Robinton blinked when Gennell, whose wide shoulders shielded him from his father, gave him a solemn wink.
“Thank you, MasterHarper, I’ll do my best not to disappoint,” Robie said in the silence that fell.
Then everyone began to clear throats or shift feet or stand up.
His mother moved to his side, hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly to indicate her approval.
“Ah, Petiron, there’s a drum message request from Igen for a repeat of that programme you put on for them last Turn,” Gennell said, taking the MasterComposer by the arm and leading him out of the audition room. “You might make it the debut for your son.
Not surprised he did so well, considering his parentage. You must be proud of him …” His voice trailed off down the hall.
“The MasterHarper may appear to be asleep from time to time,” Master Ogolly remarked in his dry wispy voice, “but he doesn’t miss much, does he, Merelan? What with summer schedules and all, I’m short of apprentices when I need them most. Robie, could you give me a few hours and help me catch up on copying manuscripts?”
Robie looked up at his mother for permission and she nodded.
“He writes the clearest hand, you know, Mere. Have you some free time this afternoon perhaps?” he added wistfully to Robinton.
“I’ll be there after lunch,” Robie said, grateful to be legitimately somewhere other than his own quarters for the rest of the day. Ever since he’d been considered old enough to feed himself, he’d sat at the younglings’ table in the dining hall so that he could avoid his father at noon. He’d get a copy from Master Ogolly of the work Londik had sung last turn and memorize it. That way he wouldn’t annoy his father.
If Robinton did not realize until he was full grown how deftly the Harper Hall conspired to save him from his father’s perfectionism, he was consumed with relief when “protocol’ required him to join the other apprentices in their dormitory the day after his twelfth birthday.
Instead of being on better terms with his father after two turns of solo work, he seemed to annoy Petiron even more, no matter how hard he tried. In fact, it got so that everyone noticed, and the other singers made a point of telling him how well he did, loudly enough for his father – who gave him only a nod now and then – to hear.
He knew his transfer upset his mother, and yet he was positive it would make things a lot easier for her. It was only too obvious that his father couldn’t wait to see the back of him. And his case wasn’t the same as that of other apprentice lads: he’d lived in the Hall all his life, so he wouldn’t be homesick in the dormitory. Although he would miss his mother’s loving care, he was earnestly looking forward to leaving the family apartment.
“The boy is not going more than two hundred feet away,” Petiron said as he watched Merelan taking great care in packing Robinton’s belongings. Then he saw the thick roll of music she was stowing away. “What’s that?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Rob’s done some exercises,” she replied indifferently, and tried
to place them out of sight in the carton.
“Exercises?”
“Classwork, I think,” she added to stress the insignificance. She had it almost packed away when Petiron extracted the roll and pulled it open.
In the exasperating fashion thin hide can have, it resisted, and he was muttering under his breath with frustration. Merelan steeled herself and motioned surreptitiously for Robie to continue folding his clothing into the carisak.
Rob had so hoped that he could leave the apartment without any unpleasantness. Why did his father have to hang around this afternoon when he could have been anywhere else in the Hall just then?
“Exercises? Exercises!” Petiron glared first at his spouse and then through the doorway at his son. His tendency to use scowls as facial expressions had already carved deep lines in his long face.
“These are copies of those ridiculous tunes the apprentices keep asking to sing.”
Robinton couldn’t see his mother’s face because she had risen,