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"As long as it's all right ..." Robinton said in an almost unintelligible murmur.
"It is more than "all right", Robinton, it is essential. Now, stop colouring up like a glowbasket. Learn to take honest praise with the same dignity with which you've received criticism." Abruptly, Ge
Robinton met Master Ge
"Well then, that's settled. I'll see who can use an assistant harper."
Robinton was still trying to absorb this astonishing news when he found himself out in the corridor.
To be utterly truthful, he looked forward to leaving the Harper Hall and getting away from the constant censorious glances of his father. Privately he thought this was what cher, you'd be welcome anywhere," Ge
Robinton flushed. "I can't seem to stop writing them," he said meekly.
"Good. We need to freshen up the repertoire with catchy tunes and musical nonsense. People like to whistle a tune, like to sing a new song and find harmonies. You're good at that. I expect you to continue."
"As long as it's all right ..." Robinton said in an almost unintelligible murmur.
"It is more than "all right", Robinton, it is essential. Now, stop colouring up like a glowbasket. Learn to take honest praise with the same dignity with which you've received criticism." Abruptly, Ge
Robinton met Master Ge
"Well then, that's settled. I'll see who can use an assistant harper."
Robinton was still trying to absorb this astonishing news when he found himself out in the corridor.
To be utterly truthful, he looked forward to leaving the Harper Hall and getting away from the constant censorious glances of his father. Privately he thought this was what was eating away at his mother: the tension and having to placate his father all the time. He wanted to get on with his own life – without constraint and with an enthusiasm he wasn't able to give scope to here in the Harper Hall.
He'd really enjoy being away – and as Master Ge
He went back to putting the final coat of varnish on the lap harp he was making. He would take that with him, he thought, though originally he had made it to sell. He had already earned quite a few marks at Gathers with his output. When Master Jerint asked him what the MasterHarper had wanted him for, Robinton shrugged it off. "Next term's duties," he said, which had the advantage of being the truth.
Robinton had become so adept at keeping emotions to himself that it had become a habit. And though he yearned to tell his mother, he knew she was busy with lessons this afternoon. He'd just have to hold his good news in. It was something to relish, anyway. As relieved as he was that he wouldn't have to take Theory under his father, he was most excited at the prospect of leaving the Hall on his first official assignment. He also knew he'd had a hint of something the oldest apprentices would die to hear: he suspected that Master Ge
Sometimes the lucky ones were warned to pack what they'd need, but just as often no clue at all was given until Master Ge
Robinton paused in his varnishing, whooshing the fumes away from his nose. The reek was stifling.
"That's the ticket," Master Bosler said, pausing by Robinton's work station. He gave him a quick pat on the back. "One of the nicer ones with all that careful inlaid pattern. And the skybroom wood! Very good! We can get a good price for it at the next Gather."
"With skybroom wood hard to come by, I think I might just keep it for a while," Robinton said, watching Bosler's expression. Would the Master have an idea of Robinton's immediate future? He knew that Master Ge
So much for that, Robinton thought and, with a smile for his Master, he went back to applying the varnish. He wasn't using a quick-drying type because he wanted to avoid any brush strokes.
By di
Though the di
"Inhaling varnish all afternoon has put me off," he offered as explanation.
Falawny gave him a startled look. "First time in three turns it ever has," he remarked. "Ah, well, more for us certainly, eh, fellows?" And he speared a third slice of roast from the platter being passed.
Robinton hadn't seen any packs in the hallway, so no one had been warned that tonight might be the night to walk tables. He sneaked a glance at the fourth-term table; judging by the way di
Determinedly, he mopped his bread in the gravy and ate that, though his stomach toiled with either hunger or nerves. He actually hadn't had all that much experience with either condition. He'd never gone hungry, and he refused to let himself get nervous just over a hunch that tonight might be the night.
He shifted about on his chair a lot, shooting glances at his mother, but she was busy either eating, quite normally, or chatting with Master Washell and his father, who bracketed her at the head table. Well, maybe she hadn't been told.
Because he spent so much of the di