Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 19

  A few minutes later she found herself once more winding through the disordered stacks of The Broken Chord. She didn’t bother to call out to the owner, instead choosing to follow the same route as before, presuming he’d be near his worktable.

  Morris’s mutterings met her ears before the table came into view. “You are about as uncooperative as a hornet in a vinegar bath . . . going to lose your position if you don’t change your ways . . .”

  When Nadja rounded the last curve, she spotted the little man hard at work on a modified cornet. This time, however, he was seated on a tall stool, wearing some sort of multitooled glove on his left hand. A set of tubes ran out of the glove and into a box on the table next to him. Another larger tube connected the back of the box to a turnip-sized leather bulb. Each finger of the glove was topped with a different tool which appeared to work in a mechanized fashion. Each stopped and started as needed with a flip of one of the five switches on the box. The glove made a puffing sound each time Morris flipped a switch, and he paused in his work every so often to squeeze the bulb.

  Nadja studied him, not wanting to disturb his concentration and assuming he’d acknowledge her when he was able. But, after a few more minutes of muttering and tinkering, it became clear the repairman had not the slightest awareness of her presence. She cleared her throat.

  Morris looked up in surprise, then smiled his cheery smile. “Miss Machinal,” he beamed, his blue eyes sparkling. “I had wondered if I’d ever see you again. Wondered if perhaps you meant your instrument as a gift for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nadja, returning his smile. “I had a change in schedule which prevented me from getting here sooner.”

  “I see,” said Morris, giving her a knowing wink. “Be right back.”

  He removed the glove and disappeared into the chaos. He reappeared a moment later, instrument in one hand, small jar in the other.

  “Here you are, my dear,” he said, passing the instrument over the worktable to Nadja.

  Nadja held it up and examined the repair. It was as if Morris had wound time backwards to a point before she had nearly destroyed Pax’s work. The wood was hard and strong where there had once been a mishmash of splinters and debris. There were no lines of demarcation to suggest the wood was ever in any state other than solid. The once lifeless strings were now strung taut and secure around matching screws at both the top and bottom.

  Nadja stared in disbelief. “It’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “How did you get it to look so perfect?”

  Morris nodded appreciatively. “Practice makes perfect. Or so they say. Of course, practice does make better, but only perfect practice makes perfect. I’ve been perfecting my practice for many, many years.”

  “It is perfect,” she replied, resting the instrument on the table and reaching into her pocket to retrieve his payment.

  “And what else have you brought me today?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s not something you see every day. In fact, I haven’t seen a blowpipe in years. You know, this is more of an instrument repair shop, but I don’t mind taking a job that’s out of the ordinary now and then. Keeps things interesting.” He held out an expectant hand.

  “Well,” began Nadja, passing him the weapon, “I was going to the see the armorer once I leave here.”

  “Psh,” said Morris dismissively, studying the crack. “Sil will keep you waiting for at least a week before getting anything finished and charge you double what he ought. This crack is straightforward. Right along the seam. Give me just a few minutes, and you can be on your way.”

  Before she could protest, Morris once again disappeared. Over the next few minutes she busied herself with a browse around the shop. While her first impression had suggested Morris had just piled up his hoard of odds and ends to clear enough floor to walk on, closer inspection made her think there was indeed some organizational system in place. A quick study of the instruments hanging from the ceiling, and she could see they were grouped according to type and size.

  Her survey was interrupted now and then by a blend of bangs, bumps, and murmurs coming from elsewhere in the building, and in less time than she thought possible, Morris reappeared at his worktable.

  “And there you go,” he said, setting the blowpipe before her.

  Just like with the instrument, the blowpipe’s repair was solid and seamless.

  “You are a master,” Nadja gushed. “How much do I owe you for this repair?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Morris with a wave of his hand. “Consider it covered in the cost of your instrument repair. It was a pleasure to get to work on something different for a change. Just be sure to come back and see me again sometime, would you?”

  His genuine smile again reminded Nadja of her grandfather, and she returned it with an affirmative nod.

  She paid Morris, gathered the instrument and blowpipe together in her arms, and turned to leave the shop.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Morris called after her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, turning back to the worktable.

  Morris reached over to where he had placed the small jar and slid it across the table towards her.

  Nadja picked it up and eyed it curiously. “What’s this for?”

  “Your muscles,” he said, wandering back into the stacks. “Twice a day should do the trick.” His voice floated back to her as he disappeared. “You’ll feel right as rain in no time.”

  Nadja studied the jar for a moment longer before slipping it into her pocket and heading for the door. Something told her it was better not to ask.

  Chapter 21

  Nadja wound through the maze of hallways towards Grandmaster Kero’s office. Their weekly lessons had become a familiar part of her routine at the conservatory, but after her embarrassing performance last week, she was hesitant to face her teacher again. Fortunately, despite her abduction and subsequent addition of thrice-weekly training sessions to her schedule, she still found time to work on that blasted Pantomarian folk tune. She hoped it would be enough to regain some respect in the eyes of her teacher, especially since this was their last lesson before the winter break.

  She approached Meliina’s office door with her hand poised to knock when she heard voices coming from inside. She was early, so the previous lesson was probably still in session. Deciding it best not to disturb them, she leaned against the cool stone wall opposite the doorway, waiting for her turn.

  Moments later the door opened, and Nadja was astonished to see the swarthy figure which emerged.

  “Uncle Tau!” she exclaimed.

  One of his heavy eyebrows lifted in surprise while the other remained stubbornly nonchalant. “Good afternoon, Niece.”

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

  He gave her a short nod. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I am glad to see you too. I just wasn’t expecting to. I thought you were in Chansey.”

  She realized her slip too late and tried to cover it. “Or Wailing Gap or somewhere else, just not here. That is, I tried to pay you a visit this week and discovered you had not been home for a few days. Naturally, I assumed you were captaining a barge somewhere or other.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she bit the inside of her cheek. How could she have known he was gone for days? She would have had to get that information from Branson. Uncle Tau would ask Branson if she’d been there, and he would say no. Oh well, the damage was done. She crossed her fingers, hoping her uncle wouldn’t check her story.

  Tau blinked a few times, then gave Nadja one of his rare smiles. “A visit from you would be lovely. The Candlefire Celebration is almost upon us. While I know your accommodations here are much more comfortable than anything I could offer you, please join me for a meal or two during your time off. If you would be kind enough to send me a letter specifying the dates, I promise I will have my pantry stocked with more than its usual fare.”

&nbs
p; “Thank you. Yes, that would be nice.”

  “Good. Then if you’ll excuse me, I have a matter which requires my immediate attention. Good day.”

  Before Nadja could say another word, Tau turned and marched away. She watched him disappear around a corner, then collected her thoughts and knocked on Meliina’s door.

  “Come in,” called the grandmaster.

  Nadja pushed against the door and entered the tidy office.

  “So good to see you, Nadja,” said Meliina, settling into her chair and motioning for Nadja to take the one beside her.

  Nadja relaxed at Meliina’s warm greeting, and she took her chair, setting up her music on the stand before her and unpacking her flute.

  “And how are you?” asked Meliina. Her face wore a look of genuine interest, not polite indifference.

  “Well, thank you,” replied Nadja. Then, before they could get into the flow of the lesson, she added, “I ran into my uncle on my way in.”

  “Oh yes,” said Meliina. “We’ve been friends for some years. He stops by to visit from time to time.” Then, turning towards the music stand she asked, “And how is the Pantomarian folk tune coming?”

  Realizing Meliina would give up no further details about Tau’s visit, Nadja focused on the lesson.

  “Better, I think. I’ve been able to internalize the melody, and I believe I have a better grasp on it than I did last week.”

  “Very good,” said Meliina, warmly.

  Nadja raised her flute, then paused. “Would you like me to sing through the melody first?”

  “No,” Meliina snapped. Then, in a gentler tone, “I don’t think asking you to sing the melody was the wisest course of action. It’s a useful tool for some students, but not always. At this point, I believe it may be more of a hindrance than a help.”

  Nadja nodded and raised the flute once more.

  Unlike her performance the week prior, the notes rang from the flute with much more ease. The tune itself was still awkward and foreign sounding to her ears, but she played it with precision. When she finished the piece, she lowered her instrument and waited for the verdict.

  Meliina sighed, and Nadja’s shoulders slumped.

  “Wonderful,” her teacher said.

  Nadja looked up to see Meliina nodding in approval. “I can tell you’ve worked hard on this piece over the past week. True, the feeling isn’t there, yet. But you have mastered the technical aspect. Now, it’s time to season the piece, as it were.”

  Meliina rose and crossed to her desk, producing a piece of paper and a pen. She scratched down a few lines.

  “I am assigning you some light reading over the break. This is a list of books which can give you more insight on the history of Pantomaria, as well as some more history on our own music.” She handed Nadja the paper. “You can find everything you need in the Archives.”

  Nadja took the paper and skimmed the list of titles: Pantomaria: Our Neighbor to the East, Folk Tunes of the Northern Realms, Musica Antiqua and Other Lost Arts. This looked like more than light reading. But, it wasn’t as if she had any other plans to occupy her time over the break, save a few meals with Uncle Tau.

  “Thank you,” she said, and tucked the list into her pocket.

  The scent of metal and smoke hung heavy in the air as the students took their seats for the last Sound Theory class before break. Grandmaster Gilmoren had stoked the forge’s firepot into a blaze which kept the early-winter freeze at bay and warmed the whole smithy to a comfortable temperature.

  Pax and Nadja sat shoulder to shoulder watching the other partners demonstrate their original instruments. Some were better than others. The giant sand drum, whose pitch could be changed on demand by filling or emptying sand from its kettle, was impressive and prompted a lot of questions from the rest of the class. On the other hand, the nasophonium, a wind instrument played almost exclusively by the nose, drew little more than confused looks and a snicker or two from the crowd.

  Nadja held their finished project in her hands. It was stained to a luscious deep walnut color, which emphasized the intricate detail work Pax had carved into the wood. She had convinced Pax to convert the fixed strings to tunable ones, reinforcing each end with metal backing plates and replacing one set of screws with pegs which were easier to manipulate.

  “Are you nervous?” whispered Pax, leaning closer to Nadja.

  “A little,” she replied. “You?”

  “Nah,” he said with a reassuring smile. “We’ve got something good here. And you play it beautifully.”

  “Miss Machinal and Mr. Raynor,” boomed Grandmaster Gilmoren’s deep voice.

  Nadja jumped, and the two of them looked back over their shoulders at their formidable instructor.

  “You’re up,” he barked.

  Nadja and Pax took their position at the front of the room. As Nadja passed in front of the forge, the heat from its flame amplified her already elevated temperature, nearly taking her breath away. As if sensing her anxiety, Pax placed his hand lightly on the small of her back in a calming gesture.

  “What’s the name of your instrument?” asked Grandmaster Gilmoren.

  “We call it a gale harp,” replied Pax.

  “Begin your demonstration whenever you’re ready,” said the grandmaster.

  Nadja inhaled a shaky breath, steadying herself as she raised the instrument. They had chosen an easy lullaby tune as their demonstration piece. The minor key and slow tempo lent itself well to the haunting sound of the strings as they vibrated sympathetically with the wind notes. The simplicity of the melody also made it easy for Nadja to master in what little time she had to learn how to play it.

  The evocative blending of mellow wind tones and humming strings cast a net of peacefulness and contemplation over the class. In the moment following her last note, no one stirred. Then, Grandmaster Gilmoren’s voice once more shattered the silence.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Now, please explain your design.”

  With her part of the presentation now complete, Nadja’s muscles relaxed as Pax took over explaining the technical aspects from concept to finished product. Garnering a “very nice” from the grandmaster was high praise, so she had little doubt their project would score well.

  Once their presentation was over, Nadja and Pax resumed their seats, their relief tangible in their slackened posture and loose muscles. They observed the remaining presentations, silently cheering as Helaine and Petrin demonstrated their violoma, which also seemed to go over well.

  Once all the presentations were complete, Grandmaster Gilmoren marched to the front of the room and addressed the class.

  “Thank you for your hard work. Your finished products are as varied and original as I expected. Some, more so than others,” he cast a sidelong glance at the team responsible for the nasophonium. “Remember, change and innovation are important parts of our roles as musicians and craftsmen. We must always strive to improve what we do and how we do it. With that said, when we return from the break, you will begin researching ways your new instruments might be used in the field. Keep that in mind as you’re enjoying your time off.”

  With those parting words, he dismissed the class.

  Helaine stood and rushed over to Nadja and Pax.

  “I absolutely adored your gale harp!” exclaimed Helaine. “It made me feel happy and sad all at the same time.” She sighed.

  “Impressive design,” said Petrin, joining them. He shook Pax’s hand and nodded to Nadja. “And well played, too.”

  “I could say the same to you both,” said Pax, clapping his roommate on the back.

  “Yes,” agreed Nadja. “I have a feeling more than a few string players will want to have a go at your violoma. You two form a great partnership.” She shot Helaine a sneaky grin while Petrin was distracted. Her roommate’s face bloomed into a brilliant shade of crimson.

  “Are you all right, Helaine?” asked Petrin, placing a hand on her arm.

  “Oh, yes,” she stammered. “I think the
heat from the forge has proved to be more than I can handle at the moment.”

  “Let’s walk, then,” suggested Petrin, gathering up both his and Helaine’s books as well as the violoma.

  The four of them left the warmth and shelter of the smithy and stepped out into the chilly air. The frozen ground was hard beneath their feet as they circled back through the orchard.

  “What a relief,” said Petrin. “Now that our instruments have been completed and demonstrated, I’m looking forward to a nice long break.”

  “Do you have any special plans for the Candlefire Celebration?” asked Helaine.

  “No,” he replied. “Just heading home to spend it with my family. A few days spent in front of the fire with a good book or two and a belly full of my mother’s cranberry cake. That’s my idea of a nice vacation. What will you all do?”

  “My father has sent an escort to bring me home,” said Helaine. “I love living along the Highland border, except for this time of year. I mean, the summers are nice, but the winters are just bitter. The winds coming down from The Veil will freeze your nose off in a second.”

  “That sounds terrible,” said Nadja.

  “You do have to dress for the weather,” said Helaine with a sniff. “But it makes the Candlefire Celebration even more inviting. They keep a bonfire blazing in the center of town for the whole week. And there’s nothing like coming in from a snowstorm to a warm house filled with those you love.”

  “We don’t get much snow at our home,” said Pax. “But, we’ll keep the fires going just the same.” He paused before muttering, “It’ll be cold enough.”

  Nadja wondered if his comment held a double meaning. She knew he, like most of the other students, had not been home since classes began. But she also knew he was returning to face some strained relationships.

  “What about you, Nadja?” asked Petrin.

  “I’ll be staying here over break,” she said. Then, she hurried to add, “But I have plans to see my uncle during the holiday.”

  “Of course,” said Petrin, apologetically. “Grenyan is too far away to make the trip for so few days. Well, I’m glad you do have some family nearby.”