Aria in Ice (7 page)

“Oh my gosh! That’s where I’ll be seeing
it.”

“Yes? Ah, that is good. You will get more of
a flavor of what I am to tell you, although most music lovers
believe National Theatre is better equipped for large operas
nowadays days than is the old Estates.”

“I’m sorry. I interrupted you.” I said.
“Please, go on.”

“You did not interrupt in a bad way; you
shared your happiness and I’m very pleased. It is quite nice to
hear that excitement in your voice when you talk of going to the
opera. Sadly, I have heard that most Americans your age are more
interested in hippy-hoppy video music than the lovely
classics.”

We were straying from his story, but since
God looked disappointed over my generation’s bad taste, I felt
compelled to reveal that my Dad and uncle are both very musical and
I was raised hearing Haydn and Bach issuing forth from the radio in
Dad’s office while Appalachian Mountain tunes were the order of the
day when Uncle Don taught them to his Bluegrass band. And lastly,
my cousin David (Don’s son) blasting away on his trumpet for his
mariachi band.

“Bluegrass?” God beamed at me. “I am a big
fan of Bluegrass myself. Although, I am not familiar with
‘mariachi.’ I will have to purchase a CD or two and listen.”

“I’ll get David to send you a few. He’s got
all the really good ones.”

We smiled at each other in perfect
understanding. Then, without skipping a beat, or a thought, he
continued, “When it was announced in Prague that
The Magic
Flute
would be performed here, the city went wild. Citizens of
Prague had always adored Mozart and mourned his death with much
intensity. The singers for the opera had already been chosen. Many
of the musicians had been picked as well. But this is where the
story really begins.”

I held my breath waiting for what had to be a
sad, spooky tale.

His voice was melodic and I was entranced.
“During the end of the Eighteenth Century there lived a wonderful
flautist, a man named Ignatz Jezek. He grew up in Prague, learning
music from the finest teachers. He was a gifted musician on many
levels, but with a flute to his lips, he was a genius, someone who
could play music that truly lifted the soul of man.

“Ignatz was more than an exceptional flute
player. He was a craftsman. He had been in Vienna when
The Magic
Flute
premiered. He even spent a day visiting with Mozart. The
two had become quite good friends when Ignatz met the composer the
previous months when Mozart had been in Prague working on the
coronation piece for Leopold II. Ignatz wanted to be part of the
opera’s history when
Die Zauberflote
came to Prague and he
wanted to give a gift to Mozart that no one else could give. So, he
handcrafted a special flute, one he intended to present to his
friend when he next came to the city.”

I bit my lip. “But Mozart never
returned.”

“No, he did not. Mozart passed away only
months after
Die Zauberflote
was performed in Vienna.”

“So what happened to Ignatz Jezek and his
flute?”

An expression of sheer joy made the man’s
face look like that of a teenager. “Ignatz learned that
The
Magic Flute
would be in Prague in May 1792. So he brought with
him the flute he had made and offered it to the company to use as
they wished. I have heard that the manager was thrilled and touched
by this gesture—this gift of love. But he told Mr. Jezek that the
flute would be put to better use if the flautist himself played it
as part of the orchestra. He hired him at that very moment.”

This was a very romantic tale but I started
wondering where the Duskovas fit in, and why Ignatz Jezek was
haunting the place. I said as much to the gentlemen, without
mentioning Ignatz’ presence at the castle piping tunes since I
didn’t want God labeling me a lunatic.

He smiled at me and my impatience. “This is
where the real story, the legend, if you will, enters the picture.
For, you see, even in 1792, the rumors had begun that Ignatz
somehow had created a truly enchanted flute. An instrument with
mystical powers. A magical flute for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

I sat up. “Wow. I had a feeling this was
going to lead to mystery and magic. This is marvelous. So, what’s
the rumor about the magic? What are the powers?”

“I myself do not know. I do not believe
anyone knows for certain. At the time Ignatz made the flute there
was much interest in alchemy in this part of Europe and to many,
alchemy meant turning objects into gold. I myself am certain there
is more to the magic than monetary treasure, but perhaps that is
because a man such as Ignatz would not have been tempted to infuse
music, especially a gift to his dear friend and mentor, Mozart,
with the evils of greed. But then, Ignatz and Mozart were both
freemasons and alchemy was an interest of many of the masons of the
time so perhaps this is the correct theory after all. Whatever the
power is, magic of some sort resides in the flute. This I do
believe.”

“What happened to Mr. Jezek? And the
flute?”

He looked as stricken as though what he was
about to tell me had happened the day before instead of over two
centuries ago. “Both Ignatz Jezek and the flute disappeared late in
1793. No trace of either was ever found. His children mourned for
him for many, many years.”

His sadness hit me now as well. “How
awful.”

“Indeed.” He paused. “Ignatz was living with
his sister and brother-in-law at the time.”

“Wait. Let me guess—these in-laws didn’t
happen to have the last name of Duskova, did they?”

“You’re very quick. They did. And since 1793,
there has been speculation that Ignatz knew he was going to die and
that he hid the flute somewhere in
Kouzlo Noc
.”

We both stayed silent for a minute or so. I
spoke first. “So, the pursuit of wealth and treasure often being
the nature of the human beast, I gather that this magic flute has
been the dream of fortune hunters and plunderers throughout the
years?”

“Indeed, yes, young lady. Family members of
the Duskovas. Visitors to the castle. Anyone who had even an
inkling of the story. Of course, through over two centuries of
living, most people forgot. If anyone even remembered Ignatz Jezek,
they’d sigh,
‘Ah, a tragedy, this brilliant musician gone
missing forever, but it happened years ago. On to the next
tale.’
As for the flute? Since it disappeared so completely,
there began to be much speculation as to whether it had even
existed in the first place. People do not believe in magic that
much anymore, so the treasure-seekers gradually did not come to
Kouzlo Noc
.”

The words came involuntarily. “Until
now.”

We looked at each other for a very long
moment.

Jozef softly coaxed, “Please. Did something
happen to you this morning? You saw—what?”

I couldn’t deny it. Not to my new friend the
kindly Deity. “Not saw. Heard. Someone playing or playing a
recording of a flautist trilling the opening of
Magic Flute
.
Somewhere in the north wing of
Kastle Kouzlo Noc
.” I looked
deep into the bookseller’s gentle grey eyes. “No wonder Veronika
was so freaked when I mentioned Mozart and music in the same breath
with the north wing. Being a Duskova, related to the man even
remotely, she must have lived with that legend her whole life and
understands that now that flute would be worth quite a bit, whether
or not she believes it will do tricks and turn the castle into
gold. This explains why that ghastly cemetery looks as though it
had been ransacked more than once in the last two centuries. I met
an historian searching in a crypt, scraping dirt off of names with
a dagger, and I’ll bet you anything he believes that flute is
there. Perhaps along with the body of it’s maker.” I shivered.

“What about you, young miss? What do you
believe?”

I closed my eyes for a second as I remembered
that moment when I first heard the music. “I listened to the man.
Well, that is, I heard someone play and whoever he was, he’s still
the consummate musician. I don’t care about whatever power the
flute possesses, intriguing as it is. I’d lay odds though that
Ignatz Jezek was murdered and he haunts that castle. Perhaps he
wants justice. Or he just wants the chance to play his flute?
Whatever his reasons, it appears he never left
Kastle Kouzlo
Noc
. And for centuries he’s been fending off greedy seekers of
treasure because I’d wager that even if no magic is inside that
flute, it’s worth a potful of money. And a new crop of interested
parties appears to now be on the scene.”

I didn’t add that not only was this century’s
treasure hunt already in progress, but that I was about to be
thrust into the thick of it. Franz and Johnny had circled each
other like dogs near a nest of squirrels. Johnny was buddies with
Veronika Duskova. He was also no slouch in the nosy department..
Probably was helping the Duskovas search for the flute, though why
he couldn’t just tell the truth about it pissed me off. Corbin
Lerner had been, to use a bad pun, silent as the grave, when
questioned about exactly why he wanted to exploring the 18th
Century cemetery. The Duskovas definitely knew more than they told
casual visitors to
Kouzlo Noc
. They were just too adamant
about not showing me the north wing. I guess they figured if Ignatz
did his trilling there, the flute must be hidden somewhere nearby,
since so far the graveyard hadn’t yielded any bodies or musical
instruments.

I felt ill. I suddenly knew that
Kouzlo
Noc
hadn’t seen the last violent death.

I needed air and a walk back to the hotel to
let the story seep into my brain.

The old man stayed seated but held his arms
out. I hugged him and thanked him for telling me about Ignatz, then
I started to leave. Something stopped me. I turned. “I’m sorry. My
mother brought me up better than this. I’m Abby Fouchet. I forgot
to ask your name.”

He pushed himself up with the aid of the
cane, then stood—his back straightening with pride.

“I am Jozef. I am the owner of the
bookstore.” He paused, then his flashing white teeth and twinkling
eyes turned his old features into those of a man in his twenties.”
And my last name is Jezek.”

The dragon-headed doorknocker glared at me
with a truly sinister eye this morning. Perhaps my perceptions were
colored with the new information I’d received yesterday afternoon
about the mysteries within
Kouzlo Noc
—or perhaps the durn
monster knew that my reasons for coming back to the castle so soon
weren’t quite as innocent as I’d made them out to be when I called
Veronika an hour ago to ask if I could drop in to “make notes” for
the film. At the time I’d thought Franz would be with me for his
promised tour of the castle, but he’d left a message with the front
desk clerk at my hotel telling me he had errands to run and would
try and meet up later.

Relief. I didn’t want to have company if I
got my nerve up enough to sneak away from the Duskova sisters and
take a peek into the north wing of
Kouzlo Noc
. Especially if
I happened to bump into a ghost warming up his flute for a morning
performance.

Shay hadn’t called me back since yesterday
afternoon when I’d phoned Kathy’s home in Paris to give her all the
info about renting the castle. Now, standing under the watchful eye
of the dragons, I figured I’d give my buddy another try before I
tugged on the Mozart bell-pull and got ushered into the castle to
be swallowed up by spirit-searching pursuits. Shay is usually very
good about returning calls, so I was a bit worried. I didn’t need
any extra angst before starting my flute hunting for the morning. I
hasten to add I wasn’t interested in finding a treasure trove,
although that would be a perk for the Duskovas who plainly could
use one; I just wanted to find out what happened to Ignatz
Jezek.

I dialed Shay’s cell, but again, only got her
voice mail. “
This is Shay Martin. Spill it.”

I yelled into the phone, “Shay! It’s getting
better and better. Not only is this place spooky, huge, scary,
gorgeous, and cheap. Uh, it’s also haunted. I met a very aesthetic,
attractive historian—even if he’s a possible graverobber. And
Franz, your Count Hoo-haw whatever. Who is also some serious eye
candy, albeit jumpy when the name of Mozart is mentioned. And guess
who’s playing Gregory Noble detective? Yep. I’m not supposed to be
seen as his engaged woman, which pisses me off, but at least he’s
here and not tango-dancing with some African princess in Kenya so
I’m a happy little locator. Although it’s very possible Franz and
Corbin are skunks going after treasure and this whole exercise
could end violently. I’ve already experienced two strange visions,
neither of which did not leave me with nice feelings. Okay. I’m
hanging up now. I’m about to tackle the dragons in the den and, if
I’m lucky, have a nice duet with a ghost.”

The arrival of anyone responding to my tug on
the bell pull was taking forever and I was getting nervous. Had I
upset Veronika too much yesterday by snooping in the graveryard? Or
mentioning the music I’d heard?

After an eternity of playing “Blink First”
with a non-blinking dragon, the door opened. But this was different
from yesterday’s scenario. Veronika was the one who opened the door
and Veronika was edgy and tense and tearful. Her eyes were red and
her voice cracked when she asked if I’d like refreshments, but I
forestalled her attempts to add to my waistline.

“Is it all right if I just wander today with
my notebook? I need to jot down what rooms would work best for each
scene. I don’t want to disturb you and I don’t want you to vary
whatever your routine is.”

It wasn’t a total lie. I did plan to make a
note or two about the rooms on my way to look for Ignatz Jezek and
his flute. Hopefully, she’d taken the hint that this was to be a
solo tour by Abby Fouchet, location scout.