They were maneuvering him up the steps to the Main Hall, toward the infirmary, when Silvina intercepted them, asking quick questions, to which she got simultaneous answers from Dirzan and Rokayas.

“He fell down the stairs,” said Rokayas.

“Nothing but a tumble,” said Dirzan, overriding the other man. “Kept Master Oldive standing in the meadow…”

Silvina’s hands felt cool on his face, moved gently over his skull.

“He knocked himself between, Silvina, probably for a good twenty minutes or more,” Rokayas was saying, his urgent tone cutting through Dirzan’s petulant complaint.

“He claimed there was grease!”

“There was grease,” said Silvina. “Look at his right shoe, Dirzan. Piemur, do you feel nauseated?”

Piemur made an affirmative sound, hoping that he could suppress the urge to spew until he was in the infirmary, even as a small spark of irreverence suggested that here was a superb opportunity to get back at Dirzan with no possible repercussions.

“He’s jarred his skull, all right. Smart of you to carry him prone, Rokayas. Here, now, set him down on this bed. No, you fool, don’t sit him…”

The tipping of his body upward triggered the nausea, and Piemur spewed violently onto the floor. Miserable at such a lack of control, Piemur was also powerless to prevent the heaving that shook him. Then he felt Silvina’s hand supporting his head, was aware that a basin was appropriately in position. Silvina spoke in a soothing tone, half-supporting his trembling body as he continued to vomit. He was thoroughly exhausted and trembling when the spasms ended and he was eased back against a pile of pillows and could rest his aching head.

“I take it that Master Oldive has already gone off to Nabol?”

“How did you know where he went?” demanded Dirzan, irritably astonished.

“You are a proper idiot, Dirzan. I haven’t lived in the Harper Hall all my life without being able to understand drum messages quite well! Not to worry,” she said, and now her fingertips were delicately measuring Piemur’s skull inch by inch. “I can’t feel a crack or split. He may have done no more than rattle his brains. Rest, quiet and time will cure that thumping. Yes, Master Robinton?”

Silvina’s hands paused as she tucked the sleeping fur about Piemur’s chin.

“Piemur’s been hurt?” The Harper’s voice was anxious.

As Piemur turned to one elbow, to acknowledge the Harper’s entrance, Silvina’s hands forced him back against the piled pillows.

“Not seriously, I’m relieved to say, but let’s all leave the room. I’d like a word with these journeymen in your presence, Master Robin—”

The door closed, and Piemur fought between the overwhelming desire to sleep and curiosity about what she had to say to Dirzan and Rokayas in front of the Masterharper. Sleep conquered.

Once she’d closed the door, Silvina gave vent to the anger she’d held in since she’d first glimpsed the gray pallor of Piemur’s face and heard Dirzan’s nasal complaints.

“How could you let matters get so out of hand, Dirzan?” she demanded, whirling on the astonished journeyman. “What sort of prank is that for apprentices to try on anyone? Piemur’s not been himself, but I put that down to losing his voice and adjusting to the disappointment over the music. But this…this is…criminal!” Silvina brandished Piemur’s begreased boot at Dirzan, backing the astonished journeyman against the wall, oblivious to Master Robinton’s repeated query about Piemur’s condition, to Menolly’s precipitous arrival, her face flushed and furrowed with anxiety, and to Rokayas’ delighted and amused observation.

“Enough, Silvina!” The Masterharper’s voice was loud enough to quell her momentarily, but she turned to him with an injunction to keep his voice down. Please!

“I will,” said the Harper in a moderate tone, keeping Silvina turned toward him, and away from the subject of her ire, “if you will tell me what happened to Piemur.”

Silvina let out an exasperated breath, glared once more at Dirzan and then answered Master Robinton.

“His skull isn’t cracked, though how it wasn’t I’ll never know,” and she exhibited the glistening sole of Piemur’s boot, “with stair treads coated with grease. He’s bruised, scraped and shaken, and he’s definitely suffering from shock and concussion…”

“When will he recover?” There was an urgency behind the Harper’s voice that Silvina heard. Now she gave him a long keen look.

“A few days’ rest will see him right, I’m sure. But I mean rest!” She crossed her hands in a whipping motion to emphasize her verdict, then pointed to the closed infirmary door. “Right there! Nowhere near those murdering louts in the drumheights!”

“Murdering?” Dirzan gasped an objection to her term.

“He could have been killed. You know how Piemur climbs steps,” she said, scowling fiercely at the journeyman.

“But…but there wasn’t a trace of grease on those steps or the railing. I tested them all myself!”

“Too clean,” said Rokayas, and earned a reprimanding glare from Dirzan. “Too clean!” Rokayas repeated and then said to Silvina. “Piemur’s decidedly odd man. He learns too quickly.”

“And spouts off what he hears!” Dirzan spoke sharply, determined that Piemur should share the responsibility for this untoward incident.

“Not Piemur,” Silvina and Menolly said in one breath.

Dirzan sputtered a moment. “But there’ve been several very private messages that were all over the Hall, and everyone knows how much Piemur talks, what a conniver he is!”

“Conniver, yes,” said Silvina just as Menolly drew breath to defend her friend. “Blabberer, no. He’s not been saying more than please and thank you lately either. I’ve noticed. And I’ve noticed some other things happening to him that ought not to have! No mere pranks for the new lad in the craft, either!”

Dirzan moved uneasily under her intense stare and looked appealingly toward the Masterharper.

“How much of drum message has Piemur learned in his time with you?” asked the Harper, no expression in voice or face other than polite inquiry.

“Well, now, he does seem to have picked up every measure I’ve set him. In fact,” and Dirzan admitted this reluctantly, “he has quite a knack for it. Though, of course, he’s not done more than beat the woods or listen with the journeyman on duty.” He glanced at Rokayas for support.

“I’d say Piemur knows more than he admits,” said Rokayas in a droll tone, grinning when Dirzan began to mouth a denial.

“It’d be like Piemur,” said Menolly with a grin and then, touching Silvina’s arm, “does he need someone with him right now?”

“Rest and quiet is what he needs, and I’ll look in on him every little while.”

“Rocky could stay,” Menolly said. The little bronze fire lizard put in an immediate appearance, chittering worriedly to find himself in such an unexpected place.

“I won’t deny that would be sensible,” said Silvina, glancing at the closed door. “Yes, that would be very wise, I think.”

Everyone watched as Menolly, stroking Rocky gently, told him that he should stay with Piemur and let her know when he spoke. Then she opened the door just enough to admit the little fire lizard, watched as Rocky settled himself quietly by Piemur’s feet, his glistening eyes on the boy’s pale face.

“Rokayas, would you help Menolly collect Piemur’s things from the drumheights?” asked the Harper. His voice was mild, his manner unexceptional but, unmistakably his attitude informed Dirzan that he had misjudged Piemur’s standing in the eyes of the most important people of the Hall.

Dirzan offered to do the small task himself, and was denied; offered to help Menolly, who awarded him a cool look. He desisted then, but the set look to his mouth and the controlled anger in his eyes suggested that he was going to deal sternly with the apprentices who had put him in such an invidious position. When he was unexpectedly placed on duty for the entire Feastday, he knew why the roster had been changed. He also knew better than to blame Piemur.