“I would be willing,” Robinton said, though his throat had gone dry.
“It is the unanimous…” Jerint paused to be sure Robinton appreciated that “… decision of all the Masters of this Craft that you accept this position and all its honours, privileges, prerogatives and … all that hard work!” He stepped forward, gripping Robinton’s hand in his and shaking it hard. “I bless the Egg that it’s you, Rob!”
“Who else?” Ogolly demanded, taking his turn to pump the hand of the newly appointed MasterHarper of the Craft. “Who else, dear boy? Who else? Merelan would be so -‘ Ogolly’s eyes teared up and his voice cracked, but he went on “- so very, very proud of you right now.”
Robinton, gripping Ogolly’s hand, felt his throat close in response to the mention of his beloved mother. “She would, she would.”
“She always said you would be Master,” Silvina said. She threw her arms about Robinton’s neck to kiss him soundly. “Mother’ll be so happy, Rob. So happy. The day you were born, she said she knew you were destined for great things.”
“Petiron helped take the count, Rob,” Jerint put in, and there was a wicked sparkle in his eyes.
“He’s proud of you, too, Robinton …” Ogolly said quite solemnly. “Really, he is.”
Robinton only nodded. Silvina, busy at one of the cupboards, produced glasses and a wine-skin, which she held out to Robinton so that he could see the label.
“Benden?” he exclaimed.
“Gennell ordered in a supply just for today!” she said. “I’ve kept it safe,” she added, casting a reproving glare at Jerint, “so open this skin. There’ll be enough to get every last one of you legless tonight.”
Robinton was still hung over the next morning when he entered the office of the MasterHarper. He stopped when he saw there was someone waiting: Petiron. His father had not been backward in toasting and drinking the health of the new MasterHarper the previous night, a fact of which Robinton had taken wary note.
“As one of your first duties as MasterHarper, Robinton, I wish you will assign me to a post,” his father said in a stiff and formal tone. “I think you will do well in this office. I wish you the best, but I feel that my presence here in the Hall might cause you embarrassment…”
“Really … Father …” Robinton mentally berated himself that the unused title came out so awkwardly.
Petiron gave a little smile, as if that hesitation was proof enough of his contention. “I think it would be easier for you to assume your responsibilities without … feeling … well, that I might not agree.”
Robinton caught his father’s eyes and slowly nodded. “That is considerate, most considerate, but hardly necessary …
“I insist,” Petiron said, raising his chin in a stubborn pose his son knew all too well.
“There aren’t any major Holds …”
“I would prefer a minor one—”
“You are a Master and as such deserve—”
“What I ask for.”
“But you have that fine new apprentice – Domick? I thought you were very pleased with his progress.”
Petiron gave a snort and dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. “That young man thinks he knows everything. You can have the pleasure of dealing with him.”
Robinton managed not to grin. He had heard about the fine rows his father had with Domick, arguing chromatic variations, and he rather thought Petiron might have met his match.
“I just thought that …” he tried again. “Well, you thought wrong. What contracts are available?” And Petiron held out his hand, all but snapping his fingers at his son to speed him up.
Robinton stepped round to the front of the desk where messages were piled in order and by subject. For the last few weeks of his life, Gennell had kept Robinton up to date on all Hall matters, so he knew which pile contained the requests for harpers. He picked it up and handed it to Petiron.
“See if one of these suits,” he said, acquiescing to the inevitable.
In a way, he was relieved. He would indeed feel a slight inhibition that his father might question some of the decisions he would have to make – especially as Petiron had widely opposite notions about the imminence of Threadfall and what fourth-turn composition apprentices had to learn even if they were unlikely ever to have to teach theory and composition. It would be easier if Petiron were not here.