Modern Magick

Music and Misadventure: 15

'Now that we're here,' I said, as we trudged upstairs towards the grander halls, 'how does one go about mending the lyre?'

'I don't know, precisely,' said my father. 'But it is to do with its song. Something has been altered in its melody.

'Which means what?'

'Means it needs to remember how it used to sing.'

'Vague.'

'It is the best I've got.'

'Then we'll take it. Are these old songs recorded somewhere, by chance?'

'That is my hope. There used to be a library, of sorts.'

'I love libraries.'

He smiled sideways at me. 'We have that in common. But the library I speak of is not quite what you're thinking. This is the Library of Music, and while it has some books of written melodies, the majority of its collections are composed of other records.'

'Such as?'

'You'll see.'

On our previous visits, the King's Halls had been so absolutely empty that we'd grown careless, traipsing about the place like we owned it.

When we arrived at the Library of Music, that changed. We'd heard the distant strains of faerie melodies as we'd walked, growing nearer and louder with every step; 'That is not unusual,' Father had said. 'There is always music in the Library, with or without anyone to play it.' But as we stepped over the threshold, we found that Tom was right — and also wrong.

I saw at once what he had meant about "other records". Melodies hung all about the doorway as we entered the vaulted chamber, strung together like chains of bubbles — or beads. I reached out to one, touched it; I couldn't resist, any more than I could resist caressing a particularly beautiful book. The moment my fingers brushed its iridescent blue shell, it sparked with a pale light, and a lilting song filled my mind, sung by a hundred voices. It had an air of antiquity about it, and I judged it early modern in era.

There was no restraining myself after that, of course, for they were everywhere: wafting in puffs of light and mist from wall to wall, clustering in multitudes under the ceiling, and filling up the corners. Some attempt had been made to organise them, for the large, square room was fitted with a great number of clear glass cabinets; behind those locked doors waited many a melody, bobbing to their own tunes. But the quantity had far outpaced the librarians' efforts to store them, and the result was a charming chaos. I went through it like a pig in a cake shop, greedily absorbing melody after melody until my ears rang and I could scarce hear myself think.

Jay was just as enchanted as I. 'Indira has to see this place,' he enthused, his dark eyes alight.

'Oh? Is she musical, too?'

'We all are.'

'All the Patels? What a talented family you do have.'

'Music is a skill to be mastered, like any other.'

'No doubt, but you do seem to have mastered an unusual quantity of skills between you, and at a young age to boot.'

'I don't sleep much.'

Neither did Indira, apparently. Was that by choice or happenstance? If by choice: why were they so driven?

And just how many siblings did Jay have, anyway?

Before I could ask any of these questions, though — once again displaying my splendid talent for getting distracted from the main point — a dry voice interrupted us. 'Were you looking for anything in particular?'