The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [75]
He glanced at her. “You can try,” he said.
Mery placed her fingers on the keyboard, and a look of intense concentration came over her face. She bit her lip and played the first chord, walked the melody up, and on the third bar stopped, a look of sudden consternation on her features.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t reach,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“My hands aren’t big enough.”
He smiled. “No one’s hands are big enough. This isn’t really written for hammarharp. That bottom line would be played by a bass croth.”
“But you just played it.”
“I cheated,” he said. “I transposed the notes up an octave. I just wanted an idea how it all sounded together. To really know, we’ll have to have an ensemble play it.”
“Oh.” She pointed. “What’s that line, then?”
“That’s the hautboy.”
“And this?”
“That’s the tenor voice.”
“Someone singing?”
“Exactly.”
She played the single line. “Are there words?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t see them.”
He tapped his head. “They’re still in here, with the rest of it.”
She blinked at him. “You’re making it up?”
“I’m making it up,” he confirmed.
“What are the words?”
“The first word is ih,” Leoff said solemnly.
“Ih? That’s the servants’ word for I.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a very important word. It’s the first time it’s been used like this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do myself.”
“But why the servants’ language? Why not the king’s tongue?”
“Because most people in Crotheny speak Almannish, not the king’s tongue.”
“They do?”
He nodded.
“Is that because they’re all servants?”
He laughed. “In a way, I suppose so.”
“We all of us are servants,” a feminine voice said from the doorway. “It’s only a matter of whom we serve.”
Leoff turned in his seat. A woman stood there. At first he noticed only her eyes, cut gems of topaz that glittered with a deep green fire. They held him mercilessly, and kept his throat tight for too long.
He broke the gaze finally.
“Lady,” he managed, “I have not had the pleasure.” He reached for his crutches and managed to stand and make a little bow.
The woman smiled. She had ash-blond hair that hung in curls and a pleasantly dimpled face that was beginning to show some age. He reckoned her to be in her mid-thirties.
“I am Ambria Gramme,” she told him.
Leoff felt his mouth drop open, and closed it. “You’re Mery’s mother?” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I must say, she is a delight, and a most promising student.”
“Student?” Gramme asked sweetly. “Who are you? And what do you teach, exactly?”
“Oh, my apologies. I am Leovigild Ackenzal, the court composer. I thought Mery would have mentioned me.” He glanced at the girl, who looked innocently away.
The smile widened. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you. Quite the hero, yes? For your part in the business at Broogh.”
Leoff felt his face warming. “If I did anything commendable, it was by sheerest accident, I assure you.”
“Humility isn’t particularly fashionable in the court at the moment, but you do wear it well,” Lady Gramme said. Her eyes drifted down his frame. “You are cut from good cloth, just as I’ve heard.”
“I . . .” He stopped. He had nothing to say to that, and he tried to gather his composure. “I’m sorry, milady, I thought you knew I was giving Mery music lessons. I mean her no harm, I assure you.”
“The fault isn’t yours,” Gramme replied. “Mery simply forgot to tell me. Didn’t you, Mery?”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“As you should be. Fralet Ackenzal is an important man. I’m sure he doesn’t have time for you.”
“Oh, no,” Leoff replied. “As I said, she’s a wonderful student.”
“I’m sure she is. But at present my funds do not allow for the cost of tutoring.”
“I ask for no compensation,” Leoff said. “My expenses at the court are taken care of.” He waved his hands helplessly. “I would hate to see her talent go to waste.”
“She has talent, you think?”
“I assure you. Would you like to hear her play something?”
“Oh, no,” Gramme said, still smiling. “I’ve no ear at all, I’m told. I trust your judgment.”
“Then you