Aria in Ice (11 page)

Shay snarled, “I knew that. Really. I’m just
nosy and in the mood for a good treasure hunt since I missed out on
a good wedding because of that idiot Kathy and her moronic mother
and the groom with the sex appeal of a dead goat.”

“Ah. Well. I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Lily and company alert. Headed this way with
a parade of males. “ I muttered under my breath. “Cool the ghostly
treasure tales, Martin.”

“Hey, I can be subtle.”

Shay coughed, then lowered her
voice—slightly- for one last question that, fortunately, only Jozef
and I could hear. “Ahem. Not to start things up again, but while
we’re into honesty, isn’t there something else involving the flute
here? I mean, it’s a particularly valuable flute, right? Not in
monetary terms, but in—well—some terms. Could be gold. Could be the
power of” she winked at me, “love through the ages.”

Oh yeah. Shay being subtle. Not.

Jozef responded, “As Miss Fouchet and I were
just now saying, the only thing we are sure of is that we must find
this flute before persons who have souls of evil discover either
the whereabouts and the magic and mystery it holds within.”

I oozed toward the door to begin a graceful
exit from
Kouzlo Noc
before Shay could start shouting,
“Ghost hunt!” to the castle-dwellers and cast and hangers-on. I had
no idea if anyone could have heard Jozef outside of Shay and me but
I was nervous that one of those present would decide to step up
some greed-filled treasure-seeking before we good guys could
succeed in our quest.

Shay set a time for cast and crew to meet
back at the castle in the morning for a production meeting.
Business was finished for the day. I hadn’t found my flute player
and wasn’t likely to get another chance until
Headlights
Productions
was firmly entrenched within castle walls and I
could snoop during dance breaks.

Now I had to stop obsessing over Ignatz for
many ‘becauses.’ Because for at least one night, this night, I
wasn’t going to worry about keeping ears open for the sound of
spectral fluting. Because tonight was the opera. Because Johnny had
tickets. Because I was thrilled to see an opera in
The
Estates Theatre
and anxious to discover if any clues to
Ignatz Jezek’s missing flute (and body) were hinted at in any of
the scenes of
The Magic Flute
. And because I was damn glad I
had a chance to dress up and change my location-scout attire of
jeans and T-shirt for a few hours to date-attire in a real
dress.

My schedule for the last few days had been to
tramp around Prague and little villages nearby checking out spooky
castles for Shay, so I hadn’t been able to even dream about donning
fancy clothes and high heels. But blessedly, my invisible fashion
fairy-godmother had seen fit back in New York to make me pack a
little number that should keep Mr. Gerard’s mind off of murals,
flutes and treasure. The salesgirl at the funky boutique in
Manhattan had called the color Champagne, and proclaimed it perfect
for a chestnut-brunette (even one with steaks of green.) The
material was a combination of lace and stretchy rayon, the skirt
was handkerchief hemmed and the neckline was “sweetheart taking the
plunge.” I’d thrown in the pair of ecru lace granny boots I’d
planned to wear to the wedding Shay was supposedly attending before
she’d begged, pleaded and thrown herself on my mercy to go castle
hunting instead. A 1950s vintage black velvet coat was warm enough
for the short walk to the theatre.

I even had a cute little black lace beret
that covered most of the green in my hair. Eye shadow, a ton of
mascara, and a tinge of blush and lipstick—I was set. Bring ‘em
on.

“On” was definitely the operative word. As I
entered the lobby of the hotel, I was dazzled by the sight of
Johnny in a black tux. He looked—well—damn good.

I headed directly to him, curtseyed and
fluttered my lashes. “My, my, Mr. Gerard, but you do clean up well.
I’m impressed.”

He bowed in turn. “Let me return the
compliment.” He stared at me. “Dang, Abby, let me go one further
and tell you that you’re a knock-out. Saint Agnes would be
proud.”

He dropped a light kiss on my cheek, then
extended his arm, crooked at the elbow, to me. I placed my own hand
over his elbow with as much grace as heroine Honoria would have
managed in the late Nineteenth Century. This was no night for
rampant feminism. It was a night at the opera.

Which quickly turned into a farce closer to
the Marx Brothers movie with that same title. As soon as Johnny and
I left the hotel we were joined by none other than Franz Hart also
decked out in splendor in a black tuxedo nearly identical to my
stylish escort.

Franz yelled loud enough to engage all of
Prague. “Abby! I got tickets. I thought I’d join you both and we
can all go together, yes?”

The Estates Theatre
, in the section of
Prague called Old Town, was walking distance from the hotel. So our
little trio walked. We tried strolling arm-in-arm, but the sidewalk
wasn’t big enough, so first Johnny took my arm and we left Franz to
walk behind, then Franz cut in and a scowling Mr. Gerard was forced
away. I waited for Johnny to stake his valid claim to Ms. Fouchet
and watch Franz back off, but Mr. Gerard stayed silent on the
subject.

Finally I pulled away from both. “Okay, guys.
Enough. Tell you what? I’ll drop back and you can just march to the
theatre together. You’re nearly the same height and your tuxes are
matching black. You’ll look like you’re part of a gay dance
team.”

I love a sense of humor in anyone. And bless
them, both Johnny and Franz took me at my word. They linked arms
and sauntered down the street with matching strides and total
nonchalance. I expected a tango at any moment.

We finally reached the theatre. Johnny’s two
tickets were next to each other. Somehow, Franz had managed to find
a seat right there with us. I took the middle, glanced at my watch
and breathed in my surroundings.
The Estates Theatre
. The
very history of the place was overwhelming.
The Magic Flute
was not the first of Mozart’s operas to be performed here. Wolfgang
A. personally conducted the premiere of
Don Giovanni
and
Mozart’s
other operas, such as
Cosi Fan Tutte
and
Marriage of Figaro
were regular staples.

The Estates Theatre
was indeed, as
Franz originally told us, built in the Neoclassical style; lines,
with straight-backed chairs (no lounging in rockers like in today’s
sixteen-screen movie theatres) and box seats in tiers that surged
up into infinity. We sat directly under an enormous chandelier that
gave me the sensation of being bathed in one huge light bulb
surrounded by a ceiling painting with colors in gold and red and
cream. I sighed with pure pleasure over the entire décor.

I normally don’t watch this opera
contemplating who represents what, and whether or not a certain
three chords in the overture represent three knocks in Freemason
ideology. I just wait for the Queen of the Night to sing her
marvelous aria. It was written as a comic opera but it’s one of the
most stirring Mozart wrote for a soprano.

This night, squinched between Johnny and
Franz, both of whom appeared so absorbed in the opera that they
must be taking notes in their heads, I tried to concentrate on
Mozart’s intent. Find those symbols and solve a puzzle.

With great effort I watched and listened for
every nuance related to Ignatz’ magic with his flute. Did the
symbols used, the morals presented, have a durn thing to do with
flautist Ignatz Jezek haunting
Kastle Kouzlo Noc
? I paid
close attention to any scene involving the magic flute; said to
bring wild beasts under a spell rendering them tame. Also there was
a lyric that caught my ear about night and day. Night and day. Same
tune I’d heard earlier up at
Kouzlo Noc
. Was Ignatz trying
give me a clue about magic? Could his flute sooth savage animals?
Could it change light to dark? Rust to gold? And had human savage
beasts, in the guise of family or friend or colleague, taken an
opportunity to destroy the young Prague musician/artisan then steal
the flute and its magic for themselves?

I found no answers. My only insight was that
any
insight into the Jezek mystery would be solved at
Kouzlo Noc
.

The plot of
The Magic Flute
was
originally based on a fairy-tale. A prince sets out on a mission to
rescue a princess from her father, Sarastro, a man he believes to
be evil. The belief stems from the words of the princess’ mother,
Queen of the Night. But the prince soon discovers that the man is a
good man; almost a godlike character. When prince and princess
meet, it’s immediate love. Actually, before they meet it’s love.
They see one another’s portraits and it’s boom—Romance City. Sort
of early online dating? But before they can live happily ever
after, they have to undergo various trials to prove themselves
worthy to rule over the kingdom the wise Sarastro relinquishes to
his daughter and son-in-law. Comic relief is provided by the bird
catcher named Papageno, who is searching for a “Papagena” so they
can produce little papagenos. Yeah, the names get a bit confusing,
especially during the Papageno/Papagena duet, but it’s still
hilarious to watch and see. It’s one of those duets that sticks
with the listener long after the opera has ended. Insidious.
Fun—but insidious.

Masonic symbolism hits the audience at every
turn, with numbers of three being very prominent; with light and
day and black and white representing good and evil. I didn’t
understand half of it, but I did know that Freemasons of Mozart’s
time period went through various “trials” to prove they were worthy
of joining the brotherhood. Entire books have been written trying
to explain just what Mozart and his friend, the librettist and
producer, Schikaneder, were getting at. I couldn’t wait to read the
book Jozef had slipped me that afternoon. The elderly bookseller
himself had poured through it searching for clues to the magic his
ancestor had crafted, but obviously he was interested in letting
fresh eyes take a peek.

After about thirty minutes of angst over what
meant what, I said, “Screw it” and spent the next two hours not
worrying a damn about symbolism as I let myself be swept away with
the marvelous singing and the production as a whole. I did tuck
back in my brain for later perusal the intensity of this
production’s use of light and dark. And I also decided that return
engagements to view
The Magic Flute
by Miss Abby Fouchet
were in order in case the opera itself had something to do with
Ignatz Jezek and the flute he’d hidden at
Kouzlo Noc
.

After the last standing ovation died down,
the three of us headed back to the café where I’d enjoyed kolaches
and cocoa earlier in the afternoon. Yes, the three of us. Franz
apparently had decided he was the focal point of this little ménage
and showed no inclination to leave me alone with Johnny Gerard.

Didn’t matter anyway. When we got to the
café, we were greeted by no less than three familiar faces. Shay,
Lily, and Mitchell were seated at a round table by a back window.
Hand waves all around and Franz, Johnny and I made our way through
the crowded restaurant to join them. Three empty seats awaited us.
Very ‘freemasonic.’

“So, how was Amadeus?” asked Shay.

“He was marvelous. At least, his work was. As
for Wolfgang himself? Well—he did not make an appearance—at least
none that I was aware of, and let’s face it, if he had, now that
I’m hearing ghosts all over Prague, I’m sure I’d’ve been the first
to catch any impromptu jam sessions,” was my whispered and
overly-long answer.

A waiter clad in an even more elegant tux
than either Johnny or Franz was sporting arrived to take our order.
I needed something stronger than cocoa and Kahlua so I ordered agin
and tonic. A double. I deserved it after what had been a durn
stressful day.

“What about any surprise spectral guests in
the orchestra?” Shay hissed while my two escorts for the evening
were giving their orders.

“Shut it.” I growled. “No. All present and
accounted for. And alive. Will you quit with the ghosts?”

“I will for now, but you’ve got to fill me in
on all juicy details of your talk with Jozef and your brilliant
insights into
The Magic Flute
. Girl talk. Midnight. Tonight.
Your room.”

“Why my room?”

“Because I checked in without an advance
reservation and my crappy room doesn’t have a mini-bar. It barely
has sheets on the bed and running water in the bathroom. I want
comfort and booze when I hear ghost tales.”

I nodded. “Midnight.”

Seven pairs of eyes stared at us. Lily spoke
first, mouth set in an oh-so-pretty pout. “What is so interesting
that the two of you must be rude and exclude us?”

Shay smiled. “Just making snide remarks about
people. So we thought we’d keep the noise level down.”

There was no good response to that. Shay
added, “Speaking of possibly snide comments, any takers on
assessing our lovely hostesses at the castle? The sisters
Duskova?”

Lily stated with a touch of acid in her tone,
“They are perfect for the movie. I mean, they’re already in
costume. Hasn’t anyone told them it’s the Twenty-First
Century?”

Johnny looked directly at Lily. “They’re more
than aware of that. But those ‘costumes’ are about the only clothes
left after a half-century of Soviet rule where our aristocratic
ladies weren’t allowed to zip off to high-end boutiques in Paris
for mini-skirts and black leather boots.”

Lily turned as white as her flowered name. “I
was very lucky to not be in Prague during much of the Soviet
domination of my country. I was too young. But it did not occur to
me that the the Duskovas must have had a bad time for many
years.”