Chapter 6

Piemur drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of that day and most of the next, immeasurably reassured and comforted by the presence of Rocky or Lazy and Mimic who spelled the bronze fire lizard.

If Menolly’s fire lizards were with him, he reasoned, during the moments he drifted into consciousness, then Master Robinton couldn’t be annoyed that he’d been stupid enough to fall and hurt himself just when the Harper needed him. For that was how Piemur construed the Harper’s urgent query about his injury. He fretted, too, about what Clell and the others might do with his possessions until he saw his press against the wall beside his bed.

The first time Silvina appeared with a tray of food, he didn’t feel like eating.

“You’re not likely to be sick again,” she told him in a low but firm voice, settling on his bed to spoon the rich broth into him. “That was due to the crack you gave your head. You need the nourishment of this broth, so open your mouth. Too bad we can’t numbweed the inside of your head, but we can’t. Never thought to see the day you weren’t ready to eat. Now, there’s the lad. You’ll feel right as ever in a day or two more. Don’t mind if you seem to want to sleep. That’s only natural. And here’s Rocky to keep you company again.”

“Who’s been feeding him?”

“Don’t sit up!” Silvina’s hand pressed him back into the half-reclining position. “You’ll spill the broth. I suspect Sebell gave Menolly a hand. Not to worry. You’ll be back at that chore soon enough!”

Piemur caught at her skirt as she made a move. “There was grease on those steps, wasn’t there, Silvina?” Piemur had to ask the question, because he couldn’t really trust what he thought he’d heard.

“Indeed and there was!” Silvina frowned, pursing her lips in an angry line. Then she patted his hand. “Those little sneaks saw you fall, scampered down and washed the grease off the steps and handrail…but,” she added in a sharper tone, “they forgot there’d be grease on your boot as well!” Another pat on his arm. “You might say, they slipped up there!”

For a moment, Piemur couldn’t believe that Silvina was joshing him and then he had to giggle.

“There! That’s more like you, Piemur. Now, rest! That’ll set you right quicker than you realize. And likely to be the last good rest you’ll get for a while.”

She wouldn’t say more, encouraging him to go back to sleep, and slipping out of the room without giving him any hint to the plans for his future. If his things were here, he didn’t think he’d be going back to the drumheights. Where else could he be placed at the Hall? He tried to examine this problem, but his mind wouldn’t work. Probably Silvina had laced that broth with something. Wouldn’t surprise him if she had.

Complacent fire lizard chirpings roused him. Beauty was conferring with Lazy and Mimic, who were perched on the end of the bed. No one else was in the room, and then Beauty disappeared. Shortly, while he was fretting that no one seemed to be bothering about him, Menolly quietly pushed the door open, carrying a tray in her free hand. He could hear the normal sounds of shouting and calling, and he could smell baked fish.

“If that’s more sloppy stuff…” he began petulantly.

“ ‘Tisn’t. Baked fish, some tubers, and a special bubbly pie that Abuna insisted would improve your appetite.”

“Improve it? I’m starving.”

Menolly grinned at his vehemence and positioned the tray on his lap, then seated herself at the end of the bed. He was immensely relieved that Menolly had no intention of feeding him like a babe. It had been embarrassing enough with Silvina.

“Master Oldive checked you over last night when he returned. Said you undoubtedly have the hardest head in the Hall. And you’re not going back to the drumheights.” Her expression was as grim as Silvina’s had been. “No,” she added when she saw him glance at his press, “no more pranks. I checked. And I checked with Silvina to be sure all your things are accounted for.” She grinned, then, her eyes twinkling. “Clell and the other dimglows are on water rations, and they won’t get to the Gather!”

Piemur groaned.

“And why not? They deserve restriction. Pranks are one thing, but deliberately conspiring to injure—and you could have been killed by their mischief—is an entirely different matter. Only…” and Menolly shook her head in perplexity, “…I can’t think what you did to rile them so.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Piemur said so emphatically that he slopped the water glass on his tray. Rocky chirped anxiously, and Beauty took up the note in her trill.

“I believe you, Piemur.” She squeezed his toes where they poked up the sleeping furs. “I do! And, would you also believe, that that’s why you had trouble? They kept expecting you to do some typical Piemur tricks, and you were so busy behaving for the first time since you apprenticed here, no one could credit it. Least of all Dirzan, who knew all too much about you and your ways!” She gave his toes another affectionate tweak, “And you, bursting your guts with discretion to the point where you didn’t tell me or Sebell what you bloody ought to have. We didn’t mean for you to stop talking altogether, you know.”

“I thought you were testing me.”

“Not that hard, Piemur. When I found out what Dirzan…no, eat all your tubers,” and she snatched from his grasp the plate with the still bubbling pie.

“You know I only like ’em hot!”

“Eat all your dinner first. You’ll need your strength, and wits. You’re to go with Sebell to Nabol Hold for Meron’s Gather. That’ll get you away from here during Tilgin’s singing, though he has improved tremendously—and no one at Nabol will be expecting any extra harpers. Not that they’ve all that much to sing about in Nabol Hold anyhow.”

“Lord Meron’s still alive?”

“Yes.” Menolly sighed with distaste, then cocked her head slightly. “You know, your bruises might just come in very handy. They’re just purpling beautifully now, so they won’t have faded…”

“You mean,” and Piemur affected a tremulous whine in his voice, “I’m the poor apprentice lad whose master beats up on him?”

Menolly chuckled. “You’re on the mend.”

Late that evening, a dust-grayed, raggedly dressed man peered around the door and shuffled slowly into the room, never taking his eyes from Piemur’s face. At first, Piemur thought that the man might be a cotholder, looking for Master Oldive’s quarters on the Hall’s social level; but the fellow, though initially hesitant and almost fearful in his attitude, altered perceptibly in manner and stance as he came closer to the bed.

“Sebell? ”There was something about the man that made Piemur suspicious. “Sebell, is that you?” The dusty figure straightened and strode across the floor, laughing.

“Now I’m sure I can gain a discreet arrival at the Nabol Hold Gather! I fooled Silvina, too. She says you still have some rags that will be appropriate to the status of a rather stupid herder’s boy!”

“Herder’s boy?”

“Why not? Kum in handy, like, tha’ knowin’ the way from tha’ bluid, like.” As Sebell affected the speech mannerisms of the uprange herders, he became completely the nondescript person who had first entered the infirmary.

Despite his chagrin at being told to resume a role he’d hoped never to play again, Piemur was enchanted by the journeyman’s dissembling. If Sebell would do it, so would he.

“Master Robinton’s not angry with me, is he?”

“Not a mite.” Sebell shook his head violently for emphasis. Kimi swooped in, scolding because Sebell had made her wait outside. Then his expression became serious, and he waggled a finger at Piemur. “However, you will have to watch your step with Master Oldive. We’ve sworn blue to him that this isn’t going to be an energetic adventure for you. Even heads as hard as yours must be treated with caution after such a fall. So, instead of hiking you in from Ruatha Hold as I’d planned,” and Sebell gave a mock scowl at Piemur’s burst of laughter, “N’ton will drop you off at dawn in the valley before Nabol Hold. Then we’ll proceed at a proper pace with beasts suitable for sale at the Nabol Gather.”