Page 5 of Angel's Flight
“A pleasure.”
“What did you mean?”Erik asked, nodding to the monument beside them.“About how he’s not there.Did you mean Dante?”
“Yes.He’s actually buried in Ravenna, where he died,” the young man grinned.“He was exiled from Florence for writing the wrong things.But he was a famous Florentine, you see, so they built him a tomb, even so.”
“One might say a man is lucky to be remembered in so many places.”
If Jack heard the bitterness in Erik’s voice, he ignored it.“The latest edition is Rossini’s tomb, across the way.As a musician, I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
Erik shook his head.“I was waiting to see him last and pay my respects.”
“I avoid him,” Jack confessed.“He reminds me too much of all I will never be.”
“That makes two of us,” Erik replied, surprised by his honesty.“You are a composer too?”
“A poor one,” Jack said with a shrug.“You?”
“An unaccomplished one,” Erik echoed, and Jack narrowed his eyes in interest.
“Such is the way of it, I suppose.Come, let’s wake the great lady from her slumber.”Jack headed towards the back of the church and the small door that Erik knew would lead them up to the organ.
Tightly coiled, narrow stairs took the two of them to a hidden compartment filled with keys and stops that smelled of old wood, paper, and oil.Jack lit a small oil lamp to add to the meager light that made its way into the chamber from outside.
Erik liked church organs for many reasons.It was thrilling to create such a huge, powerful sound as one person, but there was also the fact that organists in many churches, such as this one, were almost completely hidden from the congregation below.The music of the organ was meant to evoke the choirs of heaven, to emanate from the walls like the voice of God.
“Now, who shall reveal themselves first?”Jack said, taking Erik aback for a moment.Had he noticed the mask?“I confess, I'm not used to seeing the audience.Though I did learn to play at the church where my father and grandfather played, so I have had harsher critics.”
“I promise not to be critical for at least five minutes,” Erik reassured the younger player.That seemed good enough for Jack, who took his place at the instrument and began setting the stops and pipes to his liking.There was already music on the stand, open to a complex canon.“Will you be playing the Pellegrini?”
“I’ll be trying,” Jack sighed and began to press the keys.
Erik smiled despite himself as the music began.It was one of those canons that began simply with a single line of melody, then bloomed into more and more lines of harmony and counterpoint until it was a tapestry of sound echoing through the church below.
Jack was competent, but not a great player, just as he had said.He lacked a certain ease and comfort that was hard to achieve on such a complex instrument, and it was clear he had learned to play in a church, just as he said.Still, Erik couldn’t help but be moved to hear another musician.It had been weeks since he and Christine had been entertained by anyone but themselves, and while it was always a joy to sing with her and play himself, there was something freeing about being in the audience.
Up here, hidden away, listening to music with a critical but appreciative ear, he once again remembered the Opéra.He thought of his box, of his seat tucked in the private corner, and the carved column.The music of the orchestra and voices ringing out...To the chandelier.
The memory sent a sensation not unlike a shock through Erik.A spike of anxiety and guilt that went from the base of his spine right to his heart.It was a cold, guilty feeling, spreading into his veins like ice and taking his breath away.His vision blurred, and he grabbed the wall as Jack played on, insensible to his companion’s sudden attack.
He had to breathe, like Christine reminded him to do when this happened.It had happened before, more times than even his kind wife knew.It happened more and more since coming to Italy, but she didn’t need to know that.He had to handle this himself and just.Breathe.
He tried to listen to the music and push away the fear that this young musician had heard of the disaster at the Paris Opéra months ago.Even if he had, there was no way he’d know that the strange man he played for was the one responsible for it.The one that had so nearly caused so much more bloodshed and pain.
Another breath pushed back a fresh spike of fear as Erik steadied himself.Jack wasn’t his enemy.Jack wasn’t some member of an angry mob.This wouldn’t be like Lungern.This wasn’t some child.
Let the fear pass,he heard Christine say in his memory, and he tried to.
Breathe in.Breathe out.Listen to the music.
Slowly, the world steadied, and Erik’s heartbeat slowed.He wished he weren’t wearing this awful mask so he could feel some fresh air on his face, even if it was still hot and stifling.God, he hated summer.
“I think it would have been better in C sharp, down a third,” Jack remarked.Erik realized he’d finished playing and was scowling at the music.“He barely uses the foot pedals, and really, what’s the point of an organ piece without them?”
“It’s less tiring to play,” Erik offered, and hoped Jack didn’t notice or remark on how exhausted he sounded.
“Would you like your turn?Oh, you don’t have any music.”
“I don’t need it.”Erik had not meant to sound as arrogant as he did, but Jack just chuckled and let Erik take a seat at the keys.It was as instantly comforting as taking Christine’s hand or shutting the door on the outside world.Erik’s fingers touched the keys, and he took a moment to get the feel of the instrument.It was like meeting an old friend in a new place.Or he assumed it was – he didn’t have that many friends.
