Masterharper of Pern by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online Page A

unreadable, Petiron,” Washell said firmly, his bass voice rumbling in mock rebuke. “See here?” His thick index finger pounded the culprit measure. “One can barely see the dot. No wonder Merelan was having difficulty with the beat when she couldn’t even see the dot after the half note. It’s clearly marked on my copy, but not on this.”
    Petiron peered down at the offending score. “It is a little faint at that. Sing it for me.” And he gave her the upbeat.
    Washell could not resist singing the bass line as Merelan faultlessly sang hers.
    “You did help, Wash, thank you so much,” she said. “And thanks for bringing along the cake and klah.”
    “My pleasure, Mastersinger.” Washell bowed, smiling benignly at both before he turned and left the room.
    “Really, Merelan,” Petiron said, peering at the offending measure, “are you having headaches again?”
    “No, love, but it was faint and I wasn’t expecting a hold just there. How did the rehearsals go? They sounded fine at this distance.”
    He flumped himself down in the stuffed chair and hauled his feet up on the stool, heaving a sigh. “The usual problems. They seem to feel that a glance at the score when they hear me coming up the stairs is sufficient study, but toward the end, they were beginning to grasp the dynamics. Nice of Washell to rehearse with you.”
    “Yes, he’s such a sweet person.”
    “Washell?” Petiron regarded his spouse with some astonishment. “You know what the apprentices call him . . .”
    “I know, but you have no need to repeat such a scurrilous title,” she said with a severe scowl. Petiron frowned. “A glass of wine?” she offered, going to the cabinet. “You look tired.”
    “I am. Thank you, love.”
    She poured two glasses. She needed one herself.
    “I’ll join you.” Handing a full glass to him, she slipped to the arm of the seat and pulled his head to her shoulder. Really, in spite of his faults, she did love him most profoundly, especially for his devotion to and composition of music. Until Robie was born, their life together had been idyllic!
     
    The one aspect that neither Washell nor Robie’s mother had considered was the child’s enthusiasm for things musical. They did not expect quite how swiftly and eagerly, over the next few months, he absorbed his lessons and learned how to play the various instruments. No sooner had Master Ogolly taught him musical notations and the value of the notes on the staff, signatures, clef, and measure, than young Robie jotted down the variations he had created on his first simple tunes.
    Merelan had the hard job of suppressing such enthusiasm within their quarters, especially since Robie wanted to show his father what he was doing because he hoped his father might approve of him then.
    “But Father lik’th muthic. He writ’th it, too,” Robie said plaintively. He still had trouble with his “s” sounds though he had extended his working vocabulary, as well as his musical aptitudes.
    “That’s just it, my love.” Merelan hated herself for such hypocrisy. “He hears it all day long, has to cope with such stupid students and—”
    “Am I thupid, Momma?”
    “No, love, you are not the least bit stupid, but your father does need quiet and a rest from music when he’s here with us . . .”
    “I gueth . . .” Robie said sadly.
    “The Big Spring Gather is so important, and you know how hard your father is working on the new score . . .”
    “Yeth, he ith.” Robie sighed.
    “Can you smell the sweet cakes, dear?” she asked, grateful for that diversion.
    Robie dutifully sniffed and a smile broke over his sad little face. “Do you think . . .” he began hopefully, brightening.
    “You’ll never know until you ask Lorra, will you?” Merelan said, turning him toward the door. “And be sure to ask for enough for me and your father, love.”
     
    Kubisa, who taught the youngsters from Fort Hold as well as the Harper and Healer Halls,