Rachel Hartman - Seraphina 00 - The Audition.pdf

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TH6 AUDITION
I is perfectly normal—human, even—Co want moral support
during a difficult audition. I couldn't have taken my father. If
he'd had any inkling that I wished to become the assistant to the
court composer, he'd have tried to stop me, and auditions are ar-
duous enough without climbing out my bedroom window first.
My half siblings would have told Papa, and I had no ftiends to
ask. Soiflwantedasympatheticfaceinthc crowd, my only choice
was my music teacher, the dragon Orma.
I
He's better than nothing,}
told myself, but that was debatable.
He'd spent years inhuman shape, but inside he was still a dragon:
an unemotional, hyperrational being who, hard as he tried, could
not quite master manners or understand why blurting out criti-
cisms during my flute performance was utterly unhelpfol. By the
final day of auditions, I regretted having brought him.
As we climbed Castle Hill that balmy autumn afternoon,
1 decided C send him back. Ii was impossible to hurl a dragon's
o
feelings, but I still felt guilty. He'd dressed up for our palace visit
i n a dark doublet and hose, and had even slicked down his shrubby
hair, though it was slowly puffing back up as it dried. He saun-
tered along beneath the golden linden frees, oblivious to my anxi-
ety, probably solving equations in his head.
When we reached the stem shadow of the barbican gate, I
stopped him and said, ''Thank you for accompanying me to these
difficult auditions, Orma. Today I have merely to give Princess
Glisseldaher music lesson. That won't interest you. If you've been
neglecting work at the conservatory, 1 shouldn't keep you from it."
"You're one of three finalists," he said, pushing his spectacles
up his beaky nose. "You were the most inexperienced and the only
female in afield of twenty-seven. I initially put your odds at one
in fifteen hundred. The lute master and the troubadour arc still in
it, though—"
"Get to the point," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the
helmcted guards in the gatehouse. They watched us with
detached interest. Orma was exempt from the bell most dragons
were required to wear; he looked like nothing more than a tall,
gangly scholar. Still, I always worried that men with swords would
use them in preemptive self-defense if they worked out the truth.
Orma said loudly, "You have a twelve percent chance of
necoming !Master viridiuss assistant.
My shoulders sagged. "Twelve whole percent? Thanks."
His incomprehension of my tone netded me. "And you still
"Of course." He scratched his beard."These are the bestodds
you've faced yet."
We walked on. The smile I gave the barbican guards was en-
tirely fake, but I'd worn my best gown, the dark blue merino, and
Orma managed to keep quiet. We looked respectable enough.
The guards didn't question us, though their eyes followed Orma.
They probably thought he was bothering me; they weren't wrong.
I was the last finalist to arrive at Master Viridius's office. The
aged composer sat not at his desk but upon a gout couch, with his
legs propped tip to keep them comfortable. His clawlike hands
were wrapped in bandages; his knees and feet were grossly swollen.
The sight of him had filled me with horror on the first day of
auditions and pity on the second, but had not diminished my
determination to be his assistant. 1 had long admired the old com-
poser's music. His
Fantasias
were the first keyboard pieces Orma
had taught me, and I'd instantly loved their liveliness and strength.
Master Viridius frowned as I came in. "Maid Dombegh! You
deign to join us," he drawled. "You will go third, as our designated
laggard."
I curtsied, abashed.
He waved a hand irritably. "Wait your turns in die antecham-
ber. I have a fearsome headache and can't bear the sound of
The lute master, whose trial was first, followed a page boy out
to wherever Princess Glisselda awaited her lesson. The rest of us
filed inio the narrow antechamber. Ic had a bench along each wall;
Onna and I sat opposite the troubadour. Orma put his feet up on
the troubadours bench, rudely blocking the walkway until I swatted
his knees. I kept myself occupied by composing motets in my
head and watching the troubadour. He wore silk hose he probably
couldn't afford, held his plumed cap in his lap, and looked anx-
ious. Beside me, Orma jotted notes in a little book. I glanced over.
He'd written
Books to Lookfir in the Queen's PrivateLibmry.
"You can't go to the Queen's private library," I whispered
harshly at him.
"Then this list is for you," he said, not bothering to whisper.
"You'll have access, surely, when you get
\hc
job. Ill list the books
in the order I'd like to read them."
"fFfetilget the job? Twelve percent, Orma!"
He shrugged. "Twelve percent if you don't do anything
unpredictable. There's a sixty-eight percent chance that you will
surprise me. 1 can show you my work."
He turned a page and began calculating. 1 closed my eyes,
An hour and six pages of algebra later, the lute master
returned, raging, fkiling, and blackened from head to toe. He
brushed against the troubadour's knee in passing, leaving a dark
smudge, marched into Master Viridius's office, and slammed the
door. Even so, we heard him plainly: "I will not be humiliated in
this manner! I withdraw my name from your consideration, sir!"
He burst open die door and stalked out, shedding a cloud of
coal dust behind him. The troubadour, dabbing at his dirtied silk

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