It was Sebell who suggested a new role for young Traller, an exceedingly mischievous apprentice who sorely tried the patience of every Master in the Hall with his pranks and strategies to get out of any task he did not like. Traller never seemed to be to blame for boyish tricks … it was always someone else in the dorm. He was never there when work was assigned and always had a plausible excuse for such an absence. He could ride any runner-beast in the beasthold, pin a fly to the wall with his dagger at a hundred paces, survive the best tricks of heavier lads on the wrestling mats, and he was totally without conscience. He possessed a lively wit, however, as well as an inventive mind for excuses. He was the personification of contrariness, and yet Robinton liked him, however often the boy was up before him for disciplinary action. He had had a good treble, lost when he hit puberty, and now his best musical skill was drumming: either in the Tower, where he excelled, or on any surface which had any resonance. He drummed with his fingers -one of his dorm-mates said he drummed with his toes at night against the bedstead – with sticks, and even upon occasion in the dining hall, with the thigh-bones of a fowl.
“It’s about Trailer,” Sebell said one evening as Robinton was relaxing after dinner.
“Ohhh,” Robinton groaned. “What’s he done this time?” He had
run out of any useful disciplines to curb the lad.
“I was thinking, Master, that he might do better training with Nip,” Sebell said, a sly smile on his face as he watched Robinton’s reaction to the suggestion. “It seems to me that every time Nip reports in he looks more gaunt and tired. He needs someone else -if only to run back here with messages for you.” When he saw that Robinton was considering the notion he added, “It’s not as if anyone will ever control Traller, but all that energy could be useful to Nip.”
“I think you’ve hit on a marvellous future for that young man, Sebell. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it myself.”
Sebell chuckled. “You do have one or two other matters to worry about.”
Robinton agreed vehemently and went back to solving those of the most immediate concern – such as reassigning harpers for the next turn’s teaching duties.
But he was ready with Sebell’s suggestion the next time Nip eased himself into the Harper’s study, followed closely enough by Sebell with food and drink for the man.
“I’ve someone you might like to train, Nip,” Robinton said.
“Huh?” Nip scowled. “I travel faster alone. And safer. Ah, thanks, Sebell, you’re remarkable in anticipation of my needs.” He bit into a meat roll and chewed while Robinton went on.
“I think you must at least assess young Traller as a possible apprentice,” Robinton said firmly.
“Oh, well, if you put it like that, I’ll give him a going-over then.” “It’s you or back to Keroon for him, because we can’t use his …
special … talents as a harper, that’s very obvious. Weren’t you saying that you can only be in one place at a time? If I need an assistant, so do you.”
Nip gave him complete attention. “Sebell’s no lad …” He shook his head. “I’d hate to put someone in danger, and it’s dangerous up there in Fax’s.”
“More reason than ever for you to have an … assistant,” Sebell remarked pointedly.
Nip made a noise in his throat. “You mean “shadow”, don’t you?” he asked, jerking his thumb towards Sebell who grinned back, quite willing to make the criticism into a compliment.
Robinton blinked and grinned, then laughed out loud, for there was a faint resemblance – the colour and set of their eyes, the same dark hair almost to the whirls at the crown, and strong features, chin and nose – that spoke of their distant Blood relationship.
Sebell was now as tall as the MasterHarper and, over the turns, had picked up some of Robinton’s mannerisms as well. Their eyes met and they grinned with perfect understanding and mutual respect.