19. Faust Symphony
Faust Symphony
Tennyson’s face hurt. His hands hurt, too, but instead of icing them against the outer wall of the castle, he was forcing his fingers to glide along the keys as he tried to remember the opening notes of Franz Liszt’s “Faust Symphony”.
He’d obtained the sheet music in a trade with a Hungarian soldier—Boros got Tennyson’s copy of Jane Eyre, and Tennyson got Carl Tausig’s transcription of Liszt’s symphony for piano solo.
He’d spent most of his free time in Hungary in the barracks rec room, playing the song over and over until he could do it without looking at the music, until Lindsey could hum the melodies while he played poker with the other off-duty personnel.
But this piano had a different feel, and his fingers kept skipping over the notes as he tried to settle into the rhythm.
“Relax,” said a deep, patient voice in his head.
The sound of it catapulted him into the past, to the tiny library/study/music room his parents had furnished in their bedroom.
The children were always welcome there, and Tennyson used to go every day to practice on the unornamented upright piano, tucked onto the bench beside his father.
“Relaxed arms,” his father would tell him. “Relaxed shoulders. Let the music flow through you. Feel the notes moving from your mind to the keys.”
The memory tripped his fingers up, but he turned it into an echoed phrase and kept going. If he kept his attention on the keys and the loose tension in his fingertips, he could almost imagine the warmth of his father’s shoulder not quite touching his.
“What do you want to talk about?” He asked it every time they sat down to practice, after every fight, every triumph, every early winter evening when they put on their heavy sweaters and waited for the spring. “Tell me with your music.”
Tennyson had never played Liszt during their talks, but he wondered what message his father would take from it if he could hear it now.
Was Tennyson Faust, striving for truth and beauty, only to stumble over his own ambitions?
How far did the metaphor extend? Bastian would make a fitting Mephistopheles, which left Louna the role of Gretchen, the maiden cursed by Faust’s corrupted love.
His attention shifted from his father’ ethereal presence to another. Louna shone in the dim study like the theme of a symphony, a variation of herself. Today she was an event planner, tomorrow she would be a thief—but always, the core of her melody was recognizable.
He wanted to learn it, and play it for her.
When he progressed into the third minute of the movement, a section of allegro impetuoso that allowed him to strike the keys sharply, bleeding out some of his irritation, he let himself listen to the sound of the music in the small room.
It wasn’t as impressive as the music hall would be, but the effect was hard to deny—the haunting melody was perfect for Louna’s Gothic atmosphere.
This section was full of abrupt rests, and he played the final notes of each triplet with heavy fingers, letting the sudden change in tempo startle the entranced Cristian.
The boy was thoroughly caught in Louna’s web, and “Faust” only entwined him further.
Tennyson broke off, leaving the unfinished crescendo to pulsate through the room. He caught the glow of pride on Louna’s face and lowered his gaze, wishing he had sheet music to fumble with.
A loud clap broke the tenuous silence as the last chord faded, and Tennyson forced his eyes back up.
“Perfect,” Cristian said, unbridled adoration on his face.
“Absolutely amazing. Maria, you were right—it must be him. Look, even his face! The blood, sir! The bruises! You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble—we’ll all be in masks, after all—but no, if you do up your makeup exactly like this, we shall give you a half mask to show it off. Well done, sir. You’re hired.”
Tennyson rose, dipping his head a fraction to acknowledge Cristian’s words. He didn’t seem to expect an answer, so Tennyson didn’t give him one; it was Louna who reached out to stop him when he started past.
“A moment,” she said, flashing Cristian an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, I just want to go over the song list before he leaves.”
“Of course,” Cristian said. He reached out to take Tennyson’s hand, then ambled away to check on some other detail of his party.
Tennyson scowled at Louna. “What the hell was that?”
“What happened to your face?” she countered.
“The guards weren’t happy that Cristian’s people were stuck here overnight,” Tennyson answered, glowering. “A few of them wanted to get rid of the staff.”
“You stopped them?” Louna said.
“I gave myself away,” Tennyson said. “I flipped a breaker so they didn’t see me, but they know someone else is here.”
Louna shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
That was because Tennyson had taken out his earbud. He knew what it was like to hear someone in a fight and not be able to do anything about it, and he hadn’t wanted anyone to panic. It was just a few guys in a dark kitchen. Nothing he couldn’t—or didn’t—handle.
But damn, he hurt. They’d hit all the bruises left by Harlow’s men in Spain, and Tennyson was getting sick of being punched in the face.
He was also tired of being lied to. He looked past Louna to the piano, flexing his sore fingers. “Why didn’t I play the harpsichord?”
Louna tossed her dark hair. “As I told Cristian, it needed to be tuned. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to practice before your debut, don’t worry.”
“I could tune it now,” he suggested.
She smiled. “You have more important things to do. I will handle it.”
Tennyson narrowed his eyes. She watched him, her expression guileless, waiting for him to either accuse her or let it go while he struggled to find a third option.
The go bag, the sketch she wouldn’t show him, the meeting with the Russian professor—couldn’t she see how it all looked?
He was ready to believe any explanation, but he needed something.
But no—he’d asked her to leave. She would not confide in him now.
“Nothing,” he said.
Louna smiled, and his stomach twisted. “Then on to the next problem,” she said, gesturing around the room. “You see several lovely artifacts here, do you not? I can use them.”
“You mean the Black Swan can use them,” he said, half-heartedly keeping up Lindsey’s plausible deniability.
She smiled. “Of course. I will pass on the information to the Black Swan, and then all she will need is a way in and out of the study.” She stepped closer and fluttered her lashes at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any secret passages, would you?”
“I didn’t get a chance to check them all,” Tennyson said.
Louna trailed her fingers across the inside of his wrist. “Then let’s take a chance,” she said, grinning. She turned away before he could react, and he swallowed the groan building in his throat.
“Gross,” Lindsey grumbled. “If you guys are gonna mess around in the creepy secret passages in the castle where I’m being held hostage, can you at least take your earbuds out?”
“We’re not going to mess around,” Tennyson said, watching as Louna peeked into the hall to talk to Cristian. “She’s mad at me.”
“Sounded like there might be some other emotions involved,” Lindsey said.
Tennyson exhaled. Yes, there were other emotions involved, but the heat burning in Louna’s eyes hadn’t been passionate.
He’d hurt her. Worse, he’d asked her to go, and then turned around and accepted her help again as soon as the situation changed.
He’d mishandled every moment of this job, and he didn’t blame her for being angry.
He also really didn’t want to lead her into a dark, enclosed space with no witnesses.
“I can hear you,” Louna hissed, before greeting Cristian without a hint of animosity in her voice.
Lindsey let out a whistle. “She’s a little scary, huh?”
“She’s a lot scary,” Tennyson answered.
Unfortunately, that was part of her appeal.
In the hall, Louna stood closer to Cristian than was necessary, taking his arm and waving at Tennyson with one hand. “My musician,” she said, articulating her words over the comms. “He is very shy. He wanted to know if he could have some time alone in the study to practice.”
“Oh,” Cristian said mildly. “Of course. Yes, I know many musicians—they can be a little theatrical, can’t they? But he may have the study for as long as he needs. It will be closed off during the party, so there’s nothing to prepare inside.”
“Thank you,” Louna said. She lingered at his side long enough to make Tennyson look away, and then she added in a stage whisper, “I’ll stay with him for a few songs so he doesn’t get too nervous. Musicians can be so emotional, after all.”
Lindsey snorted, tried to turn it into a cough, and ended up sputtering over Cristian’s gracious reply. The young man nodded at Tennyson with a tolerant smile and waved Louna back to the study.
“That wasn’t funny,” Tennyson said.
“It was hilarious,” Lindsey wheezed.
Louna shut the door and faced him with a bland expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, let’s see if we can find a passage.”
“There isn’t one in every room,” Tennyson said.
“Oh, but there must be one in the study,” Louna said. “No self-respecting lord would shut himself in his study without a way out.”
She moved to the northern end of the room, the only one with an external wall, and began prodding the stones.
Tennyson sighed and went west, testing the panels on the wall against the dining hall.
After a few minutes, one of the panels gave way under his hand, and he turned to find Louna already crossing the room to him.
“Clever wolf,” she said, brushing a finger along his bruised chin as she stepped into the passage. He reached for her hand to help her through, but she evaded at the last moment. “Does this connect to the music hall?” she asked.
He followed her inside, leaving the door ajar to let in some of the light. “I don’t know. I didn’t explore them all.”
“If it does, I can place a tapestry over the entrance,” Louna said. “I’ll slip out during the party and return before I’m missed, and then I’ll raise the alarm.”
“How?” Tennyson asked.
“We’ll want everyone to gather in the music hall,” she said.
“So I’ll keep Cristian in another room while I make the theft.
Then we’ll proceed to the hall for the unmasking, and I’ll make the discovery there.
When the guards rush to the hall to find the thief, you can go down to the dungeon.
I’ll give you a costume for Lindsey to change into, and the two of you can sneak out while the guards are searching for the artifact. ”
“And what will you do when they discover it on you?” Lindsey asked.
Louna scoffed. “They will not discover it on me. They’ll find it safe and sound in the music hall, moved accidentally by an unsuspecting guest. By the time they realize it was all a ruse, you and Tennyson will be safe in the van with Philippe and Jean-Claude.
Then I will meet you outside and we can make our escape. Simple.”
“Simple,” Tennyson echoed. “And what happens if they don’t let you leave?”
In the faint light filtering into the passage, he watched Louna turn to face him. She was close, but not close enough to touch, and the smell of her perfume enveloped him in the confined space and made him feel lightheaded. A feral smile touched her lips, but not her eyes.
“I go wherever I want to go,” she said. “When I want to go.”
Yes, Tennyson thought as she resumed her exploration. I know.