Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 9

  The musician to her right, a young man who looked barely older than Kizzy, played an instrument Nadja had never seen. It was a strange amalgamation of multiple pipes and mouthpieces and appeared to be powered by a bellows he worked with both feet. The instrument itself was a curious sight to behold, but the tones emanating from it were pure and beautiful. He played a difficult and heavily ornamented piece. As Nadja listened, her feelings of unworthiness grew exponentially.

  What was she doing here? How could she have let her uncle convince her she had half a chance of gaining acceptance into the conservatory? She’d already counted well over a hundred hopefuls between the crowd gathered outside and the people in the warm-up rooms. There were only thirty seats available for the new year, and those seats were open not only to musicians, but craftsmen as well. She was kidding herself to think she had any chance of getting in.

  Conversation was almost nonexistent within the Dead Room. Every once in a while, the monitor would open the door and recite a handful of names. Each time, a few people would gather their belongings and head out of the door, only to have their empty spots filled by the trickle of new arrivals. As soon as Nadja collected herself well enough to blow a few warm-up notes into her flute, she heard her name called.

  Nadja bounced her way back across the room and into the hallway. Sensing a tingling in her shoulders, she glanced back and saw the violinist who had been warming up next to her following close behind. They exited the Dead Room together and met the monitor outside.

  “Names?”

  “Nadja Machinal.”

  “Helaine Vastrof,” replied the violinist.

  “Your audition times are coming up. Head towards the atrium and take a left once you get there. The Concert Hall will be right in front of you, but stay to the left, go past the main entrance and under the staircase to the backstage door. You’ll see the other hopefuls waiting there.” The monitor glanced at his paper. “Helaine, you’ll go after Colby Bertramaine. Nadja, you’re after Helaine. Good luck.”

  Dismissed, the two women made their way back towards the atrium. Nadja peered at Helaine. The violinist was choking her bow with one hand and hugging her instrument to her chest with the other. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded down her back, almost to her waist. Her brown eyes stared straight ahead, and worry lines drew a V between her eyebrows.

  “I heard you warming up. You play beautifully.”

  Helaine’s head twisted to face her. “Do you really think so?” she asked, her voice hesitant and strained. “I’m just not sure if I’ve chosen the right piece for this audition. And it is the audition, isn’t it? I mean, there will probably be others, but none as important as this one. And I’m terrible at auditions. Oh, I don’t mind playing solo or anything like that, but something about an audition, and knowing there are people out there judging you. It’s almost too much to bear, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it like that. This is my first audition.”

  Helaine’s eyes widened. “Your first audition? Oh my word! Lucky. Well, you picked a doozy to start off with.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she turned her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. I don’t mean to dump worry on you.”

  Nadja sighed. “It’s all right. From what I heard, if half of the people here play as well as you do, I don’t stand a chance.”

  A shy smile curled the corners of Helaine’s mouth. “Thank you. I’m sorry to say I didn’t hear you play. I was too focused on my own warm-up. But I’m sure you’ll do fine. My violin teacher always says you only have yourself to give. So give it all, and don’t hold anything back.”

  By the time Helaine finished speaking, they had arrived at the backstage door. Nadja returned Helaine’s smile, and they joined the line behind two other musicians.

  The door swung open, and another monitor popped her head out. “Sylvia Neuronin,” she said, holding the door open just wide enough for the next hopeful to pass through.

  A few moments later Nadja heard the buzzing, quirky tones of a bassoon floating through the closed door and out to her waiting ears. Sylvia was playing a dance song of some sort, and Nadja giggled as the bassoon’s unique sounds brought to mind a vision of a cow in fancy dress skipping in time through a field of daisies. Her giggles halted, however, when she heard the instrument issue a trio of wrong notes before falling silent.

  Everyone in the hall froze, and Helaine flashed a look of fear at Nadja. No one breathed as they all strained to hear what came next.

  Sylvia picked up her piece a few measures before the missed notes and made it past the sticky part with no problem. The hall collectively exhaled, then froze again as the bassoon hit another snag only a handful of beats past the first one.

  Nadja’s own heartbeat grew louder in her ears in the silence that followed. The atmosphere seemed ready to ignite at any moment. While it was true, they were all in competition for few available spots, each of the waiting musicians felt empathy for Sylvia. They all knew how easily they could be in the same position.

  The monitor’s head reappeared through the crack in the backstage door. “Colby Bertramaine.”

  The waiting musicians cast sympathetic and encouraging glances at Colby as he disappeared.

  Nadja’s anxiety level grew as she got closer to that door, listening to the auditions as they played out through it. Colby first, then Helaine, had both done excellent jobs. Before she knew it, the monitor called her name.

  Nadja stepped through the door and followed the monitor through the dimly lit area, listening to her instructions.

  “Play your audition piece first. They might ask you a few questions after you’ve finished. Once they dismiss you, continue across the stage and exit through the door at the end of the opposite wing.”

  Nadja’s footsteps echoed through the Concert Hall as she emerged from the wing and crossed to the center of the stage. The space was vast and open, taking Nadja’s breath away. The room stretched upwards a good four stories. Curved wooden panels like soft caramel rippled in wide waves across the ceiling, and the wooden walls of the lower levels of seating curved outwards away from the stage. In stark contrast to the Dead Room, every little sound came to life in the Concert Hall.

  Nadja positioned herself towards the audience and looked up. She counted ten people sprinkled here and there throughout the first few rows of seats—six men and four women. Some were reclining. Some sat straight and alert. All were looking at her.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” said a distinguished-looking older gentleman.

  Nadja took a deep breath and counted to five as she exhaled. Raising the flute to her lips, she blew a few long notes to check the sound in the room. The resonance of the notes she produced was even more pronounced than her footsteps had been. The tones were clear and crisp and rang out like an invitation to the listeners. Nadja’s palms began to sweat. Never had she played in a more acoustically perfect setting. The room itself would enhance her performance as long as she played well. But, it would also make obvious any mistakes she might make along the way.

  Steadying her nerves, she reminded herself why she was here. This was her chance to start over. If she could gain admittance into the conservatory, she would be protected and safe. She could build a new life as a new person and not live in fear, looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. She pushed the thoughts and feelings of self-doubt out of her mind. Negative thoughts beget negative actions, and the last thing she needed to do was stand in her own way.

  Nadja inhaled and began her piece. It was a well-known piece from a classic Amrantirian comedy. The song had alternating fast and slow sections, allowing Nadja to show off a range of styles. She made a few mistakes along the way, but nothing terrible, and when she finished her piece, she felt like she’d done a good job. However, if they were looking for perfection, her good job wouldn’t be good enough.

  Lowering her flute, she stood in silence and waited.

  “Nadja . . . Mac
hinal, correct?” asked the older gentleman.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “It says here you are an immigrant from Grenyan. What made you decide to come here and pursue the study of music, such as we provide?”

  Nadja was prepared for this question. She had worked with her uncle to develop a history for her new persona with enough detail to be believable.

  “I come from a musical family. But, music in Grenyan is not valued in the same way as it is in Amrantir. I love to play music, but I also want to be of use to the people around me. The idea of combining my love for music and my desire to help others made the conservatory an obvious choice for me,” she answered.

  There was a brief pause as the listeners pondered her answer or scribbled down notes.

  “Your instrument has a peculiar look. Can you tell us about it?”

  Nadja looked in the direction of the questioner. A petite woman with short curly white hair and tortoise-shell eyeglasses smiled up at her.

  Seeing no reason to lie, Nadja held up the pink-hued instrument and replied “It’s carved from coral. It was my mother’s, and she gifted it to me when I was little. I believe she bought it in a seaside market somewhere before I was born.”

  “Interesting” the woman replied, looking down to write some notes of her own.

  A man who looked barely older than Nadja spoke up next. “Hundreds of candidates are hoping to get one of the limited spots we have available,” he drawled, sounding bored and peevish. “Why in the world should we should choose you?” He stared at her critically.

  Nadja’s muscles tightened. This wasn’t a question she was prepared for. She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, trying to come up with an answer for him. The truth wouldn’t work. She couldn’t tell him she needed a safe place to hide for an unforeseen amount of time.

  Ten pairs of eyes were on her, and she felt the weight of every one of them. She gulped, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

  “I have to be here. I left behind my family and friends to journey here, hoping to finding something better. For me, there is no alternative. I may not be the most talented musician to audition, but I learn fast and I work hard. If you allow me to stay, you can be sure I will do whatever it takes to prove you’ve made the right decision.”

  Silence lingered, and then the white-haired woman approached the older gentleman and whisper something in his ear. They conversed momentarily. Then, the woman returned to her seat and said, “Do you have anything else you can play for us?”

  Nadja’s brows drew together. The audition requirements only included one prepared piece, and that’s what she had practiced. Under the scrutiny of her judges, her brain refused to cooperate as she frantically searched her mind for something else to play. Only one song bubbled to the surface, and Nadja tried in vain to push it away. It was a lullaby, the one her mother sang to her as a child. A plain melody with little ornamentation, it was too simplistic to offer as another audition piece. But, in the urgency of the moment, no other options came to mind. Instead of continuing to stand there like a statue, Nadja raised her instrument and closed her eyes.

  The low, slow strain soared through the Concert Hall like a soft summer breeze. Nadja thought of her mother as she played. The memories of thousands of drowsy evenings spent in their tent listening to her mother sing the familiar words warmed her heart. The song may not have contained the excitement inherent in a quick tempo or technically dazzling passages, but as Nadja’s heart connected with those sweet memories it bled into her song.

  When she finished, she lowered her flute and opened her eyes.

  “Thank you,” said the older gentleman, smiling at her this time. “You are dismissed.”

  Nadja turned to her right and left the stage.

  Nadja and Tau sat at his table enjoying a quiet breakfast. The windows were open, inviting in the late summer breeze, and the aroma of cinnamon rolls filled the air. Since Nadja’s arrival, Tau had increased his cupboard inventory, and she took full advantage of it. As was the case every morning, Monty serenaded them with whatever song fluffed his feathers. Today, it was “Brave Siris Cullen.”

  The three of them had fallen into a pleasant rhythm over the past few weeks. Nadja stayed mostly in the apartment, contributing to the household with light cooking and chores since she didn’t venture out alone and wasn’t able to seek employment. Her uncle was a tidy man, so there wasn’t much cleaning to do. She spent the rest of her time exploring Tau’s bookshelves, playing her flute, or, in the evenings, chatting with Monty and her uncle.

  An unexpected knock at the door interrupted their meal. Tau rose to answer, motioning for Nadja to remain seated and quiet. He opened the door. Nadja heard a brief muffled exchange, but couldn’t make out any specific words. Then, her uncle closed the door and returned to the table. Resuming his seat, he placed an envelope in front of her.

  “A messenger from the Music Conservatory,” he said.

  Nadja’s hands trembled as she picked up the envelope. With great care, she opened it and removed a single piece of paper.

  “Well?” prompted Tau.

  Nadja unfolded the paper and read:

  “On behalf of The Music Conservatory of Amrantir and its distinguished faculty, I am pleased to offer you a seat among this year’s new class. Please reply at your earliest convenience with your acceptance or regrets.

  Sincerely,

  Grandmaster Musician Thaddeus Westbrook.”

  Chapter 11

  The air was thick with excitement and anticipation as Nadja passed through the Music Conservatory’s entrance for the second time. This time, however, she entered as a bona fide student. People scurried to and fro throughout the atrium carrying luggage, cleaning, or just in a general state of hustle.

  Her grip tightened on the handle of her small trunk as she looked around trying to decide where to go. Peering upwards, her spirit lifted as she gazed up at the atrium’s stained glass panel. The rainbow cascaded down and painted the floor beneath it, beckoning her to bathe in its colors.

  She had done it. She was home.

  Granted, this new home was nothing she had ever imagined, but she was safe and hidden. The relief which came from knowing she wouldn’t have to live in a state of perpetual fear and paranoia made her want to dance. She giggled to herself as the temptation to run beneath the stained glass and twirl in its bright hues almost overcame her.

  “My, aren’t we in a good mood?” came a light, singsongy voice.

  Nadja’s chin jerked down and her cheeks reddened. A stunning redhead approached her with a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other. Nadja though the was, with her sparkling blue eyes and a petite but curvaceous figure, one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

  “I’m excited to be here,” Nadja admitted, embarrassed to be caught gawking like a teenager.

  “I’m sure you are,” replied the woman with a tight-lipped smile. “My name is Laurel Willowcroft, Adept Musician. And you must be,” she peeked at her notebook, “Nadja Machinal.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s my job to greet the new apprentices and point them in the right direction. Though I must say, you’re nearly the last apprentice to arrive. I had almost given up on you.”

  “Oh,” said Nadja, confusion crossing her face, “I thought the assembly started at noon.”

  “And so it does. However, most new apprentices like to arrive early and settle into their rooms first. No matter,” said Laurel, snapping her fingers and waving at a young man hurrying past. “Timothy can take your luggage to your room, and you can settle in after the Apprentice Assembly. Did you leave them outside?”

  “Who?”

  Laurel’s foot tapped against the slate floor. “Your bags. Did you leave them outside?”

  “No,” replied Nadja, indicating her little trunk. “I brought it in.”

  “Oh.” Laurel wrinkled her nose.

  With her simple attire and meager belongings, Nadja felt small and
deficient as the gorgeous adept assessed her. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, Laurel tilted her head to the side and smiled another close-mouthed smile.

  “Well, at least you’ve made it easy for Timothy,” she said, sending him off with Nadja’s trunk.

  As Timothy hurried away, leaving Nadja empty handed, Laurel flipped to another page of her notebook and turned it towards Nadja.

  “Living quarters for students are on the third floor,” she said, displaying a map of the conservatory and pointing to a small room with her pencil. “This is your room. You can take the open staircases on either side of the Concert Hall to get there. However, I suggest you go directly to the hall now. The assembly will begin in about ten minutes.”

  She reached into the back of her notebook and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here is your class schedule,” she said, handing it to Nadja. “Any questions?”

  Nadja shook her head. “No, thank y—”

  “Welcome to the Music Conservatory.” Laurel spun on her heels and hurried away.

  Nadja turned her feet towards the Concert Hall. It was easy enough to find since that was where she’d auditioned. But this time, instead of going around backstage, she entered through the main house doors.

  Even from the back of the room Nadja could hear the twitter of conversations coming from the front. The other apprentices were scattered amongst the first few rows. Some were chatting in small groups while others sat alone, taking in their surroundings or scribbling in notebooks.

  Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she took a seat in the first empty row behind the other apprentices and surveyed her surroundings.

  The hall was just as impressive from this vantage point as it had been from the stage. The warm tones of the winding wood were comforting and inviting. Plush house seats were covered in a deep burgundy fabric accented with gold embellishments. The seats were interspersed with little two-person couches upholstered to match the chairs. Mirrored lanterns lined the walls, amplifying their light, and a glistening golden chandelier hovered overhead.