As usual hunger roused them from these variations.
“Breakfast here is the heartiest meal,” Lars said cheerfully, striding quickly for the catering unit. “You’ll like it.”
Killashandra saw that he had left the jammer behind him, and she followed him at a quick trot, holding the device up to distort anything else he might say.
He laughed. “We’d best leave them something to hear. A discussion of breakfast must be sufficiently innocuous.”
Killashandra settled in one of the chairs near the catering unit, swiveling her hand as she looked at the little jammer. If only some way could be found to mask that mineral residue in Optherians! Blank out the detector.
“You know,” Killashandra said as they ate, sitting companionably together on the elegant seating unit, “I simply cannot understand this concentration on one instrument – albeit a powerful one – but they’re wiping out more than ninety-nine percent of the FSP’s musical traditions and repertoire, as well as stultifying talents and potential. I mean, your tenor is formidable!”
Lars shrugged, giving her a tolerant side glance. “Everyone sings – at least in the islands, they do.”
“But you know how to sing.”
Lars cocked an eyebrow at her, still humoring what he felt was her excessive fascination with a minor ability.
“Everyone knows how to sing – ”
“I don’t mean just opening the mouth and shouting, Lars Dahl. I mean, projecting a voice, supporting it properly on the breath, phrasing the music, carrying the dynamic line forward.
“When did I do all that?”
“When we did that impromptu duet. When you sang on the beach, when you did that magnificent duet from The Pearl Fishers.”
“I did?”
“Of course. I studied voice for ten years. I – ” She shut her mouth.
“Then why are you a crystal singer instead of one of these famous vocal artists?”
A surge of impotent fury, followed by a wave of regret, and then a totally incomprehensible loathing of Lars for reminding her so acutely of the interview with Maestro Valdi – the moment that had changed her life – rendered Killashandra speechless.
Lars watched her, his mild curiosity turning to concern as he saw the emotions in her stormy eyes and face. He put a hand on her bare thigh. “What did I say to distress you so?”
“Nothing you said, Lars.” She dismissed all that from consideration. It was over and done with. “I had all the requirements to be a Stellar, except one. A voice.”
“Ah, now.” Lars pulled back in indignation.
“I’m quite serious. There’s a flaw, a noticeable and unpleasant burr in the voice that would have limited me to secondary roles.”
Lars laughed now, his white teeth gleaming in his tanned faced, his eyes sparkling. “And you, my beloved Sunny,” he kissed her lightly, “would never settle for being second in anything! Are you first among crystal singers, then?”
“I don’t do badly. I’ve sung black crystal, which is the hardest to find and cut properly. In any event, there aren’t degrees among singers. One cuts to earn enough credit for the things one needs and wants.” Now why wasn’t she being totally honest with Lars? Why didn’t she confess that the sole aim of most crystal singers was sufficient credit not to have to sing crystal – to leave Ballybran for as long as possible?
“I wouldn’t have thought crystal singers are so much like islanders,” Lars surprised her by saying. “Well, you cut for what you need and want, much as we fish or plant polly, but all we really need is available.”
“It’s not quite the same thing with crystal,” Killashandra said slowly, glad she had been less than honest. Why disillusion Lars needlessly? On so many worlds, in so many minds, there were so many misconceptions about crystal singers, she had not realized how much a relief it was to find an unbiased world – at least one unbiased with respect to her Guild.
“Cutting crystal seems more dangerous than fishing.” He stroked her scarred hand. “Or learning polly.”
“Stick to fishing, Lars. Crystal’s hazardous to your health. Now, we’d best apply ourselves to fulfill my Guild contract with these fardling fools. And maybe shake them out of their organic rut!”
They dressed and then Killashandra entered the number Mirbethan had given her. The woman seemed immensely relieved to accept the call and said that Thyrol would be with them directly.
“D’you suppose he slept in the hall?” Killashandra murmured to Lars as she answered the polite scratching on the hall door. Lars shook his head violently, then held up his hand while he deactivated the jammer and pocketed it. “Good morning, Thyrol. Lead on.” She gestured peremptorily, smiling at Thyrol before she noticed two burly men in security uniforms. “I have no need of them!” she said coldly.
“Ah . . . they will not interfere, Guildmember.”
“I’ll make sure of that, Thyrol. I will need the duragloves – ”
“Everything you requested before your unfortunate disappearance is in the organ loft.”
“Oh, very well then. It’s gathered dust long enough. Lead on!”
Once again the instinctive reaction to tiptoe and maintain silence affected Killashandra as they emerged onto the stage of the Festival auditorium. She glanced at Lars to see if he was similarly affected. He grimaced slightly and she noticed that his active stride perceptibly altered. She did not miss the almost covetous way he frowned at the covered organ console. And wondered what she could do about that! She had been entranced with the music he played on the twelve-stringed instrument, and she was eager to hear it with organ amplification. Or would that be too cruel an imposition?
As Thyrol used his keys on the panel to the loft, Killashandra wondered if among them were the keys that would allow access to subliminal mechanisms. All three on that ring were apparently needed to open the loft door. Or would someone of Thyrol’s rank even know about such a refinement? She presumed it was limited to Elder rank only, or maybe a Master or two. They’d need someone with a hefty dab of imagination and energy to create subliminal images. Unless the subliminals reflected the inflexibility of the Elders’ attitudes toward everything, which was also logical – Why search for a template when one was oneself the ultimate role model?
The necessary equipment was indeed in the loft, neatly stacked against one side of the long wall. Lars maintained an attitude of casual indifference after giving the room a sweeping glance. Killashandra noted the monitor buds, caught Lars’s glance and gave him a nod. She waited until his hand disappeared into his pocket and then bent over the open console and the glittering shards of crystal.
“Lars Dahl, grab a mask and some gloves, and bring that bin over here. And a mask and gloves for me. I don’t fancy inhaling crystal dust in those close quarters.” Then she looked up at the burly men taking up so much space in the loft. “Out!” She flicked her fingers at them. “Out, out, out, out! You’re taking up space and air.”
“This room is well ventilated, Guildmember,” Thyrol began.
“That is not the point. I dislike observers peering at my every move. There’s no need for them. Certainly no one can get in or out of here. They can stand on the other side of the door and repel boarders! In fact, Thyrol, without meaning offense, your absence would oblige.”
“But – ”
“You’ll only be hovering. I’m sure you have more important duties than hovering! And you’re a distraction – Or, are you one of those I’m to teach crystal installation?”