“Somehow Ampris is too pleased with this development.”
“Yes, and fretting with impatience. Killashandra mimicked his hand gesture and Lars nodded grimly. “Is it just that he wants the organ done? Or us out of the loft for good?” She swiveled slightly so that she was facing the wall they could not shift. “Why?” She bit one corner of her lip, trying to solve its mystery. Then, with an exclamation, she ran her hands around the casing of the manual, picked up the lid and examined it closely.
“What are you looking for, Killa?”
“Blood! Did you see any discoloration on the shards you handled?”
“No – If Camgail was killed by,” and he gestured at the newly placed crystal spires, “there would have been blood somewhere here!”
“Was there only the official version of Comgail’s end?”
“No. I had a chance to speak with one of the infirmary attendants and she said that he was covered in blood, crystal fragments had pierced eyes, face, and chest.”
“With a little help, perhaps? But do you know for certain that it was Comgail who shattered the manual?”
Lars nodded slowly, his eyes gray and bleak, his face expressionless.
“And he had mentioned earlier that he knew the access to the subliminal units was through the organ loft?”
Again Lars nodded and both stared at the wall.
“Comgail did all the maintenance on the Festival organ?” At Lars’s impassive nod, Killashandra scrubbed at her face with one hand. “Did Ampris ever compose or perform?” she asked in angry exasperation.
The look of total surprise on Lars’s face gave her the answer.
“No wonder he’s been bouncing about here,” Lars cried, seizing Killashandra and hugging her with the excess of his jubilation. “No wonder he’s been so eager to get the manual repaired. He can’t get to the subliminal units until it is. He can’t alter the subliminals for this year’s concerts. Oh, Killa! You’ve done it.”
“Not quite,” Killashandra said with a laugh. “I’m only hypothesizing that the manual provides the unlocking mechanism. We’ve no idea what sort of music key he’d use. It could be anything – ”
“No, not anything,” Lars cried, shaking his head and grinning, his eyes vividly blue again. “I’d stake my life I know what he’d use – ”
“I wish you wouldn’t use a phrase like that,” Killashandra murmured.
Lars gave her a reassuring grin and went on. “Remember what you said about bureaucracy finding one mechanism that suited them? Well, Ampris’s one and only Festival offering utilizes a recurrent theme.”
“But everyone on the planet would know it then.”
“What difference would that make? You’d still have to have access to this manual, wouldn’t you?”
“True. What’s the theme?”
“It’s a real thumpety-dump,” and he da-da-ed the notes to Killashandra’s utter amazement.
“Not only is it thumpty-dumpety-dump, it’s complete and utter plagiarism. Ampris lifted that theme from an 18th Century composer named Beethoven.”
“Who?”
Killashandra lifted her hands in exasperation. “Enough of this idle speculation, Lars, we’ve got to finish the organ as fast as possible.”
“What about Trag?”
Killashandra shook her head. “Trag is no threat to us. If we could just get the bass noted finished, we’d have something to show him. I hope.” She dropped a set of brackets into Lars’s hands and took another for herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know the signature of Ampris’s composition?” When Lars shook his head, she cursed briefly and then began to chuckle. “We’ll just try the original one!”
Because they were rushing, nervous with anticipation and hope, hands sweating from tension, it seemed to take three or four attempts to place each of the next three crystals. Lars was muttering imprecations by the time Killashandra could test the third one. No sooner had she struck the crystal than the door panel slid open and the aperture was filled by Trag’s bulky figure.
“Trag, I bless your timely arrival. We’re both fingers and thumbs trying to set this manual. A fresh hand and a sane mind will work wonders!”
Trag gave her a nod of his head and stepped inside, giving Lars a cursory glance before his attention was completely taken by a critical appraisal of their endeavors. Killashandra ignored the entrance of Ampris, Torkes, Thyrol, and Mirbethan, who filed slowly into the room in Trag’s wake. Trag picked up the tuning hammer and struck each of the crystals.
Trag merely nodded his head. Lars made a noise of protest but Killashandra shot him a warning glance. The fact that Trag had no comments to make was all the approval she required, knowing better than to expect overt praise from him. For a very fleeting moment, however, she was seized with a totally irrational desire to throw her arms about Trag’s neck, a notion which she quickly suppressed without revealing it by so much as a grin.
Elder Torkes, resembling the scavenger bird more faithfully than ever, seemed about to step forward, then, apparently, changed his mind as if aware of how Trag’s bulk diminished his stature to insignificance.
“You have only just arrived, Guildmember, and as it is now midday, refreshment has been prepared for you.” Torkes began with scant courtesy.
Trag dismissed the offer. “You gave the Guild to understand the matter was of the most urgent.”
“We need to eat,” Killashandra said tartly. “Just send us in some food, please, someone,” and she picked up more brackets as Trag removed the next crystal from its bed of plasfoam. “We might even finish this today if given the chance to work without interruption.”
“Not quite.” Trag amended in his deliberate fashion as he held the crystal up for inspection in the ceiling light. Satisfied he lowered it, his gaze traveling beyond to the fascinated observers. “If you please?” And he extended his hand toward the door.
Killashandra, her eyes on Lars’s blank face, had to fight not to chortle at the aura of dismay, fury, and shock emanating from the four high ranking Optherians. But her hands were free of both sweat and tremble and, with Lars carefully tightening the matching bracket, they were ready to fasten it the moment Trag inserted the crystal in place. The door panel whooshed over the rectangle of sunlight. Killashandra tightened her bracket just as Lars finished his. Trag took up his hammer for the ceremonial tap and the D, mellow and clear, broke the silence of the room.
“Just two more, Trag and I believe we’ll have something to show you,” Killashandra said, reaching for more brackets. “This is Lars Dahl.”
“A lover posing as a bodyguard! A young man with highly suspicious credentials,” Trag said bluntly, his hooded stare fixed on Lars.
Killashandra held up a hand to restrain any understandable outburst from Lars but he only smiled, inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the description.
“According to Elder Ampris or Torkes?” Killashandra asked, grinning at Trag as she faced him squarely.
Trag focused his attention on her. Had she not been so positive of her own righteousness, she would have been hard pressed to maintain her composure beneath that basilisk stare.
“I will hear your explanation, then, for I warn you, Killashandra Ree, the Guild looks with disfavor on a member who abrogates her contractual obligations for whatever personal reasons obtain . . .”
Killashandra stared at Trag incredulously.
“I was given two assignments here, Trag, by you – ”
“The secondary assignment was considerably less important than the primary – ” Trag’s big hand indicated the unfinished installation.
“The two are more closely linked than you or Lanzecki imagined when the Guild accepted that contract. But then abduction ought not to be a high-risk-factor on well-ordered, conservative secure Optheria. Right? Ever aware of my primary obligation,” Killashandra allowed some of her outrage to color her voice, “I swam dangerous channels from one island to another in order to escape the one I was dumped on. Confounding all parties and managing thus to return to my primary contractual obligation.”