Part 28 (2/2)
Bowing stiffly to the inevitable, Elder Ampris gestured for her to proceed from the loft. Not that she could have done anything to damage the actual organ keyboard, and live, with so many security guards millimeters from her. As she took her seat, pretending to ignore the battery of eyes and sour expressions, she decided against any of the Beethoven pieces she remembered from her Fuertan days. That would be risking more than her personal satisfaction was worth. She began to power up the various systems of the organ, allowing the electronic circuits to warm up and stabilize.
She also discarded a whimsical notion to use one of Lars's themes. She
flexed her fingers, pulled out the appropriate stops, and did a rapid dance on the foot pedals to test their reactions.
Diplomatically she began with the opening chords of a Fuertan love song, reminiscent of one of the folk tunes that she'd heard that first magical night on the beach with Lars. The keyboard had an exquisitely light touch and, knowing herself to be rather heavy handed, she tried to find the right balance, before she began the lilting melody. Even playing softly and delicately, she felt, rather than heard, the sound returning from the perfect acoustics of the auditorium. The phase s.h.i.+eld around the organ protected her from the full response.
Playing this Festival organ was an incredible, purely musical experience as she switched to lowest manual for the ba.s.s line. For her as a singer, keyboards had been essential only as accompaniment, tolerated in place of orchestra and choral augmentation. She might have been supercilious about the Optherian contention that an organ was the ultimate instrument, but she was willing to revise her opinion of it upward. Even the simple folk song, embellished with color, scent and ”the joy of spring,” she thought sardonically, was doubly effective as a mood setter when played on the Optherian organ. She was sorely tempted to reach up and pull Out a few of the stops that ringed the console.
Abruptly she changed to a dominant key and a martial air, lots of the ba.s.s notes in a st.u.r.dy thumpy-thump, but half-way through she tired of that mood, and found herself involved in the accompaniment to a favorite aria. Not wis.h.i.+ng to spoil the rich music by singing, she transferred the melodic line to the manual she had just repaired, taking the orchestra part in the second manual and the pedal ba.s.s. The tenor's reprise naturally followed, on the third manual, mellower than the soprano range. From that final chord, she found herself playing a tune, filling in with a chorded ba.s.s, and not quite certain what tune it was when she felt someone pinch her hip. Her fingers jerked down the keys just as she realized that it was Lars's melody she was rehearsing. She made the slip of her fingers into the first music that came to mind, an ancient anthem with distinct religious overtones. She ended that in a flourish of keyboard embellishments and, with considerable reluctance, lifted her hands and feet from the organ, swiveling around on the seat.
Lars, being nearest, took her hand to ease her to the ground from the high organ perch. The pressure of his fingers was complimentary, if the arch of his eyebrows chided her for that slip. It was the surprise on Elder Ampris's face that pleased her the most.
”My dear Killashandra, I had no idea you were so accomplished,” he said with renewed affability.
”Woefully out of practice,” she said demurely, though she knew that she had struck few wrong notes and her sense of tempo had always been excellent. ”Almost a travesty for someone like me to play on that superb organ, but I shall remember the honor for the rest of my life.” She meant it.
There was a general sort of highly audible reshuffling as the security men permitted a handful of hesitant new arrivals closer to the console. Some nervous clearings of throats and foot scufflings also echoed faithfully about the auditorium.
”Balderol's students,” Elder Ampris murmured by way of explanation.
”To practice for the concerts now the organ is repaired.”
At a glance, Killashandra decided there must be nine security men for each student. She smiled kindly, then noticed out of the corner of her eye that a solid line of the biggest security men stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the door to the organ loft. Were they glued to their posts?
”Well, let's leave them to it,” she said brightly. ”Don't you have some students for Trag and myself? To learn crystal tuning? They must have perfect and absolute pitch, you know,” she reminded Elder Ampris as they left the stage. Her voice sounded dead as her final words were spoken in less resonant surroundings.
”That is not scheduled until tomorrow, Killashandra,” Ampris said, mildly surprised. ”I had thought that you and Guildmember Trag should take this opportunity to see the rest of the Conservatory.”
That was not high on Killashandra's list of priorities but since she was momentarily in Ampris's good graces, she should make an effort to stay there. She was not best pleased when Ampris turned the projected tour over to Mirbelhan, excusing himself on the grounds of urgent administrative duties. Instead of proving to Ampris that sublimation worked on crystal singers, she had to watch Lars proving it to Mirbethan while she tried to attach herself to Trag. At first Trag remained his inscrutable self but suddenly altered. attentive to her explanations of this cla.s.sroom, that theory processor, when the small theater had been added, and which distinguished composer had initiated what ramification on the Festival Organ. Had Lars brazenly pinched the impervious Trag? As she trailed behind the trio, now inspecting the cheerless and sterilely neat dormitories, she would have been glad enough to receive Lars's pinch.
If she had herself been more receptive, she would have been impressed by the physical advantages of the Conservatory for it was exceedingly well organized and equipped in terms of practice and cla.s.srooms, library facilities, processing terminals. There was even a library of books, donated by the original settlers and subsequent visitors.
The actual Conservatory had been designed as a complete unit and built at one time, only the Festival Auditorium added on at a later date although included in the original plans. In design it was a complex far superior to Fuerte's Music Center, which had sprawled in extensions and annexes with no basic concept. There was, however, more charm in a corner of Fuerte's Music Center than in any of the more elaborate and pretentious chambers of Optheria's Conservatory.
”The Infirmary is this way.” Mirbethan's unctuous voice broke through Killashandra's sour reflections.
”I've been there,” she said in a dry and caustic tone and Mirbethan had the grace to look embarra.s.sed. Then she gave Lars a penetrating look which he returned with an impudent wink. ”And I'm hungry. We didn't eat any lunch in order to get the installation completed.”
Mirbethan was full of apologies and, when both Trag and Lars said they were sure the Infirmary was of the same high standard as the rest of the premises, she led them back to their quarters.
Once inside, Lars ostentatiously activated the jammer and Killashandra heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn't realized how tense she'd become.
”I'm hungry, that's all, I'm hungry,” she told herself as she made her way to the caterer.
”Where did you find the subliminal unit, Trag?” Lars asked, pausing at the drinks cabinet.
”Under the stage, but keyed by the same motif. For clever men, the Elders can be repet.i.tive.”
Killashandra gave a contemptuous snort. ”Probably can't remember anything more complicated at their advanced ages.”
”Don't make the mistake of underestimating them, Killashandra,”
Trag said solemnly as he poured himself a blew.
”Let them have that privilege,” Lars added. ”Sententious b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.
We're down to Basc.u.m, Killa.”
”Well, that goes well with the fish, which seems the only thing left on today's menu.”
Lars guffawed. ”It always is. Take the soup instead,” he said in a tone that suggested dire experience. ”And don't, Killa, play my music again in the Conservatory,” he added, waggling a finger at her. ”Balderol heard me practice often enough.”
”I won t say I'm sorry,' Killashandra replied. ”It just happened to develop from the previous chord. It's probably the most original music ever played on that organ if what we heard last night is standard.”
”They don't want originality, Killa,” Lars said with a twist to his smile. ”They want more of the same that they can orchestrate to mind-penetration. Trag, what did Ampris say about your doing the provincial organs?”
”I haven't suggested it. Yet. There has been no opportunity.”
Lars looked anxious. ”I'm the one who's greedy now. Disabling their program in the City is a big step forward because so many provincials make the trek here in order to say they've heard the Festival Organ, But they're not the ones who'd be recruited to Ampris's punitive force. So they're the ones we want to keep unaffected this year.”
”Who else has access to the organ lofts?” Trag asked.
”Only . . . Ah!” Lars's expressive face altered to triumph.
”Comgail never got the chance to make his annual inspection of the other facilities. And maintenance is Ampris's responsibility, not Torkes. He'll have to use you and Killa, Trag. He hasn't anyone else. And he certainly wouldn't entrust maintenance to the puff heads you're supposed to initiate into the art of crystal tuning.”
”Especially not you, Lars,” said Killashandra with a laugh.
”Let's not continue that part of the farce. Killa,” Lars said.
”Why not?” asked Trag. ”I think you must realize that we will not leave you on this planet, no matter how cleverly you could hide yourself amid your islands, Lars Dahl. Crystal tuning is a universal skill.”
”So is sailing, Trag.”
”But let us continue as we have started. Farce or not, it keeps you in our company and safe.”
”Trag, are you recruiting?” Even to herself, Killashandra sounded unnecessarily sharp.
Trag turned his head slowly to look at her, his heavy features expressionless. ”Recruiting is not permitted by the FSP, Killashandra Ree.”
She snorted, ”Neither is subliminal conditioning, Trag Morfane!”
Lars looked from one to the other, grinning at this evidence of unexpected discord. ”Here, here, what's this?”
”An old controversy,” Killashandra replied quickly. ”If all the provincial organs need at least basic maintenance, then you and I, Trag, are the only qualified technicians on Optheria. Ampris will have to ask you, for I can't see him asking me, and that solves that problem, doesn't it?”
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