starkly built Shelterate office – we were learning to get through the interrogations more quickly, so everyone on the tour saw the delays as no more than a temporary irritant. Rather more interesting to me was the invariable presence of the group of young people I had noticed on arrival in Wesler.
Some of them were always there, gathered outside the Shelterate offices, casually dressed, lounging about in the sun or hanging back under their canopy. They seemed to be waiting for us: there on arrival, there as we left. For some reason I felt awkward in their presence.
I had a worrying but imprecise feeling that at first I had interpreted as threat. Why were they there? What did they want? Why did some of them carry knives? But they never approached any of us, they never said anything to us, and in fact when you looked directly towards them they barely seemed to notice us at all, letting their gaze fall. I slipped into the habit of looking quickly towards them but immediately looking away again, averting my gaze, so that I registered them without properly observing them.
After we had landed at a few islands I realized that some of them were the same individuals we saw on every island – somehow they managed to arrive at our destination before us, somehow they knew when and where we would arrive. There was a core of about five of these people who were always there to greet us.
But there were others who appeared less regularly – they all were roughly the same age, wore the same kind of scruffy clothes, lounged around in the same mannered body language of indolence or disdain. These extra people came and went, different faces, similar appearance. On the island of Quy the group had swelled to about fifteen, but other islands attracted smaller groups. The core of them remained. They did not like us, I decided, not knowing who or what they were.
Oddly, I seemed to be the only member of the tour who took any notice of them. No one else seemed to notice them, or react to them if they did.
The tour ended on Temmil, island home of the man who had plagiarized me. This fact added a piquancy of interest to my visiting the place, but by the time we arrived I was barely thinking about him at all. Everything still felt as if the tour was going to work out well, that there was nothing that could go wrong.
Nothing did, on Temmil, Choker of Air.
20
The main town on the island, and the only large port, was called Temmil Waterside. There was a newly opened concert hall in Waterside, a matter of great local civic pride. We were shown around it soon after we landed. It had a large and comfortable auditorium, and the best acoustics and backstage facilities I had ever encountered.
We were concluding our island tour with a gala concert – five main works would be performed, with two intervals and a period at the end set aside in case there were calls for encores. My piano concerto was to be played after the first interval – the soloist Cea Weller lived in Waterside and during our first day in the town she came to be introduced to the orchestra.
I was keen to meet her, to discuss her interpretation of my work, but our guest conductor for the night, the world-renowned Monseignior Bayan Cron, did not like the idea. I had expected that might happen, so I did not insist. However, Msr Cron did suggest I could have a brief meeting with her. He would be present.
I was with Cea Weller for only a few minutes. I found her personal manner soothing and encouraging, her approach to music brisk and professional. Her questions and observations were germane, polite and accurate, but we had barely begun to speak when Msr Cron steered her away from me.
The rehearsals went on without me, because from the second day I was running a compositional workshop elsewhere in the town. I was able to see something of the surrounding countryside. The town and harbour of Temmil Waterside were picturesque, but most of the interior was on a different scale of grandeur.
Some of them were always there, gathered outside the Shelterate offices, casually dressed, lounging about in the sun or hanging back under their canopy. They seemed to be waiting for us: there on arrival, there as we left. For some reason I felt awkward in their presence.
I had a worrying but imprecise feeling that at first I had interpreted as threat. Why were they there? What did they want? Why did some of them carry knives? But they never approached any of us, they never said anything to us, and in fact when you looked directly towards them they barely seemed to notice us at all, letting their gaze fall. I slipped into the habit of looking quickly towards them but immediately looking away again, averting my gaze, so that I registered them without properly observing them.
After we had landed at a few islands I realized that some of them were the same individuals we saw on every island – somehow they managed to arrive at our destination before us, somehow they knew when and where we would arrive. There was a core of about five of these people who were always there to greet us.
But there were others who appeared less regularly – they all were roughly the same age, wore the same kind of scruffy clothes, lounged around in the same mannered body language of indolence or disdain. These extra people came and went, different faces, similar appearance. On the island of Quy the group had swelled to about fifteen, but other islands attracted smaller groups. The core of them remained. They did not like us, I decided, not knowing who or what they were.
Oddly, I seemed to be the only member of the tour who took any notice of them. No one else seemed to notice them, or react to them if they did.
The tour ended on Temmil, island home of the man who had plagiarized me. This fact added a piquancy of interest to my visiting the place, but by the time we arrived I was barely thinking about him at all. Everything still felt as if the tour was going to work out well, that there was nothing that could go wrong.
Nothing did, on Temmil, Choker of Air.
20
The main town on the island, and the only large port, was called Temmil Waterside. There was a newly opened concert hall in Waterside, a matter of great local civic pride. We were shown around it soon after we landed. It had a large and comfortable auditorium, and the best acoustics and backstage facilities I had ever encountered.
We were concluding our island tour with a gala concert – five main works would be performed, with two intervals and a period at the end set aside in case there were calls for encores. My piano concerto was to be played after the first interval – the soloist Cea Weller lived in Waterside and during our first day in the town she came to be introduced to the orchestra.
I was keen to meet her, to discuss her interpretation of my work, but our guest conductor for the night, the world-renowned Monseignior Bayan Cron, did not like the idea. I had expected that might happen, so I did not insist. However, Msr Cron did suggest I could have a brief meeting with her. He would be present.
I was with Cea Weller for only a few minutes. I found her personal manner soothing and encouraging, her approach to music brisk and professional. Her questions and observations were germane, polite and accurate, but we had barely begun to speak when Msr Cron steered her away from me.
The rehearsals went on without me, because from the second day I was running a compositional workshop elsewhere in the town. I was able to see something of the surrounding countryside. The town and harbour of Temmil Waterside were picturesque, but most of the interior was on a different scale of grandeur.
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