When Liszt left me temporarily alone in the room, I touched the board and was repelled to find therein imprisoned music. Is it possible Liszt, so renowned for his virtuosity at the keyboard is using this device not to enhance his own gifts, but to steal from his contemporaries?
Taking Vicus from his coat pocket, Barnaby held the stone over the page. “Vicus, please copy this material.”
The purple glow appeared briefly, and Vicus said, “Your request is completed.”
“Thank you,” he said. Reaching forward, Barnaby tapped the page and said softly, “Procedo.”
At the command, the book settled on a new entry from September 1870:
I have learned that last month Liszt’s daughter, Cosima, newly divorced from her husband, Hans von Bülow, has married Richard Wagner. My sources in Switzerland tell me that Liszt has gifted his friend and new son-in-law with the chess set I first saw in Weimar twenty-one years ago. Could this be the source of Wagner’s increasingly controversial ideas and popular favor?
As Barnaby continued to search the journal for references to the chess set, he followed Gulbranson’s growing suspicions that first Liszt and then Wagner used the board to steal ideas from their rivals. The Alchemist attributed Liszt’s more demonic compositions to the influence of the board, which he also believed could have exacerbated Wagner’s rabid nationalism and anti-Semitism.
Gulbranson wrote his final entry mentioning the chess set in late February 1883:
Wagner has died and the chess set has gone missing. What Salieri has wrought I fear may now be used for more sinister purposes, especially should the board be paired with a harp.
Barnaby frowned. Salieri? A harp?
Using his search spell, Barnaby examined the journal for additional references to Salieri and a harp, but with no results. Myrtle warned him that Alchemists had a habit of keeping both a journal and a book of working notes. Unfortunately, Gulbranson’s notebook was not in her possession.
“Vicus,” Barnaby said, addressing the stone lying at his elbow, “when did Antonio Salieri live?”
“The composer Antonio Salieri was born August 8, 1759, and died May 7, 1825,” Vicus answered.
“Is there any connection between Franz Liszt and Antonio Salieri?” Barnaby asked.
“In 1820, Liszt received lessons in composition from Salieri,” Vicus replied.
“How old was Liszt at the time?”
“Nine years old,” Vicus said. “Liszt was a child prodigy.”
A child prodigy who studied with one of the most ambitious and reputedly jealous composers of the 18th century.
“Interesting,” Barnaby muttered.
“What is interesting?” Moira asked, coming into the room and joining him at the table.
“Hmm? Oh, an ambiguous reference,” he said, “but first, tell me what you discovered with the aos si?”
Moira ran her hand through her dark hair, briefly resting the weight of her head against the palm. “The best way I can describe what is happening to her is that she is experiencing a sort of metaphysical aphasia,” Moira said. “Just as it seems her powers are perfectly normal, a gap in understanding or perception appears. Many times she is not even aware that she is losing time. If she were a human, I would suggest she had suffered a cerebrovascular incident.”
“You mean a stroke?” Barnaby asked.
“Yes,” Moira said. “She exhibits a very similar kind of confusion. I have no explanation for it, but when I applied a protection spell, the symptoms improved markedly. I think you may be correct that she has been exposed to something that has slowly drained her ability to focus. What have you found in the journals?”
When Barnaby finished explaining the results of his research, he asked, “Do you have any idea what Gulbranson meant by ‘paired with a harp?’”
“Possibly,” Moira said, standing and moving to another shelf heavily laden with books. “I seem to recall reading something in the recollections of an Alchemist living in Paris in the late 1700s about a miniature harp.” She ran her finger along the spines until she found an ornately bound tome. “Yes, here we are, the notes of Claude Beaulieu.”
Using the same search spell Barnaby employed with the Gulbranson diary, Moira located the reference. “I have it,” she said, “the Krumpholz Harp."
"Krumpholz?" Barnaby said. “Who on earth is Krumpholz?”
“The husband of Anne-Marie Steckler,” Moira said, scanning the page. “Her father was a renowned instrument maker. She studied with the harpist Jean-Baptiste Krumpholz and later married him. Krumpholz nursed a passion for perfecting the design and musicality of the harp. It was rumored that he crafted a harp no more than six inches tall that possesses the ability to reproduce any music played in its presence. He supposedly used the tiny instrument to capture ideas for his own concertos and sonatas from other composers."
Barnaby nodded. “Which would make it a perfect companion for a chess set of similar abilities,” he said. “Was this Krumpholz a wizard?”
"Not according to Beaulieu," Moira said. "Krumpholz was a human, but he was so attuned to the power of music, he discovered the magic that can be worked with it."
"What happened to him?" Barnaby asked.
"The poor man drowned himself in the Seine when his wife ran off with her lover," Moira said. "The harp is rumored to have later come into the possession of Antonio Salieri in Vienna who used it to further his own musical ambitions against rising stars like Mozart."
“Ah!” Barnaby said. “Now the pieces are starting to fall into place. Liszt studied with Salieri."
“And subsequently became the most technically brilliant pianist of the age,” Moira said.
“He left the chess set to his son in law, Richard Wagner,” Barnaby added.
“Who was Adolf Hitler's favorite composer," Moira finished. “The last known location of the Listz chessboard was in the hands of the Ahnenerbe.”
“So,” Barnaby said, “we have a full circle that connects the chess set and the harp, but how would they be used together?”
Moira placed the journal back on the shelf and returned to her seat. “Jinx says the pawns are arranged in different configurations every day?” she asked.
“Yes,” Barnaby said, “and no one ever plays a game on the board.”
“They wouldn’t,” Moira replied thoughtfully, “it would repel users as a means of self-protection if it is charged with a mission.”
“What mission?” Barnaby asked.
“I think the chessboard is being used as a kind of transmitter,” Moira said. “The pieces form the message, which must be sent to the harp for decoding. The Nazis may have been interested in the pairing of these two artifacts for their ability to unobtrusively gather and disseminate information.”
“But did the Nazis have the harp?” Barnaby asked.
“Not that I am aware of,” she said. “It was not on the list of items that the Alchemists working with the Monument Men were charged with recovering and containing.”
Barnaby digested that information for a minute and then asked, “Would the board be capable of arranging the elements of a message unaided?”
“I don’t think so,” Moira said. “From what little we know about it, the pieces must be manipulated.”
“Then we are left with three questions,” Barnaby said, holding up his hand and ticking the points off on his fingers. “Is the board affecting Myrtle? Who sends the messages? Who receives them?”
“Five questions,” Moira said grimly.
“Five?”
“How is Fish Pike’s murder connected,” she said, “and how do we shut down that chess set?”
13
When Mom, Festus and I came out of the city gate, the dragonlets appeared to act as our escort. As we walked, Mom chattered happily, regaling us with light-hearted stories about Aunt Fiona and her “projects.” By silent agreement, Festus and I let her set the tone of the conversation. We both knew we had to jump right back into getting answers about Fish
Pike’s murder once we were home again. The distraction let us put off thinking about that until we absolutely had to.
When we reached the portal, Mom insisted on using her magic to open the gateway, saying she needed all the practice she could get. She went through first, but I paused for a second and delivered one more mini-lecture to the dragonlets about flying too close to the houses in Shevington. They promised to be good, and I promised to see them again soon, but halfway through the opening, I looked back to see Minreinth watching me closely.
“What is it?” I asked.
The dragonlet danced forward until he stood just on the other side of the portal. Turning his head to the side to fix me with one of his amber eyes, he let out a series of worried chirps.
“You can’t come with me,” I told him. “There are plenty of people on this side who have my back.”
The dragonlet made a whining sound.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but there are no dragonlets in my world. If you came with me, you’d be the one in danger. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Minreinth nodded, and I finished the transition back to my own time. The door closed behind me, and I stood looking at the blank wall for several seconds. The dragonlets had never been reluctant for me to leave The Valley before. Were they just getting attached to me, or did they know something the rest of us didn’t?
“What was that all about?” Mom asked.
I shrugged. “Separation anxiety, I guess,” I said. “They don’t usually act that way.”
“I’m having separation anxiety, too,” Festus groused from his mesh compartment. “For my food bowl and a glass of creamed whiskey.”
“Don’t get your fur in a twist, Festus,” I said. “You know it takes an hour to walk back to the lair.”
“From where I’m sitting,” he grumbled, “you’re doing more standing than walking.”
“Fine, fine,” I said, “we’re moving. Why don’t you finish your nap?”
Which was really code for “stuff a sock in it,” which I couldn’t say with Mom standing there.
I heard something over my shoulder about “expiring from hunger,” but we hadn’t gone more than a few steps until light snores replaced his grumbling. Mom and I continued our conversation about Aunt Fiona and her life in Shevington until we saw the lights of the lair and Chase’s tall, lean figure standing there waiting for us.
“Now, Norma Jean,” Mom said, dropping her voice, “whatever you two argued about, you fix things with that man before this nonsense goes on any longer.”
Wincing at the use of my full name, I said, “It wasn’t an argument, it was more of a disagreement.”
“Over what?”
“He was doing that whole caveman needing to protect the little woman thing,” I said.
Mom sighed. “And you did the whole I’m a powerful witch, I can take care of myself thing in response, didn’t you?”
I hate it when the parental units are smart.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I had the same argument with your father . . . several times,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” I said, “you told me Dad doesn’t know about your magic.”
Mom made a sort of dismissive gesture with her hand. “I may not have been entirely forthcoming about all that,” she said. “It’s a long story that we don’t have time for right now, but your father doesn’t know I’ve come back into the possession of my powers.”
Sensing a theme in the works, I said, “Which I assume also means you haven’t told him about my powers either?”
“Not exactly,” Mom said.
“Oh, come on, Mom! That’s like saying someone is ‘kinda’ pregnant,” I protested. “If Dad knows about magic, then he needs to know about us both.”
We were almost in ear shot of the lair, and I could tell Mom really didn’t want to continue our conversation. “I know, I know,” she said, “but it’s complicated.”
“Cop-out answer there, Mom, or what?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” she hissed. “Now be nice to Chase and fix things.”
That left me with nothing to do but mutter an obligatory “yes ma’am,” before putting a genuine smile on my face for Chase and greeting him with, “Hey, you! What are you doing here?”
To my immense relief, Chase reached to give me a hug and a kiss, actions that woke Festus up immediately.
“Could you two get a room or something?” the old cat groused, extending a lone claw and unzipping his compartment. “Bend down so I don’t break a leg getting out of this thing.”
Obediently I went down on one knee. Festus jumped clear of the backpack, shook out his fur, and looked up at his son. “Hello, boy,” he said curtly. “You do anything productive today or did you spend the whole morning mooning about making up with your girlfriend?”
“Wow,” Chase said, looking at me with wide eyes. “Has he been this sweet all day?” Turning toward mom, he added, “Hi, Kelly. Sorry you’ve had to endure Dad’s bad mood.”
“Festus is never cross with me,” she said loyally. “He’s just hungry and thirsty.”
Chase looked down at his father. “I suppose water would be out of the question?” he asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Festus said. “Why would any sane person put water in Scotch?”
Sighing, Chase said, “Duly noted.” He moved to the liquor cabinet and poured a dram of single malt into a silver bowl, which he placed on the hearth for Festus.
“Now we’re making some progress,” Festus said. “What do I have to do to get a meal around here?”
“Darby!” I called.
The brownie instantly appeared beside me. “Yes, Mistress?” he asked.
“Any chance we can all get some lunch?”
Before he could answer, Chase said, “Actually, I was hoping I might steal you away for lunch and take you for a gourmet meal.”
And before I could answer, Mom chimed in with, “What a lovely idea! You two run along. Festus and I will keep each other company.”
Exchanging a bemused look with Chase, I said, “A gourmet meal of pizza?”
“Of course,” he said, brightening, “today’s lunch special is that pineapple monstrosity you love.”
He was taking the easy banter between us as a good sign, so I turned the smile up a few notches when I answered. “Says the man who can eat his weight in disgusting pepperoni.”
“Felines,” he informed me archly, “are carnivores. We need meat.”
From the direction of the hearth, Festus said, “A point this feline has been trying to make for more than an hour.”
Laughing, I turned back to Darby. “Do you mind fixing lunch for Festus and my mother?”
“I would be most happy to, Mistress,” Darby answered cheerfully. “I can prepare anything they like.”
Honestly, I don’t know if Darby has some kind of kitchen hidden in the lair or if all of his “cooking” is pure magic, I just know our grocery bill has gone down since he’s been around and we’re eating better than ever.
As Chase and I headed upstairs, I heard Festus ordering a steak and Mom asking if Darby could manage cottage cheese with fresh fruit. Now if that’s not proof that opposites attract, I don’t know what is.
Tori must have heard us coming because she stepped out from behind the counter in the espresso bar to great us.
“Hey,” I said, “how is . . . uh . . . everything?”
“Quiet,” she said in a low voice. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Chase swiveled his head back and forth between the two of us. “Is there something going on here I don’t know about?” he asked suspiciously.
Ignoring the questions, I said to Tori, “I’m going to fill Chase in over lunch, and I had that conversation with Barnaby we talked about.”
Chase likes to be ignored about as much as his father does.
“Fill me in about what?” Chase asked. “What conversation?”
Tori turned
the same deaf ear to his questions and said to me, “Okay. I think that’s a good idea. How long will we have to wait for an answer?”
This time, the note of consternation in Chase’s voice ratcheted up a notch or two. “Are we even having the same conversation any more?” he demanded.
I held up my hand up to him in the universal sign for “ hold on,” and answered Tori. “I don’t think it will be long. Maybe even later today.”
Before Chase could express more of his growing impatience, I turned to him and said, “Okay. We can go to lunch now.”
“If lunch will get me some straight answers,” he grumped, “lead off.”
He was still frowning when we walked out the front door of the shop. “What the heck was that all about?” he asked. “I expected one of you to start talking in code about dogs barking at night.”
“Not here,” I said firmly and headed across the street without another word. Normally we would have gone around the square on the sidewalk, but I was in no mood for the long route today. I cut straight across the courthouse lawn.
Chase caught up with me a few strides past the Confederate monument. “Are we far enough away from the store now for you to give me a clue about what’s going on?” he asked.
“You know the mystery musical chessboard?”
“Sure,” he said, “the one Tori thinks is haunted.”
“That’s the one,” I replied, “but it’s not haunted. I think possessed might be a better word.”
That was enough to make Chase stop in his tracks. “Possessed is a very serious word, Jinx,” he said somberly. “What makes you say such a thing?”
We were standing across the street from the Stone Hearth pizzeria. “Let’s go inside and order,” I said. “The story was complicated enough before I talked to Barnaby. Now it’s a real doozy.”
“You’d be surprised how many conversations with Barnaby turn out that way,” Chase said ruefully.
He held the door of the restaurant open for me. Pete, the owner, greeted us. He didn’t seem to find it at all unusual when Chase asked for one of the private booths in the back. It was common knowledge around Briar Hollow that Chase and I were becoming an item. Pete obviously assumed we wanted to be alone — which we did, but not for the reason he thought.
Witch on First: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 4 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels) Page 12
