“But she can’t even read notes, even when I beat out the tempo for her. Nor is she able to maintain pitch when I change signatures. She expects me—me—” And Petiron laid an eloquent hand on his chest. “—to teach her the entire score by rote. Could Maxilant have done that with her?” he inquired in a petulant tone.
“I believe Maxilant only raved on about her beautiful voice, love, and said nothing about the lacks in her general musical education.” Merelan spoke as levelly as she could, having great difficulty masking her inner jubilation.
“She wouldn’t vocalize to warm her voice and told me”—Petiron swung on his spouse—“that you didn’t bother . . .”
“I didn’t ‘bother’ because I could never get her to see the necessity, Petiron,” she replied with considerable vehemence. “Washell is of the opinion that if she continues to sing in alt for another few years, she won’t be able to squeak.”
Petiron recoiled in surprise at his gentle spouse’s critical remark.
“No wonder you were so eager for me to coach her,” he said almost sullenly.
“If you can’t, no one in this Hall will be able to,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye. “She might believe you, where she’s certain I’m jealous of your interest in her.”
Petiron scowled. “Aren’t you?”
Merelan laughed. “My love, I wouldn’t be that child for all the diamonds on Ista’s beaches. Washell’s right, you know. She won’t have a voice left if she keeps on this way.”
“He is right,” Petiron admitted and scowled more deeply. “Well, she is not—” He paused dramatically. “—ruining either the duet or the aria. I shall make some changes in both that will put the music at a level she should be able to sing.”
Merelan merely nodded.
When Petiron held his next session with Halanna, she was so insulted that she tried to walk out on him. The argument that ensued was heard by nearly everyone on the quadrangle as the two voices, one baritone and one contralto, rose in volume and piercing clarity.
“You can’t do that!” Halanna began, an astonished screech in her voice.
“Oh, yes I can! You’re incapable of singing what I wrote.”
“Incapable? How dare you?”
“How dare you address a master in such a tone, young woman! I don’t know what Maxilant taught you, but it wasn’t manners and it certainly wasn’t how to read a simple score.”
“Simple score? You’re notorious all over Pern for the complexity of your music. I never hear anyone singing what you write. No one can!”
“The first-year apprentices have no trouble. But then, they can read music and know the value of the notes they’re singing.”
“I do, too, know how to read music.”
“Then prove it.”
“No!”
“You will sing.”
“You can’t force me!”
Many allowed as how they had heard the crack of flesh hitting flesh. And it was true that the right side of Halanna’s face was darker than the left when she was finally allowed to leave the studio. But she did begin to sing in a much muted voice. And she continued to sing the music as written until she did so correctly, sometimes until she was hoarse.
“I hope he didn’t push her too far,” Merelan murmured to Washell.
“Perhaps it might be better for all of us if he did,” he replied uncharitably.
After that session, Halanna hurried out of the studio and disappeared. She was seen a little later on her way across the great Fort Hold courtyard to the cottage, where she slammed and bolted the door of the room she still shared.
What they didn’t realize, until the next morning, was that she had bribed a drum heights apprentice to send an urgent message to her father, Halibran, saying she was being abused. Petiron admitted that he had slapped her, to stop her hysterical ranting—to which everyone in the Hall had been audience. Any master was permitted to chastise a student for inattention or failure to learn assigned lessons.
When MasterHarper Gennell and Journeywoman Healer Betrice interviewed her about the impropriety of her action, not to mention the content of the message, she was defiantly tearful.
“No one understands me in this place. I’m being humiliated at every turn, and I had expected so much from you!” she said. “So much, and you’re like everyone else after all!”
Betrice later told Merelan she almost laughed out loud at such a performance.
“No one has humiliated you, young woman,” Gennell replied, as stern as Betrice had ever seen him. “You were welcomed, and the very best instructors assigned. You have been paid a high compliment by Master Petiron, who wrote a part especially to show off your voice—scarcely a humiliation, but an honor you seem unable to appreciate. You will apologize to Master Petiron for your unresponsiveness—”
“Apologize?” Halanna rose from the stool in amazement. “I am the daughter of a holder, and I apologize to no one. He’s to apologize for slapping me, or—”
“That’s enough out of you,” Gennell said, and turned to his spouse. “She’s to be quartered in an appropriate room and given only basic rations.”
That was more easily said than done. It took Gennell, Betrice, and Lorra to get her, screeching and struggling, up to the third story of the Harper Hall to one of the spare rooms used by messengers or overflow guests. She refused to eat the food supplied at mealtimes and actually emptied the first three pitchers of water until her thirst got the better of her histrionics. Since it took nearly six days before her clandestine message brought results, she got hungry enough to devour what she was given, though she refused to apologize or promise to remedy her attitude. Such interviews usually resulted in her hurling threats and promises of just retribution at those trying to talk sense into her. Even Masterhealer Ginia had no luck in trying to talk sense into the girl.
The sentry on the Fort Hold eastern tower spotted the ten armed men racing up the harbor road and blew the alarm, alerting both Lord Grogellan and the Harper Hall. Having been informed of the illegal drum message, Grogellan assembled a larger force from his sons, nephews, and armsmen to meet the newcomers just as they turned into the Harper Hall quadrangle. Master Gennell, Betrice, Ginia, Petiron, and Merelan were waiting on the broad steps, and every apprentice, journeyman, and master had found some vantage point from which to view the confrontation.
As Halibran and his troop halted their runners, he had no trouble locating his “abused” daughter, screeching at the top of her lungs from an upper window.
“She’s been at it again, Father,” one of Halibran’s riders said in disgust. “She was the one abusing, I’ve no doubt.” The resemblance to his sister was obvious and he was not the only young blond male in the group with a similar cast of countenance.
Halibran, dismounting, waved the young man to hold his tongue. Not a major holder, though a wealthy one from the produce of his lands and the mines under them, he had none of his daughter’s arrogance as he mounted the steps and held out his hand to the MasterHarper.
“Since she is sequestered, I assume that Halanna has not seen fit to apologize. Let me do so in her stead,” he said, allowing everyone to heave sighs of relief.
Master Gennell, however, shook his head slowly. “It is her place, not yours, Holder Halibran, to make restitution for her behavior and her refusal to accept the usual necessary disciplines of the Harper Hall. She has much to learn.”
The screeching, which the new arrivals were pointedly ignoring, took on a shriller note.
“The fault lies in me,” Halibran said with a weary sigh. “Her mother died at her birth, and with six brothers, she has been much cosseted.”
The brother who had spoken gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and then looked away. The other two managed not to grin, but it didn’t escape anyone that they had probably tried to get their father to school his daughter’s behavior.
“What did happen that made her send such a message?” Halibran asked.
Gennell
opened his mouth, but it was Petiron who stepped forward and answered.
“She is musically almost illiterate, Holder Halibran,” he said in a flat and firm voice, “although I know Harper Maxilant to be a competent musician.”
“Maxilant did suggest that the Hall might succeed where he was failing,” Halibran said, raising both gloved hands in helplessness, his answer directed more to Gennell than to Petiron. “I should not have sent you our problem.” He turned back to Petiron. “And?”
“When she repeatedly refused to learn a simple score . . .”
No one of the Harper Hall group so much as batted an eye at Petiron’s remark.
“ . . . and started to rant in an hysterical fashion, I slapped her. Once.” And Petiron put up one finger in emphasis.
Everyone on the steps nodded.
“We all heard the entire argument,” Master Gennell said, and he pointed to the studio windows. “And the single slap.”
“She’d need more than one,” a brother said.
“We shall take her off your hands,” her father said in an almost meek tone, though it was obvious that he was probably not one whit less proud than his daughter.
“Nonsense,” Master Gennell said, just as Petiron stepped forward to protest. “With your permission, we shall continue to discipline her—firmly—until she realizes that such behavior gets her nowhere in either her relationships with others or in learning the lessons you asked us to teach her.”
Halibran was astonished; the brothers muttered amongst themselves.
“That is too fine a voice to be misused,” Master Gennell said, glancing up in the direction of the outraged cries. Strips of clothing flapped out of the window and drifted to the ground. “Or abused. We have disciplined recalcitrant students before now. She may be,” and Master Gennell paused significantly, “unusually obdurate, but give me leave to doubt she is beyond redemption.”
“I’d say she is,” the brother murmured, and received a buffet on his leg from his glaring father.
“Give us until the Spring Solstice, Holder Halibran, and you will be pleased with the change.”
“How do you propose to achieve that?” the holder asked, tucking his gloved thumbs into his thick riding belt and regarding not only Gennell but the others on the top step.
“If you would make it . . . exceedingly . . . plain to her,” Gennell said, “that such antics cut no ice with you, that you will no longer condone her behavior or rescue her from its consequences, she will soon capitulate.”
Halibran considered as he removed his gloves, stowed them in the saddle bag, and flexed his fingers. “If she does, it will be the first time in her life,” he said, “but it had better come now.” He opened and closed his fists.
The expression of profound satisfaction was mirrored by all three brothers and, indeed, the other six men of the party.
“I’ll lead the way,” Gennell said affably, and as Betrice and Ginia fell into step with Holder Halibran, they disappeared into the Hall.
“Is that the girl you said had a superb voice, Petiron?” Grogellan asked, moving up to the steps from where he and his men had witnessed the interview.
The oldest brother, recognizing that this was the Lord of Fort Hold, respectfully dismounted and gestured for the others to do so, inclining his upper body politely to one of higher rank. Just then Halanna’s voice rasped to an even higher note, almost a wail, and Petiron winced.
“If she keeps on forcing the upper register like that,” Washell remarked to no one in particular, “she may end up soprano instead of alto. If she’s any voice left at all.”
“Hmmm,” was Grogellan’s reply, as he turned his head up to the window. “She certainly shouldn’t be allowed to carry on like that.”
“It’s a specialty of hers,” the oldest brother remarked. “She’s developed it into a fine art, and none of us”—he included his brothers—“could do a thing about it.”
Grogellan looked at him with such a glare that he grimaced, shrugging his shoulders. Fort’s Lord Holder did not approve of sons criticizing their fathers, no matter what the cause.
“Any moment, now,” Washell said, grinning in happy expectation.
He was right. Halanna’s shriek broke off abruptly. There was a long wait for those on the ground before her voice was heard again, and this time her shout was defiance mixed with astonishment. That tone altered to outraged cries, screams, and finally into penitent sobs which gradually, over the next few minutes, dwindled into silence. Or at least to a level that was not audible to those below.
To give him credit, the oldest brother controlled his expression as he turned to Washell. “Our mounts need to be refreshed before we start back,” he said.
“Then follow us,” Grogellan said. “You will guest at the Hold, for I know the Harper Hall is presently filled to capacity.” He gestured for the Istans to follow him.
The oldest brother, astonished and grateful for Grogellan’s hospitality, looked from him to the doorway of the Harper Hall. “I should await my father.” He turned back to Grogellan. “I am Brahil, and those two are my brothers, Landon and Brosil,” he said by way of introduction. “And Gostol, here, is our good captain who sailed us here.”
Grogellan nodded approval of Brahil’s manners and, leaving the young man to wait for his father, he swept the others ahead of him toward the Hold. “How was the sea on your way here, Master Gostol?” he asked, assuming the duties of a genial host.
The Istan holders stayed three more days, until Halanna finally capitulated—from sheer physical exhaustion. Ginia had naturally attended the girl after each session with her father and, although she was discreet, she did imply that it was no more than the child required to make her mend her ways.
“For so many children, disapproval is sufficient, or a rap on the knuckles,” she said to Merelan, who was genuinely worried when Halanna showed no signs of repentance after the second chastisement. “Then there are some who have to have manners thumped into their heads. Oddly enough, they seem to recover more quickly than the sensitive child who is only verbally rebuked.”
“But . . .”
“He uses only his hand, and it’s more her pride that’s been offended than her butt end,” Ginia said. “If the issue is not forced now, she will become far worse in later years and end up disgracing her entire family and hold. That can’t be allowed.”
“It’s just that we’ve never had a child that difficult,” Merelan said.
Isla joined them, breathless from a fast walk across the courtyard. “He’s taking most of her clothing back with him and has asked me to provide warmer garments. Just a few, and nothing fancy, though I did talk him into permitting one nice outfit for Gathers and performances.” She looked almost regretful, though Halanna had driven her to despair with her snide comments and spiteful ways. “Only she’s not to pick it out. I’ll let Neilla do so. She has the best taste and the most forgiving heart.”
Halanna was required to apologize to the MasterHarper, Journeywoman Healer Betrice, and Master Petiron for her intransigence. Gennell had wanted to include Merelan, but the singer put her foot down. She would have the instructing of the humbled girl, and that was going to be hard enough to handle without the child experiencing further abasement.
“She brought it on herself,” Halibran said sternly.
“That does not require me to compound it,” Merelan said, lifting her chin to match his attitude.
“You are a gracious lady,” he said, relenting and bowing to her.
Halanna was granted a room to herself, the attic one, which had sufficient space for her much reduced wardrobe. Her father had left instructions with Master Gennell to take disciplinary steps if she did not apply herself to her lessons.
“And, if you should decide this regimen doesn’t suit you,” her father said in so cold a voice that Merelan shivered, “and attempt to run away from the Harper Hall, I will have the drums repudiate you across all Pern. Do you understand? You wanted to sing, you wa
nted to come here to the Harper Hall so you could improve your voice. Now you will do just that and nothing but that! Do you understand, Halanna?”
Head hanging after the ordeal of apology, she murmured something.
“I didn’t hear that. Speak up.”
A flash of her old spirit flared in her eyes but vanished when her father lifted his hand. “Yes, Father. I understand.” She stood, head up, lips and chin trembling slightly. Satisfied with her demeanor, he strode out of the MasterHarper’s office.
“Mastersinger Merelan will be your primary instructor, Halanna,” Master Gennell said. “You will review your foundation lessons with the first-year apprentices”—he was almost glad to see the flare of dismay in her eyes. Her punishment had not broken her spirit, even if it had quelled her arrogance—“until you have learned enough to graduate to the more advanced classes. Although classes have begun for the day, Master Washell has given permission for you to arrive late this morning. Now go on to room twenty-six. And you’ll need this slate and chalk.”
He handed her the items she had refused to carry or use in her first days at the Harper Hall. As she went out the door, he noticed she pulled her shoulders back, steeling herself to go in amongst the lowest of apprentices and face whatever their reaction to her presence might be. The girl had courage. Gennell had, however, made very sure that she would not be the butt of any youthful mischief. He had given a stern lecture to the apprentice contingent that they were to behave properly at all times in her presence and never refer to the incident or they’d have worse of the same.
In fact, the affair had subtly improved the behavior of even the more inventive miscreants among the apprentices. But that didn’t keep many of the principals from deeply regretting Halanna’s intransigence.
Petiron did not restore the more complex music he had written for contralto voice, but Halanna did sing at Turnover. In the duet with Merelan, she modulated her tone to match the soprano, so that it was technically well sung, though the contralto part did not match the soprano in the joy that the song had been written to express.
Petiron was profoundly disappointed in her performance, having worked so hard with her to produce the dynamics he had “heard” during composition.
The Masterharper of Pern Page 6
