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She reminded herself that this was TurnOver and the new Turn was nearly on them. Just one more day of freedom from the usual routine. She was pleased with her hour's recital of the old traditional airs which had been part of these festivities since Fort Hold was founded. She'd had no trouble holding her audience, and the applause had been generously prolonged though she had kept her encores to three. As MasterSinger she knew when enough was enough. There were plenty of other performers to take the TurnOver stage.
Hala
But Merelan had overheard Hala
"Petiron's very strict and makes you measure up to his standard," the girl told Landon with a little grimace. Then she added in an entirely different, almost spiteful tone, "I can't wait until he realizes that that kid of his has far more talent in his little finger than he's got in all his fancy notes and difficult tempo."
How had Hala
That problem caused Merelan not a few anxious hours, though she kept telling herself that surely Petiron would be delighted to realize his son was musically inclined. "Inclined' was an understatement: Robinton seemed to absorb music as some children absorbed food. She was also aware that the child kept a cache of meticulously written tunes and airs: Washell and Bosler had told her so, saying that the music was "delightful'. Then there were the glances they had exchanged. She had been so pleased to hear their good opinion of Robie's progress that perhaps she had failed to realize the significance of their exchange. That was when she first saw the drum he had made and used in the percussion orchestra at TurnOver.
"Master Gorazde helped," he had informed her when he brought the drum home, "but I painted ..." He ran a rather dirty finger along the blue and red lines which not too raggedly decorated the rim.
"An' I cutted the skin oh so careful." His eyes had rounded as he used a pretend knife in his hand to demonstrate how hard it had been to cut the hide. "An' I nailed it." His mother did note that the brass nails were well aligned. "Master Gorazde had me make dots where the nails go so they'd look even." He ran a finger along the shiny line. "Hard work." And he gri
"Lovey, I don't know when I've seen a better one. I'll bet you could sell it at the Harper Gather stall!"
He clutched the drum to him, which took some doing because it overlapped his chest. "No, not this one, my first "stument, and I gotta improve a lot before Master Gorazde'll put a Harper stamp on it for sale."
With a pang to her heart, Merelan said nothing as he put it carefully on the shelf near his father's worktop. Maybe Petiron would notice and comment on it.
Two days later it was no longer in view, and she looked for the drum and finally found it hidden in his clothes chest. He never played it again.
"Drum? What drum?" Petiron asked, surprised when she casually mentioned it.
"The one Robie made for the percussion group at TurnOver." Petiron frowned, and she was so distressed by his genuine puzzlement that she wished she hadn't asked. That the little drum, so lovingly constructed, had been so carefully concealed ought to have been warning enough.
"Oh, that one," Petiron said, turning back to checking apprentice papers. "If Robinton really did have a hand in making it, I wouldn't have passed it for a Harper stamp."
Merelan abruptly rose and, murmuring that she must see Lorra, left the room before she either burst into tears or threw something at her insensitive spouse.
As she stormed downstairs and out into the crisp evening air, pausing only to throw a jacket over her shoulders, she knew that she would never, ever, mention Robie's efforts to Petiron again. He didn't deserve to have such a talented child.
"He's far ahead of the other youngsters," Kubisa told Merelan during the teacher's usual spring evaluation. "He's poring over any Record Bosler lets him see. In fact, Bosler's having him copy some of the more legible documents from the last Fall. Also, I don't think it's wise to isolate him from his own age group. He needs their companionship. All children do. But I'll say this for him: he won't stand for any teasing or bullying."
"You don't have any problems with that, do you?"
Merelan knew that the apprentices were often apt to pick on a lad who tried to push himself forward, and occasionally they would taunt a slower boy, but the Masters kept a tight rein on any physical violence and chastised culprits for verbal harangue. Some of the final-year apprentices were apt to take grudges against one another, but those were generally settled by a wrestling match overseen by a journeyman. To be a harper conferred sufficient dignity and privilege so that few would jeopardize their chance to achieve journeyman status by gross misconduct. Inevitably, there were subtle competitions among the fourth-Turn students.
"I have to be truthful, Merelan. Some of them are jealous of his quick mind."
"Well, I can scarcely punish him for that," Merelan said, trying to suppress a spurt of outrage.
Kubisa held up both hands in simulated defence. "Easy, Mother, and I won't tell you who, either," she added before Merelan could open her mouth. "That's for me to know and handle. And I have. I ask Rob to take one of the slower ones off to hear their lesson. He's actually very patient – more so than I would be with that rascal, Lexey."
"Lexey? Bosler's youngest?"
"I realize you know that Lexey has learning difficulties, but Rob has him repeat his lessons until he knows them by heart." Kubisa sighed. "Sometimes late-life babies are a little ... backward. And Rob made up another tune, one that Lexey can actually remember, to help him with place names." She reached into the folder and brought out a scrap of hide, cleaned so often that it was almost transparent, and handed it to Merelan. "Robie's a caring child and a born teacher."
The MasterSinger had no trouble identifying the writer of the tiny, precisely placed notes, and she hummed the tune. Simple and very easy, up the C scale and down by thirds.
Fort was first, South Boll then
Ruatha came and Tillek, too.
Benden next and north Telgar ...
Easy enough for a child to sing, but effective with the tune itself as an aid to memory.
"That's not bad," Merelan said.
"Not bad?" Kubisa stared at her in disgust. "For a child five turns old? It's incredible. Washell wants me to use it in class as a
Teaching Ballad."
"He does?"
"He does, and we don't intend to tell Petiron either." Kubisa's tone was almost defensive. "I never ask Rob to do these. He just does them. Should I discourage him, Merelan?" She couldn't quite keep her expression neutral.
"No, don't discourage him Kubisa. And thank you for your understanding."
The interview troubled Merelan for several days, but she could see no way to mention Robie's abilities to Petiron. As usual, he had music he had to compose – this time for an espousal at Nerat. He pla