The Devil's Opera(89)

“Maybe so,” Amber replied, “but your practicing is better than most folks’ performance.” She waved everyone forward to start preparing for the rehearsal.

Marla snorted, which amused Amber. It wasn’t a ladylike snort. But then, with Marla’s diaphragm, a lot of air would get moved at a moment like that.

“Not hardly,” Marla said. “I lost three months. I’m as rusty as a piece of old barbed wire. I’m starting to get my singing chops back, but I’ve still got a ways to go with the piano, so I’m grabbing every chance I can to practice. And let’s not even talk about the flute.”

“That sounded good,” Hermann contributed from where he was arranging his music on the piano. “I did not hear any clunkers.”

“Oh, I’ve quit making the easy mistakes,” Marla said with a grimace. “Now I’ve got to quit making the hard ones.”

“Enough about the piano.” Amber spoke firmly. “Now is the time for the voice.”

The vocalists warmed up quickly, and they swung into the rehearsal.

Voices were clear today, and everyone seemed to have plenty of stamina. Even so, Amber didn’t push them too hard. After a solid morning of rehearsing, she finally called it to an end.

“Okay, listen up everyone.” When they were grouped in front of where she sat on her stool, she said, “Good rehearsal. Last one for a couple of days. Today’s Friday. Tomorrow we start fitting costumes. I want the soloists here in the morning, chorus in the afternoon. Everyone got that?”

Nods from all the group.

“Good. Spend Sunday with your friends and family, because that’s the last time you get to before opening night. Monday we start rehearsing in the auditorium at the opera hall. It’s going to be long days and even longer nights for the next few weeks. Things are going well, but don’t let up on it, okay?”

Grins from some, sober looks from others, but nods all around again.

“Great. See you tomorrow.”

She waved at them, and they scattered.

Left by herself in an empty room, Amber sagged on her stool for a long moment, pushed her glasses up into her hair, and scrubbed her hands across her face. Lord, she wasn’t getting any younger, and boy, could she tell it. The last few weeks before any premiere were always horrendous, but even at the height of her professional acting and directing days she’d never had anything as important as this show resting on her shoulders. Some big shot investor’s money, yeah. The reputations of the actors, sometimes the reputations of the writers, yeah. But never anything that could potentially affect the future of a nation. And she was doing it with the equivalent of one and a half seasoned professionals and a bunch of serious but newbie amateurs.

Amber scrubbed her face again, dropped her glasses back on her nose, and got back on her feet to start gathering her stuff.

One thing about it, she thought to herself. If she had to do something like this, at least she was working with dynamite material. She wasn’t a fan of opera, as such, although she did like Gilbert and Sullivan. But Gronow’s libretto was stellar. And although she was not the consummate musician that Marla and Andrea Abati were, even she could tell that Heinrich her husband had written a very good score.

Amber shrugged her coat on, looked around the room one more time, and closed the door firmly behind her. One step closer to opening night.





Chapter 36

Stephan Burckardt carried the leather bag in and set it down on his employer’s desk with a thump.

“That’s the last of it, Herr Schmidt.”

Schmidt loosened the neck of the bag, reached into it, and pulled out a handful of silver coins. He looked them over, then tipped his palm and let them slide back into the bag, which he then retied.

“Took you long enough,” Schmidt snarled. “I needed it three days ago.” He leaned back in his chair. “Be gone. But be here early in the morning.”

Stephan didn’t need to be told twice that he could leave. His keys were in his hand before he was out of Schmidt’s office. One trice to lock the file cabinets; one trice to shovel papers into a drawer and lock his desk; half a trice to grab his hat and coat off the pegs they hung from; and he was out the door before the master could change his mind.

Outside, he looked around, trying to decide whether to head across the Big Ditch to his room and get a good night’s sleep, or to the nearest tavern for a mug of ale. He licked his lips. Sleep sounded good, but so did ale, and seemingly without a conscious decision his feet took him in the direction of the Chain. It had been a long few days. Surely he’d be okay for the length of time it took to down a mug. And Master Schmidt had released him early enough that he’d still have plenty of time for sleep after taking a mug’s worth.