So much for that, Robinton thought and, with a smile for his Master, he went back to applying the varnish. He wasn’t using a quick-drying type because he wanted to avoid any brush strokes.
By dinner-time, his mood had swung in the opposite direction and his stomach was churning. Maybe it had been Petiron’s idea in the first place, removing the unwanted son from the Hall? His father was more likely to suggest he go drudge for someone in a back-of-beyond small hold, too far away for him to take time off and come back to the Hall. It’d be ironic if Robinton was assigned
to Master Ricardy at Fort Hold. He already had three assistants and another, elderly harper who did nothing but entertain for the old aunties and uncles of the Hold. No, definitely, Master Gennell wanted him to help teach. That had been the crux of the interview: would he be willing to teach?
Though the dinner was one of Lorra’s better ones, Robinton found himself unable to eat, a fact immediately noted by his table companions who were well aware of his voracious appetite.
“Inhaling varnish all afternoon has put me off,” he offered as explanation.
Falawny gave him a startled look. “First time in three turns it ever has,” he remarked. “Ah, well, more for us certainly, eh, fellows?” And he speared a third slice of roast from the platter being passed.
Robinton hadn’t seen any packs in the hallway, so no one had been warned that tonight might be the night to walk tables. He sneaked a glance at the fourth-term table; judging by the way dinner was being consumed, their appetites weren’t affected.
Determinedly, he mopped his bread in the gravy and ate that, though his stomach toiled with either hunger or nerves. He actually hadn’t had all that much experience with either condition. He’d never gone hungry, and he refused to let himself get nervous just over a hunch that tonight might be the night.
He shifted about on his chair a lot, shooting glances at his mother, but she was busy either eating, quite normally, or chatting with Master Washell and his father, who bracketed her at the head table. Well, maybe she hadn’t been told.
Because he spent so much of the dinner-time looking about the dining hall, he did notice that Journeyman Shonagar was seated to one side. But there was nothing especially unusual about Shonagar’s presence: journeymen were constantly in and out of the Hall on errands, on reassignments, or to ask advice of their Masters.
The sweet and klah had been served, and Robinton managed to get those down with no trouble.
Then he heard a chair being shoved back and Master Gennell was on his feet, tapping his glass for attention. The room was already still, breaths universally bated.
“Ah, I see that I have your attention.” His grin swept from the
Masters’ tables, across the journeymen’s and towards the apprentices.