Trag was not above giving Ampris a second fright for he tapped out three of the Beethoven notes in the soprano register before altering the sequence to random notes. Then he did each note in turn, listening until the exquisite sound completely died before hitting the next crystal.
“Absolutely perfect,” he said, handing her the hammer.
“Now, with your permission, Elder Ampris,” Killashandra began, “I would like to use the organ keyboard.” When she saw his brief hesitancy, she added. “It would be such an honor for me and it would only be the sonics. After last night’s performance, I would be brash indeed to attempt any embellishments.”
Bowing stiffly to the inevitable, Elder Ampris gestured for her to proceed from the loft. Not that she could have done anything to damage the actual organ keyboard, and live, with so many security guards millimeters from her. As she took her seat, pretending to ignore the battery of eyes and sour expressions, she decided against any of the Beethoven pieces she remembered from her Fuertan days. That would be risking more than her personal satisfaction was worth. She began to power up the various systems of the organ, allowing the electronic circuits to warm up and stabilize. She also discarded a whimsical notion to use one of Lars’s themes. She flexed her fingers, pulled out the appropriate stops, and did a rapid dance on the foot pedals to test their reactions.
Diplomatically she began with the opening chords of a Fuertan love song, reminiscent of one of the folk tunes that she’d heard that first magical night on the beach with Lars. The keyboard had an exquisitely light touch and, knowing herself to be rather heavy handed, she tried to find the right balance, before she began the lilting melody. Even playing softly and delicately, she felt, rather than heard, the sound returning from the perfect acoustics of the auditorium. The phase shield around the organ protected her from the full response.
Playing this Festival organ was an incredible, purely musical experience as she switched to lowest manual for the bass line. For her as a singer, keyboards had been essential only as accompaniment, tolerated in place of orchestra and choral augmentation. She might have been supercilious about the Optherian contention that an organ was the ultimate instrument, but she was willing to revise her opinion of it upward. Even the simple folk song, embellished with color, scent and “the joy of spring,” she thought sardonically, was doubly effective as a mood setter when played on the Optherian organ. She was sorely tempted to reach up and pull Out a few of the stops that ringed the console.
Abruptly she changed to a dominant key and a martial air, lots of the bass notes in a sturdy thumpy-thump, but half-way through she tired of that mood, and found herself involved in the accompaniment to a favorite aria. Not wishing to spoil the rich music by singing, she transferred the melodic line to the manual she had just repaired, taking the orchestra part in the second manual and the pedal bass. The tenor’s reprise naturally followed, on the third manual, mellower than the soprano range. From that final chord, she found herself playing a tune, filling in with a chorded bass, and not quite certain what tune it was when she felt someone pinch her hip. Her fingers jerked down the keys just as she realized that it was Lars’s melody she was rehearsing. She made the slip of her fingers into the first music that came to mind, an ancient anthem with distinct religious overtones. She ended that in a flourish of keyboard embellishments and, with considerable reluctance, lifted her hands and feet from the organ, swiveling around on the seat.
Lars, being nearest, took her hand to ease her to the ground from the high organ perch. The pressure of his fingers was complimentary, if the arch of his eyebrows chided her for that slip. It was the surprise on Elder Ampris’s face that pleased her the most.
“My dear Killashandra, I had no idea you were so accomplished,” he said with renewed affability.
“Woefully out of practice,” she said demurely, though she knew that she had struck few wrong notes and her sense of tempo had always been excellent. “Almost a travesty for someone like me to play on that superb organ, but I shall remember the honor for the rest of my life.” She meant it.
There was a general sort of highly audible reshuffling as the security men permitted a handful of hesitant new arrivals closer to the console. Some nervous clearings of throats and foot scufflings also echoed faithfully about the auditorium.
“Balderol’s students,” Elder Ampris murmured by way of explanation. “To practice for the concerts now the organ is repaired.”
At a glance, Killashandra decided there must be nine security men for each student. She smiled kindly, then noticed out of the corner of her eye that a solid line of the biggest security men stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the door to the organ loft. Were they glued to their posts?
“Well, let’s leave them to it,” she said brightly. “Don’t you have some students for Trag and myself? To learn crystal tuning? They must have perfect and absolute pitch, you know,” she reminded Elder Ampris as they left the stage. Her voice sounded dead as her final words were spoken in less resonant surroundings.
“That is not scheduled until tomorrow, Killashandra,” Ampris said, mildly surprised. “I had thought that you and Guildmember Trag should take this opportunity to see the rest of the Conservatory.”
That was not high on Killashandra’s list of priorities but since she was momentarily in Ampris’s good graces, she should make an effort to stay there. She was not best pleased when Ampris turned the projected tour over to Mirbelhan, excusing himself on the grounds of urgent administrative duties. Instead of proving to Ampris that sublimation worked on crystal singers, she had to watch Lars proving it to Mirbethan while she tried to attach herself to Trag. At first Trag remained his inscrutable self but suddenly altered. attentive to her explanations of this classroom, that theory processor, when the small theater had been added, and which distinguished composer had initiated what ramification on the Festival Organ. Had Lars brazenly pinched the impervious Trag? As she trailed behind the trio, now inspecting the cheerless and sterilely neat dormitories, she would have been glad enough to receive Lars’s pinch.
If she had herself been more receptive, she would have been impressed by the physical advantages of the Conservatory for it was exceedingly well organized and equipped in terms of practice and classrooms, library facilities, processing terminals. There was even a library of books, donated by the original settlers and subsequent visitors. The actual Conservatory had been designed as a complete unit and built at one time, only the Festival Auditorium added on at a later date although included in the original plans. In design it was a complex far superior to Fuerte’s Music Center, which had sprawled in extensions and annexes with no basic concept. There was, however, more charm in a corner of Fuerte’s Music Center than in any of the more elaborate and pretentious chambers of Optheria’s Conservatory.
“The Infirmary is this way.” Mirbethan’s unctuous voice broke through Killashandra’s sour reflections.
“I’ve been there,” she said in a dry and caustic tone and Mirbethan had the grace to look embarrassed. Then she gave Lars a penetrating look which he returned with an impudent wink. “And I’m hungry. We didn’t eat any lunch in order to get the installation completed.”
Mirbethan was full of apologies and, when both Trag and Lars said they were sure the Infirmary was of the same high standard as the rest of the premises, she led them back to their quarters.
Once inside, Lars ostentatiously activated the jammer and Killashandra heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become.