Dragonsinger by Anne McCaffrey

Author:Anne McCaffrey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science fiction
Published: 2010-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

Piemur shook his head slowly from side to side. The other boys mimicked him with earnest expressions of concern.

"We," and he meant Harpers, "know about you and having nine. There're some dimwits coming today who wouldn't understand. And you're wearing an apprentice badge: apprentices don't own nothing or count for anything. They're the lowest of the low and have to obey any journeyman, or master, or even a senior apprentice in any other craft. Shells, you know how Beauty acts when someone tries to rank you? You can't have Beauty taking a swipe at an honourable journeyman or craftmaster, now can you? Or someone from the Hold?" He jerked his thumb toward the cliff-side as he dropped his voice to keep the mere possibility of such discourtesy from exalted ears.

"That would get Master Robinton in trouble?" Considering the gossip work already done at the Hold, Menolly would as soon remain anonymous to them.

"It could!" Ranly and Timiny nodded in solemn accord.

"How do you manage to stay out of trouble, Piemur?" Menolly asked.

"'Cause I watch my step at a gather. One thing to cut up in the Hall when it's all Harpers, but..."

"Hey, Piemur." They all turned and saw Brolly and another apprentice whom Menolly did not know running toward them. Brolly had a brightly painted tambourine and the other a handsomely polished tenor pipe.

"Thought we might have missed you, Piemur," the boy gasped. "Here's my pipe, and Master Jerint stamped it and Brolly's tambourine. Will you take 'em to the marksman now?"

"Sure. And it's my father's friend, Pergamol, like I told you it would be."

Piemur took charge of the instruments, and with a quirk of a smile at Menolly, led the way toward the loosely arranged stalls on the perimeter of the gather's square.

For the first time Menolly realised how many people lived in this Hold area. She would have liked to watch a bit on the sidelines, to get used to such a throng of people, but grabbing her hand, Piemur led her right into their midst.

She nearly piled into Piemur when he came to a sudden complete stop in the space between two booths. He glanced warningly over his shoulder, and Menolly noticed that he had the instruments behind his back as he composed his face into an expression of wistful ingenuousness. A tanner journeyman was bargaining with the well-dressed marksman in the stall, his Smithcraft badge gleaming with a gold thread in the design.

"See, it is Pergamol," Piemur said out of the side of his mouth. "Now you lot go on, across there to the knife stand until I'm finished. Men don't like a lot of hangers about when they're agreeing the mark. No, Menolly, you can stay!" Piemur snatched her back by the jerkin as she obediently started to follow the others.

Although Menolly could see Pergamol's lips moving, she heard nothing of his speech and only an occasional murmur from the bargaining journeyman. The Smithcraft marksman continually stroked the finely tanned wherhide as he dickered, almost as if he hoped to find some flaw in the hide so he could argue a further reduction.

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