3 - Cruel Music by Beverle Graves Myers Read Free Book Online

assumed…since they are making a gift of your services…”
    I stared at the floor as he trailed off into silence. Suitable compensation? Alessandro’s safety in exchange for a bit of wear and tear on my throat? There was no arguing against that bargain. I raised my chin and answered, “I will, of course, be delighted to comply with Cardinal Fabiani’s wishes.”
    ***
    The music room that Rossobelli had so casually mentioned was a crimson and gold salon the size of a small amphitheater. The same stocky footman had fetched me after Benito had brewed a pot of his throat-reviving tea and worked his decorative magic on my person and attire. When I caught sight of my reflection in the long mirrors of the music room, I was almost shocked.
    I saw a long-limbed eunuch of remote mien and noble bearing clad in his finest court dress, looking as if he had nothing in his head but the melodies he would soon sing. No one would guess that I was prey to emotions that had my stomach in knots and my heart in despair. Without even being aware of the transformation, I had slipped into my stage demeanor along with my brocade jacket and powdered wig.
    The cardinal’s harpsichord was in excellent tune. I assumed that a keyboard musician would arrive to accompany me, and a few string players as well, if the music stands on the dais were any clue. But just then I was alone. Determined to make the most of my time, I set to work on some simple scales. Despite Benito’s herb-laced tea, my chest felt tight and the tones that bounced off the mirrored walls sounded strident and harsh. My natural voice was an unforced, agile soprano that could master any ornamentation a composer could invent. It wouldn’t be at its best tonight, but if I could just complete a proper warm-up, it would do.
    I’d finished my vocalises and was playing through one of the well-worn sheets of music when the back of my neck began to crawl. Someone was observing me. I was sure of it. People stared at me every night on the stage, but this was a different sensation—oppressive, vaguely malevolent. My hands sank away from the keyboard, and I slowly pivoted from the waist. Candlelight from chandeliers and wall brackets played over a completely empty room.
    I turned back to the harpsichord. To regain my concentration and clear my head cavities, I opened my jaws in a huge yawn and sounded a series of ascending high notes. When a length of white silk drifted over my shoulder, I almost swallowed my tongue.
    “What a mouth you have,” came a whisper by my ear.
    In one motion, I shot off the bench, turned, and pressed my rump against the keyboard. The old woman from the entry hall giggled and raised a mottled hand to stroke my jaw. Her cheeks were wrinkled and sunken, but she fluttered her sparse eyelashes like a girl of sixteen.
    “Can you crack a nut with those jaws?” she asked. “I had a groom once…a tall fellow…with a wide mouth like yours. He could crack a walnut between his teeth. He showed me every time he saddled my big bay. How he could make me laugh.”
    I relaxed. The wandering lady had escaped her keeper. I had only to find the girl with the plump cheeks and I could get on with my warm-up.
    “Allow me to assist you, Signora,” I began, taking her outstretched hand in both of mine. “Where is your maid?”
    Her vacant eyes held my gaze for a moment, then questioned the air with sharp, darting looks.
    “Come, Signora. I’ll help you find her.” I stepped off the low dais and gave her hand a gentle tug. She descended, but twisted out of my grasp. Her pipestem arms swooped in rhythmic circles, setting her sheer draperies and the loose skin beneath them into quivering motion.
    “Sing,” she whispered. “Pretend nothing’s amiss. Or she will come. She’ll bring her rope and tie my ankle to the bedpost. She makes it tight, tight. Like this.” The increasingly distraught woman clamped her fingers around my wrist, her heavy ring pressing my flesh to the