“Oh? To see?”
“The Magic Flute.”
“Any tickets left?”
That was abrupt.
“Not sure. Ask Franz. He was going to check that out yesterday.”
Before Mitchell could ask me the who, what, and wheres of the production, Shay grabbed him and began discussing a few of her ideas for Count Zilania’s songs. Everyone else was still engaged in what appeared to be stimulating conversation.
I was being ignored. Which is probably not a good enough excuse for starting to sing the last measures of the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute to myself. The last measures are pretty much a technique exercise, popping up and down the scale singing ‘Ah-ah-ah’ in very crisp staccato time.
Conversation stopped. Everyone stared at me with expressions that were varied and quite interesting. The ‘M.T.V.’ sisters looked distressed. Mitchell looked puzzled. Lily, Franz and Corbin looked surprised. Shay and Johnny just looked amused.
“Uh oh. My bad. So sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt all the intellectual discussions around here. But that tune has been in my head since yesterday for some reason, “ I said, as I fluttered my eyelashes in an appearance of sheer innocence.
Shay chortled. “Not bad. Of course I have no ear so what the hell am I doing with the compliments?”
I bowed and ignored her. “It’s a lovely little aria. Sounds rather like a flute near the end?”
Silence. The Duskovas, Franz, Corbin, Mitchell and Lily all continued to stare at me. Shay’s chortle became a snort. Johnny went a few steps further. He began to sing the Papageno part of the duet of the same name from the same opera. He knew I couldn’t resist. I immediately chimed in as Papagena, the mate of the bird catcher.
The stares could have continued for hours (certainly Johnny and I were not ready to stop warbling) but our impromptu concert was interrupted by Mozart again. The Requiem notes from the doorbell sounded and effectively ended the duet. Veronika took off like a runner stealing home base. All the others began talking again. I heard a lot of discussion about the weather and best places to eat in Prague. Nothing about music. Nothing about flutes.
Within thirty seconds, Veronika was back with another visitor to Kouzlo Noc. My friendly bookstore owner, Jozef Jezek, was led into the parlor by a beaming Madam D. He was carrying about six books, wrapped in a rope that swung from his right hand. I hesitated before greeting him. Did everyone know his relationship to the flute-player? Did everyone know the story? Did he want anyone to know that I knew the story? I was giving myself a headache with all the questions and secrecy.
He took care of that. “Miss Fouchet. Good to see you again. I have found only one Gothic romance novel from Germany. But it was indeed written in the Nineteen-Seventies. I have not read this, so I do not know if it will help you for your movie, but I have brought it—along with the texts Veronika had requested the last time she graced my shop. They are on Medieval Architecture.”
The man was smooth. If I hadn’t already been blessed with a terrific father, I’d’ve bargained for adoption on the spot.
He handed me a hard cover book complete with a dust jacket. Even at first glance I could tell it was in German. But no one knew I couldn’t read that particular language so my excuse for getting chummy with Jozef Jezek and his bookstore would remain confidential. Except for Shay and Johnny, of course.
Conversation began again. The groups shifted. Lily decided to charm her hostesses and began a lively discussion with the Duskovas about the film industry in the Czech Republic. Franz was eating the last scone . Shay was flirting with Corbin. Mitchell and Johnny were admiring the tapestries. Jozef drew me aside and quietly tapped the book with his index finger.
“Miss Fouchet. This particular novel should prove to be of interest.”
“The Seduction of Countess Marissa?” I lifted my brows.
Jozef dropped his volume. “It’s a very pretty dust jacket,no? But it doesn’t really belong to the book.”
I took a quick glance around the room. No one was paying attention. I quietly slipped the dust jacket front piece away from the book. The title revealed was a textbook. Freemasonry and Mozart—A Duet for the Centuries.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll give this a read as soon as I get more than fifteen minutes of free time.”
Jozef smiled. “If you find it boring, you can always read about Countess Marissa being seduced—in between studying the symbolism of The Magic Flute. The dust jacket gives an entire synopsis of the novel.” He glanced around the room. “I only wish I could decipher some of the meanings of the symbols of freemasonry enough to perhaps explain the truth behind Ignatz and his flute.”
I asked,”Why don’t you ask the Duskovas?”
He shook his head. “Veronika and I have discussed Ignatz many times in the last ten years. She discovered my bookstore back then, and we learned about our mutual ancestor and we both have become anxious to find out the truth.” He paused. “Before someone with sinister motivation finds it.”
I hugged him. “I feel the same. I just didn’t realize that you and Veronika were friends. I had no idea until you walked into the parlor only minutes ago that you had any kind of relationship with the Duskovas—in this century that is. Not to be nosy, but I must express some surprise that you and the Duskovas are on good terms considering the family history.”
He winked. “The official feud ended sometime in the late 1800s—and since none of the ladies nor I were around then we decided it was best to ignore any unpleasantness that happened in the centuries preceding that time.”
“Including the possible murder of Ignatz Jezek?”
“Ah. Well. It is certain that none of the Duskovas currently residing in Kouzlo Noc had anything to do with my ancestor’s demise so a bit of forgiveness is in order.”
“Got it. So, what symbols should I look for in this book?”
Before Jozef had a chance to begin a lecture, we were joined by Shay. Ms. Martin, naturally, jumped in with both of her size eleven feet. I was only thankful the rest of the crowd was busy elsewhere.
“Mr. Jezek? You’re the great-great-great, well a bunch of greats—grandchild of the ghost? Right?”
I groaned. “Dammit Shay, do I have to start adding duct tape to my bag to slap on you when you can’t keep your mouth closed for two seconds?”
Shay waved me away. “You’re such a wimp. Let’s get real. We’re in a spooky castle. You’re got spooky genes. Put those together and that means there’s got to be a ghost. Where there’s a ghost there’s a treasure. Well, at least in this case. So—what’s the loot and who does it belong to?”
I gazed up toward the heavens, but got no help from the Almighty. The earthly deity, Jozef, was unsuccessfully trying to stifle his obvious amusement.
I glared at my best friend. “I have no idea what the treasure really is, but if there is one I’d imagine it belongs to Mr. Jezek here—being the great-great-great heir.”
Shay snarled, “I knew that. Really. I’m just nosy and in the mood for a good treasure hunt since I missed out on a good wedding because of that idiot Kathy and her moronic mother and the groom with the sex appeal of a dead goat.”
“Ah. Well. I’m glad that’s settled.”
“Lily and company alert. Headed this way with a parade of males. “ I muttered under my breath. “Cool the ghostly treasure tales, Martin.”
“Hey, I can be subtle.”
Shay coughed, then lowered her voice—slightly- for one last question that, fortunately, only Jozef and I could hear. “Ahem. Not to start things up again, but while we’re into honesty, isn’t there something else involving the flute here? I mean, it’s a particularly valuable flute, right? Not in monetary terms, but in—well—some terms. Could be gold. Could be the power of” she winked at me, “love through the ages.”
Oh yeah. Shay being subtle. Not.
Jozef responded, “As Miss Fouchet and I were just now saying, the only thing we are sure of is that we must
find this flute before persons who have souls of evil discover either the whereabouts and the magic and mystery it holds within.”
Chapter 10
I oozed toward the door to begin a graceful exit from Kouzlo Noc before Shay could start shouting, “Ghost hunt!” to the castle-dwellers and cast and hangers-on. I had no idea if anyone could have heard Jozef outside of Shay and me but I was nervous that one of those present would decide to step up some greed-filled treasure-seeking before we good guys could succeed in our quest.
Shay set a time for cast and crew to meet back at the castle in the morning for a production meeting. Business was finished for the day. I hadn’t found my flute player and wasn’t likely to get another chance until Headlights Productions was firmly entrenched within castle walls and I could snoop during dance breaks.
Now I had to stop obsessing over Ignatz for many ‘becauses.’ Because for at least one night, this night, I wasn’t going to worry about keeping ears open for the sound of spectral fluting. Because tonight was the opera. Because Johnny had tickets. Because I was thrilled to see an opera in The Estates Theatre and anxious to discover if any clues to Ignatz Jezek’s missing flute (and body) were hinted at in any of the scenes of The Magic Flute. And because I was damn glad I had a chance to dress up and change my location-scout attire of jeans and T-shirt for a few hours to date-attire in a real dress.
My schedule for the last few days had been to tramp around Prague and little villages nearby checking out spooky castles for Shay, so I hadn’t been able to even dream about donning fancy clothes and high heels. But blessedly, my invisible fashion fairy-godmother had seen fit back in New York to make me pack a little number that should keep Mr. Gerard’s mind off of murals, flutes and treasure. The salesgirl at the funky boutique in Manhattan had called the color Champagne, and proclaimed it perfect for a chestnut-brunette (even one with steaks of green.) The material was a combination of lace and stretchy rayon, the skirt was handkerchief hemmed and the neckline was “sweetheart taking the plunge.” I’d thrown in the pair of ecru lace granny boots I’d planned to wear to the wedding Shay was supposedly attending before she’d begged, pleaded and thrown herself on my mercy to go castle hunting instead. A 1950s vintage black velvet coat was warm enough for the short walk to the theatre.
I even had a cute little black lace beret that covered most of the green in my hair. Eye shadow, a ton of mascara, and a tinge of blush and lipstick—I was set. Bring ‘em on.
“On” was definitely the operative word. As I entered the lobby of the hotel, I was dazzled by the sight of Johnny in a black tux. He looked—well—damn good.
I headed directly to him, curtseyed and fluttered my lashes. “My, my, Mr. Gerard, but you do clean up well. I’m impressed.”
He bowed in turn. “Let me return the compliment.” He stared at me. “Dang, Abby, let me go one further and tell you that you’re a knock-out. Saint Agnes would be proud.”
He dropped a light kiss on my cheek, then extended his arm, crooked at the elbow, to me. I placed my own hand over his elbow with as much grace as heroine Honoria would have managed in the late Nineteenth Century. This was no night for rampant feminism. It was a night at the opera.
Which quickly turned into a farce closer to the Marx Brothers movie with that same title. As soon as Johnny and I left the hotel we were joined by none other than Franz Hart also decked out in splendor in a black tuxedo nearly identical to my stylish escort.
Franz yelled loud enough to engage all of Prague. “Abby! I got tickets. I thought I’d join you both and we can all go together, yes?”
The Estates Theatre, in the section of Prague called Old Town, was walking distance from the hotel. So our little trio walked. We tried strolling arm-in-arm, but the sidewalk wasn’t big enough, so first Johnny took my arm and we left Franz to walk behind, then Franz cut in and a scowling Mr. Gerard was forced away. I waited for Johnny to stake his valid claim to Ms. Fouchet and watch Franz back off, but Mr. Gerard stayed silent on the subject.
Finally I pulled away from both. “Okay, guys. Enough. Tell you what? I’ll drop back and you can just march to the theatre together. You’re nearly the same height and your tuxes are matching black. You’ll look like you’re part of a gay dance team.”
I love a sense of humor in anyone. And bless them, both Johnny and Franz took me at my word. They linked arms and sauntered down the street with matching strides and total nonchalance. I expected a tango at any moment.
We finally reached the theatre. Johnny’s two tickets were next to each other. Somehow, Franz had managed to find a seat right there with us. I took the middle, glanced at my watch and breathed in my surroundings. The Estates Theatre. The very history of the place was overwhelming. The Magic Flute was not the first of Mozart’s operas to be performed here. Wolfgang A. personally conducted the premiere of Don Giovanni and Mozart’s other operas, such as Cosi Fan Tutte and Marriage of Figaro were regular staples.
The Estates Theatre was indeed, as Franz originally told us, built in the Neoclassical style; lines, with straight-backed chairs (no lounging in rockers like in today’s sixteen-screen movie theatres) and box seats in tiers that surged up into infinity. We sat directly under an enormous chandelier that gave me the sensation of being bathed in one huge light bulb surrounded by a ceiling painting with colors in gold and red and cream. I sighed with pure pleasure over the entire décor.
I normally don’t watch this opera contemplating who represents what, and whether or not a certain three chords in the overture represent three knocks in Freemason ideology. I just wait for the Queen of the Night to sing her marvelous aria. It was written as a comic opera but it’s one of the most stirring Mozart wrote for a soprano.
This night, squinched between Johnny and Franz, both of whom appeared so absorbed in the opera that they must be taking notes in their heads, I tried to concentrate on Mozart’s intent. Find those symbols and solve a puzzle.
With great effort I watched and listened for every nuance related to Ignatz’ magic with his flute. Did the symbols used, the morals presented, have a durn thing to do with flautist Ignatz Jezek haunting Kastle Kouzlo Noc? I paid close attention to any scene involving the magic flute; said to bring wild beasts under a spell rendering them tame. Also there was a lyric that caught my ear about night and day. Night and day. Same tune I’d heard earlier up at Kouzlo Noc. Was Ignatz trying give me a clue about magic? Could his flute sooth savage animals? Could it change light to dark? Rust to gold? And had human savage beasts, in the guise of family or friend or colleague, taken an opportunity to destroy the young Prague musician/artisan then steal the flute and its magic for themselves?
I found no answers. My only insight was that any insight into the Jezek mystery would be solved at Kouzlo Noc.
The plot of The Magic Flute was originally based on a fairy-tale. A prince sets out on a mission to rescue a princess from her father, Sarastro, a man he believes to be evil. The belief stems from the words of the princess’ mother, Queen of the Night. But the prince soon discovers that the man is a good man; almost a godlike character. When prince and princess meet, it’s immediate love. Actually, before they meet it’s love. They see one another’s portraits and it’s boom—Romance City. Sort of early online dating? But before they can live happily ever after, they have to undergo various trials to prove themselves worthy to rule over the kingdom the wise Sarastro relinquishes to his daughter and son-in-law. Comic relief is provided by the bird catcher named Papageno, who is searching for a “Papagena” so they can produce little papagenos. Yeah, the names get a bit confusing, especially during the Papageno/Papagena duet, but it’s still hilarious to watch and see. It’s one of those duets that sticks with the listener long after the opera has ended. Insidious. Fun—but insidious.
Masonic symbolism hits the audience at every turn, with numbers of three being very prominent; with light and day and black and white representing good and evil. I didn’t understand half of it, but I did know that Freemasons of Mozart
’s time period went through various “trials” to prove they were worthy of joining the brotherhood. Entire books have been written trying to explain just what Mozart and his friend, the librettist and producer, Schikaneder, were getting at. I couldn’t wait to read the book Jozef had slipped me that afternoon. The elderly bookseller himself had poured through it searching for clues to the magic his ancestor had crafted, but obviously he was interested in letting fresh eyes take a peek.
After about thirty minutes of angst over what meant what, I said, “Screw it” and spent the next two hours not worrying a damn about symbolism as I let myself be swept away with the marvelous singing and the production as a whole. I did tuck back in my brain for later perusal the intensity of this production’s use of light and dark. And I also decided that return engagements to view The Magic Flute by Miss Abby Fouchet were in order in case the opera itself had something to do with Ignatz Jezek and the flute he’d hidden at Kouzlo Noc.
After the last standing ovation died down, the three of us headed back to the café where I’d enjoyed kolaches and cocoa earlier in the afternoon. Yes, the three of us. Franz apparently had decided he was the focal point of this little ménage and showed no inclination to leave me alone with Johnny Gerard.
Didn’t matter anyway. When we got to the café, we were greeted by no less than three familiar faces. Shay, Lily, and Mitchell were seated at a round table by a back window. Hand waves all around and Franz, Johnny and I made our way through the crowded restaurant to join them. Three empty seats awaited us. Very ‘freemasonic.’
“So, how was Amadeus?” asked Shay.
“He was marvelous. At least, his work was. As for Wolfgang himself? Well—he did not make an appearance—at least none that I was aware of, and let’s face it, if he had, now that I’m hearing ghosts all over Prague, I’m sure I’d’ve been the first to catch any impromptu jam sessions,” was my whispered and overly-long answer.
Aria in Ice Page 8
