The Infinity Concerto by Greg Bear Read Free Book Online

proper words floating up there. "Because on a summer night, who knows how many decades ago, I went to a concert and listened to a piece of music, music written by Arno Waltiri. I know the name, yes indeed. I am the only one left alive of those who were transported by his music. The only one. Boy, you must understand our circumstances. All of us here, with the exception of you, all the humans in the Realm, or Sidhedark, or Faerie Shadow, or whatever you wish to call this accursed place - we are here because music transported us."

    "Enchanted," said the auburn-haired woman.

    "Crossed us over," said a plump, black-haired man.

    "Me, when I played trumpet," said the strong fellow.

    "And I, piano," said another.

    Wolfer held up his hand to stop the voices. "I was not a musician. I was a critic of music. I have always believed that Waltiri took his vengeance on me. by setting me among musicians, forever and ever."

    "We loved music," Brecker said. "We added something to human music which it does not ordinarily have-"

    "Except for Waltiri's concerto," Wolfer interjected.

    "We took from ourselves, and made it as the Sidhe have played it for thousands of years, made it whole. And crossed over. All of us love music."

    "And here," Risky said, "there is none."

    "The Sidhe say their Realm is music," the strong man said, "but not for us."

    "Ask Lamia why you're here," Risky suggested.

    "And be careful of that woman, boy," Wolfer said, seating himself with painful slowness. "Be very careful indeed."

    Chapter Four

    Michael barely remembered stumbling up to the room after dinner, and he had no memory at all of falling asleep. But he awoke at an unknown hour, in complete darkness, to hear the room door open, footsteps and the clump of something heavy being put down on the mica flooring.

    My roommate, he thought. Savarin. He dozed off again with a vague wonder as to what sort of Queequeg the Realm could conjure.

    At dawn, his eyes flew open and he stared up at the bulges between the slats on the bunk above. He rolled over beneath the scratchy covers and stared at a trunk over against one wall, beside the washstand. The trunk was made of the ubiquitous wicker, equipped with heavy cloth straps.

    He hadn't dreamed at all during the night. Sleep had excavated a pit in his life, a time when he might as well have been dead. Nevertheless, he felt rested. He was contemplating getting out of bed when someone knocked on the door. Simultaneously, a bushy-haired head peered over the edge of the top bunk.

    "Lights up," Risky said behind the door. He heard her go down the hall.

    "Good morning," said Michael's roommate. He was about forty, with graying brown hair and large bright eyes. His nose was pronounced and his chin withdrawn, set on a thin neck with almost no Adam's apple.

    "Good morning," Michael said.

    "Ah, American?" the man asked. Michael nodded. "My name is Henrik Savarin. You're in my bunk."

    "Michael Perrin. I'm sorry."

    "From?"

    "Los Angeles."

    Savarin nimbly stepped down the bunk ladder and landed on the floor with a plop. He had slept in his brown pants and loose fitting shirt, and had wrapped his feet in felt tied with lengths of rope.

    "Short blanket on top," he explained. He untied the knots in the ropes and pulled off the felt, then slipped his feet into canvas shoes without socks. "Musician?"

    Michael shook his head. "Student, I suppose."

    "A scholar!" Savarin grinned and slid his palms down his pants legs in an effort to remove wrinkles. "In a land full of those crazy about music, a scholar like myself." He held out his hand. "Pleased to acquaint with you."

    Michael shook Savarin's hand. "I'm not really a scholar," he said.

    "They pry, you know," Savarin said, nodding at the closed door. "Myself, I regard it as most impolite to pry. So no questions for now. But." He raised his hand and smiled again. "I'll tell you. I study the people here, I study the Sidhe and their languages, and I sometimes teach the new