Read Online Dragonriders of Pern 6 - Dragondrums by Anne McCaffrey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Ads: Link
head, Piemur, or it’s back to the runner hold for you.”
“I’ve a right to defend my honor! And I can!” Piemur caught himself just in time before he blurted out that Master Robinton could attest to his discretion. As rife with rumor as the Harper Hall generally was, there hadn’t been a whisper about the Oldtimers’ raid on the mine.
“How?” Dirzan’s single derisive word told Piemur forcibly how very difficult that would be without being rightfully accused of indiscretion.
“I’ll figure a way. You’ll see!” Piemur glared impotently at the delighted grins of the other apprentices.
That night, when everyone else slept through the dead hours, Piemur lay awake, restless with agitation. The more he examined his problem, the harder it was to solve it without being indiscreet on some count or another. When he’d still been free to chatter with his friends, he could have asked the help of Brolly, Bonz, Timiny or Ranly. Among them, they’d surely have been able to discover a solution. If he approached Menolly or Sebell about such a piffling problem, they might decide he wasn’t the right lad for their needs. They might even consider his complaint a lack of discretion in itself.
How right Master Robinton had been when he said that Piemur might possibly be plagued into disclosing matters best left unmentioned! Only how could the Harper have known that Piemur was stuck in the one discipline, as a drum apprentice, where he was most likely to be accused of indiscretions?
One possibility presented itself to his questioning mind: the apprentices, even Clell as the oldest, were still plodding through the medium hard drum measures. Therefore some parts of every long message reaching the Harper Hall were incomprehensible to them. Now, if Piemur learned drum language beat perfect, he’d understand the messages in full. Not that he’d let Dirzan know that when he wrote the message down for him. But he’d keep a private record of everything he translated. Then, the next time there was a rumor of a half-understood message, Piemur would prove; to Dirzan that he had known all the message, not just the parts the other apprentices had understood.
To further achieve his end, Piemur kept to the drum-heights even at mealtimes. Preferably within the sight of Dirzan, the Master, or one of the other duty journeymen. If he wasn’t near others, he couldn’t be accused of gossiping to them. Even when he was sent on message-runs, he made the return trip so fast no one could possibly accuse him of dawdling and gossiping on the way. The only other time he was in the court was to help Menolly feed the fire lizards. Messages came through, some of them urgent, some tempting enough, Piemur would have thought, for one of the apprentices to repeat, but no whisper of rumor repaid his immolation. In despair he gave up his plan and tore up the messages he had written. But he still held himself away from others.
He wasn’t certain how much more of this he could endure when Menolly appeared in the drumheights just after breakfast one morning.
“I need a messenger today,” she said to Dirzan.
“Clell would—”
“No. I want Piemur.”
“Now, Menolly, I wouldn’t mind letting him go for a minor errand but—”
“Piemur is Master Robinton’s choice,” she said with a shrug, “and he’s cleared this with Master Olodkey. Piemur, get your gear together.”
Piemur blandly ignored the black looks Clell directed his way as he crossed the living room. “Menolly, I think you ought to mention to Master Robinton that we haven’t found Piemur too reliable—”
“Piemur? Unreliable?”
Piemur had been about to whip around and defy Dirzan, but the amused condescension in Menolly’s tone was a far better defense than any he could muster under his circumstances. In one mild question, Menolly had given Dirzan, not to mention Clell and the others, a lot to think about.
“Oh, he’s been bleating to you, has he?”
“I’ve a right to defend my honor! And I can!” Piemur caught himself just in time before he blurted out that Master Robinton could attest to his discretion. As rife with rumor as the Harper Hall generally was, there hadn’t been a whisper about the Oldtimers’ raid on the mine.
“How?” Dirzan’s single derisive word told Piemur forcibly how very difficult that would be without being rightfully accused of indiscretion.
“I’ll figure a way. You’ll see!” Piemur glared impotently at the delighted grins of the other apprentices.
That night, when everyone else slept through the dead hours, Piemur lay awake, restless with agitation. The more he examined his problem, the harder it was to solve it without being indiscreet on some count or another. When he’d still been free to chatter with his friends, he could have asked the help of Brolly, Bonz, Timiny or Ranly. Among them, they’d surely have been able to discover a solution. If he approached Menolly or Sebell about such a piffling problem, they might decide he wasn’t the right lad for their needs. They might even consider his complaint a lack of discretion in itself.
How right Master Robinton had been when he said that Piemur might possibly be plagued into disclosing matters best left unmentioned! Only how could the Harper have known that Piemur was stuck in the one discipline, as a drum apprentice, where he was most likely to be accused of indiscretions?
One possibility presented itself to his questioning mind: the apprentices, even Clell as the oldest, were still plodding through the medium hard drum measures. Therefore some parts of every long message reaching the Harper Hall were incomprehensible to them. Now, if Piemur learned drum language beat perfect, he’d understand the messages in full. Not that he’d let Dirzan know that when he wrote the message down for him. But he’d keep a private record of everything he translated. Then, the next time there was a rumor of a half-understood message, Piemur would prove; to Dirzan that he had known all the message, not just the parts the other apprentices had understood.
To further achieve his end, Piemur kept to the drum-heights even at mealtimes. Preferably within the sight of Dirzan, the Master, or one of the other duty journeymen. If he wasn’t near others, he couldn’t be accused of gossiping to them. Even when he was sent on message-runs, he made the return trip so fast no one could possibly accuse him of dawdling and gossiping on the way. The only other time he was in the court was to help Menolly feed the fire lizards. Messages came through, some of them urgent, some tempting enough, Piemur would have thought, for one of the apprentices to repeat, but no whisper of rumor repaid his immolation. In despair he gave up his plan and tore up the messages he had written. But he still held himself away from others.
He wasn’t certain how much more of this he could endure when Menolly appeared in the drumheights just after breakfast one morning.
“I need a messenger today,” she said to Dirzan.
“Clell would—”
“No. I want Piemur.”
“Now, Menolly, I wouldn’t mind letting him go for a minor errand but—”
“Piemur is Master Robinton’s choice,” she said with a shrug, “and he’s cleared this with Master Olodkey. Piemur, get your gear together.”
Piemur blandly ignored the black looks Clell directed his way as he crossed the living room. “Menolly, I think you ought to mention to Master Robinton that we haven’t found Piemur too reliable—”
“Piemur? Unreliable?”
Piemur had been about to whip around and defy Dirzan, but the amused condescension in Menolly’s tone was a far better defense than any he could muster under his circumstances. In one mild question, Menolly had given Dirzan, not to mention Clell and the others, a lot to think about.
“Oh, he’s been bleating to you, has he?”
Similar Books
