CHAPTER 20

Mirela took the medallion in her hand and gazed at it as if she were trying to read the future in her palm. “It is a curious thing,” she murmured at last, “to touch history. Looking into the past is very much like seeing the ages to come.” She looked up, keeping hold of the medallion. “Your papa said it belonged to a great Hungarian general who had protected the poor people on an estate from an evil lord, more than a hundred years ago.”

“How did my father come to possess it?”

“He said it was given to him,” Mirela answered, “in thanks for something he had done. He never said what. He has so many good deeds in his Book of Life.”

“Book of Life?”

“The Book of Life is very important. At least, to me it is. Every time something big happens, or I make a decision to do something that I know will change who I am from that time on, it is written in a book that the angels keep. At the end of my life, I will be made to read my book before I am allowed to rest forever. Of course, I can’t really read it now, but when I die, it will be a miracle and the words will speak to me. Depending on what I have done while I lived, my book will make me happy or sad.”

“What about the ending?” I asked, my mind up in the clouds somewhere, imagining St. Cecilia holding my book, which when I thought about it was probably full of instances where I had acted in my own interest. Until now, perhaps.

“You see, that is the most frightening part! When I come to the end of the book, I will find out if I shall spend eternity in heaven with the gods, or in hell with all the evil people who have ever lived.”

We sat in silence for a while. The milk buckets clanged together with every bump. The thin ice that had sealed yesterday’s puddles cracked beneath the wagon’s wheels. Somewhere a cock cleared its throat into the cold morning, and crows cawed bitterly.

Mirela let go of the medallion and placed her hand over mine. Her fingers were very delicate, which surprised me since I imagined she had to work hard around the camp. “I am afraid that when I stole the necklace from you, a bad mark was written in my book. But it was only a little one. Danior had spoken of the medallion and said he longed to have it returned to our people, so that it would not fall into unfriendly hands. We thought it was in Zoltán’s possession, not knowing that he had given it into your father’s keeping. When I saw you wearing it, I thought I was doing a great favor to my people to take it from you. You see, it became a symbol for all those who are oppressed, the serfs and the Gypsies. It’s only a small disc of gold, not of great value—Maya wears more gold on her wrists when she dances—but it gives hope, so long as we have it to remind ourselves that we have powerful friends.”

“I forgive you,” I said. “I knew nothing about it, except that my father had it when he died.”

“Then we are friends?” she said, her face lit up by a broad smile.

I nodded. She threw her arms around my neck. By now we had reached the farms on the edge of the city, and a few laborers were trudging through the snow to cowsheds for the milking. They looked up at us curiously as we passed. Mirela’s passionate gestures were a little embarrassing to me, but despite our differences, I truly liked her. She released my neck and held my hand from then on, pointing out silly things along the way. She saw signs in everything: the shape of the clouds, the timing of a bird’s cry, how often the horse that drew the wagon shook his head, and where the bits of foam from his mouth landed. She made me feel as if I went through life not noticing anything at all. She taught me a simple Gypsy song, a lullaby, in that strange language I had heard the Romany people speaking. She said she knew hundreds of songs and would teach them all to me if I wanted.

“I don’t sing very well, but when I have a violin or a viola again, I would like to play your songs,” I said.

“Ah, that is what your papa did. And sometimes he brought that older man, the one who works for the prince.”

“My godfather? Kapellmeister Haydn?”

“Yes, that is him. I liked him.”

I noticed that we had reached the Marienhilferstrasse. Suddenly the thought of Toby and of the danger I had faced the night before broke afresh into my mind. Mirela’s stories had lulled me, but now it was time to act again. “I must leave you here,” I said, turning to ask the milkman to stop his horse.

“Take care, Theresa,” Mirela said, her face clouding over. “Do not take so many risks. We are friends forever, and forever can be a long time—or a short one.”

I kissed her on the cheek before hopping down from the wagon, and watched her waving at me as the Gypsy milkman drove on toward his deliveries in the city center.

Although I would have preferred to speak with Zoltán and get his help in finding Toby, it was probably for the best that the cart’s path took me to Haydn’s apartment on Marienhilferstrasse. The maid almost shut the door in my face thinking I was a beggar, until I spoke and assured her that I was Theresa Schurman, the maestro’s goddaughter.

Haydn took one look at me and ordered me to go to his wife’s dressing room to bathe. “She’s not there anyway. Stayed the night with her cousin.”

I knew—and I could tell by his expression he knew that I knew—that she had very likely spent the night with a lover, not her “cousin.”

“Please, Godfather, I must speak with you. Toby is gone, and I don’t know where he is.” I told him quickly about my adventure in my uncle’s cellar, and my trip through the sewers.

“Perhaps he is safe at home. You go and freshen up then join me for some breakfast, and I will send someone to your house to see if he is there. He could have walked back from the assembly rooms. The distance is not far.”

I knew what he said was possible, but after everything else that had befallen me, I hardly dared hope the explanation was so simple.

The use of Madame Haydn’s scented dressing room, a hot bath in a copper tub, and a clean shift and simple dress did much to soothe me after my adventurous night. The maid also removed the splinter from my hand—which turned out not to be so very bad—and bound up the wound. Once I had refreshed myself, I joined my godfather for a simple meal. Between mouthfuls of fresh sausage and warm bread I tried to answer his questions as best I could.

“If Toby is not there, my mother will be worried,” I said, imagining what bad effect such a concern might have on her in her delicate state.

“Do not be alarmed,” my godfather said, “I sent for Zoltán. He will know just what to say.”

For a moment I was lost in thought, thinking back over the scenes of the night before and wondering if I missed some clue that would solve the mystery of my brother’s disappearance. I didn’t notice that Haydn had gone quiet and cleared his throat politely.

“I hesitate to add to your worries,” he began, once I had finished my breakfast, “but I find myself in more urgent need than ever of your help. Perhaps if you are not too tired you could spend an extra hour with me today?”

“Of course, Godfather,” I said. “But have you not thought about seeing a doctor who might be able to fix your eyes? There is an operation now, I have heard. Mama and Greta were talking about it a few months ago. They can uncloud your vision.”

The maestro grimaced. “And what if they fail?”

I could not answer him. And I also knew the surgery would be very painful, from everything my mother had said. The idea of someone cutting into one’s eye—I didn’t know if I could persuade myself to do it. But there was so much at stake.

“I must deliver three symphonies and four string quartets to Artaria by the day after tomorrow if I am to honor the contract I signed, as well as creating new works every day for the prince. You have already helped me with a quartet and a symphony, but as you see, it’s not quite enough. And next week he expects an opera, which will mean assembling it from scattered bits, and replacing the substitute arias with something original.”

I knew about the practice of taking popular arias with only the words changed and inserting them into a new opera, so the audience could have something familiar to hum and the diva could show off with something she knew well. But I saw that in this instance it made it more difficult for Haydn to furnish an entirely original opera. Indeed, I did not see how we could finish half that amount without spending most of the next two days working—and he had rehearsals and performances, and I had to find Toby and put a stop to my uncle’s activities—with only a vague grasp of exactly what they were.

We got immediately to work. I did my best to concentrate despite the worries that threatened to overwhelm me at every moment, reminding myself that there was nothing more I could do until Zoltán was made acquainted with everything that had passed the night before. Zoltán had previously said my uncle bribed the other members of the council so that things would go the way the nobles in Hungary wished. Where did the councilor get his money? Were the nobles themselves so wealthy? I became convinced that there was more concealed behind my uncle’s remarkable affluence that I did not know about. He was a clever businessman, so my mother had told me, a merchant who traded in goods that everyone needed—wheat for flour and oil for lamps. But would cleverness be enough to account for his rise to such heights of influence, without a hereditary title and lands?

When the doorbell tinkled around noon, my mind had wandered so far from my surroundings that I jumped and sent a blot of ink from the tip of my pen over the page, spoiling the last quarter-hour’s work. “I’ll copy it out again. It won’t take a moment!” I said.

I started scribbling quickly. Within a short time, I heard Zoltán’s solid, determined footsteps approaching. He entered the room without knocking.

“Your brother is not at home,” he said, mercifully dispensing with formalities.

I felt a peculiar sensation of something flowing through my veins. I could not tell if it was scorching heat or ice. Toby was not at home. My worst fears were confirmed. “What did you say to my mother?” I asked, barely able to speak above a whisper.

“I told her you had both spent the night at your uncle’s. She appeared content with that explanation.”

I wondered how much longer we could keep her ignorant of what was passing outside her bedroom, in a world where she thought her children were safe. “Do you have any idea where Toby … he’s so young …” I could not form the words.

Zoltán passed his hand across his eyes. “My sister received this letter. Unfortunately we cannot say exactly where it came from, although we have our ideas.”

He took a folded piece of paper from inside his waistcoat and handed it to me.

The release of the general will secure the release of the girl and her brother. We will contact you with details.

“They think I am still in the sewer,” I said.

“In the sewer!?”

Zoltán’s astonishment nearly made me laugh, despite my distress. I explained to him as quickly as I could exactly what had happened.

“I think we had better make them believe we have not found you,” he said. “You must remain here until I send word that you can leave.”

“Remain here!” I exclaimed. “I shall do no such thing.”

“You will be in danger, and you will endanger your brother.”

“Not if I am in disguise. Haven’t I earned your trust? I cannot just sit by and do nothing.”

Zoltán did not speak at first. “I won’t—it wouldn’t be—” He gave up and just shook his head.

I felt a little sorry for him. It crossed my mind briefly that I should do as he said and spare him any more worry. But I knew that if I did not persuade him to include me in what ever they planned to do, I would continue to search without them. I would never forgive myself if something happened to my brother. He was too small and timid to get himself out of difficulties as I was able to. “If you do not let me come with you, I will try to find Toby by myself.”

“You are hurt already,” he said, pointing to my bandaged hand. “It will be difficult to play the viola, and you might be injured much more seriously if you do as you threaten.”

“It will be difficult to play in any case. I have no instrument. My mother sold it.” I hadn’t meant my words to sound so peevish and complaining.

“Why did you not say so, my dear?” Haydn’s voice was kind, but I couldn’t take kindness just then. It made everything too complicated.

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” I said, not looking at either of them.

“We’ve persuaded the general to inform us where he thinks you both were taken,” Zoltán said. “He says the most likely place is in the house of your uncle.”

“That’s impossible—I don’t just mean for me, of course—but I went through my uncle’s house last night before I was trapped and did not find anyone.”

“But there is nowhere else,” Zoltán said. “We have people inside all the other houses of those Austrians who are in the councilor’s pay, and the Hungarians who make Vienna their winter home.”

Every time Zoltán told me something more about their cause, I saw its ripples widening far beyond the small world we inhabited, a world full of music and the tribulations and pettiness of court life.

The maestro interrupted him. “You have not hurt the general, have you?”

Zoltán paused before answering, leaving me wondering when he finally spoke whether he told the truth. “No, he is not harmed. Nor will he be—at least, not in any material way.”

“Provided this is so, I shall do this evening as you have asked me,” the maestro said. “I presume the concert is still to take place?”

Zoltán nodded. “Wolkenstein has not canceled. He is too sure of himself to consider the general’s misadventure more than a temporary setback. After all, he has almost as much power behind him as the emperor.”

Zoltán came to me and took hold of my shoulders, fixing me with his disturbing gaze. “You say you went all over his house. Do you think you can tell us exactly what you found in each room? Down to the tiniest details?”

“In truth, I had no light, so I cannot describe more than which rooms lead into which, and where the staircases are located. The only place I remember clearly is the cellar.”

“If you are willing to help, I have been authorized to ask you for one final favor.” Zoltán had let go of my shoulders and looked down at the floor. I waited for him to continue, but something held him back.

“Do you still doubt me?” I asked.

“Not doubt,” he said, looking into my eyes again. “I simply hoped you would see sense and protect yourself. However, as you are determined … We want you to go back to your uncle’s house. But this time you will not be alone. And you will be armed.”

“Armed—how?”

Zoltán reached under his cloak and removed a pistol. It was not an elegant, pearl-handled dueling pistol such as gentlemen sometimes carry, but an ugly, black monster. I wondered when it had last been used, and for what. “It’s mainly just to frighten,” he said.

“So I wouldn’t have to fire it, then?”

“I hope not,” he said. “But one of us will have to make some noise, and we need to ensure that we have the greatest possible opportunity to do so.”

“Noise?” I asked.

“The plan is to summon the guards to the councilor’s house at the moment when we have found what we are looking for. Since the guards are controlled by the military and the military is currently under the illusion that Wolkenstein is on their side, they will need some compelling reason to enter, especially during a party. A pistol fired inside the councilor’s residence would be something they could not ignore.” He placed the pistol in my hands. “Think carefully, Rezia. You may be called upon to act in a way that would distress you.”

The pistol was heavy and cold. For one tiny instant I pictured myself aiming it at my uncle’s heart and pulling the trigger. The image in my mind frightened me. “I’ve never held a firearm before,” I murmured. “Must I truly?”

“If you want to come, this is the condition,” Zoltán said. “It is too dangerous otherwise. And you will be in disguise. You will appear to be an innocent young fellow newly part of the orchestra. That way you are less likely to attract notice or be singled out to search. Besides, we dare not involve anyone who doesn’t already know what we are about.”

“What if I am recognized? My uncle may be looking for me.”

“We have thought about that,” Zoltán said with a smile. “I will tell you the rest later when we meet at my apartment.”

My godfather rested his gentle hands on my shoulders. “You do not have to go, Theresa.”

I turned, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him on both cheeks. “I trust Zoltán. I shall be all right, Godfather. I’ve already managed to survive the sewers.” His smile at my pleasantry was halfhearted at best.

“Come. Danior is waiting for us. We’ll show you what to do.”

Haydn loaned me a warm cloak with a hood that was big enough to shadow my face against curious passersby, and Zoltán had come prepared with a mask in case I needed it. I turned to my godfather. “We must finish your scores. I shall come tomorrow and stay as long as you need me.”

He nodded. I saw a hint of moistness in his clouded eyes just before I turned to go.