimand for interrupting the journeyman.

Did you hear, Piemur? Bonz was saying, leaning across the table. Did you not hear?

I heard that Sherris is to be Master Piemur was sputtering with rage. There were a few truths Master Shonagar ought to know about Sherris.

No, no, about you!

Me? Piemur ceased his struggles, abruptly horrified by the sudden thought that maybe Master Robinton had changed his mind, that some further investigation had led him to believe Piemur was unsuitable, that all the mornings bright prospect would be wrenched from his grasp.

You! Youre to report to and Bonz paused to give additional weight to his final words, Master Olodkey!

To Master Olodkey? Relief gave Piemurs reaction genuine force. Then he looked wildly around for the Drummaster.

Bonzs elbow suddenly digging into his ribs alerted him, and there was Dirzan, Master Olodkeys senior journeyman, staring down at them, fists against his belt, a wary and disapproving expression on his weathered face.

So we get saddled with you, eh, Piemur? Ill tell you this, you watch your step with our Master. Quickest man in the world with a drumstick, and he doesnt always use it on the drums! He eyed Piemur significantly and then, with a sharp gesture, indicated that Piemur should follow him.

Chapter 3

The rest of that day was not quite as joyful for Piemur. At Dirzans order, he moved his gear from the senior apprentice dormitory to the Drummers quarters, four rooms adjacent to the height, separate from the rest of the Hall. The apprentices room was cramped and would be more so when the spare cot for Piemur was added. The journeymens quarters were hardly more spacious, nor Master Olodkeys, though he had his small room to himself. The largest room was both for the instruction and living. Beyond, separated by a small hallway, was the drum room, with the great metal message-drums shining in the afternoon sun. There were several stools for the watchdrummer, a small workable to write down the messages, and a press, which became the bane of Piemurs mornings. It contained the polish and cloths required to keep that eye-blinding shine on the drums. Dirzan took evident relish in telling Piemur that, by custom, the newest apprentice was required to maintain their brilliance.

The drumheights were always manned save for the dead time, four hours in the depth of night, when the eastern half of the continent was still sleeping and the western half just retiring. Piemur wanted to know what happened if an emergency occurred in the dead time and was crisply informed that most drummers were so attuned to an incoming message that even in the shielded quarters the vibrations had been known to alert them.

As part of his apprentice training, Piemur had dutifully learned the identifying beats of each of the major holds and crafthalls, and the emergency signals, like threadfall, fire, death, answer, question, help, affirmative, negative, and a few useful phrases. When Dirzan first showed him the mass of drum messages that he would be expected to memorize and perform, he began to wish fervently that his voice would settle before winter came. Dirzan ruthlessly loaded him down with a column of frequently used beat measures to learn by the next day, telling him to practice quietly, using sticks on the practice block, and left him.

In the morning, writing under Dirzans full attention Piemur struggled through the lesson. He almost cried out with relief when Menolly appeared. She ignored him.

I need a messenger. Can I steal Piemur?

Certainly, Dirzan said without surprise, since that task was also a function of drum apprentices. He can practice his lesson on his way, I expect. I expect hed better.

Piemur groaned to himself at this partial reprieve, but kept a carefully contrite expression on his face for Dirzans benefit.

Did you get riding gear yesterday from Silvina? Menolly asked him, her face unrevealing. Get it on, she said when he nodded, gesturing him to be quick about changing.

She was laughing with Dirzan when he reappeared, but broke off her conversation, motioning Piemur to follow her. She took the steps from the drumheights at a clip.

You said youd ridden runners? she asked.

Sure. Im herder bred, you know. He was a bit miffed.

That doesnt necessarily mean that youve ridden runners.

Well, I have.

Youll have a chance to prove it, she said, awarding him a curious smile.

Piemur stared hard at her profile as they made their way out of the arch entrance and across the broad Gather meadow in front of the Harper Hall. To their left towered the cliff that housed Fort Hold, and the rows of cots that huddled in the bosom of the sturdy precipice. On the fire heights of the Hold, the brown dragon stood, looking more massive silhouetted against the bright sky, one wing extended, which his rider was grooming.

Piemur felt a surge of reverence for dragons and their riders, reinforced by the sight of Beauty, Menollys queen fire lizard, alighting on her friends padded shoulder, while the rest of Menollys fair cavorted in the air above them.

Her head raised, Menolly smiled at her playful friends and told them they were going for a ride. Did they care to come along? Chirruping and excited aerial displays greeted her question, and Piemur watched, as ever envious, while Beauty stroked Menollys cheek with her wedge-shaped head and crooned into her ear, the jewel-faceted eyes bright blue with pleasure. Grimly, Piemur forebode to ask the questions that seethed in his mind as they walked in silence toward the great caverns carved into the Fort cliff to house the herdbeasts, wherry flocks and runners. Inside the cavern, the head stockman approached with a smile for Menolly. Her fire lizards whirled into the cavern and sought perches on the curious beams that supported the ceiling, beams that had been fashioned by long-lost skill of the ancients. No one even knew from what substance they had been contrived.

Off again, Menolly?

Again, she said with a slight grimace. Banak, have you gear for a beast for Piemur, too? As easy for me to have the second runner ridden as led.

A course, and the man led the way to the enclosure where the backpads and headgear were hung on racks. After a close look at Piemur, he selected pad and gear, handed Menolly hers. They followed him down the aisle of open-ended stalls. Your usual is third down, Menolly.

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