“What? Count the eggs before they’re laid? Not at all!” Menolly sounded repressive. “Why? You don’t want one, do you?”
“Not I.”
Menolly burst out laughing at his telling rejoinder and he groaned. Well, let her have her laugh.
“What would I do with a firelizard?” he went on to settle her. “I promised Corana I’d see if I could get one for her. She’s been very … kind to me, you know.” He was rewarded by the sound of Menolly’s gulp of surprise.
Then she smacked him across the shoulder blade with her closed fist and he winced, then ducked away from her.
“Leave off, Menolly! I’ve a score on that shoulder, too.” He spoke with more irritation than he meant and then cursed himself for reminding her of what he avoided mentioning.
“I am sorry, Jaxom,” she said with such contrition that Jaxom was mollified. “How much scoring did you get?”
“Face, shoulder and thigh.”
She caught at his other shoulder. “Listen! They’re thrumming wildly. And, look, there are candidates entering the Hatching Ground. Can we fly right in?”
Jaxom directed Ruth in through the upper entrance of the Hatching Ground. Bronzes were still bearing visitors to the Ground. As Ruth entered, Jaxom found his gaze going immediately to the spot by the arch where he and Ruth had transferred to return the egg. He felt a sudden surge of pride at his feat.
“I see Robinton, Jaxom. There on the fourth tier. Near the Istan colors. Would you sit with us, Jaxom?” There was an entreaty in her tone, and a slight emphasis that puzzled Jaxom. Who wouldn’t want to sit with the Masterharper of Pern?
Ruth angled close to the tier, catching at the ledge with his claws and hovering long enough to permit Menolly and Jaxom to dismount.
As Jaxom settled his tunic before seating himself, he got a good long look at Master Robinton. He could understand Menolly’s entreaty. The Harper seemed different. Oh, he had greeted Jaxom and Menolly brightly enough with a smile for his journeyman and a buffet on the shoulder for Jaxom but he had turned back to his own thoughts which, to judge by his expression, were sad. The Masterharper of Pern had a long face, generally mobile with quick expressions and reaction. Now, while the Harper apparently watched the progress of the young candidates as they moved across the warm sands of the Hatching Ground, his face was lined, his deep-set eyes shadowed with fatigue and worry, the skin of his cheeks and chin sagged. He looked old, tired, and bereft. Jaxom was appalled and looked quickly away, avoiding Menolly’s gaze because his thoughts must have been all too apparent to the observant Harper girl.
Master Robinton old? Tired, worried, yes. But aging? A cold emptiness assailed Jaxom’s innards. Pern deprived of the humor and wisdom of the Master Harper? Even harder to contemplate was being without his vision and eager curiosity. Resentment replaced the sense of loss as Jaxom found himself, loyal to Robinton’s precepts, trying to rationalize this wave of unpalatable reflection.
An urgent thrumming brought his attention back to the Hatching Ground. He’d been to enough Hatchings to realize that Ramoth’s presence, when there was no queen egg, was unusual; her attitude was daunting. He wouldn’t have wanted to brave her red whirling eyes, or the stabs of her head as she kept poking toward the oncoming candidates. Instead of fanning out so that they loosely circled the rocking eggs, the boys were in a tight group, as if that way they stood a better chance against her attentions.
“I don’t envy them,” Menolly said to Jaxom in an undertone.
“Will she let them Impress, sir?” Jaxom asked the Harper, momentarily forgetting his awareness of the man’s mortality.
“You’d think she was inspecting each one to see if he smelled of the Southern Weyr, wouldn’t you?” the Harper replied, his voice light with humor.
Jaxom glanced at him and wondered if there hadn’t been some unflattering trick of lighting for the Harper grinned with mischief, very much his customary self.
“I’m not sure I’d care for such a scrutiny right now,” he added, giving his left eyebrow a quirk upward.