As she stormed downstairs and out into the crisp evening air, pausing only to throw a jacket over her shoulders, she knew that she would never, ever, mention Robie’s efforts to Petiron again. He didn’t deserve to have such a talented child.
“He’s far ahead of the other youngsters,” Kubisa told Merelan during the teacher’s usual spring evaluation. “He’s poring over any Record Bosler lets him see. In fact, Bosler’s having him copy some of the more legible documents from the last Fall. Also, I don’t think it’s wise to isolate him from his own age group. He needs their companionship. All children do. But I’ll say this for him: he won’t stand for any teasing or bullying.”
“You don’t have any problems with that, do you?”
Merelan knew that the apprentices were often apt to pick on a lad who tried to push himself forward, and occasionally they would taunt a slower boy, but the Masters kept a tight rein on any physical violence and chastised culprits for verbal harangue. Some of the final-year apprentices were apt to take grudges against one another, but those were generally settled by a wrestling match overseen by a journeyman. To be a harper conferred sufficient dignity and privilege so that few would jeopardize their chance to achieve journeyman status by gross misconduct. Inevitably, there were subtle competitions among the fourth-Turn students.
“I have to be truthful, Merelan. Some of them are jealous of his quick mind.”
“Well, I can scarcely punish him for that,” Merelan said, trying to suppress a spurt of outrage.
Kubisa held up both hands in simulated defence. “Easy, Mother, and I won’t tell you who, either,” she added before Merelan could open her mouth. “That’s for me to know and handle. And I have. I ask Rob to take one of the slower ones off to hear their lesson. He’s actually very patient – more so than I would be with that rascal, Lexey.” “Lexey? Bosler’s youngest?”
“I realize you know that Lexey has learning difficulties, but Rob has him repeat his lessons until he knows them by heart.” Kubisa sighed. “Sometimes late-life babies are a little … backward. And Rob made up another tune, one that Lexey can actually remember, to help him with place names.” She reached into the folder and brought out a scrap of hide, cleaned so often that it was almost transparent, and handed it to Merelan. “Robie’s a caring child and a born teacher.”
The MasterSinger had no trouble identifying the writer of the tiny, precisely placed notes, and she hummed the tune. Simple and very easy, up the C scale and down by thirds.
Fort was first, South Boll then
Ruatha came and Tillek, too.
Benden next and north Telgar …
Easy enough for a child to sing, but effective with the tune itself as an aid to memory.
“That’s not bad,” Merelan said.
“Not bad?” Kubisa stared at her in disgust. “For a child five turns old? It’s incredible. Washell wants me to use it in class as a
Teaching Ballad.”
“He does?”
“He does, and we don’t intend to tell Petiron either.” Kubisa’s tone was almost defensive. “I never ask Rob to do these. He just does them. Should I discourage him, Merelan?” She couldn’t quite keep her expression neutral.
“No, don’t discourage him Kubisa. And thank you for your understanding.” The interview troubled Merelan for several days, but she could see no way to mention Robie’s abilities to Petiron. As usual, he had music he had to compose – this time for an espousal at Nerat. He planned a duet between Merelan and Halanna, and a very ambitious quartet, making use of a fine young tenor who would soon be walking the tables to become a journeyman. Petiron was always bemoaning the loss of any good tenor voice, and Merelan entertained the wry hope that Robie might end up in the tenor range as an adult. At least he sang on key in his childish treble. Even if his father never noticed. These were the times when she was very glad that she wasn’t able to bear more children, or foster them.
That spring young Robinton had a revelation which made a tremendous impact on his mind: he met dragons.