Masterharper of Pern by Anne McCaffrey Page B

wise to isolate him from his own age group. He needs their companionship. All children do. But I’ll say this for him: he won’t stand for any teasing or bullying.”
    “You don’t have any problems with that, do you?”
    Merelan knew that the apprentices were often apt to pick on a lad who tried to push himself forward, and occasionally they would taunt a slower boy, but the masters kept a tight rein on any physical violence and chastised culprits for verbal harangue. Some of the final-year apprentices were apt to take grudges against one another, but those were generally settled by a wrestling match overseen by a journeyman. To be a harper conferred sufficient dignity and privilege that few would jeopardize their chance to achieve journeyman status by gross misconduct. Inevitably, there were subtle competitions during the fourth year.
    “I have to be truthful, Merelan. Some of them are jealous of his quick mind.”
    “Well, I can scarcely punish him for that,” Merelan said, trying to suppress a spurt of outrage.
    Kubisa held up both hands in simulated defense. “Easy, mother, and I won’t tell you who, either,” she added before Merelan could open her mouth. “That’s for me to know and handle. And I have. I ask Rob to take one of the slower ones off to hear their lesson. He’s actually very patient—more so than I would be with that rascal, Lexey.”
    “Lexey? Bosler’s youngest?”
    “I know you know that Lexey has learning difficulties, but Rob has him repeat his lessons until he knows them by heart.” Kubisa sighed. “Sometimes late life babies are a little . . . backward. And Rob made up another tune, one that Lexey can actually remember, to help him with place names.” She reached into the folder and brought out a scrap of hide, cleaned so often that it was almost transparent, and handed it to Merelan. “Robie’s a caring child and a born teacher.”
    The Mastersinger had no trouble identifying the writer of the tiny, precisely placed notes and hummed the tune. Simple and very easy, up the C scale and then down by thirds.
     
    Fort was first, South Boll then
    Ruatha came and Tillek, too.
    Benden next and north Telgar . . .
     
    Easy enough for a child to sing, but effective with the tune itself as an aid to memory.
    “That’s not bad,” Merelan said.
    “Not bad?” Kubisa stared at her in disgust. “For a child five Turns old? It’s incredible. Washell wants me to use it in class as a Teaching Ballad.”
    “He does?”
    “He does, and we don’t intend to tell Petiron, either.” Kubisa’s tone was almost defensive. “I never ask Rob to do these. He just does them. Should I discourage him, Merelan?” She couldn’t quite keep her expression neutral.
    “No, don’t discourage him, Kubisa. And thank you for your understanding.”
    The interview troubled Merelan for several days but she could see no way to mention Robie’s abilities to Petiron. As usual, he had music he had to compose—this time for an espousal at Nerat. He planned a duet between Merelan and Halanna, and a very ambitious quartet, making use of a fine young tenor who would soon be walking the tables to become a journeyman. Petiron was always bemoaning the loss of any good tenor voice, and Merelan entertained the wry hope that Robie might end up in the tenor range as an adult. At least he sang on key in his childish treble. Even if his father never noticed. These were the times when she was very glad that she wasn’t able to bear more children, or foster them.
     
    That spring young Robinton had a revelation that made a tremendous impact on his mind: he met dragons.
    He’d always known they existed, and once in a while, a wing would be seen flying in formation high overhead. He knew that Fort Weyr had been empty for several hundred Turns and no one knew why. He knew, from Teaching Songs and Ballads, why there were dragons: that they kept Thread away—though he didn’t understand why Thread was so dangerous.