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listening to old Grigr’s wobble.”
    Sira frowned. “I am sure he gave long and devoted service,” she said stiffly.
    “Too long, Cantrix. You’re a refreshing change.” Trude looked Sira up and down. “You certainly look like a Singer. No danger of you going astray, is there?”
    Sira’s eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
    Trude laughed, and Sira heard again the overtones of Conservatory in her voice. “Never mind, young Cantrix. I’ll leave you alone. If you really don’t want a guide, then—” She bowed again, still smiling.
    “Thank you.” Sira spoke coldly, and made a deliberately shallow bow. She turned her back, and was some way down the hall before she heard Trude’s door close behind her.
    Sira shrugged off her irritation as she went looking for the stairs. Someone, she thought, should teach the House members of Bariken how Singers should be addressed.
    She took her filhata from under her arm and stroked its glowing surface, remembering the Houseman at Conservatory who had so painstakingly carved and polished and tuned it. She recalled the ceremony with which he had presented it to her. He would have disapproved of the manners of these people. Maestra Lu would have been furious.

    Sira was always an early riser, preferring to put in an hour of work before the morning meal. On her third day at Bariken she rose even earlier than usual, and gently sought Magret with her mind, careful not to intrude. When she determined that her senior was still in her room, Sira hurried out. She carried her filla in her hand, and moved quickly among the few people who were in the halls at that hour. When she opened the door to the ubanyix , she saw with satisfaction that the big carved tub was empty. The air was redolent with the fragrance of herbs left to soak overnight.
    Her little melody in the third mode, with its plaintive raised fourth degree, floated out across the water. She played until curls of steam rose from the surface into the yellowish light.
    Magret came in just as she was about to leave. A Housewoman was behind her, carrying a stack of woven towels.
    “Sira? Are you bathing so early?”
    Sira bowed. “No. But a senior Cantrix should not have to perform this small task.”
    “Ah. I see.” Magret’s cheeks curved with her smile, making her look younger than her seven summers. “Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes half-closed, listening to something. The Housewoman was on the other side of the room, busy with towels and cakes of soap. Magret opened her mind briefly.
    There are problems here , she sent. You are very thoughtful. But please be cautious.
    Sira raised one eyebrow, and waited for an explanation, but Magret shook her head. “Let us go to the great room together.”
    Sira inclined her head. She would follow her senior’s lead, of course.
    On the point of leaving the ubanyix , Magret turned back. Keep your thoughts shielded , she sent briefly. Always.
    Sira’s eyes widened, but she nodded once again. It was strange advice. She followed Magret out into the corridor, wondering. She and all Singers learned in their early years to observe the courtesy of mental privacy. Shielding should not be necessary. She drummed her fingers against her filla  in frustration. Were these trivial things the lessons that could not be taught? They seemed a waste of a Singer’s time.
    She ate in silence, with a healthy appetite for the nursery fruit and spicy caeru stew. She and Magret sat alone at a table, basking in the bright light from one of the tall windows. Mealtime at Conservatory had been a time of community. The great room here at Bariken, Although filled with people, seemed cold and foreign.
    She wondered what Rollie would be doing on such a clear morning. Perhaps she was outside, riding after the caeru in the sunlit hills.
    Chapter Five

    Cantoris hours began right after breakfast. Sira and Magret, fillas ready, seated themselves on carved armchairs at one end of the long room,