1635: Music and Murder (46 page)

From the ink on his hands, this must be one of the family of printers. Isaac knew of their connection with Marla's projects, which explained why the man was known to the master musician.

"I have not had the pleasure, master." The next few moments were spent in introductions. Lucas and Johann Amsel squeezed together even more to make room on their bench for Isaac.

"So, young Isaac, how goes it with you this season?" Master Schütz focused his interest on Isaac.

"Well enough, sir. I participate in the orchestra rehearsals that do not involve
Messiah.
" Master Schütz, of course, had heard of Isaac's decision. "I play at weddings and parties and teach violin to students, one or two of which may become passable players if they exert themselves even a little."

"Ha! That is always the problem, is it not—the exertion. As others have discovered recently." Master Schütz directed a sidelong glance to the other players at the table. Isaac was surprised to see Johann blush and Marcus and even Matthäus look somewhat discomfited. He looked to them with expectation. "Go on. Tell him."

"We, ah . . . the orchestra grew lazy, and came to rehearsal a few days ago with most of us unready to play the selection scheduled for work."

Isaac whistled. "Oh, my . . . " He almost choked to avoid saying the name of the Most High. "Not a good idea, my friends."

"So we discovered." Matthäus looked down at his mug. "I have not felt so flayed in years."

"But he was so quiet," Johann spoke up, himself barely audible in the noise of the common room. "He did not rant, he did not shout, he was not mean at all. Yet I felt so horrible after he left."

"There are those who can do that," Schütz chuckled. "You would not think it of him, but it is the quiet ones who will most surprise you. And it is their criticisms that hurt the most . . . especially when they are well-deserved."

"Truth," Isaac said. "He stands in Frau Marla's shadow so much, it is often surprising to know just what our Franz is capable of. You see her, you overlook him." Heads nodded around the table. "Yet consider this . . . for all that Frau Marla may be strong-willed, resolute and . . . intense, shall we say . . . for all of that, Franz is her equal. Our friend Rudolf once said that her spine is fashioned of sword steel. I tell you that Franz is as strong, if quieter.

"They are so alike in so many ways, not least of which is their passion for the music; they will tell you the truth as they know it, no matter the cost to themselves; and what they say, they will do."

"That is comforting to hear." Patroclus waved at a passing barmaid and handed her his mug. "For I tell you that I have wagered the future of my family on what they say."

"The printing for the Leipzig book fair?" Master Schütz questioned.

"Aye, but even more than that, the tying of our business so closely to them. We turned down work to complete the music printing projects. I fear we may have lost customers. The trip to the Leipzig fair will drain most of our funds. If things do not go well, we may be forced out of business."

"Fear not. They have, if anything, understated the impact of this music and the treatise. Your fortune will be made from these, and the other things they will bring you to print."

The refilled mug appeared on the table. Patroclus lifted it, looking at Schütz over the rim as he took a long pull. He seemed to find reassurance in the lined face of the older musician.

"Truth," Isaac repeated. "Just as Grantville cannot be ignored in the areas of the mechanical arts, in politics and in philosophy, so she cannot be ignored in music. Herr Patroclus, ere long every musician of any note will know of the up-time music. There are those who will try to ignore it—they will not succeed. There are those who will try to fight it—they will be no more successful than those who ignore it. There are those who will try to take control of it—they will also fail. But those who embrace it—ah, they are the ones who will write the music of the future.

"My friend, the bell of the universe has been rung. The reverberations will resonate for generations.
Everything
will change, just because Grantville is here. There is no escaping that. But those of perception, who have the courage to grasp an opportunity when it presents itself, those folk will prosper."

"Well said," Master Schütz declared. "Wisdom indeed, Herr Patroclus, if you will hear it." The printer gave a slow nod, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The conversation turned to lighter things for some time. At last, both Herr Zopff and Master Schütz claimed a need to prepare for the morning. They left, Lucas trailing in the master's wake.

Isaac and the remaining Amsels called for one more round of ale, then spent some time talking about the orchestra rehearsals. Isaac was hungry to hear how things were progressing. He knew when he made the decision that not playing for
Messiah
would be difficult to bear. It had proven to be difficult indeed. But he would not back away from his choice to honor the faith of his fathers.

That conversation wound down at last.

"I leave you with one last thought, my friends." Isaac prepared to go. "Franz was annealed in a very hot furnace indeed, and the blows of the smith were hard. 'Twould be wise to not stand against him."

"Funny." Matthäus gave a wry grin. "He says much the same of you."

December 1634

The rehearsal was going well, Franz decided as he paused between sections for a breath. It was the first of three planned complete run-throughs of
Messiah
before the first performance. The orchestra had risen to his challenge and begun producing the sound they were capable of. The chorus had been practicing with the orchestra for the last two weeks. Marla had turned the directing responsibilities over to him with some show of relief, taking her place in the rear ranks of the soprano section along with Master Andrea. The resulting increase of soprano sound had served as a challenge to the other sections, with the result that the entire chorus was singing both better and, when needed, louder.

They had completed Part 1 without incident and had moved on to Part II. Franz guided the musicians through the opening sections. He was gratified that the chorus in particular had taken to heart Marla's instructions in "Behold, the Lamb of God" and "Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs" and was keeping to the tempos he set. And the chorus had produced a stirring sound in
And With His Stripes We Are Healed
.

That brought them to one of Franz's favorite sections,
All We Like Sheep
. He raised his hands. It took longer than usual for everyone to settle and focus on him. The male voices in particular seemed a bit restive. Well, that was to be expected the first time through a full performance. All the previous rehearsals had been broken up by the stops called by the directors to address flaws and weaknesses. Not tonight. It was full steam ahead—whatever that Grantville expression really meant—with only the shortest of pauses between the selections. It required standing still from the singers and focus from everyone.

When the desired calm and focus arrived, Franz began. He cued the chorus entry right after the second beat. Two statements of "All we like sheep," and the parts were off on their contrapuntal chases of each other.

The performers had not progressed far into the piece when it happened. Twice the chorus had returned to the theme "All we like sheep." After the second time, the tenors and basses were supposed to sing a moving line of "have gone a-stra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay." What was sung was "Baa-baa-baa-baa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa."

Franz was looking to the cellos and basses at that moment, preparing to give a cutoff. It took a beat or so for the sound to register. His eyes cut to the chorus, and his baton froze in mid-air. The chorus and orchestra faltered to a halt a moment or two later . . . and everyone dissolved in laughter.

There atop the heads of every grinning tenor and bass were constructions obviously meant to be rams' horns. That on Dieter's head was truly impressive. He had somehow contrived to craft a set of horns out of paper that did a full curl, with the tips jutting out past his mouth. His "fleece" was more noteworthy as well; where the others had used curled wood shavings or strips of cloth or paper, Dieter had made his out of many short scraps of yarn, obviously acquired from the cloth manufactory at which he worked. The many colors produced an odd but still impressive effect. And somehow he had managed to blacken the tip of his nose with charcoal. Yes, there was no doubt that Dieter was the alpha ram of the flock.

After the initial moment of shock, Franz's first thought was that Marla had set up another joke. He shot a glance at his wife, to find her leaning on Master Andrea. The two of them were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their faces. Marla caught his look and, reading his expression, shook her head.

Franz looked back to the men, and as he did so noticed that his hands were still suspended in the air. Chuckling, he lowered them, set his baton down and began to clap. Within a moment, the orchestra and the sopranos and altos had followed suit.

The applause lasted for some little time. It finally dwindled and faded away, replaced with chuckles, giggles, and the flourishing of handkerchiefs all over the room as people dried their eyes and blew their noses. After a moment, Franz held up his hand for their attention.

"Well, I see that we have been visited tonight by Brillo and his gang of scruffy, rascally rams, come from Franconia." Laughter welled again, and Dieter stuck his thumbs under his suspenders and beamed. "Well done, my friends. You have given us a moment to laugh together. I also declare that you are probably the slyest bunch of japesters I have encountered in some time, surpassing even Simon Bracegirdle." Simon adopted an expression of mingled shock and hurt after hearing his name slandered, which caused a moment of laughter in the orchestra.

"We have had our moment of fun, friends." Franz got serious again. "Now let us return to our work." He shot a mock glare at those who were doffing their ram hats. "And if I hear another 'Baa', someone shall become a wether instead of a ram."

"If it would make us sing like Master Andrea," Dieter rumbled, "it might be worth it, Master Franz."

Andrea straightened from where he had been whispering to Marla. "Actually, boys, I believe my surgeon is still practicing. I am certain I could arrange for him to come to Magdeburg." The women laughed to hear the rapid negative expostulations from the men.

Franz rapped his baton on the music stand. "Tenors and men . . . " He gave a grin and lifted his hands. "Measure 19—where we left off before the sheepish interruption." He gave the downbeat and they were off again; this time with the right words.

****

"Are you sure you did not put them up to that?"

Marla laughed in response to Franz's question after the rehearsal. "No, love, I didn't. Although I might have, if I'd thought about it."

Franz looked to Andrea, who held up his hands. "Nor did I. I wish I had. The expression on your face was beyond all price." The three of them shared another quiet laugh.

A thought occurred to Franz. "Master Andrea, if my comment concerning wethers and rams offended you in any way, please accept my apologies."

"None needed, my friend." Andrea waved a hand as if to brush something away. "What you said was nothing compared to the quips and gibes we of the
gentilhuomi
make among ourselves." He chuckled for a moment, then grew serious again. "No, I, ah, 'came to grips' with what had been done to me years ago. And though there are times when I still wonder what I would otherwise have been, on the whole I am content, even in the midst of this barbaric wasteland."

Andrea smiled to take the sting from the last comment, then continued. "No, the only deprivation I really felt was the lack of a successor. My brothers carried on the family name, but I had no one to follow me . . . until I came to Magdeburg. Now, in Marla, Dieter and others, I have my legacy. I am content."

Thursday, December 21, 1634
The Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle

Marla looked at her clothes laid out on the bed. She had decided several weeks ago that she wouldn't dress in one of her performance gowns for this concert. This was the girls' night, not hers, so she had selected clothes that were good but not ornate, in order that most of the attention would be focused on them.

She smiled as she thought of working with Frau Schneider the seamstress to create clothes she could wear for teaching. She didn't want more of the Empire gowns. They would have cost too much. Fortunately, the good Frau had been working on new designs of divided skirts, one of which was very close to what Marla had been looking for. In a few days, she had taken ownership of several ankle length skirts that, while not as full as a down-time dress, did have something of a flow to them while she moved. They weren't jeans, but they did qualify as pants . . . sort of.

Most of the skirts were of durable, serviceable material . . . things that would wear well and hold up under the stress of a school teacher's work day. The day she ordered them, however, Frau Schneider had a piece of velvet that was the shade of claret, or maybe merlot . . . a dark wine, anyway. Marla hadn't been able to resist ordering one skirt in that fabric, and now it lay on the bed.

Marla reached out a hand to stroke the blouse that lay beside it. Alison, her mother, was a good two and one-half inches shorter than her daughter, and had generally worn her skirts above the knee, so after the Ring fell there was nothing in her closet in the line of dresses, pants or skirts that would fit Marla. Above the waist, however, they were very close in size, and Marla had drawn several shirts, blouses and sweaters from that closet when she moved to Magdeburg. The best of them lay on the bed with the long skirt.

It was a white silk blouse, with long sleeves and a tall collar. Marla's vision blurred as she remembered how much her mother had loved wearing it. Slow tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled the memories of the last time she had seen her mother in it, laughing, on the way to a Christmas party with her father. Three and a half years later, it still hurt to think that she'd never see them or her brother again.