"Three hours."And in Biyanco's widening eyes she saw incredulous gratitude as he understood her intention."You wouldn't?" he asked in a voiceless whisper.
"I could and I would.That is, if you've the tools I need."
"I've tools."As if afraid she would renege, he propelled her toward the machine shed.
He had what she needed, but the bare minimum.Fortunately, the all-important crystal saw was still very sharp and true.With two pairs of knowledgeable hands-Biyanco, he had told her, had put the driver together himself when he had updated the plant's machinery thirty years before-it was no trick at all to get down to the crystals.
"They're in thirds," he told her needlessly.
"Pitch?"
"B-flat minor."
"Minor?For heavy work like this?"
"Minor because it isn't that continuous a load and minors don't cost what majors do," Biyanco replied crisply.
Killashandra nodded.Majors would be far too expensive for a brewman, however successful, on a tertiary fishing world.She hit the B-flat, and that piece of crystal hummed sweetly in tune.So did the D.It was the E that was sour-off by a halftone.She cut off the resonance before the sound did more than ruffle her nerves.With Biyanco carefully assisting her, she freed the crystal of its brackets, cradling it tenderly in her hands.It was a blue, from the Ghanghe Range, more than likely, and old, because the blues were worked out there now.
"The break's in the top of the prism, here," she said, tracing the flaw."The bracket may have shifted with vibration."
"G'delpme, I weighed those brackets and felted them proper…"
"No blame to you, Biyanco.Probably the expansion coefficient differs in this rain forest enough to make even properly set felt slip.Thirty years they've been in?You worked well.Wish more people would take such good care of their crystal."
"That'd mean less call for crystal, bring the price down, wouldn't it?"
Killa laughed, shaking her head."The Guild keeps finding new ways to use crystal.Singers'll never be out of work."
They decided to shift pitch down, which meant she had to recut all three crystals, but that way he would have a major triad.Because she trusted him, she let him watch as she cut and tuned.She had to sustain pitch with her voice after she had warmed them enough to sing, but she could hold a true pitch long enough to place the initial, and all-important, cuts.
It was wringing-wet work, even with the best of equipment and in a moderate climate.She was exhausted by the time they reset the felted brackets.In fact, Biyanco elbowed her out of the way when he saw how her hands were trembling.
"Just check me," he said but she didn't need to.He was spry in more than one way.She was glad she had tuned the crystals for him.But he was too old for her.
She felt better when he started the processor again and there was no crystal torment.
"You get some rest, Killashandra.This'll take a couple more hours.Why don't you stretch out on the tractor van seat?It's wide enough.That way you can rest all the way back to Trefoil."
"And yourself, Biyanco?"
He grinned like the old black imp he was."I'm maybe a shade younger than you, Crystal Singer Killashandra.But we'll never know, will we?"
She slept, enervated by the pitching and cutting, but she woke when Biyanco opened the float door.The hinge squeaked in C-sharp.
"Good press," he said when he saw she was awake.Behind, in the lorries, the weary climbers chanted to themselves.One was a monotone.Fortunately they reached the village before the sound could get on her nerves.The lorries were detached, and the climbers melted into the darkness.Biyanco and Killashandra continued on the acid road back to Trefoil.
It was close to dawn before they pulled up at the Golden Dolphin.
"Killashandra?"
"Yes, Biyanco?"
"I'm in your debt."
"No, for we exchanged favors."
He made a rude noise.And she smiled at him."We did.But, if you need a price, Biyanco, then it's your silence on the subject of crystal singers."
"Why?"
"Because I'm human, no matter what you've heard of us.And I must have that humanity on equal terms or I'll shatter one day among the crystal.It's why we have to go off-world."
"You don't lure men back to Ballybran?"
"Would you come with me to Ballybran?"
He snorted."You can't make harmat on Ballybran."
She laughed, for he had given the right answer to ease his own mind.As the tract-float moved off slowly, she wondered if he had ever heard of Yarran beer.A chilled one would go down a treat right now.
She slept the sun around and woke the second dawn refreshed.She lazed in the water, having been told by the pug-nosed host that the lunk ships were still out.Biyanco greeted her that noonday with pleasantries and no references to favors past, present or future.He was old enough, that brewman, she thought, to know what not to say.
She wondered if she should leave Trefoil and flit around the planet.There would be other ports to visit, other fishermen to snare in the net of her attraction.One of them might be strong enough-must be strong enough-to melt the crystal in her.But she tarried and drank harmat all afternoon until Biyanco made her go eat something.
She knew the lunk boats were in even before the parched seamen came thronging up the beach road, chanting their need.She helped Biyanco draw glasses against their demand, laughing at their surprise to see her working behind the bar.Only Shad Tucker seemed unamazed.
Orric was there, too, with Tir Od Nell, teasing her as men have teased barmaids for centuries.Tucker sat on a stool in the corner of the bar and watched her, though he drank a good deal of harmat to "unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth".
Biyanco made them all stop drinking for a meal, to lay a foundation for more harmat, he said.And when they came back, they brought a squeeze box, a fiddle, two guitars, and a flute.The tables were stacked against the wall, and the music and dancing began.
It was good music, too, true-pitched so Killashandra could enjoy it, tapping her foot in time.And it went on until the musicians pleaded for a respite and, leaving their instruments on the bar, swept out to the cool evening beach to get a second wind.
Killashandra had been dancing as hot and heavy as any woman, partnered with anyone who felt like dancing, including Biyanco.Everyone except Tucker, who stayed in his corner and watched… her.
When the others left to cool off, she wandered over to him.His eyes were a brighter blue in the new red-tan of his face.He was picking his hands now and again because the last of the lunks had an acid in their scales that ate flesh, and he'd had to grab some barehanded at the last.
"Will they heal?" she asked.
"Oh, sure.Be dry tomorrow.New skin in a week.Doesn't hurt."Shad looked at his hands impersonally and then went on absently sloughing off the drying skin.
"You weren't dancing."
The shy grin twisted up one corner of his mouth, and he ducked his head a little, looking at her from the side of his eyes.
"I've done my dancing.With the fish the past days.I prefer to watch, anyhow."
He unwound himself from the stool to reach out and secure the nearest guitar.He picked a chord and winced; he didn't see her shudder at the discord.Lightly he plucked the strings, twisting the tuning knob on the soured G, adjusting the E string slightly, striking the chord again and nodding with approval.
Killashandra blinked.The man had perfect pitch.
He began to play, softly, with a style totally different from the raucous tempi of the previous musicians.His picking was intricate and his rhythm sophisticated, yet the result was a delicate shifting of pattern and tone that enchanted Killashandra.It was improvisation at its best, with the player as intent upon the melody he produced as his only audience.