1635: Music and Murder (30 page)

Hermann had come down the stairs to find out what all the uproar was about, and had been demanding an explanation. Isaac finally sat him down and told him what had happened. "Good riddance to bad cess," was his verdict. Hermann sniffed. Then he went back up to the rooms.

Finally, Franz stirred. "That could have been me," he croaked from a mouth and throat dry enough to spit dust.

Marla brushed back his hair. "He never got close to you, dear heart."

"No. You don't understand." Franz was finally able to grab the mug and swallow a sip. Throat moistened, he continued, "
I could have been Heydrich!
"

Marla looked horrified. "What do you mean?"

Staring straight ahead, as if he were looking down a league of road, Franz said, "We were so much alike . . . in talent, in zeal, in passion, in goals. We were friends for a while, but then the competition to be best came between us. Neither of us could ever be happy that the other had done well, won some accolade, taken some prize. It poisoned our friendship, and we began to taunt, and goad, and bait each other. I was good at it, and more often than not, I won the battle of words.

"It was on a night of such a battle that he attacked me." He swallowed. "But I had dreamt of doing the same to him, of somehow causing the end of his career by some kind of injury. It was part of why I almost went mad, thinking that because I had been envisioning such things, God had visited them upon me."

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away, Blessed be the Name of the Lord," Isaac said quietly.

"And that verse, my friend, is what challenged me, kept me thinking, and walking, and living until I got to Grantville." Franz was quiet again for a long time, but seemed to have shrugged off the shock. He finally looked at Marla with a bit of a quirk to his mouth, almost a smile. "Do you know, it was Heydrich that was responsible for our getting married?" Now Marla looked shocked. "Truly. If he had not done this to me . . . " Franz lifted his crippled hand. "I would never have gone to Grantville. I would never have met you that night. I would never have heard you sing, or play, or teach, or . . . anything." Franz paused. Then he spoke, softly. "God used Heydrich to humble my pride, and send me to you."

"Would you do it over again?" Marla quietly asked.

"To come to you?" His smile was blinding. "Oh, without hesitation, love. Without hesitation." She melted against him, holding his arm with two hands.

Silence.

"I wish he had taken my hand," Franz said. "I wish he had accepted my apology . . . I wish . . . "

More silence.

"Those who take up the sword," Franz said finally, as if pronouncing an epitaph, "by the sword will die."

Copenhagen
February, 1634

Josef watched as Heinrich Schütz,
Kappellmeister
to the court of John George, Elector of Saxony, finished reading the letter. He then started over at the beginning, and read it again. Johan assumed it said the same thing the second time as it did the first. Finally, Master Schütz set the letter down on top of the haphazard pile of music atop the table he sat behind, and looked for a long while at where the ceiling joined the wall on the far side of the chamber.

The
Kappellmeister
was an impressive figure, Johan had to admit. Heinrich Schütz was dressed in black with a broad white collar. He looked every inch the lawyer he had originally studied to be, before taking up music. His face was . . . striking, Josef decided. Schütz had gray hair swept back from his forehead, a prominent nose and strong chin. He looked to be a friendly man, but Josef knew that to have survived as the major musician of the court at Dresden, there must be some steel in him.

Dropping his eyes back down to look first at Josef and then at his brother Rudolf, Schütz smiled slightly. "So, my friend Maestro Carissimi bids me come to visit him in Grantville. This letter, uncharacteristically short though it might be for one from
il maestro
, is undoubtedly from him. I recognize both the hand and his elegant turn of phrase. He waxes eloquent on the subject of the music and instruments found in Grantville; from the future, he says. Did I not know him to be one of the soberest men alive, I would say that he sounds as if he fell in a brandy tun, and did not climb out until after he had drunk most of it." He folded his fingers together, and rested his chin on his thumbs. "But, as I said, he is a most sober man, and one not given to exaggeration, so I must give some credence to his writing."

Schütz fell silent, and stared steadily at the Tuchman brothers. The weight of that gaze became heavy indeed. Josef bit his tongue to keep from babbling in front of the preeminent musician of Europe north of the Alps. He felt Rudolf shift his weight, and knew that his brother was feeling it as well.

Finally, the master smiled. "Good. You are men of some substance. I like that." He sat back in his chair, crossed a leg across the other knee, and waved a hand. "Speak. Tell me of this Grantville of which I have heard so much, and why Maestro Carissimi speaks so highly of it."

Josef proceeded to do so, but all the while he was aware of that weighty gaze, as if he were a subject of a naturalist's study. He described the music they had studied with Marla Linder, the recordings that existed, the sheet music that they had seen, and the instruments—oh, the instruments! Josef considered himself a plain-spoken man, but he almost waxed lyrical as he tried to describe the brass and woodwind instruments from the future. Finally, he talked about the crowning glory of all they had seen, the piano. At last, Josef ran out of words, and stopped. He almost sighed in relief as that measuring consideration shifted to his brother.

"And you," Schütz asked Rudolf, "what do you have to say?"

Rudolf was silent for a long moment. Josef was about to jab him with an elbow, and sighed when he finally spoke.

"You are in their books, Master." Schütz sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "You lived quite a long life, and the books speak well of you." Schütz's mouth dropped open. "They call you the first great German composer, and the Father of German music." A very far-away look came over Schütz's face. "And it occurs to me," Rudolf said softly, "to wonder just what music such a man would write with the tools of the future in his hands."

Josef was unable to see the vision that was before the master's eyes, but he knew it was there. He had to bite his lower lip very hard to keep from gaping at his brother. Periodically he had to remind himself that although Rudolf was a man of few words, that did not mean he did not know how to use them, and most effectively, too. Tonight was one such time.

The master's gaze suddenly snapped back into focus, and he chuckled. "A story most well told, and not the least was the ending. But, outside of Maestro Carissimi's letter, what proof do you have that this is all true?"

Josef nodded to Rudolf. It was Rudolf who had insisted they needed something tangible in reserve, so to him went the honors of presenting it. Reaching inside a document case, Rudolf withdrew a large music book and laid it in front of Schütz, who picked it up.

"Hmm . . .
Die Kunst der Fuge
, by Johann Sebastian Bach. I know of some Bachs in Thuringia. Competent musicians, as I understand. But who is this Johann Sebastian, and why did he write of
The
Art of Fugue
? A pretentious title, I fear."

"Just look at it, Master. You will understand."

Schütz did just that. He began turning the pages over quickly, but as he progressed deeper into the book, he began slowing down, until he was spending a minute or more on each page, scrutinizing the music intently. Finally, he closed the book, once more staring at the junction of ceiling and wall across the room from him. At length, he lowered his eyes to the brothers, a very sober expression on his face.

"
The Art of Fugue
, indeed. And this came from the future?" He shook his head as Josef opened his mouth. "No, I do not doubt you. This . . . this
genius
is not in our time. It could not be hidden." Pulling at his goatee, Schütz brooded. He looked back at them. "No, no jest is this. So, the question is, what shall the response be?"

Grantville
Late February, 1634

"Lady Beth!" Marcus Wendell said as he encountered her outside the school building. "I didn't know you were back from Magdeburg."

"Hey, Marcus. Yeah, I got back last night."

"I'm surprised you're not at home, crashed and burning."

Lady Beth snorted. "I'm a little tougher than that, thank you very much."

"So, how was it . . . the trip, I mean?"

"Once I got to Magdeburg, it was good. I saw everything I wanted to see, and had a couple of really long talks with Mary Simpson. She gave me some good advice."

"And?"

"You're looking at the new administrator for the Duchess Elisabeth Sofie Secondary School for Girls." Lady Beth smiled.

"You took the job! Outstanding! Congratulations!" Marcus grabbed her hand and shook it enthusiastically. "So, when do you have to be there?"

"This school has to be created from scratch, so basically as soon as possible. I'm shooting to be in Magdeburg full time by the middle of March."

"Ouch! Sounds like you're going to be pretty busy."

"Yep. I've got to sell the furniture and most of our odds and ends, pack up everything we want to take with us, and hand over my jobs." Marcus' eyebrows rose. Lady Beth continued. "Max Ohl will take over my job at the Tech Center full time. He's really pretty sharp. If you have to do anything with him, you'll like him. I'll work with him another day or so; make sure he knows where all the bodies are buried and who to watch out for." She got a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And I got Mary to commit to a replacement for her arts program management stuff."

"Oh, please," Marcus groaned, "please tell me it's not that awful Haggerty woman!"

"Well, actually, her name did come up . . . " Marcus interrupted Lady Beth with a louder groan, " . . . but I managed to convince Mary that she really wasn't the best choice for that work."

"Thank you, thank you,
thank
you! All right, already, tell me who it is!"

"Amber Higham." Marcus' relief was almost tangible, and Lady Beth chuckled. "Yeah, I convinced Mary that Amber's theatre background would help her manage the personalities and the programs."

"That it would. Plus, she's good people."

"As good as they come."

Copenhagen
Late February, 1634

Josef knocked on the door, a little diffidently, Rudolf standing behind him. "Come in," he heard, so he opened the door and entered the room, Rudolf coming behind and closing the door. Master Schütz waved a hand at the chairs, not looking up from where he was reading through
Die Kunst Der Fuge
again. "Be seated,
meine Herren
, if you please." Josef and Rudolf pleased to sit immediately, and watched the master as he slowly turned the pages of the masterwork of a man who would never be.

Finally, Schütz closed it and set it aside on the table, which was clear of everything that had cluttered it the last time they had been in this chamber. He sat back in his chair, and laid his arms along the arms of the chair, gripping the knobs at the ends. His presence was austerely dignified, almost regal, and Josef swallowed.

There was silence for some time. Schütz did not speak, and Josef and Rudolf could not bring themselves to break the master's silence. At last, Schütz focused on them, and said, "I have served the Elector of Saxony for almost half of my life—first as organist, then by his grace I was named
Kappellmeister
. I have written music, led performances and taught his students and musicians for all that time. And he has been a reasonably generous patron."

Josef began steeling himself for disappointment. This sounded as if Master Schütz was going to refuse them.

"He has been generous until recently, that is," Schütz continued dryly. "His recent . . . reversals . . . have forced him to adopt measures of economy."

Josef's heart began to rise, and he dared to say, "You mean . . . "

"Elector John George cannot pay my salary, nor that of my . . . his musicians." Josef felt a sense of elation at the frown on Schütz's face, only to have it collapse at his next words. "I have been offered a post here in the court of Crown Prince Christian, and I am certain that I would be allowed to hire my musicians." No question this time about whose musicians they really were.

Preparing himself to hear words of refusal from the master, Josef was instead startled to hear, "But . . . " Schütz said nothing more for several moments, then he picked up
Die Kunst Der Fuge
again for a moment, and said, "This has awakened a curiosity—nay, a hunger—in me that I cannot resist." A small smile appeared on the master's face. "I would come to Grantville to see the wonders of which Maestro Carissimi tells me, and to finally meet
il maestro
face to face. And then, perchance, to Magdeburg, to hear this concert you spoke of. How large an orchestra did you say you were trying to amass?"

Josef tried to speak and discovered his throat was almost paralyzed with surprise. He coughed hard, and managed to croak, "Franz Sylwester, our
dirigent
, wishes to have sixty string players, Master Schütz."

"So many . . . " A calculating look crossed the master's face, and then a smile of pleasure. "I have never heard so many. I look forward to it. And you may tell your leader that I will encourage my musicians to also come to Magdeburg." His smile widened to a grin with more than a hint of wicked humor in it. "After all, if Gustavus Adolphus has, ah, acquired dominion over the lands of the Elector, then it would be only fitting that he acquire the Elector's musicians as well, would it not?" Josef found himself nodding energetically, a smile on his face the equal of that on the master's.

Schütz lightly smacked his hands on the knobs at the end of his chair arms, and said, "Good! Now, I must stay here until the marriage celebrations of Crown Prince Christian and Princess Magdalene Sybille, the Elector's daughter, are completed, to ensure that the music is done as I specified. It took them some time to find a suitable date with no conflicting celebrations in the church calendar, but they finally decided, and the wedding will occur shortly on 2 March. We will all be required for various celebrations and gatherings after that, but I anticipate that I will be able to slip away perhaps a week or so later."