“ ‘Just now, sir?’ Of course, I mean now, not this afternoon or tomorrow, but now.”

“Now…and always?” asked Piemur uncertainly. If he could no longer sing, Master Shonagar would take on another special apprentice to perform those personal and private duties for him that Piemur had been undertaking in the past Turns. Not only was Piemur reluctant to lose the privilege of being Master Shonagar’s special lad, he honestly didn’t wish to end the very rewarding association with the Master. He liked Shonagar, and those services he had performed for his Master had stemmed from that liking rather than a sense of duty. He had enjoyed above all the droll humor and florid speech of his Master, of being teased for his bold behavior and called to task by a man he had never managed to deceive for an instant with any of his stratagems or ploys.

“Now, yes,” and there was a rumble of regret in Shonagar’s expressive voice that eased Piemur’s sense of loss, “but assuredly not always,” and the Master’s tone was brisker with only a hint of resigned irritation that he was not going to be forever rid of this small nuisance. “How can we escape each other, immured as we are in the Harper Hall?”

Though Piemur knew perfectly well that Master Shonagar rarely left his hall, he was obscurely reassured. He made a half turn and then came slowly back,

“This afternoon, you’ll need some errands done?”

“You may not be available,” said Master Shonagar, his face expressionless, his voice almost as neutral.

“But, sir, who will come to you?” and again, Piemur’s voice broke. “You know you’re always busy after the midday meal…”

“If you mean,” and Shonagar spoke with real amusement crinkling his eye folds, “do I plan to appoint Tilgin to the vacancy? Sssssh! I shall, of course, have to devote a great deal of time to improving his voice and musicality, but to have him lurking about on tap…” The thick fingers wiggled with distaste. “Away with you. The choice of your successor requires considerable thought. Not, mind you, that there are not hundreds of likely lads who would undoubtedly suit my small requirements to perfection…”

Piemur caught his breath in hurt and then saw the twitch of Master Shonagar’s expressive brows and realized that this moment was no easier on the older man.

“Undoubtedly…” Piemur tried to turn away on that light note but found he could not, wishing that Master Shonagar might just this once…

“Go, my son. You will ever know where to find me, should the need arise.”

This time the dismissal was final because the Master slanted his head against his fist and closed his eyes, shamming weariness.

Quickly Piemur walked to the entrance, blinking at the bright sunlight after the darker hall. He paused on the bottom step, reluctant to take the final one that severed his association with Master Shonagar. There was a sudden hard lump in his throat that had nothing to do with his voice change. He swallowed, but the sensation of constriction remained. He rubbed at his eyes with knuckles that came away moist and stood, fists clenched at his thighs, trying not to blubber.

Master Robinton had something to tell him about new duties? So his voice change had been discussed by the Masters. To be sure, he wouldn’t have been callously thrown out of the Harper Hall and sent in some obscure disgrace back to his herdsman father and the dreary life of a beast farmer simply because he no longer had his soprano voice. No, that wouldn’t be his fate, despite the fact that singing was his one undeniable harper skill. As Talmor said of his gitar and harp playing, he could accompany so long as his playing was drowned out by loud singing or other instruments. The drums and pipes he made under Master’s Jerint’s guidance were only passable and never got stamped for sale at Gathers. He copied scores accurately enough when he put his mind to it, but he always found so many more interesting things to do than spending hours cramping his fingers, to renew Records someone else could do more neatly and in half the time. Yet, when pushed to it, Piemur didn’t actually mind scribing, if he were allowed to add his own embellishments. Which he wasn’t. Not with Master Arnor looking over his shoulder and muttering about wasted ink and hide.

Piemur sighed deeply. The only thing he was really adept at was singing, and that was no longer possible. Forever? No, not forever! He spread his fingers in rejection of that prospect and then closed them into tighter fists. He’d be able to sing all right: he’d learned too much from Master Shonagar about voice production and phrasing and interpretation, but he might not have a voice as an adult. And he wasn’t going to sing unless he did! He had his reputation. Better if he never opened his mouth to sing another note…

Tilgin flubbed another phrase. Piemur grinned, listening to Tilgin repeating the phrase correctly. They’d miss Piemur all right! He could sight-read any score, even one of Domick’s, without missing a beat or an awkward interval, or those florid embellishments Domick insisted on writing for the treble parts. Yes, they’d miss Piemur in the chorus!

That knowledge fortified him, and he took the final step onto the flagstones of the court. Clipping his thumbs over his belt, he began to saunter toward the main entrance of the Harper Hall. Not, he reminded himself, that a lowly apprentice who has just lost his privileged position, should saunter when sent to the Masterharper of Pern. Piemur squinted into the sunlight at the fire lizards on the roof opposite. He didn’t spot Master Robinton’s bronze fire lizard, Zair, among those sunning themselves with Menolly’s nine. So the Masterharper wasn’t with the day as yet. Come to think of it, Piemur reflected, he’d heard the clear baritone voice of the Harper in the Court late last night and the noise of a dragon landing and departing. These days the Harper spent more time away from the Hall than in it.

“Piemur ?” Startled, he glanced up and saw Menolly standing on the top step of the Main Hall. She’d spoken quietly, and when he peered at her, he knew that she knew what had happened to him.

“It was rather audible,” she said, again in that gentle tone, which both irritated and appeased Piemur. Menolly, of all within the Harper Hall, would sympathize with him most acutely. She knew what it was to be without the ability to make music. “Is that Tilgin singing?”

“Yes, and it’s all my fault,” Piemur said.

“All your fault?” Menolly stared at him in surprised amusement.

“Why did I have to pick now to break my voice?”

“Why indeed? I’m sure you did it only to annoy Domick!” Menolly grinned broadly at him, for they both had experience with Domick’s whimsical temper.

Piemur had reached the top step and experienced another shock on this morning of surprises: he could almost look Menolly squarely in the eye, and she was tall for a girl! She reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing as he indignantly swatted her hand away.

“C’mon, Master Robinton wants to see you.”

“Why? What’m I going to be doing now? D’you know?”

“Not for me to tell you, scamp,” she said, striding on her long legs across the hall and forcing him to a jog pace to keep beside her.

“Menolly, that’s not fair!”

“Ha!” She was pleased by his discomfiture. “You’ve not long to wait. I will tell you this: Domick may not be pleased that your voice changed, but the Master was.”

“Aw, Menolly, one little hint? Please? You know you owe me a favor or two!”

“I do?” Menolly savored her advantage.

“You do. And you know it. You could pay me back right now!” Piemur was irritated. Why did she have to pick now to be difficult?

“Why waste a favor when a little patience on your part will bring the answer?” They had reached the second level and were striding down the corridor toward the Harper’s quarters. “You’d better learn patience, too, my friend!”