'Just made it,' said a black-haired lad whose curls covered his forehead to his eyebrows. 'Go on – there're plenty of other places,' he added to the nearest of the small lads.
'This is Robinton, from the Harper Hall,' Falloner said, flumping himself down. 'That's Pragal,' he told Robie, pointing to their greeter, 'Jesken, Morif, Rangul, Sellel – and Bravonner; he's my younger brother.'
Robinton thought there wasn't much resemblance, except in the eyes, but then they must have had different mothers, since Falloner had said his was dead.
'How come you got back?' Bravonner asked.
'I told you I'm only at Benden for more schooling,' Falloner said in a kindly manner to his sibling. 'You been OK?' He glanced accusingly around the table at the others.
'Sure ...' Bravonner began.
'I promised you, didn't I?' Pragal said, bridling. 'No one's bothered him.'
'Cepting you,' Bravonner said with a wicked sideways look at Pragal, who promptly socked him on the arm with mock-ferocity.
'You see?' Bravonner added, appealing to his older brother.
'Yeah. I can see that. Something good for dinner?' he asked Rangul.
This lad was of stockier build and well fleshed, with eyes that darted from one speaker to another. He reminded Robinton of one of the apprentices whom he didn't much trust, a boy who lied bold-facedly after a dispute at his table and then laid all the blame on another apprentice.
'Roast herd-beast,' Rangul said, smacking his lips. His expression altered to disgust. 'And lots of tubers.'
'You should know,' said Jesken, a thin-faced lad with a close-cropped head of hair, 'since you had to peel so many of them.' And he laughed.
'Whatcha do to get that duty?' Falloner asked, his expression eager.
'No one's business but mine,' Rangul said sullenly, with a fierce scowl across the table at the laughing Jesken.
'He pushed Lama in the midden,' Jesken said, raising a protective arm when Rangul reached across the table with his fork to poke him.
'Enough of that,' Falloner said in a crisp tone of command which indicated he often had to intervene between this pair. He glanced quickly around to be sure no one had noticed. 'Not that Larna doesn't need to be taught some manners ... but you only get in trouble. Who's minding her now?' He looked around again, and his eyes paused at a table on the other side of the room which was occupied by young girls. 'Oh, Manora would be stuck with her.' He turned back to the other boys. 'Didn't anything interesting happen since I left?'
The report that followed didn't mean much to Robinton, who didn't know the weyrfolk named. But shortly a platter of sliced roast was shoved at Falloner, ending the discussion.
'Back are you?' the serving woman asked sourly. 'Make sure there's no trouble at this table. You hear me?'
'As ever, Milla,' he replied with an innocent smile.
'Rangul, go fetch the tubers,' she added.
'I had to peel 'em,' he protested.
'All the more reason to serve the product of your labours. Go!
Jesken, you get the salad.'
Grumbling under his breath, Rangul pushed back his chair and with no good grace collected the large, steaming bowl. Jesken was back before him with the basket of salad.
Falloner had by then served two big slices to Rob and himself, before passing the platter on. He gestured for Rangul to bring him the tubers. The lad complied, but sullenly: Falloner was clearly not one Rangul cared to antagonize.
'You're a guest,' Jesken said, offering Robinton the salad.
'And he'll be singing later, too. Good voice, good music.' And Falloner winked at Robinton, who was then rather nervous about anyone finding out who had written the songs which Merelan had told him were to be the Wbe taught some manners ... but you only get in trouble. Who's minding her now?' He looked around again, and his eyes paused at a table on the other side of the room which was occupied by young girls. 'Oh, Manora would be stuck with her.' He turned back to the other boys. 'Didn't anything interesting happen since I left?'
The report that followed didn't mean much to Robinton, who didn't know the weyrfolk named. But shortly a platter of sliced roast was shoved at Falloner, ending the discussion.
'Back are you?' the serving woman asked sourly. 'Make sure there's no trouble at this table. You hear me?'
'As ever, Milla,' he replied with an innocent smile.
'Rangul, go fetch the tubers,' she added.
'I had to peel 'em,' he protested.
'All the more reason to serve the product of your labours. Go!
Jesken, you get the salad.'
Grumbling under his breath, Rangul pushed back his chair and
with no good grace collected the large, steaming bowl. Jesken was back before him with the basket of salad.
Falloner had by then served two big slices to Rob and himself, before passing the platter on. He gestured for Rangul to bring him the tubers. The lad complied, but sullenly: Falloner was clearly not one Rangul cared to antagonize.
'You're a guest,' Jesken said, offering Robinton the salad.
'And he'll be singing later, too. Good voice, good music.' And Falloner winked at Robinton, who was then rather nervous about anyone finding out who had written the songs which Merelan had told him were to be the Weyr's evening entertainment.
'I suppose we'll have to listen to you, too,' Rangul said nastily to Falloner, his expression a mixture of both irritation and envy.
'I'm the one who can carry a tune,' Falloner said, grinning snidely across the table.
'Those who can't sing play instruments at the Harper Hall,' Robinton said, sensing this sort of teasing could easily turn nasty.
Weyr lads were really no different from Harper Hall apprentices.
'Hey, this roast is really good,' he added, hoping to divert the conversation.
'Yeah, it is,' Falloner agreed, chewing. 'Not that we don't eat well here ...'
'Most of the time,' Jesken put in, his mouth so full that he had to push the gravy back in with one finger, which he then licked.
'Real good tonight. Must have been younger than we usually get.'
'We've got Robinton at the table, after all,' Falloner said, grinning.
'You staying up here a while?' Sellel asked, glancing from Falloner to Robinton.
'Tonight for sure,' Falloner said. He nudged Robinton in the ribs. 'They'll have you singing 'til dawn, you know.'
'Then you'll be singing right with us,' Robinton said, and put another forkful of the tender roast into his mouth. He sort of regretted that he'd have to eat lightly, but he couldn't sing properly with a full gut.
Sing he did, with Falloner, with his mother and as a soloist. First, of course, they did the Duty Song, in which the entire audience joined, singing both chorus and verses once Robinton had sung the opening verse. There was applause for him through the first chorus.
He rather liked that and took it for the compliment it was.
Then his mother mouthed 'Question Song' at him. It was not next on the programme, but as she was conducting the concert he sang it – to a hushed and very thoughtful audience. S'loner was beaming with delight at the weyrfolk's surprise and attention.
Robinton and Falloner did several of his songs, without saying who the composer was, and these were well received. The Weyr might not have a highly trained harper, but there were a lot of good voices and folk who picked up quickly on tune and chorus. This was a totally different audience from any Robinton had ever sung for – and quite possibly the best. His mother was responding to it, too, because her voice was joyous again, even in the more nostalgic melodies. They had established an unusual rapport with this audience, a new depth of 'listening'.
