Masks and Shadows (14 page)

He'd spent all day thinking it through. The first thing he would do for himself, before anything else, was to find out who had sent Monsieur Delacroix the note that had implicated him. Then, when he received his first directions from his mysterious new employer, he would follow them to the very letter. And finally . . .

His hand clenched around the hidden paper.

Prince Nikolaus and that sot Delacroix would be humiliated beyond compare.

He turned to take one last look back at the prison, where his life had changed.

Rahier stood watching him, arms crossed. No surprises there. But behind the administrator . . . just behind him, thick gray smoke trickled around the corner of the building. But there was no smell of fire, no flicker of flame, nor—

Franz's chest squeezed tight. For an instant, he could have sworn that he saw two malevolent red eyes flash open within the smoke and glare straight at him.

Rahier turned, following Franz's stare. His gaze passed over the smoke without interest. He shrugged and turned back to frown at Franz.

Franz shivered. No wonder his imagination was conjuring apparitions, after nearly two days of hell. Now that he was standing still, the agony in his bleeding back had returned in full measure. He turned and limped away, toward the palace and the musicians' quarters beyond.

ACT TWO

Chapter Nine

All through Sunday night, Anna dreamed of disasters. She dreamed that her voice broke in front of Herr Haydn. She dreamed that she was running to attend her first rehearsal, but when she arrived she found the opera stage empty. Then the Baroness appeared and looked at her with dismay and pity.
“No, Anna, you were never chosen. Why would anyone want to hear you sing?”

She dreamed of a sliding, slippery noise behind her, hot breath on the back of her neck, and bloodstains spattering onto the floor beside her feet.

She woke at first light, as always. Her cot felt different. She sat up, and her whole body thrilled with recognition.

It hadn't been her imagination, after all. She sat in a room—a whole room!—of her own, with a window that looked out onto the grass. She'd moved from the servants' wing of the palace to the musicians' quarters, in a building of their own. She was a singer now and a maidservant no more. Beside that miracle, any memories of blood and imagined danger faded to the unreality of a wild and unlikely dream. She'd never even hoped to be so lucky as this!

The musicians ate breakfast in their own house at eight, at a meal prepared by their own cook. Sitting in the dining hall, Anna watched the yawns of the others with wonder. How could they be tired, when they'd slept so late? She ate by herself, brimming with excitement. On Saturday, after her introduction to the company, Herr Haydn had sent her to the Prince's administrator, Herr Rahier, and the formalities had taken nearly all day. She had moved into the music house on Sunday morning, but the singers had not rehearsed that day. This was to be her first working morning. She could barely eat for excitement.

When it was time to leave for the rehearsal, though, all of her dreams rose up again to haunt her. She walked slowly, letting the other singers pass her. Every one of their glances felt like a brand against her skin. Who was she, to claim to be one of them?

She froze just before the stage door, unable to move. She still had time. She could turn around and run to the Baroness, beg to be taken back . . .

But a handsome, angry-looking man walked up behind her, and she had to step through the door and onto the stage, if only to let him through.

The rest of the company was already assembled. Herr Haydn was missing, but the intimidating theatrical director, Monsieur Delacroix, stood haranguing two actors at the far side of the stage. They all turned to stare as the door fell closed behind Anna and the stranger.

Heavy wooden and metal stage machinery hung thirty feet above Anna's head, concealed from the audience by deep red and gold curtains. Herr Haydn had shown it to her on Saturday, and explained how, properly operated, it would carry actors high into the air, like gods ascending. If it fell on Anna, though, it would crush her.

Under the stares of the other actors, she suddenly desperately wished that it might.

“Well, well,” Madame Zelinowsky purred. “So the prodigal returns.”

“I . . .” Anna began.

The stranger stepped past her. Something was dreadfully wrong with his back; he held it at a sharp angle, like an unbalanced marionette puppet.

“And a good morning to you all.” He half-bowed, stiffly. “Thank you kindly for your welcome.”

Monsieur Delacroix's cheeks flamed red as he stepped forward. “Seven days!
Seven
days, the sentence was, and not—”

“His Serene Highness displayed ineffable mercy in allowing me to leave after only two days,” said the stranger. Anna wished she could see his face, rather than the back of his smooth queue of powdered hair. His voice gave none of his emotions away. “A pity, I agree, but it cannot be helped. What piece do we rehearse today?”

Delacroix's eyes looked ready to pop. “You are insufferable! If you think, sirrah, that I will allow you—”

The opposite door burst open. Herr Haydn strode in, rubbing his hands together. “Good, good, everyone is here. Herr Pichler, we are all so very pleased to have you back.”

“Thank you, Kapellmeister.” There was no veiled mockery in Herr Pichler's voice now. “I know it must have been your intercession that—”

“Shush!” Herr Haydn's gaze darted to Delacroix and back. “Nonsense, my boy. This company is in sad need of you. You've heard the tragic news?”

“No . . .” Pichler's head turned. His searching gaze passed over Anna without interest.

“I'm afraid Madame Delacroix and Herr Antonicek will not be returning to us. They were”—the kapellmeister paused—“set upon by brigands, three nights hence.”

Madame Zelinowsky tsk'd softly. “Brigands, Herr Kapellmeister? The evidence—”

“—Is inconclusive, dear lady, as we know. Regardless, it is a melancholy loss to all of us.” Herr Haydn turned back to Pichler's rigid figure. “I am so sorry, Herr Pichler, to spring such distressing news upon you. Still, you see now how welcome your return truly is. You have been promoted to first tenor, and Frau Kettner to leading lady.”

“And the other parts?” Pichler's voice sounded hoarse.

“Herr Hofner shall double as second tenor along with his usual roles, for the moment. As for a second soprano . . .” He gestured. “Anna, my dear? Let me introduce you to Franz Pichler, a most highly valued member of our company. Herr Pichler, may I present Fräulein Dommayer? Discovering her lovely voice was a most fortunate stroke of luck for all of us.”

Anna smiled uncomfortably and bobbed a curtsey, ducking her head. One of the other women snickered. Were actresses not meant to curtsey? Herr Pichler's eyes were clear and cold, lost in his own inner thoughts. His nod to her was the slightest fraction of a movement.

“Now, then.” The kapellmeister drew in the assembled company with his smile. “Everyone still has their parts from Saturday, yes? My new opera proceeds apace, but in the meantime, His Highness has requested a special performance tomorrow of an old comedy favorite, to lighten the mood of his guests. Of course, most of you already know this little piece by Signor Piccini . . .”

He began to pass out parts, chatting casually with each singer as he assigned the roles. Anna's chest tightened as he walked closer. She wanted to turn and run. Her feet had turned into lead.

“And our little Anna! You, my dear, shall play Carolina, the romantic younger sister. The role should be perfect for your voice, so . . .” He stopped, the music still held in midair between them. “My dear, this music is for you. Why don't you take it?”

Anna half-whispered her words. “I cannot read it, sir.”

“Cannot
read
—” He caught himself in mid-sentence and lowered his voice. “Cannot read music?” he finished in a murmur.

Too late
, Anna thought. Now every eye was fixed avidly upon her.

“I can read and write German,” she said stiffly. “The Baroness taught me years ago. But I never learned to read musical notes.”

“No? No, of course not. I should have considered.” The kapellmeister chewed at his bottom lip. “It is a problem, there is no doubt of that.”

Anna lowered her gaze. Whispers filled her ears, along with the sounds of stifled laughter. The skirt of her dress—her new apple-green and red dress, issued yesterday from the housekeeping office to mark her change in status—seemed as distant as the moon from her blurring vision. “Shall I leave?”

“What?”

“I said, shall I leave, sir?” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I can tell the Baroness that you don't require my services after all.”

“My dear girl, don't be absurd!” The kapellmeister gave a hearty laugh that rang only slightly false. “We certainly won't let that one little hiccup prevent us from making use of you. No, no, no. For now . . . for now, we'll simply have to make do. You can learn music by ear, that's clear enough. So before each of your pieces, I'll play you the tune, and you may sing it after me until you know it.”

In front of everyone?
Anna thought. But she only nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak, under so many derisive stares.

“This afternoon, and every afternoon, I'll give you an hour or two of tutoring. In the meantime—Herr Pichler?”

The actor started, interrupted from some private reverie. “Sir?”

“How fares your back, my boy? I daresay you could do with sitting down, eh?”

Herr Pichler's cheeks reddened. “Aye, sir. But it will not prevent me singing.”

“No, no, of course not. But could we prevail upon you to give Fräulein Dommayer a bit of musical assistance? She is in desperate need of a quick lesson or two in reading written music.”

“Oh.” The young man's eyes flickered with momentary curiosity as he glanced at Anna. “I suppose so, sir.”

“Excellent. Then why don't you and she go sit together back-stage. You'll find paper and pens over there . . .” Herr Haydn waved vaguely and smiled as he turned away. “I'll call you in when your voices are needed.”

Anna curtseyed to Herr Haydn and walked backstage, face burning. As the door fell closed behind her, she heard laughter burst out from the entire company.

Herr Haydn's voice rose in entreaty and command to silence them. Anna tightened her hands into fists. She would not run away, nor weep in front of them. She would not disgrace herself or the Baroness's faith in her.

Herr Pichler walked through the door after her, holding a sheaf of manuscript paper, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink. His gaze was shuttered and impossible to read as he pulled out a chair from the wall and sat down.

Anna set out her own chair and folded her hands on her lap. She looked at him expectantly.

Through the thin wall, she heard a soprano and a bass voice begin to sing, imitating each other's parts comically. She needed no understanding of Italian to know that they were trading insults.

Herr Pichler cleared his throat. “What the kapellmeister told me . . . about Herr Antonicek and Madame Delacroix . . .”

Anna blinked. “Yes?”

He sat forward but did not meet her eyes. “Why did Madame Zelinowsky disagree with him? Why did she say it had not been brigands?”

Anna saw again the scattering of bloodstains on the wooden floor.

“Old Ordog tears his victims into twenty pieces, and then . . .”

Her throat tightened as she felt, again, the scream that had built up in her chest. And then the voices behind the door . . .

“I can't!”

“Pardon?” Herr Pichler stared at her.

Anna swallowed. “I mean . . . I cannot tell you that. Because I don't know.” She wouldn't think about such horrors. Couldn't, else she'd lose the courage she needed to carry her through today and through her new life. She couldn't have fled Eszterháza anyway, not when the Baroness planned to stay a full year. What was the purpose in tormenting herself needlessly?

“Forgive me,” she said to Herr Pichler. “Perhaps you should ask Madame Zelinowsky herself what she meant.”

“Perhaps I shall.” He frowned at her. “Why can't you read music? Who taught you to sing and neglected that aspect?”

“No one. I was a lady's maid until yesterday.” She glared at him. “How did you injure your back?”

“I was flogged by the Prince's orders, two days ago.” He glared back at her.

Through the walls, the duet built to a climax and then closed, with a smattering of laughter and applause.
Perhaps we're next
, Anna thought. Her stomach clenched.

“We might as well begin,” Herr Pichler said, as the applause came to an end. “For all the good that it may do us.”

They were called in half an hour later. By then, Anna's head was whirling with incomprehension and panic. She could almost see how the system functioned—almost—but still the black dots refused to sort themselves into melodies before her eyes. She felt sick with frustration as she walked back onto the stage. The other singers dropped back, leaving her alone in the center, underneath the extravagantly frescoed, rounded ceiling. For all the depth of the wooden stage, it felt tiny—and she smaller yet—facing out into the grand auditorium with all its marble pillars, tiers, and galleries.