Waiting inside was Monty, the owner/bartender/cook, thick-bearded and long-haired, with a dark, intense stare, visually reminiscent of the mad monk Rasputin. Despite his appearance, his demeanor was, as usual, light and jovial. “Brave gentlemen,” he said, addressing them with theater.
Murmured greetings came from the players as they began to get ready: “Monty.” “M.” “Boss.”
Art was the only one who approached the older man with a smile and embrace. “Good to see you again, Monty. Thanks again for letting us play.”
“Young sir, if it weren’t for you lot, I would’ve gone out of business years ago. Thank you for putting asses in the seats, as it were.”
“Just doing our jobs.”
Monty leaned in close to Art’s ear, spoke in a hushed voice: “Listen, that bloke from Destiny records just walked in. JP’s seating him at the table in the front-left. Big fellow, black leather coat.”
“Hope he likes the show,” Art said, politely glancing around in vain for the Dreadnought he hoped that Juniper had left for him.
“I’m certain he will,” Monty continued. “When you get that worldwide record contract, don’t forget your old pal Monty. Promise you’ll stop by from time to time and play a song or two? You know, for old times’ sake?”
“Gladly,” Art said, turning his full attention back to Monty. “You know, to be honest, no matter where we’ve played in the last few years, I always imagined myself right here, on your stage, where it all began. Chases away the butterflies, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know precisely what you mean.”
Art looked at him, curious. “Monty, have you been holding out on us? Were you ever in a band yourself?”
“Oh, let’s not let the past enter into this. I’d rather keep the spotlight on you boys. You really are my favorite band in the world, and that’s no lie. Are you going to play ‘Council of Trees’ again? Wonderful song. Reminds me of the first summer I read Tolkien.”
Joe was tuning his bass. “You know,” he corrected, “It’s ‘Counsel of Trees’ with an ‘s’ - not like an actual council of… tree-people.”
“What’s the difference? Sounds the same, doesn’t it?”
“Thank you, Monty,” Art said. “And you… you’ll always be our favorite bartender, pub manager… and an excellent friend.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh?”
“I made sure Mr. Destiny Records is going to love your set tonight.”
Art looked at him expectantly. Kai looked up from the drum kit he was assembling.
“I baked some pot into his bread,” said Monty. “Last of the wild Cornish blend.”
“Alchemist!” cried Kai.
Just then, a shadow appeared in the doorway that opened onto the stage. The feminine figure of Juniper, wrapped in a purple-violet-and-blue Indian sari and silk shawl, silver jewelry sparkling in the half-light. She dressed in a way that accentuated her hips, and beautiful hips they were. She stepped into the light of the green room and let Art see the black, loose curls of her hair framing her gorgeous face.
“Hello, Arthur.”
“Juniper.”
“I just came to wish you luck, and give you this,” she said, bringing around from behind her the old guitar case, heavy with promise. The subtle perfume she wore now reached his senses, bringing with it a swirl of ecstatic memory. The good old days.
“Thank you… for keeping it safe.”
“It’s yours,” she said. “He gave it to you.”
“After you charmed him.”
She smiled knowingly. “I only wanted him to like you.”
When Art took the case, their fingers brushed against each-other, and they immediately looked into each-other’s eyes. “How have you been, Jun?”
“Good, actually. I’ve been developing a new partner. Have you met Xavier?” A tall, handsome man with dark, short-cut hair appeared behind her. The green room had been crowded before; now it was shoulder-to-shoulder.
Xavier clearly had charisma, but spoke in a surprisingly quiet voice. “Art,” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet you. The rest of you, too. I look forward to hearing your performance.” He swallowed, and his eyes moved from side, never looking at anyone directly.
Something… odd there, Art thought. He glanced over at the calculated smile on Juniper’s lips. Xavier’s nervousness seemed to be more than jitters. He knows… something. What it was, though, he had no idea.
He didn’t have time to inquire. Monty said: “You’re on.” The hirsute tavern-owner squeezed through the door, past Xavier and Juniper, and on to the small stage. The house lights immediately went down. “Ladies and gentlemen,” his amplified voice echoed out into the darkened room, the Raventree is proud to give you… Green World!”
Art and the boys walked onstage greeted by cheers and applause. Art wielded the large guitar as the gleaming, impressive thing of beauty it was.
Joe, tall and lean, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and black jeans, stood behind Art on his left, a good match for the long, polished Fender Precision bass guitar slung over his shoulder.
Gavin and Kai took their seated positions behind their instruments as well—the Hammond organ and a small drum kit, respectively.
Art looked out into the darkened crowd. Apart from the usual familiar faces, he saw the big man in an oversized leather coat and cap, likely the aforementioned Ian Green, with a tall mug of nut-brown ale in front of him. He looked to be enjoying the bread as well.
Art strummed out the first few chords of “Music of the Spheres,” a short, solo guitar part in d-minor framing the emotional weight of the piece, a ballad that told of a Renaissance musician seeking to find resonance between certain musical notes and the rotations of the planets in the heavens. The crowd was grooving along, heads nodding, spellbound by the music.
Right before the bass and drums came in, Art’s top two strings snapped, drifting down to hang listlessly from the instrument’s bridge. The rest of the band saw it and stared incredulously. Art couldn’t believe it either. After a couple of simple chords? How can this be?
He had to think fast. He had no backup instrument, the song needed a guitar, and he felt in his bones that the time of their older songs had come and gone. The fans—surely the label boss —would sense that. Play on.
He nodded to the others and they followed his lead. The bass came in, accompanied by soft, somnambulant drumming, and then the eerie sound of the Hammond. Thank God, Arthur thought. Joe, Gavin and Kai sound absolutely perfect. If they can’t carry me, we’re done for. He sang:
“Oh-h-h, the lines traced in the sky for me
By celestial bodies, worlds their own
But as below, so above
The golden trumpet sounds its love
I think that I begin to hear the music of the spheres.
Is this what man was meant to know?
Henry King says ‘blasphemy,’
But Mercury speaks on violin strings
And as above, so below
Jove’s trombones begin to blow
I think that I begin to hear the music of the spheres.
Is this what man was meant to know?
Oh-h-h Saturn ringed by cellos
And Venus flutes play all the while
A song so sweet and mellow
Gliding ships upon the Nile
But as below, so above
The golden trumpet sounds its love
I think that I begin to hear the music of the spheres
The answer to all is clear
Though Henry’s men locked it away
The answer’s high eternally
They cannot keep the secret dark
The music of the spheres.”
The crowd showed their delight with thunderous applause. Art ventured a glance at Mr. Green, who noted the performance with a few claps—not exactly a ringing endorsement.
“Thank you,” Arthur said into the mic. As he bowed, the rest of the band stood and bo
wed with him.
Monty usually came out on stage as soon as the band finished on account of some customers tending to leave unless they had some assurance the show would go on, but this time he let the band enjoy their applause, and only came out after it died down and the house lights came back up. “Now no one go anywhere, and please order another round! One of the members of our second band tonight has been quiet for some time, but she’s back now, and better than ever. Ladies and gentlemen, Juniper and Xavier!”
As Art, Gavin, Joe and Kai left the stage, they passed by Juniper and Xavier. Juniper walked confidently by, tambourine in hand, and Xavier carried a guitar. Not just any guitar—another Dreadnought.
Thoughts came flooding back to Art; not one but two strings snapping, almost ruining the performance. She must have sabotaged it. She knew Green was coming tonight and sabotaged the guitar so hers would be the standout performance of the night. In anger, he reached out and grasped Juniper’s arm. “What have you done!?”
She was clearly shaken by the outburst, but managed to wrench her arm out of his grip and left him there, staring, as she continued onstage. As soon as the lights came on and illuminated her face, all nervousness seemed to leave her.
Art turned away and followed his band-mates into the green room. Monty was in there as well, shocked look upon the old, bearded face.
Kai spoke up. “What happened? Did she cut the strings?”
“I’m not sure, but this is not the Martin that Donovan signed. It’s a clever fake,” Art said. “That’s the real one there.” He pointed onstage to the guitar worn by a very nervous-looking Xavier.
As soon as Juniper and Xavier started to play, they could hear the clear, deep tones coming from the Dreadnought, clear as a summer night, enchanting and undeniably glorious.
“So we sabotage her song—same as she did to us!” said Kai.
“No,” Art said. “We’re not like her. The truth is in the music. If Green can’t hear it, if all he hears is a couple of snapped strings, that’s his problem.”
“And ours,” Joe added. “If we ever want a record deal and everything that goes with it. Touring somewhere beyond Cornwall, for example.”
Art took a deep breath and let it out. “Our songs will give us fame and glory, I know they will.”
Monty broke in. “Aha! It’s perfect! Arthur!”
“I prefer Art.”
“No, no,” said Monty. “It’s the battle at Raventree! In the old days, when Arthur was king, it was said he had a mighty duel with Accolon, a knight from Gaul. Morgan Le Fay switched the swords so that Arthur was fighting against his own weapon, Excalibur. “This,” he said, gesturing all around him, “is that site, this is where it happened. I named the pub after that duel.”
Precisely the sort of thing a man who decorates his pub with tin ravens would say, but still—Art mused for a moment. What if he and Juniper had unconsciously let themselves be drawn into those ancient roles. Those characters had been re-invented by other artists—writers, actors, filmmakers—why not musicians?
Through the green room door, he peered onstage, saw Xavier with the true Dreadnought, a decent enough musician, doing his best to honor it. The scheming Juniper stood next to him in her colorful silks, coaxing soft rings in gentle time from her tambourine, and sang:
“O listen, patrons, for a time, and hear me tell my tale
How as a girl I rambled here from Scotland hill and dale
I met an artist playing here, outside among the trees
Who said my name, and showed me what I truly longed to be.
But though he loved me truly, and treated me with care
He loved his band with equal heart—I had no wish to share
So the fateful night came down, he brought me to the band
They fought the way all brothers do, I only gave a hand
You’ll get no joy in this, my friends, remember what I say
You’ll never sleep the same again once you embrace the way
Of hearts that break most naturally there is no one to blame
But hearts you break to please yourself will never be the same
So one by one I turned the band away from true love’s heart
Making sad both him and me, the player of the part
When at last we were alone, he had no will to live
No desire to take from me, and no desire to give
Now we live our separate lives, and he reformed the band
I curse the day I rambled south and made it to this land
I wish that I had never thought to come up with a plan
To pry him from the friends he loved so he could be my man.”
When it ended, Juniper had her head bowed, raven tresses hanging down, and when she raised it, the crowd could see hot tears glittering on her pale cheeks. They gave up a mighty cheer, the loudest Art had ever heard. Xavier smiled beside her, looking relieved it was over.
“Did she just…?” Kai said.
“Admit to making our lives miserable for the last three years? Why, yes,” said Joe.
Art was silent, thoughtful.
Juniper took a second bow to the delight of the enthusiastic patrons, then exited the stage, and came into the tiny green room, where Art and his bandmates were waiting.
There was a moment where Juniper came face-to-face with Art where she looked like a deer-in-headlights, held in place by something irresistible in his gaze, but then Art approached her, put his arms around her, hugged her close to him so their hearts were only an inch apart, and kissed her wet cheeks.
“I had no idea,” he said.
“I’m sure it’s my fault,” she said, trying a smile on for size. “I’m sorry I was so horrid to you and your friends. I’m selfish. I never understood how you could be so giving to so many… it made me feel... unimportant.”
“Probably an only child,” mumbled Kai.
Just then, the other green room door opened—the one that exited out to the main room in the pub. Standing there was the large, leather-jacketed figure of Ian Green, representative of Destiny Records.
Green smiled and extended a big hand with a business card… to Juniper.
She cautiously leaned forward and took it.
“I’m Ian Green from Destiny,” the big man said. “Just came in through town to see the show. Oh, incidentally, I’m looking to develop a new band for the label, someone to open the show for my stars Avalon Road. They have the number five record in England right now, you know.”
“That’s not bad,” said Juniper, bright-eyed. “We’re interested.”
“Of course you are,” Green said, offering her his handkerchief. “I appreciate the honesty of your music. Please, come this way, dear lady, I’d like to discuss the future with you. Your friend is welcome to come, too,” he gestured to Xavier.
Green explained further as the three of them walked off, “I have plans to bring Destiny’s bands to the eyes and ears of the world through a new TV channel and my partner’s ambitious nationwide chain of music-themed restaurants….”
The lads were left stunned.
“Appreciate the honesty!?” Kai called out. “Oi! Did you actually listen to what her song was about!?”
Art put a hand on Kai’s shoulder, and that calmed him. “It’s ok, old son. Perhaps the music business isn’t cut out for us, after all.”
“W… what are you saying?” Joe stammered.
“Well,” Art said. “We’ve tried for years to bring our music to the people, and we’ve gotten it out there every chance we had. I’m not sure they’re as interested in taking that journey with us as we are in sharing it with them. Gents, it’s almost 1970. Perhaps we should take a break and… see what happens.”
Old Monty was silent, eyes downcast.
Xavier, in the meantime, had come back and was standing at the door. He carefully unslung the true Dreadnought and offered it to Art.
Art reverently accepted the instrument and smiled. He tried to look Xavier in the eye, but Xavi
er couldn’t bring himself to meet Art’s gaze.
“I should…” the tall Frenchman gestured to Juniper at the table with the music boss.
“Go,” Art said. “Thank you… and good luck.”
Xavier walked off.
As soon as he was out of earshot, the band started up again. “Are you… disbanding us?” said Gavin. “I thought, despite some… er… technical difficulties, that was our best performance yet.”
“It was,” said Art. “You all will go on, you’ll join other bands, or start your own, and I’m certain they’ll be great. As a performer, though, I’m ready to take a break.”
“But it won’t be the same without you,” said Joe. “You’re our frontman! You’ve always kept us, you know, focused on the vision.”
“There’s something to be said for quitting at one’s height. It’s the closest thing to immortality a man can have. Remember me at my best. I’ve got a couple of years on most of you, and I was involved with this kind of music from the start, but the world wants to move on, lads, and I’m afraid I’ve become a reflection of the past. The best thing I can do for you as artists—and as my friends—is move aside, and let you carry your own visions forward.”
They stared at him. Gavin looked like he was getting a bit teary-eyed.
No further words from the band needed to be spoken after that. They took turns approaching Art, their former leader, shaking his hand, or embracing him with the solemnity of soldiers shipping off to war. But this isn’t war, Art thought, this is music, and in that, there is hope.
CHAPTER 24
At the conclusion of Fox’s story, the wagon lurched to a stop again. Lance put his hands on his knees, about to get up, when Fox held out a hand.
“No,” he said. “We’re at the gates of the town.”
Maddie peered out the window. In front of them was a massive wall made of layers and layers of interlocking logs, about twenty feet high. The invaders were peering down at them from sentry points, crossbows ready. One of them shouted down to Fox, voice hoarse, asking why they were there. Lance and Maddie followed the rest of the troupe outside.
“We’re here to share the stories of Arthur, our Once and Future King. We’ve performed in many towns in the area! Surely you’ve heard of us?”
Tales of the Once and Future King Page 21