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"Thank you, thank you." Andrea bowed slightly and spread his hands. "As it happens, I do have one more song to sing." There was laughter in the room. "It is not an up-time song, however. It is a new song, one written by Maestro Giacomo Carissimi, who has agreed to play piano for me tonight. In addition, we will be joined by Johan Amsel on the viola."

There was a moment of moving bodies as Hermann left by the side door, Johan entered, and Maestro Giacomo arose from his seat in the audience to come to the piano. The maestro played a note; Johan plucked strings to verify his tuning was still sound, raised his viola and positioned the bow, then looked to Andrea.

"We present to you," Master Andrea said, looking directly at Franz,
Elegy for Lost Innocence.
A chill chased down Franz's spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The piano began, quiet chords, and Andrea began. It was a lullaby, simple, like something Franz's mother would have sung to him. Soft and lyrical, Andrea's voice was like silk.

"Hush little baby,

Go to sleep.

While you're sleeping

Angels keep.

Hush little baby,

Child of love.

Jesus watches

From above."

They repeated the lullaby. Johan joined them the second time, playing a harmony that complemented Andrea's melody.

At the end of the lullaby, Andrea dropped out, and the piano and viola played a transition that, as it progressed, grew more dissonant and louder. Johan began attacking his strings, producing almost percussive sounds.

When Andrea entered again, it was with full voice.

"She's gone!

How could you take her?"

Full of passion, pure cutting edge of white-hot intensity, Andrea put voice to a bereaved mother's soul. As the text was presented by the song, a mother's heartbreak was bared, her anger and grief revealed. It built and built, spiraling higher, founded on the piano and entwined with the viola.

She did nothing wrong!

She didn't deserve to die!

As Andrea poured forth all his art, all his skill, Franz felt that never had he heard the
gentilhuomo
so much at one with his music, so nakedly baring his own soul.

A hand clutched his. He froze for a moment. Looking down, Franz saw Marla's hand in his. Heart in his throat, he looked to his wife. At the sight of slow tears trickling down her cheeks, his own eyes grew wet, but a tremor of joy was felt for the first time in weeks.

"Send her back,

Take me in her place!"

The song crested with Andrea on a note so high that Franz wondered if even Marla could reach it. Partnered by the moaning viola, Andrea keened.

The music stopped. For a brief moment only.

"Take me in her place."

Andrea's voice repeated the last line of the climax down an octave, quietly fading, as if the anger had burned out and the grief had worn thin.

There was another interlude of piano and viola, playing a hint of the lullaby. Andrea sang another verse.

"Lord Jesus, take her in your arms.

Lord Jesus, keep her safe and warm."

Marla's head bowed, and Franz could see her lips moving.

The piano and viola led the way back to the lullaby theme. After a time, Andrea rejoined them.

"Hush little baby,

Go to sleep.

While you're sleeping

Angels keep.

Sleep in the arms

Of the Lord,

You'll always

Have my love."

The music faded away. The patrons applauded, but Franz was very aware of the many glances directed their way.

Marla looked up at him. She smiled—smiled! Oh, it was a small smile, and a sad one, but it was a smile! It was enough for his soul to want to burst out singing to rival Master Andrea.

"Hello, love," Franz managed to say.

"Hello, yourself." The smile grew a little wider, a hint of her old sparkle entered her eyes, and she squeezed his hand. They sat there, oblivious to their surroundings, simply gazing at each other, while the applause ceased and the patrons began to stir around and leave.

Just as Franz became conscious of all the motion, Marla stood. He followed her as she walked to the performers.

"Thank you." Marla spoke to them, simple and direct, then kissed each lightly. She smiled again when Johan blushed, then stepped back beside Franz and joined hands with him.

The four men were grinning widely. Their eyes were bright indeed—perhaps a hint of moisture, Franz thought. Then he noticed that there was a certain self-satisfied air to the two Italians. Suddenly a connection was made.

"You planned this," Franz accused. "You intentionally wrote that song and staged this recital for the purpose of drawing Marla out."

"Actually, it was a division of labor," Giacomo said. "The music is mine, yes; but you must look to Andrea for the words."

"Are you a poet, then, Master Andrea?" Marla asked. "Shall we add that to your list of many accomplishments."

"No!" Andrea was emphatic. "This once, I wrote words. This once, to bring my best student back to me." He adopted a mock sternness. "You have missed enough lessons. We have much work to do to make up for them."

Marla laughed, and the sound was balm to Franz's soul. The others must have felt the same, for they all fell silent. Franz looked to his wife—her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed, there was a smile on her lips and she clutched his hand. The only evidence of the events of the last few weeks were the shadows beneath her eyes.

Franz's heart was so full it could burst. He looked to the others. "I owe you a life, my friends. It is a debt I can never pay, but know that at any time, for any need, I am yours." The intensity in his gaze impacted them all—they knew how deeply he felt at the moment. Young Johan blushed again and ducked his head; the others simply nodded, not attempting to downplay the moment.

Marla looked around the group one more time. "Thank you, thank you all. It is the love of the friends God has given us, friends like you, that have lifted us—lifted me—in this time of darkness."

"There will be other children," Giacomo said softly.

Marla smiled through the sadness. "I know that. And I know that by enduring what we have just walked through, whatever happens, we will survive."

"Survive and prosper," Andrea said. "Survive and prosper."

Marla turned to face Franz, and looked into his eyes. "Survive, and prosper, and love—love above all."

Coda

From "The Fall of Fire: The Coming of Grantville and the Music of Europe"

Charles William Battenberg, B.A., M.A., Fellow of the Royal Academy of Music, Schwarzberg Chair of Musicology, Oxford University

1979, Oxford University Press

Chapter One – The Advent of Grantville

" . . . story of Grantville's appearance is a matter of fact to every child in school . . . endless tomes on the impact of Grantville on politics and technology . . . impact on musical arts was, if anything, even more profound . . . hesitated to attempt yet another survey, but a number of new evidentiary sources have been uncovered in recent years, including journals of several notable figures . . . course was shaped by the triad created by the fortuitous meeting of composers, performers and the first modern conductor . . . "

Chapter Two – The South Advances

" . . . one of the earliest known works evidencing influence of Grantville's music is
Lament for a Fallen Eagle
, by Giacomo Carissimi, renowned Italian composer . . . several versions exist in the composer's own hand . . . followed in short order by
The Passion According to St. Matthew
and the opera
Brutus
. . . Carissimi was nothing if not prolific . . . early works were all transitional, all produced while Carissimi's assimilation of up-time forms and techniques was still in progress . . . "

" . . . most musicologists agree that the first work by Carissimi that exhibited his fully mature style was
Elegy for Lost Innocence
, written on the occasion of the death in childbirth of the first child of his very good friends Franz Sylwester and Marla Linder . . . the composer was in full command of his newly expanded palette of techniques, forms and modalities . . . "

" . . . The first performance was apparently given in a recital by Andrea Abati, the noted castrato, who was also a good friend of the bereaved parents . . . recently discovered journal of Duchess Elisabeth Sofie of Saxe-Altenburg describes the recital in great detail . . . the young duchess indicates she was greatly touched by Abati's performance of
Elegy
, and joins with other contemporaneous accounts in raving about how beautiful it was yet how great the impact . . . "

" . . .
Elegy for Lost Innocence
is infrequently sung. Perhaps one performer in a generation will attempt it. Modern sopranos find the emotional demands to be equally as harsh as the technical demands . . . it is more often heard in the transcription for violin made by Franz Sylwester . . . still heart-breakingly beautiful . . . "

" . . . journal of oldest surviving child, Alexandria Maria Sylwester . . . herself no mean performer . . . asked her mother why she had never sung the
Elegy
. . . responded with 'That's Andrea's song, not mine.' . . . explains tradition amongst descendants of Marla Linder . . . none have sung
Elegy for Lost Innocence . . . "

Chapter Three – The North Responds

" . . . Heinrich Schütz entered the scene in 1634 . . . perhaps took longer to assimilate the up-time methods than his Italian contemporary . . . began writing in a strong style almost immediately . . . moved in a different direction . . . "

" . . . wrote in large works, beginning with
Fantasia on a Theme by G.F. Händel
, based on the
Sarabande
from
Suite No. 11 for Harpsichord
. . . recorded in the journal of Lucas Amsel that Schütz considered it an
homage
to the up-time composer Ralph Vaughan Williams . . . "

" . . . tradition has long been that Schütz's
Mass on Unchained Melody
was composed to mark the death of Marla Linder's daughter, much as Carissimi's
Elegy for Lost Innocence
was . . . "

" . . . again indebted to the journal of Lucas Amsel . . . Schütz's
Passion of St. Luke
. . . his master confided to him that the famous aria,
Mein Herz Weiß,
or
My Heart Knows
, sung by Mary looking up at her crucified son…was written specifically for Marla Linder . . . justly famous . . . in its own way, just as demanding as Carissimi's
Elegy for Lost Innocence
. . . but 'She could not have sung it before losing her baby,' Master Heinrich said. 'She would not have understood the pain.' . . . "

Chapter Four –
Fiat Lux

" . . . the triad of the composers—Carissimi and Schütz; the performers—Linder and Abati; and the conductor—Sylwester; these lit the beacon that drew a generation of musicians to Magdeburg . . . "

MURDER

None So Blind

Magdeburg
January, 1635

The slap knocked Willi sprawling, eyes watering with pain. He had to bite his lip hard to keep from crying out.

"Five nothings!" Willi felt Uncle's hand grab the back of his rags and haul him up. The hand shook him so hard he felt like a pea rattling in a cup. "You spend all day on the streets and all you bring me are three pins and two worthless quartered Halle coins!"

Willi dropped to the floor again. His head was spinning, but his hand had fallen across his stick. He instinctively grasped it, then pulled it to his side. It took a moment to rise to all fours. As soon as his head settled some, he pulled himself up on the stick.

"I'm sorry, Uncle, but the place where I was, not many people put coins in my bowl." He hesitated. "And . . . and I think someone took money from my bowl. It kind of sounded like it."

"What? Did you see who it was? Why didn't you stop . . . " Uncle's voice died away as he realized that no, Willi did not see who the culprit was and therefore could not stop him. "Hmm. Well . . . I guess that might not be your fault. But you'll have to do better in the future. Here." Something thumped into Willi's chest and dropped to the floor. "That's all you've earned today."

Willi knelt down again and felt around the dirty floor. Within a moment his fingers encountered what he expected to find—a dried hunk of bread. It was more than he had expected. When Uncle felt he had been cheated, those in his family were more apt to receive curses and blows than blessings and food. Willi gathered the bread up. He would go hungry tonight, he knew, for it wasn't much more than a crust.

It took Willi a moment to peer around and figure out from the play of light and dark which way his corner was. It took some time to make his way there, stepping with care and feeling his way with his stick. At least none of the family was in a mood to push things or plant feet in his way in the hope he would trip tonight. In the last four years, he had provided that entertainment many times, often falling helplessly to the ground with cruel laughter ringing in his ears.

Willi's blanket was still where he had left it, wadded up behind an old trunk so that no one would notice it. Threadbare and full of holes though it was, he did feel warmer with it wrapped around his shoulders. The winter was not even half over, and he felt like he hadn't been warm since forever.

The bread was eaten slowly, one small bite at a time; partly because it was so dry and hard that it took a lot of chewing to make it possible to swallow, and partly to make it last longer. It would at least give Willi the illusion of having enjoyed a full meal—a most uncommon experience in his short life.

Willi was swallowing the last bit as he heard someone coming toward him amidst the noise of the other children chattering and yelling. He cocked his head to one side, then smiled as he recognized the step. "Erna," he said.

"How do you know that?" the girl demanded as she took his hand and with care set a small pottery cup in it. "How do you always know it's me?"

"You walk different." Willi sipped the water in the cup.

"But even when I try to sneak up on you, you still know it's me."

Willi held his hands out and shrugged. That caused water drops to splash out of the cup, and he licked them from his hand. "I don't know how. I just do."

He felt her plop down beside him. "So where were you today?" she asked.

"By the cathedral."

"The cathedral? No wonder you were so late getting back. You'd better not let Uncle know you went there. He's told us more than once to stay away."

"Well, I won't tell him, so if you stay quiet he won't hear, now will he?"

Erna swatted his arm. "Why did you walk so far? Weren't you afraid of getting lost?"

"I've heard Fritz and Möritz talk about it, so I knew the way there. I hoped the folk coming out of the church would give alms, but they were as cold as the building itself. And what they did give, someone else took."

"That really happened?" Erna leaned close.

"Yeah. Someone tossed a coin in and then someone else snatched it back out before it stopped ringing. It was so fast I felt nothing, saw only a dart of shadow." It wasn't the first time that Willi had cursed his ruined sight. It wouldn't be the last.

"Well, next time take someone with you, to watch over you."

"Who? You?"

Willi was knocked sideways by her punch on his shoulder. "Yes, me. I can watch from a ways away and make sure nobody robs or cheats you."

Willi shrugged. "If you want to. But how will you earn your bread if you're near me?"

"Uncle's been teaching me some new stuff. I'll manage."

Willi wanted to ask what new stuff, but just then Uncle called out, "Lights out." As usual, his stinginess with lamp oil was getting the lamp blown out at the earliest moment.

Erna left amid the sound of scurrying around. A moment later she was back. "Lie down and I'll cover us." Willi curled up on his left side facing the old trunk, wrapped his arms around his stick and hugged it to his body. He felt the weight of first his blanket, then hers, covering him. Erna wiggled under the blankets and put her back against his.

The two of them were too small to gain a space close to the fireplace and its few coals—Uncle not being any less stingy with the firewood. Those went to the older, harder children; older than Willi's eight years. Forced into the outer part of the room, they had learned that if they shared their blankets they stayed warmer than if they slept alone. Even so, there were many nights that they shivered together as the cold cut through the meager coverings.

Erna went to sleep as soon as she stopped wiggling to find the right position. Willi was kept awake by his growling stomach for some time, but at length he drifted off.

****

The next morning Erna ripped the covers off of Willi. "Come on! It's daylight. If we don't get out there, we won't get anything." She barely let him use the chamber pot, and then they were in the street. "So, where to this morning?"

"Not near the cathedral, that's for sure." Willi pondered. "How about Zenzi's? I haven't been there in a few days."

"Zenzi's it is. C'mon." And so, stick in one hand and Erna tugging on the other, Willi was towed to one of his favorite places, a bakery that was several blocks away.

"Here we are," Erna announced in triumph. "You want your usual spot?"

"I can find it." Willi pulled his hand away and reached out to touch the front of the building, then walked along the front to where a beam jutted out. He put his back to that bit of corner and settled to the ground with a sigh. Reaching inside his ragged jacket, he pulled his bowl out and set it on the ground in front of him. He leaned back against the corner, set his stick against his shoulder, settled to wait for opportunity.

Erna crouched in front of him. "Lean forward."

"What?" Willi was confused.

"Lean forward, I said."

Willi did so. He felt a band of cloth cross his eyes and get tied behind his head. "What did you do that for?" His hand fumbled at the cloth, only to get slapped.

"Leave that alone." Erna leaned close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "Willi, you can't see. But the people can't tell that unless they get a really good look at your eyes. This way they can tell right away and you'll most likely get something from them."

"But I can see!" Willi's voice broke, to his embarrassment.

"Willi." Erna's voice was full of pity, which only deepened his embarrassment. "It's been almost four years. You only see light and shadow. You try to see more, and all you get is more falls and more of those bad headaches. Just wear the rag. You'll feel better, and you'll make more coin, too." Willi heard her sit back. "I'll be up and down the street, doing my thing and keeping an eye out. Won't nobody dip into your bowl without my seeing it."

"All . . . all right," Willi choked out, feeling as if he was giving up on his dreams to see again.

Erna patted his cheek, for all the world like she was the mother he could hardly remember instead of a slip of a girl not much older than him. "That's my Willi. I'll keep watch." He heard her stand and walk away.

Willi sat in his darkness. The rag soaked up his tears.

Magdeburg
February, 1635

The two men with sergeant stripes on their sleeves marched into Frank Jackson's office, stopped in front of his desk, then saluted smartly—or as smartly as a couple of West Virginia hillbillies with no military service could manage.

"Cut it out," Frank said in a weary tone. "Bill, shut the door. Siddown, both of you." He looked at Bill Reilly and Byron Chieske. "We," Frank emphasized that word, "have a problem. You guys are going to help solve it. You know who Otto Gericke is?"

The two men looked at each other. Byron shrugged. Bill turned back to Frank. "He's some kind of mucky-muck here in Magdeburg, right? Bürgemeister, or something like that?"

"Yep, he is; one of several. He's also the mayor and the engineer appointed by Gustavus to rebuild Magdeburg. And a more thankless task I can't imagine." The other two men nodded in agreement. "But when he's wearing his mayor and bürgemeister hat, he's the only one of the city officials who can pour water out of a boot even when the directions are written on the heel. As a consequence, he's the one who's in charge of anything important, including the city night watch. And he's asked for help in upgrading them into something resembling a police force."

Bill looked to Byron again. Byron looked puzzled. "So why doesn't he approach the admiral for some help from that investigative unit he set up?" Although there had been pretty wide-spread deprecation of the "NCIS" unit at first, after a few successes in investigating some crimes, including a bloody double murder, no one thought they were a joke now.

Frank grimaced. "There's been one too many exchanges of insults. That wouldn't stop the Navy guys from working at it—the admiral keeps them on a pretty short leash. The city boys, though, have been 'insulted,' they claim. They refuse to work with the Navy.

"Mike's pretty pissed about it. He doesn't need extra trouble right now, and for a squabble to boil up between the Navy and the civilian government is just not a good thing in more than one way. I wasn't in the room, but my understanding is that he more or less told the admiral that if his investigators couldn't keep from talking trash, he'd better muzzle them. Oh, it was a little more polite than that, but the message got across." Frank grinned an evil grin. "I also heard that the admiral's subsequent talk to his crew chief was a bit . . . ah, blunt." He sobered. "But the city watch still won't have anything to do with them."

Frank folded his hands on his desk. "Bill, I know you were about done with your degree. What was your major again?"

"I was in my last semester for a degree in Business Admin, with a concentration in business law and contracts."

"Right. And you worked for that security firm in Fairmont for a while, right?" Bill nodded.

Frank turned to Byron. "And I know you were majoring in criminology and had just qualified to serve as a reserve officer for the county sheriff. Correct?" Byron nodded. "I checked with Dan. He said something about you doing some ride-alongs."

"Yeah, some for Dan and some with the sheriff's deputies."

"Were you bucking to join the Grantville PD?"

"State trooper or sheriff's department."

Well, that's all water under the bridge. Dan Frost's partner, Dennis Grady, is based here in Magdeburg, so by rights this job ought to go to them. Building police forces is what they do. The city council is too cheap to pay their consultancy fees, though, so Mike told me to handle this problem.

"Here's how it is. You two have more experience in law and law enforcement than anyone else I can lay my hands on, so you're it. As of now, you are no longer part of the transportation detachment. You're seconded to the Imperial City of Magdeburg, reporting directly to Otto Gericke. Your first assignment, straight from the Prime Minister, is to shape the Magdeburg city watch into something more than a good-ole-boy's club that walks around at night with torches."

The two of them looked at each other wide-eyed for a moment, then turned equally horrified glances on the Army chief. Frank stared at them for a moment longer, then grinned. "You're both officers now—Reilly, you're a captain, and Chieske, you're a lieutenant. Carve up the work however you want, but one of you needs to work with Gericke and try to get the organization and procedures laid out. The other one needs to start working with some of the watch, so they can get used to the idea of us Grantvillers poking our nose in their business."

Frank focused on Byron alone. "Chieske, you're probably going to end up with the second job. I think you can do it. But there's one thing you won't do. You take the strong and silent type to an extreme. You make Calvin Coolidge look like a town gossip. I haven't figured out yet if you just don't like to talk, or if you caught on at an early age if you kept your mouth shut you'd stay out of trouble. I don't care, actually. But you will knock it off with the city watch."

The general directed a stern look at him. "I don't mean you should turn into a smart-aleck motor-mouth. But you will talk to these men, using reasonably complete sentences. You will instruct them. You will correct them. You will even, God help you, discipline them if you have to. You're not one of those street corner white-faced clowns. You're an officer in the Army, my army, and you will do your job to the best of your ability, no matter how much it makes you uncomfortable. Is that clear?"

Byron nodded.

"I said, is that clear?" Frank's voice was frostier in tone.

"Yes, sir."

Byron shivered a little. Frank sometimes had that effect on people.

General Jackson smiled again. "Who knows? If you play your cards right, Gustav Adolph might draft you. You could end up in the history books as the first two agents of the Imperial Bureau of Investigation. " He stood and shook hands with them. "Odogar has got your rank insignia and badges in his desk in the outer office.

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