Chapter 15
I now know what happened to Charles Worthington and Pollo after I got separated from them in the etheric depths, so I can include bits of their story as they affect my own story.
Thanks to a bit of luck, Pollo and Charles were close enough to each other when our boat broke up that they could stay together. They were, of course, quite frightened by their situation, and they didn’t expect to survive it unless somebody rescued them the way they had tried to help rescue Denny and Mirry. Quite unexpectedly, rescue did come to them. A ship sailed through the murk in their direction. They waved to it, and the ship over to them. Sailing that ship was Denny’s mother, Masteress Patricia Pantel, who had built a shiop to search for her son in the etheric depths. She was most disappointed when neither of the two boys she brought on board was her son. However, she wasn’t the sort of person who would cast two boys back into the etheric depths, and so she kept them. But later, when Masteress Pantel found out that Master Galleon had picked up her son, she proved to be the kind of person who would hold two boys for ransom until Denny should be rescued and returned to her.
Pollo and Charles weren’t exactly prisoners. That is, they weren’t locked up in a cell with nothing but bread and water. They were pretty much given the run of the Pantels’ house, provided they didn’t run away. Fierce etherically created dogs patrolled the edge of the grounds to discourage that idea. The house has a large library, and it quickly became the favorite place for Pollo and Charles to pass the time. There weren’t any magic books there, of course. Masteress Pantel had them under lock and key. But just about every other kind of book was there. Charles read lots of fantasy and adventure novels and Pollo read all the books they had about music. Charles and Pollo talked a lot about what they read and they talked a lot about my quest and what they could do to help me. Although they didn’t have access to any magic books, like I said, they knew that it is possible to figure out the magical applications of just about anything if you can get enough information about it, and they were getting an awful lot of information out of this library.
Like just about every major household in the Gifted World, the Pantels had regular visits from the Guild of Culinary Artists. A message inside a couple of cookies they served to my friends told them where Maranissa and I were, and also about what had happened to Mirry. Pollo, in turn, slipped a piece of paper into the hands of a girl from the Guild during their next visit, and that is how I got the message from my friends.
“Did you hear from somebody?” asked Masteress Belinda.
“Yes,” I said, stuffing the scrap of paper into my pocket. I didn’t want to say anything about it in front of everybody. It gave me a warm feeling that my friends were okay and they were still doing everything they could to help me.
“Now are you going to start teaching Nathaniel the chant?” Maranissa asked Master Terman.
“I’ve already said it’s impossible,” said Master Terman.
“Masteress Carassima told you to help Nathaniel,” Maranissa insisted.
“I don’t have to do what she tells me when she isn’t talking about food,” Master Terman retorted.
“Everybody has to do what Masteress Carassima says,” said Maranissa, “even me.”
“What does she know about music?” Master Terman asked.
“She knows that music is like a recipe,” Maranissa replied. “You throw in a lot of stuff that tastes good together, mix it up, and then serve it.”
“You can’t just double an inscription like this the way you can double a recipe,” said Master Terman.
“We have recipe spells where you make the all ingredients do different things until you have a whole new recipe,” Maranissa explained.
“But that’s guesswork,” said Master Terman. “We can’t just make something up and have a healing chant that will work.”
“Nathaniel’s good at making up music that makes things happen,” said Maranissa. “He was making up his own version of a willow song when he made the singing boys breathe better.”
Just then, the bark inscription slipped out of Rosalind’s fingers and floated toward a window. I leaped up and lunged after it, then fell backward when the piece of bark shot back right at me and just about hit me in the face, knocking me on my back. Fortunately, my beanbag chair was kind enough to move over and catch my fall. I learned later that these chairs were designed to do that sort of thing. I took a firm hold of the bark and it’s a good thing I did, as something tried to pull it back to the window.
“Sing a bit of your willow song,” Rosalind suggested.
I sang the first snatch of the song that came to mind and changed the words to something like: “O willow bark, stay, stay here with me.” Masteress Terman and Ferndal worked a spell over the bark as I sang until it stopped fighting against me and lay in the palm of my hand like it had decided to stay a while.
“The piece of inscription wants to be with its other half,” Masteress Belinda observed.
“And I’ll bet that Master Galleon wants it, too,” added Maranissa.
“Two can play at that game,” said Rosalind.
“Hmm,” Master Terman grunted. “Let me try something.”
I gave him the inscription and he took it to his work table. There he placed the bark over a large piece of parchment, and poured a bit of green powder on the parchment around the torn edge of the bark. Sebastian sniffed at the powder and scurried away to the other end of the room. Then Master Terman picked up his harp.
“Okay, Nathaniel, try singing a bit of your willow song.”
I sang a snatch of the song while Master Terman played a few chords on his harp in the willow mode. Nothing happened. Master Terman shook his head.
“Nothing blooming here,” he muttered.
“I have an idea,” said Rosalind. “We can teach Nathaniel what phrases we can from the half of the inscription we have, and see if that helps.”
“Worth a try,” said Master Terman.
Rosalind studied the inscription for some time while Maranissa served the oyster stew that Masteress Carassima had left for us. Eating a good meal helped. Everybody seemed more relaxed and more interested in solving the puzzle of the healing chant than putting me down and throwing me out. While we ate, a piece of paper or parchment fluttered into the apartment and then flew at Master Terman like an angry wasp and stuck itself into his ear. Master Terman unfolded the note and shook his head.
“‘All Gifted Cellists and all Gifted Oboists have agreed that the Gifted Healer should not be allowed to stay with us, not even for as long as four beats of fast-tempo music,’” read Master Terman, “‘for fear that they will be pestilenced.’”
“Should I go?” I asked, not that I had any idea of where I could go if I did leave.
“Not until we’ve got you singing the healing chant you need, or we’ve found out we can’t help you after all,” Master Terman replied. “I’ve never seen so much craziness in the Guilds of Gifted Musicians in all my life.”
“We’ve never had so grievous a pestilence in our lives before this,” said Masteress Belinda.
I didn’t have time to fret about why so many people I was trying to help were turning against me; there was too much work ahead of us. Rosalind took something that looked like a small box from under her cape, expanded it to keyboard, and picked out bits of melody on it. Sebastian slithered over to the keyboard and plopped down in front of it.
“Hmm,” said Rosalind. “I think we have a couple of quarter tones here. Can you play this bit, Ferndal?”
Later, when I got the chance, I asked what quarter tones were and found out they’re notes that fall into the cracks of a keyboard, but you can sing them and a violin can play them. When Ferndal played the bit for the first time, it sounded really weird. By this time, he had gotten with the program and didn’t seem upset about my coming anymore.
Okay, Nathaniel,” said Rosalind, “I’ll try teaching you this bit and we’ll see if it gets Master Terman’s spell working. I won’t use the keyboard because this chants seems to be intended to be sung without any instruments except for your own voice. I won’t use the words right now; we’ll sing on ‘la.’ Listen to me.”
Rosalind sang the half-line of music, and my mouth dropped open. What a gorgeous voice! I could hardly believe that a grownup who could sing as well as she could would have a good word for the singing of a kid like me. But when she nodded to me, I had to do something. Everybody else was staring at me, and Maranissa gave me a look that said I was the best singer in the world, and I’d better prove it. So I tried to sing what Rosalind sang. I messed it up pretty good.
“Not bad for the first time,” said Rosalind. “Let’s work on those quarter tones and then we’ll try again.”
Rosalind had me go over those notes several times. At first, I thought I’d never get them right, but then a miracle happened, and I got them right after all. Rosalind sang the whole phrase again and I sang it after her. The music made me feel all wobbly inside. I wasn’t sure if it was doing me good or harm, or both.
“Merciful melodies!” Master Terman cried from the work table. “We’re getting somewhere!”
Ferndal and Maranissa crowded around the work table so fast, I couldn’t see what had happened at first.
“You did it, Nathaniel!” Maranissa cried.
She waved me over and pointed to the middle of the table. To my surprise and shock, a few faded notes had appeared on the parchment, taking up where the broken piece of bark left off. I almost fainted.
Another note fluttered into the apartment and landed on the work table. This time, the Guild of Gifted Trumpet Players and the Guild of Gifted Lutenists had come to an agreement that I must be out of the Academy faster than one can pluck a string before they, too, are pestilenced. My hosts shrugged this message off as well.
Masteress Belinda, being good at ancient magical languages, studied the bits of text we had and taught me how to pronounce it. It wasn’t easy, because there were several sounds that don’t come up in English. And here I’d thought conversational French was hard!
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“Don’t ask me that,” Masteress Belinda replied. “The meaning of these words is a secret even to the wise.”
So, I had to take it all on faith. Once I’d gotten the words down somewhat, I sang the first phrase with the words. Everybody else except me and Rosalind were huddled over the work desk to see what happened. As soon as I finished singing the phrase, they all whooped with joy. My stomach flipped and flopped. Maranissa grabbed me by the hand and pulled me over to the work table. I suppose I shouldn’t have been amazed that some words were starting to appear under the notes I’d already gotten to appear on the parchment, but amazed I was.
We worked far into the night. Rosalind drilled me in the half-phrases we had on the inscription and then she drilled me on the other half-phrases when they appeared within the flakes of powder on the parchment. Before long, I knew the first few lines backwards and forwards and inside-out. I missed Pollo badly, because I’d gotten so used to working with him, but Rosalind was awfully good, too. I was too keyed-up and too tired to feel tired by this time, so I wasn’t about to even think about sleeping unless somebody else brought it up, and nobody did. Another note flew into the apartment that informed us that the Guild of Gifted Trombonists and the Guild of Gifted Drummers also agreed that I had to go faster than you can hit a drum with a stick.
When Masteress Belinda finally insisted that I have a bit of rest, Master Terman and the family played music together while I listened. Master Terman played his harp, Masteress Belinda a mean flute, Ferndal a rip-roaring violin (If you don’t believe a violin can be rip-roaring, just listen to Ferndal for yourself), and Rosalind a thrilling keyboard. Maranissa took three pots of different sizes and two stirring spoons, and used them as a drum set. Sebastian offered a rhythmic croak that added to the musical effect. They made quite a band. Actually, we made a good band. I did quite a lot of singing, and it didn’t feel like work because I was singing stuff I liked. Since I was learning a chant for the windmere willow’s blossom, Rosalind taught me a song called “Willow, Willow,” that was written back in Shakespeare’s day for his play Othello. It’s a really sad song sung by a woman who was expecting to be killed by her jealous husband. Unfortunately, her fear came true. The song was beautiful. It also made me sad that Masteress Oldham might be gone forever, Denny was in the clutches of Master Galleon, Charles and Pollo were still enforced guests, and a lot of people, including my own father were going to die of the strangling pestilence if I couldn’t finish my healing quest. By this time, everybody in Master Terman’s family was showing me a lot of respect, and nobody was complaining about my putting them under house arrest just because I showed up unexpectedly.
“We must get back to work,” said Rosalind, bleary-eyed as she was. “There are still a couple more lines to figure out and teach you. Hearing you sing makes it all the more urgent that the rest of your choir be saved. There are many unique musical treasures in the worlds, and choirs of boys are one of them.”
So, we got back to work. Once again, Ferndal helped us out with his violin for those odd-sounding quarter tones. It soon got to be hard going, because our work was complicated by hostile competing musical sounds that filtered into the apartment. It sounded like somebody’s stereo going full blast from twenty blocks away. I didn’t have to ask anybody if this music was a further stage in the Guild’s complaints about my continued presence in the apartment. The faces of Master Terman and his family told me all I needed to know. We still shrugged it off, but not so easily as we did the notes, and we continued with our work.
“Where did you take my son?”
It was the screeching voice of Masteress Amber interrupting our practice. At least Masteress Amber hadn’t stormed into the apartment in person. Seeing her wagging her long, sharp fingernails at me in an etheric image was bad enough. Sebastian jumped in front of the etheric image and hissed at her.
“I didn’t take Mirry anywhere,” I answered. “Did you misplace him, again?”
“Don’t try to make a mockery out of me!” Masteress Amber screamed. “You have so filled his mind with insanely crazy notions of saving the world with a song, that he can’t think straight, and he no longer cares two spoons for his clan! Now he has run off yet again without my blessing or agreement! If he has come to you, you had better hand him back to me this very instant.”
“I haven’t seen Mirry since you took him away,” I answered her.
“I haven’t seen Mirry, either,” said Master Terman, “and I think I would have noticed if he had turned up here. Besides, I doubt that he could possibly have gotten here even if he tried, because the guild has a pretty tight shield quarantining my apartment.”
Masteress Amber gave us several pieces of her mind that none of us liked very much, and then she finally blinked out when she was finally convinced that we really didn’t have her son. I was glad to hear that Mirry had escaped from his home, but I was worried about where he might be and what he might be doing.
I shouldn’t have worried. Mirry knew where Pollo and Charles were and he knew how to join them. Denny had taken his friend to his home many times and, like any good friend, he’d shown Mirry all of the secret ways in and out of the house and all of the secret passages inside the house. One day, while Pollo and Charles were discussing a book about water trees, half a shelf of books suddenly tumbled to the floor.
“Can you give me a hand?” asked a familiar voice.
Mirry stuck out his arms for Pollo and Charles to pull him into the library and dust him off. Then Mirry showed them the secret passage to their bedrooms. That was helpful information, as it opened up the possibility of visiting the library at night if they needed to. Even more helpfully, Mirry led his friends through a secret passage that took them to a small room where Masteress Pantel’s magic books were kept.
As soon as Mirry’s mother was gone, we tried to get back to work on the last two phrases of the healing chant. But the going got tougher, because members of the Guild of Gifted Musicians flickered in and out in etheric images. Sometimes angrily, sometimes fearfully, they pleaded with Master Terman to turn me out. I tried to ignore these as best I could and concentrate on the chant, which wasn’t getting any easier at the end. But then we got some etheric images I couldn’t ignore.
“Look at what the Gifted Healer has done to our little Janet!” cried a pair of distraught parents as they presented the image of their little girl struggling to take her next breath. It was the girl who had fled from Terman’s apartment when Mirry and I first arrived there.
“I could try singing for her,” I offered miserably. “It might make her feel better while I finish my healing quest.
“Not after what you’ve done to her already, you don’t,” snarled her father.
In quick succession, three more Gifted Musicians appeared in etheric images to accuse me of pestilencing an aged parent, a child, or a beloved husband. Before I had any chance to plead that I was trying to learn how to make the medicine they all needed, Master Partridge appeared in an etheric image with a very angry-looking Master Medwick at his side.
“I see that you are still sheltering the Gifted Healer who is pestilencing the Guild of Gifted Musicians,” said Master Partridge, looking like he regretted having to speak as he did.
“None of us in my apartment, who have been with Nathaniel all this time, has been pestilenced,” Master Terman replied.
“Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown,” Master Medwick called to me, “you have now broken the entire social fabric of the Gifted World. I will take you to the Academy of the Guild of Gifted Healers, and you will stay there until you know how to use your Gifts responsibly.”
Master Medwick broke through the etheric image into the apartment, and grabbed a firm hold of me. The outcries of Master Terman, his family, and Maranissa, and the grating croaks of Sebastian quickly faded in a dizzying moment, and before I knew it, I was standing in a small stonewalled cell.