Luthier's Apprentice, The (8 page)

Paganini (Born Oct. 27, 1782, Genoa, Italy—Died May 27, 1840, Nice, France)

Italian composer, violin virtuoso. Popular idol. “Technical Wizard.” Revolutionized violin technique.

Began studying with his father at six. Father was strict, made him practice all day until an etude was perfect or would not give dinner to him. Later studied with famous Giacomo Costa. First appearance, 1793. Studied with Alessandro Rolla and Gaspara Ghiretti at Parma. Practiced fifteen hours a day. First tour, 1797. Reputation grew rapidly.

In later years: indulged in gambling, love affairs. Had to pawn his violin—a Guarneri—to pay gambling debts.

Wrote his famous 24 Capricci between 1801-1807. Appointed Director of Music at Piombino by Napoleon’s sister.

Very successful in Vienna, Paris, London. Became wealthy. Invested in a casino—“Casino Paganini”—venture failed.

Became a legend, Mephistophelean figure. Story spread: that he’d made a pact with the devil. As a result, burial in consecrated ground was first denied, then delayed for five years.

Violin technique: wide variety of harmonics and pizzicato effects, new methods of fingering and tuning. Brilliant improviser. Flamboyant showman. Used tricks: severing one or two violin strings and continuing on the remaining strings. His technical innovations were later imitated by famous performers.

Believed to be double-jointed.

Played with such skill, audiences would be left speechless. Played with such force and speed that it seemed supernatural (one listener declared he had seen the devil helping the violinist—no other way to explain his uncanny abilities, extreme dexterity, bizarre fingerings. Could play twelve notes per second! Could play entire works only using the G string).

Physical appearance: tall, gaunt, pale, long dark hair, black robes. This added to his mystique.

Questions:

What happened to his body until he was given a Christian burial? Rumors that it disappeared, that it was stolen. Rumors that he didn’t really die, but that he found the secret to immortality. The elixir of life? Another pact with the devil? How? At what price?

Rumors that the body they eventually buried was not Paganini’s.

Corey stopped reading, thoughtful. He knew many things about Paganini, of course; knew all about Paganini’s incredible skill and bizarre fingerings and even all about his supposed pact with the devil. But Corey hadn’t known about Paganini’s gambling debts—he had pawned his Guarneri!—the Casino Paganini, and certainly not about his missing body and the rumors about his burial.

Reading about Paganini’s double-jointed fingers made him think of Emma.

He massaged his eyebrows for a moment and continued reading, this time notes about the famous Russian violinist Sonia Ivanov:

Sonia Ivanov (born in Russia) Died ? Vanished? Where is she?

Began playing at the age three. Won numerous prestigious prizes, played with the best directors and musicians.

Extraordinary skill and technique. Rumors of gambling. Wealthy. Rumors of involvement with witchcraft in later years. Rumors not proven.

Stunningly beautiful. Her signature? Purple gowns.

Married to famous violinist Augustus Tornelli. Had a daughter. What’s her name? Daughter not involved in the music world. Where is she now?

Sonia’s husband and American son-in-law died in violent accidents—how?

Involvement with feminist movement during later years. Talked derogatorily of male violinists in a magazine interview.

Continued playing until humiliating performance ten years ago (her age is a well-guarded secret, but everyone assumes she was in her 70s), when she suddenly messed up while playing the Sibelius concerto.

Corey turned to the old newspaper clipping attached to the page:

Sonia Ivanov Fails to Deliver!

The audience was stunned last night at the Bozar Royal Theatre when world-renowned virtuoso Sonia Ivanov abruptly stopped in the middle of the performance with a blank expression on her face. Apparently the famous Russian violinist failed to remember the notes of the Sibelius violin concerto and wasn’t able to finish the concert.

Sonia, presumed to be in her seventies, has been highly acclaimed throughout most of the 21st century. A child prodigy, she began playing at the age of three, with her first public performance at the age of nine. She has played with the best conductors and musicians throughout the decades, and has been the recipient of several prestigious prizes and awards.

Under the clipping, Monsieur Dupriez had written in bold, underlined letters:

Retired since that terrible day. Where is she? No one seems to know.

Attached to the next page was another, more recent newspaper clipping:

WHERE IS SONIA IVANOV?

Renowned Russian violin virtuoso Sonia Ivanov’s whereabouts have remained a mystery since her atrocious performance ten years ago at the Bozar Royal Theatre, where her mind failed her and she was unable to perform. Sources who wish to remain anonymous claim that the violinist has been involved with sorcery for years. Whether this is the truth or simply rumored is not proven.

Corey leaned back against the chair and exhaled. He nodded slowly, his lips a firm line. Little things were starting to fall into place, things he’d rather not think about but knew he had to face. He leaned forward over his desk and immersed into Monsieur Dupriez’s notes once again:

Violinists who have disappeared throughout the ages (there may be more):

Werber, 1805

Hans, 1817

Royany, 1836

Mouravieff, 1855

Berilli, 1867

Van Der Straeten, 1901

Jean Pierre, 1938

No pattern visible, except--all were male. What happened to them?

This year:

Dutcher, February

Guodelesky, May

Harrison, August

All men. Why not women? Why all of a sudden are the disappearances so close in date, when before they were decades apart?

Corey studied the two columns with the violinists’ names. Then, after reading the rest of the notes, he closed the notebook. Gazing at his father’s photograph, he wondered what evil, twisted mind might be at work. A chill crept down his spine and raised goose bumps along his arms. He was afraid he might know the answer.

S
ITTING ON HER THRONE, THE WOMAN
enjoyed a goblet of wine while listening to the forest play music. Her expression was dreamy. There was no way to silence the forest, so she might as well enjoy it. The music was endless, an amalgam of notes, discordant, deranged: as if a hundred violinists were playing different concertos simultaneously. The demonic performance had a hypnotic effect.

It was amazing how she had managed to take possession of all this. Smirking, she basked in her success, moving her left hand as if she were a director in an orchestra.

Stradivarius rested by her side. On her other side was a small round table featuring a delicate china bowl filled with baby rabbits’ raw hearts. She stabbed one with a fork and fed it to the dog. It gobbled it up in a second.

“Niccolò!” she called.

“You summoned me?” the servant asked, as if he’d just materialized.

“I have warned you before: never surprise me like that.” She put her goblet down on the table. Her long nails glistened with dark purple polish. “Where is she, our precious guest?”

“Where she always is when she comes to visit, with her twin,” he replied laconically.

“Ha! I do not know what she is trying to accomplish. She is wasting her time. I hate them both. I wish I could put my fingers around their necks and squeeze until their eyes pop out.”

“Perhaps. But without them, you’re
niente
, nothing.”

“The time will come, however, when I shall rule on my own. Maybe sooner than you think.”

“That, I’ll have to see.”

The woman’s eyes swept over him with loathing. “One day I will get rid of that insolent expression of yours. You will be glad you are here serving me, and you will accept me as your only master. All of you useless male violinists will.”

Thoughtfully, the servant lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the distant woods. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Any messages for me today?”

The servant didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

Taking his time, the servant extracted a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to her.

“You are supposed to give me my messages without my asking.” Her voice held the chill of icicles. She snatched it from him.

When she read the message, however, she understood. “Hmm... a note from our nice friend Van Ketts,” she murmured, her features diabolically sweet. “Now I see. Why are you trying to protect her? Do not tell me you have developed a liking for the little brat.”

The servant’s expression remained unreadable.

“So the luthier’s apprentice has developed an interest in her teacher’s whereabouts. Interesting,” she mused. “I wonder how I can turn this news to my advantage...”

T
HE NEXT DAY, HALLOWEEN, EMMA AND
Annika met at Stockel Square and from there took the tram to Tervuren. It was a fifteen-minute ride. Even though Tervuren was outside of Brussels, its square and park were popular hangout spots with the English-speaking teen crowd, mainly because the British School—or BSB—was only a couple of blocks from the square.

The weather was bright and crisp and the shops around the square sparkled with Halloween decorations. Every year the town celebrated by doing a three-kilometre walk through the densely wooded park in spooky masks and costumes. People lit bonfires, danced and partied until early morning.

Emma glanced at her watch: 2:01 pm. She couldn’t stand people who were late.

Annika rubbed her arms. “It’s cold. I should have worn my jacket.” She wore a navy blue turtleneck sweater that made her eyes looked bluer.

“You want mine?” Emma asked. “I’m wearing a hoodie under.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Will you stop fidgeting? You’re making me nervous.” Then she squeezed Emma’s arm. “There he is.”

“Ouch!” Emma yanked her arm away. “Will you
relax
?”

“Look who’s talking.”

Corey’s face lit up when he saw them across the square. He was wearing jeans and an aviator jacket. He had the type of body that looked slender but strong. Broad shoulders, long limbs.

“Is he always that serious looking?” Annika whispered as he approached on his skateboard.

Emma didn’t have time to reply.

“Hi,” Corey said.

“Hi.” Emma tried to control the sudden fluttering in the pit of her stomach. His eyes looked even greener today, if such a thing was possible. “This is my best friend, Annika. Annika, this is Corey.”

“Hey,” Annika said.

Corey smiled. “Yes, the girl from yesterday. Nice job with the roses. Madame Dupriez kept talking about it.”

Annika smiled back. “Thanks.”

They did some small talk first. He said he lived in Tervuren and went to the BSB. That kind of explained why he’d asked them to meet here. He was sixteen like them.

“Where are you from originally?” Emma asked, wondering about the elusive accent she couldn’t place.

“My mother is Russian,” he said. Something in his tone and expression shifted. He looked away to one of the cafes before turning back to them. “My father was American.”

Emma and Annika exchanged uneasy glances.

Was
? So he’d lost his father? Like Emma? She felt a sudden sense of kinship toward him. She decided to lighten up the conversation. Now wasn’t the right moment to talk about their dead American fathers.

“So what happened with the notebook? Did you find anything important?” Emma asked.

“Yes, the notebook. There are some...” he hesitated, “…strange things in there.”

“Like what?” Emma asked. “Where’s the notebook?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “You didn’t bring it?”

“It’s in a safe place,” he said.

“Why didn’t you bring it?” Emma insisted.

It hit her, the suspicion that he was hiding something. But what?

“What did Monsieur Dupriez write in the notebook?” Annika asked, pulling the collar of her sweater closer to her neck.

“Well, to make it short, he seemed to think that some modern violinists are copycatting famous violinists’ techniques. But the interesting thing is this: those modern violinists are all
women
, and those old violinists are all
men
. Didn’t it get your attention that all the violinists who have disappeared are men?”

“True,” Emma said. “But since there are a lot more men violinists than women violinists anyway… I mean, let’s face it. Music has been dominated by men for centuries. You know, because of the influence of society.”