Dragonsinger by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online

find you an instrument so you can play for Master Domick. He’ll meet you there.’ With an encouraging pat and a smile, Silvina left her.

CHAPTER THREE
    Speak softly to my lizard fair
    Nor raise your hand to me
.
    For they are quick to take offense
    And quicker to champion me
.
    MENOLLY WISHED THAT Silvina had stayed long enough to introduce her to Master Jerint, but she guiltily realized how much of the headwoman’s valuable time she had already had. So, squaring her shoulders against her ridiculous surge of nervousness, Menolly entered the square stairhall and saw the door that must lead to the workshop of Master Jerint.
    She could hear the sounds of workshop industry: hammering, the scrape of saw on wood, toots and thumps; but the instant she opened the door, she and Beauty got the full impact of various noises of tuning, sanding, sawing, pounding, the twanging of tough wherhide being stretched over drum frames and snapping back. Beauty let out a penetrating shriek of complaint and took off, straight for the bracing beams of the high ceilinged workshop. Her raucous call and her flight suspended all activity in the room. The sudden silence, and then the whisperings of the younger workers, all staring at Menolly, attracted the attention of the older man who was bent almost double, glueing a crucial piece of inlay on the gitar in his lap. He looked up and around at the staring apprentices.
    ‘What? Well?’
    Beauty gave another cry, launching herself from the rafter beam back to Menolly’s shoulder now that the distressing sounds had ceased.
    ‘Who made that appalling noise? It was animal, not instrumental.’
    Menolly didn’t see anyone pointing at her, but suddenly Master Jerint was made aware of her presence by the door.
    ‘Yes? What are you doing here? And what’s that thing on your shoulder? You oughtn’t to be carting pets about, whatever it is. It isn’t allowed. Well, lad, speak up!’
    Titters in various parts of the workroom indicated to the man that he was in some error.
    ‘Please, sir, if you’re Master Jerint, I’m Menolly …’
    ‘If you’re Menolly, then you’re no lad.’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘And I’ve been expecting you. At least, I think so.’ He peered down at the inlay he’d been glueing as if accusing the inanimate object of his absentmindedness. ‘What is that thing on your shoulder? Did it make that noise?’
    ‘Yes, because she was startled, sir.’
    ‘Yes, the noise in here would startle anyone with hearing and wit.’ Jerint sounded approving and now craned his head forward, withdrawing the instant Beauty gave one of her little chirps and frowning in surprise that she reacted to his curiosity. ‘So she is one of those mythical fire lizards?’ He acted skeptical.
    ‘I named her Beauty, Master Jerint,’ Menolly said, determined to win other friends for her fire lizards that day. She firmly unwound Beauty’s tail from her neck and coaxed her to her forearm. ‘She likes to have her headknob stroked …’
    ‘Does she?’ Jerint caressed the glowing golden creature. Beauty closed the inner lid of her brilliant eyes and submitted completely to the Master’s touch. ‘She does.’
    ‘She’s really very friendly, it’s just all that noise and so many people.’
    ‘Well, I find her quite friendly,’ Jerint replied, one long calloused and glue-covered finger stroking the little queen with growing confidence as Beauty began to hum with pleasure. ‘Very friendly indeed. Are dragons’ skins as soft as hers?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Charming creature. Quite charming. Much more practical than dragons.’
    ‘She sings, too,’ said a stocky man sauntering from the back of the hall, wiping his hands on a towel as he came.
    As if this newcomer released a hidden spring, a murmurous wave of half giggle, half excited whisperings rippled through the apprentices. The man nodded at Menolly.
    ‘Sings?’ asked Jerint, pausing in mid-caress so that Beauty butted her nose at his hand. He