The Demon's Riddle

by Jessica Brown

  When she did, Kerry rushed through the process frantically, trying to compress a fifteen-minute chore into five. She ended up having to recheck almost everything she did, and in the end she thanked heaven that there had been only a few customers, who knows how badly she would have screwed up the register if it had been a busy day.

  Finally she went into the back room again, where the ever-diligent Mrs. Dalrymple was still slaving away at the books. She only came in once a week, and Kerry glanced at her, slightly annoyed, wanting to go get ready for rehearsal that night. She must have been pretty obvious about it, because finally the bookkeeper looked up at her and gave her yet another glowing grin.

  "You go on ahead, dear, I'll make sure everything's locked up before I set the books aside for your father," she said, shooing Kerry away with a flutter of her hand. "I hope everything works out for you."

  Kerry tried as hard as she could to suppress a grin, knowing even as she did that it was basically a futile effort. She felt herself turning red, and she bolted for the door before the bookkeeper could get the full effect of her color change.

  Once out the door, she sprinted for home, without knowing exactly why she was running. There were still almost four hours until rehearsal, and she really had almost nothing to do other than prepare dinner for her father, which was fairly simple since he was a relentless meat and potatoes man.

  When she got home, Kerry found herself still full of nervous energy, but with nowhere to direct it, really. She thought about making a roast for her father, but it was much too late in the day to start a cooking project like that, and besides, it would have instantly drawn her father's suspicions that something was up.

  So she went up and started trying on summer dresses for the rehearsal that night, which didn't take long because Kerry only had four of them. She thought about going downtown to buy something new, but then she realized that the selection at the only dress shop in town would only depress her. And besides, if her father was running errands or doing visits in town it was quite likely she would run into him, and that was something Kerry definitely wanted to avoid at all costs.

  Somehow she managed to extend the process of trying on dresses to take almost an hour, and when it was almost five she heard her father pull into the driveway. Kerry went downstairs to put on appearances and get dinner ready, already knowing which leftovers she would make a show of preparing.

  Her father was something of a dunce when it came to matters of the kitchen, and she knew that as long as whatever she chose was ready when he wanted it he would scarf it down, barely realizing what it was.

  Dinner conversation was scant between them, which was how Kerry preferred it, especially tonight. She made sure to ask her father about his errands, knowing she would receive a full account, and she made sure to ask extra questions, too, knowing how that pumped up his already inflated sense of self importance.

  Chapter 7

  Just...Choir Practice

  Halfway through dinner she realized she was picking at her food, and she forced herself to stop and eat, even though she wasn't very hungry, knowing that her father would notice and become annoyed if her pace of eating wasn't about half the rate of his constant shoveling.

  When she was done asking about errands, she turned her attention to Sunday's sermon, knowing that was always a popular topic of conversation. Kerry realized it was a little too early in the week to be doing this, and that there was some risk of annoying him if he hadn't already started to prepare.

  But she also knew that with his ego he would be delighted to talk about whatever ideas he might have even if he hadn't started jotting them down yet. And sure enough, a couple of quick queries got her an extended history of the Bible verse he was going to use for his sermon, an account she knew was guaranteed to send parishioners into instant slumber when he delivered it as part of the homily on Sunday.

  Somehow Kerry managed to keep from looking utterly disinterested as her father continued to plow through his discourse. Finally, though, she became aware of the time and the fact that she needed to leave soon. She knew she couldn't push her father in any way shape or form, for that would result in a lecture and a possible grounding for the night, which was the one thing she absolutely couldn't afford

  So she forced herself to appear rapt for another few minutes, until at last his speech came to a close. When it did, she practically snatched the dishes out from under him and started to clean up.

  "Plans tonight?" he asked suspiciously, his eyebrows arching.

  "Not really," she answered, trying to sounds as nonchalant as possible. "Just choir practice."

  "Ah," he said, grabbing for the newspaper at the other end of the kitchen table. "That new fellow again?"

  "Yes."

  He pulled out the front section of the paper. "What's he got you doing?"

  "The usual stuff," she said, once again trying to sound as matter of fact as possible.

  "Well, make sure it's up to snuff," he harrumphed as he ruffled the paper open. He offered a self-satisfied grin. "It has to be as good as the sermon, you know."

  Kerry tried as hard as she could to make her smile seemed genuine and playful. "Of course."

  He reached for his reading glasses, and Kerry counted to ten, knowing in a minute or two he would be lost and immersed in the paper.

  "And make me some coffee, too, would you?"

  She grunted, trying not to lose her patience. "Of course," she answered once again.

  With that, Kerry cleared the remaining dishes, made coffee and washed them, all at warp speed. Her father barely noticed, just as he had barely noticed when his mother did these things for him. Women were meant to be domestic slaves, that was his take on marriage and married life, and with the water flowing in the background she wondered how her poor mother had put up with it for so long.

  He was such an arrogant, selfish man, that side of him barely hidden behind a thin veneer of pious generosity. She couldn't wait to get out from under him, and Kerry swore to herself for at least the thousandth time that she would never allow her life to go to waste in that kind of arrangement.

  With that thought in mind, she almost dashed for the stairs after she was done. Kerry still had plenty of time to get ready, but she wanted to make sure everything was perfect -- the dress, her hair, all of it. She wanted to make an impression, and Kerry was confident that she knew exactly how to do it.

  When she got to the church, she could hear the choir buzzing as she walked up the steps. The church doors had been left open to let some fresh air in now that the sun had gone down, and the conversations were loud and almost audible from outside.

  As she got to the door, though, Kerry was startled by a sudden noise behind her. She wheeled, already knowing it was him, her surprise fading as soon as she went to turn.

  "Ms. Oberlin," Cavanaugh said quietly, and suddenly Kerry wondered if he was mocking her. "Ready for your big evening?"

  "Excuse me?" she replied, her eyes wide as saucers.

  He chuckled, sliding over to close the heavy doors as soon as he ushered her in ahead of him. "Ah, that's right," he said. "I forgot."

  "Forgot what?"

  "That I haven't told you yet."

  Kerry wanted to ask what he was talking about, but suddenly they were at the foot of the stairs leading to the balcony. They could both hear the animated conversations coming from above them, to the point where she knew they would almost drown out any attempt at normal conversation. She desperately wanted to know what he was keeping from her, but there was no time to ask another question.

  A few seconds later they were amidst the other choir members, and Kerry could hear another buzz growing from within the group, one she knew was related to the two of them arriving together. She took her place in the front row, just to the side of the conductor's podium, and Cavanaugh nodded as he made his way behind it.

  She noticed this time that his precious file was already on the stand, everything seemingly prepared and ready as he opened it
. Come to think of it, Kerry realized that she had missed the throbbing sound of the motorcycle engine, nor had she seen it as she came in. She wondered where it was and how he had gotten to the rehearsal, not to mention how easily the guest conductor had snuck up on her as she entered the church.

  Cavanaugh got right down to business, though, so there was no time to consider any of that. He began passing out sheet music, and the silence that started when he arrived on the podium was broken immediately. This was new music, songs none of them had done before, and yet another buzz of conversation rippled through the group.

  Chapter 8

  Bartok

  When she got her part, Kerry realized in part what the buzz was about. The melody line looked simple enough, and so did the harmonic breakdown, most of it seemed to be the standard three- or four-part breakdown.

  What was missing, though, was the words. There was no title, either, just staff lines and dots on the page that made her think back to her time at Oberlin, when she had done just this kind of writing with assignments for her harmony class. And come to think of it, how had Cavanaugh known she had gone to Oberlin, and why had he gone to the trouble of finding that out?

  She got no time to consider the answers to any of that, either. As soon as the sheet music was passed out, Cavanaugh tapped the baton on the podium and brought them to attention, then waited until they were all focused completely on him. Given the fascination he had inspired to date, this took place in a matter of seconds.

  He looked down at the score in front of him. "I'm sure this will be a new experience for most of you," he began. "I know you're used to singing hymns and working from the standard hymnal. The sound of this music will be somewhat familiar, but the process of learning it will be quite different."

  With that, he took a small, circular pitch pipe from his pocket and brought it to his mouth, sounding a note that Kerry recognized as a D. "That's the key we'll be in," he explained after sounding the note. "I'll be dividing the choir into four parts, which will be the same as the standard groupings when you do the hymn."

  He pointed at the left front row, which was Kerry's row, with her standing in the middle. "This group will be the first part," he indicated, looking right at her with a piercing gaze that made Kerry shiver. "We'll start with this part first."

  Suddenly he took the baton and pointed it straight at her, and Kerry, startled, realized he was going to ask her to do something. "Ms. Oberlin," he said quietly. She heard a light snicker behind her, a reaction that Cavanaugh stifled instantly with a harsh glare at whoever had found that funny. "I believe you're qualified to sing the first line for us, to get us started?"

  Her mouth opened, and all at once Kerry felt utterly foolish and embarrassed. She had done this hundreds of times during her vocal training, so many times that once she realized that he must know if was second nature for her. So why did she feel so exposed at having to do it for him now, here in this setting?

  "Um...yes," she managed to blurt out.

  "Good," he replied, holding up the baton for her. "Four/four time, moderato, slightly slower, if that works for you."

  "Uh...of course," she answered, and he smiled slightly as he cued her into the downbeat.

  She sang the notes slowly, hesitant at first, wondering what the other choir members were thinking about all this. Then she realized that she didn't care, not one bit, and her voice grew more confident as she made her way through the vocal line.

  Cavanaugh's gestures became broader and fuller as she picked up the vocal line, although it felt distinctly odd singing it this way, without words. She thought back to her sight singing classes, the first one especially, the thrill of discovering that she could do that. This was better, though, Kerry thought as he took her into the second line, being under Cavanaugh's baton, literally and figuratively. Following his lead was almost second nature, as if she had been born to do this.

  As Kerry continued to sing, she realized something else was happening within the ranks of the choir, even though she felt largely oblivious to it. Heads were turning, and by the third line almost everyone was looking at her, staring in fact, and when she finally figured this out Kerry blushed, wondering if she'd done something wrong.

  Quite the opposite, in fact. As she looked into the various faces that she knew so well, Kerry realized that her singing had changed, become more powerful and ethereal. She listened to herself for several notes and didn't recognize the sound at all. She had always been proud, knowing she had a beautiful voice, one she had been complimented for more times than she could count.

  But this was different. Kerry had no idea where the sound was coming from, it almost felt like it was originating outside her body, perhaps from Cavanaugh, perhaps from someplace even further beyond. The power of it was something she had never heard before, though, and in a way she was almost as amazed as the other choir members at what she was doing.

  When they made it through the first verse and chorus sequence, Cavanaugh stopped her suddenly, tapping the baton quietly, just three times. Kerry halted instantly, amazed that she was able to stop that quickly, it was almost as if she had known exactly what he was going to do before he did it.

  Her sound hung in the air for several seconds after she stopped, which seemed impossible since it was just her, with none of the other group members pitching in to help the sound linger. Kerry looked around, noticing that there were several open mouths scattered through the choir, and she almost became even more embarrassed when she realized that she was the one who had inspired that reaction.

  Cavanaugh, however, dropped the baton quietly, as if he had been expecting this. "Very good," he said quietly, his voice piercing the silence that reverberated around them once Kerry's voice had faded. "That was...more than adequate, Ms. Oberlin."

  Kerry blushed once again, then felt a rush of heat rise within her -- she was suddenly tired of being called Ms. Oberlin, and she wanted him to know it. He spoke before she could say anything, though, as if he was aware of her urge to protest.

  "Do you know what you've been singing, Kerry?" he asked softly.

  She started to speak, then stammered at the intimacy of hearing him use her first name for the first time. Kerry racked her brain, the vocal line she had just sung felt so familiar, and the name of the composer was right at the tip of her tongue, but just out of reach at that instant.

  "Bartok?" she finally blurted out, recognizing the melody as something from one of Bartok's folk songs she had heard at Oberlin.

  Cavanaugh's face lit up in a broad grin, the first time Kerry had seen him express genuine emotion.

  "Exactly!" he exclaimed.

  Chapter 9

  Trained and Programmed

  A surge of something like electricity shot through Kerry's body at the way she had pleased him, and she knew she wanted more of that. Much more.

  Just as quickly as he praised her, though, Cavanaugh went back to the piece. He split off the rest of the first row and told them they were taking the second part, then walked them through the vocal line, which was quite similar to what Kerry had just sung. Without the words, though there was a slight hesitation within this group as they acclimated to this new format.

  Once they got it, though, the sound was excellent -- not as thrilling as what Kerry had just done, of course, but close enough to set off a ripple of beaming smiles in the front row.

  From there, Cavanaugh moved to the back, slowly piecing together the third and fourth parts. These two parts were a bit more of a struggle initially, with several false starts as part of the process. Once it came together, though, the results were sterling, and Kerry watched him work carefully, comparing his process to that of some of her better teachers at Oberlin.

  Except there was no comparison. Cavanaugh was in a league of his own when it came to doing this -- he knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it, with a minimal amount of fuss and extra repetitions.

  He neither cajoled nor encouraged anyone, he simply went forward, kno
wing intuitively what to do next if a particular step failed or didn't quite work the way he initially expected. His intuition was remarkably accurate, and Kerry found herself increasingly fascinated as he continued with his work, eager to hear what the final results would wound like.

  She didn't have to wait long. The director got right to it once he was through rehearsing the individual parts, jumping them right into the full piece.

  The results were amazing. It sounded like a cross between a hymn and a Gregorian chant, Kerry couldn't decide which. There was something unique and ethereal about it, a quality Kerry had never heard before that she couldn't relate to any particular composer or individual period. Everyone in the choir was stunned when they were finished, no one said anything, and Cavanaugh smiled at her, as if to say "this is what I do."

  Once again, though, the choirmaster took little time between pieces, collecting the Bartok and passing out yet another piece of sheet music. The format was the same, no words, just staves full of notes, although there were just as few notes in this piece as there had been in the Bartok.

  The process of putting it together was identical as well. Kerry was the focal point for a second time, and this time she took to his direction with confidence, with no hesitation. Her sight singing chops had kicked in, and she recognized the simple melody almost immediately, for it was neither as foreign or as arcane as the Bartok had seemed the first time she sang it.

  The rest of the choir knew it as well, because it was familiar, so familiar that Kerry was tempted to add the words, that's how obvious it was. Even classical neophytes in the choir knew the tune as being from Dvorak's "Going Home," and Kerry let it ring out across the balcony, out into the rafters of the church itself. The sound reverberated and echoed back as she sang, so much so that they were able to hear it twice and then a third time, each repetition hot on the heels of the last.