7

It took several days and nights, staying at inns along the way, before they reached the outskirts of Salzburg. Bernhard had thought they would march upon Düsterburg, but the Maestro appeared to have other ideas. Beethoven had shared little of his plans with Bernhard and this led to no small amount of frustration on Bernhard's part. He disliked not knowing what Beethoven intended.

He disliked even less the great composer's actions along the way. In almost every inn, the Maestro had found himself one or more ladies with whom he fornicated. Never remembering their names once they had left the village or town. And he ate and drank like a sailor, fresh from the seas and hungry for everything a ship could not provide. The Maestro showed himself a glutton in all things.

Whenever Bernhard tried to open up a conversation about their task, of finding the Vampire Lord and putting an end to his wicked existence, the Maestro would brush aside Bernhard's questions, furnishing only platitudes and vague forewarnings of how to fight once they found the creature. Bernhard had started to believe that the Maestro had no plan at all and Bernhard's military mind despised such an omission. Without proper planning, every campaign was doomed to failure before a shot became fired.

"Maestro, should we be wasting time here when we could have reached the creature's sanctuary by now?" Bernhard hurried to keep pace with Beethoven as he weaved through Salzburg's streets, his head covered by his cloak hood. "Maestro!"

"Shhh!" Beethoven spun on his heel, making furtive glances all around. "I told you, call me Beety, or Luddy! Ears are pricked everywhere, eh!"

Beethoven licked his lips as he adjusted the hood of his cloak, sending distrustful glances towards everyone that passed. He turned, once again, and began to stride with purpose. It appeared the great man knew exactly where he needed to go and Bernhard wished he had an inkling of that destination. He caught up to Beethoven again.

"I merely wish to know why we are here ... ah ... Luddy." They turned yet another corner and Beethoven stopped, looking both ways, and then decided upon a direction. Bernhard whispered his concerns. "The longer that creature lives, the more lives he could destroy. I am indebted to you, and to the memory of my beloved. I will aid you in this, but you must tell me your plans!"

The Maestro appeared ready to ignore Bernhard's protests until Bernhard grabbed his arm and dragged him to the side, nestling in the mouth of an alley. Beethoven looked about ready to rip his arm from Bernhard's hand, but Bernhard held fast. He had spent far too much time in ignorance. He tried not to draw attention to themselves and, finally, Beethoven sighed.

"Fighting vampires doesn't come cheap, eh? You think those hazel batons are picked up from the ground?" Now it appeared Beethoven didn't care who saw. The man was a whirlwind of contradiction. He waved one of the hazel batons in Bernhard's face. "We're here to furnish a commission. I write some music, I get paid, we're on our merry way, eh? We buy more supplies. Shouldn't take more than a day. Or so."

"You write some music and get paid?" Bernhard had not seen the Maestro touch a blank sheet of music paper since they had met. He hadn't seen him play an instrument since that first night. "Easy as that? I hope you already have something written, or your patron may be disappointed."

"Of course I have something written!" The Maestro tapped his temple, giving Bernhard a wink. "In here. I've been working on it for days."

That seemed to end the Maestro's interest in explaining himself. With a furtive glance to the street, he stepped out once more and headed away, at pace. Bernhard followed the great man until they reached a music shop. Outside, the shop appeared like any other, but, inside, Bernhard found the place a marvel.

He had never seen so many instruments outside of a full orchestra, perhaps even more than that. While Beethoven fussed around near a section that held sheet music, Bernhard toured the shop floor, admiring the grand pianos, the violins and cellos and bass'. Each instrument so well made that even Bernhard, who had no musical talents, could do nothing but admire their construction. He felt privileged to even stand in the shop.

His reverie, however, became shattered as Beethoven slammed two blank sheets of music paper upon the polished lid of one, particularly beautiful, piano. In his other hand, the Maestro held a pen and an ink bottle, almost toppling the ink onto the piano. He licked the nib of the pen, dipped it into the ink, and began to write.

Within only minutes, both sheets of music paper were now filled and the Maestro stared at them both, his head bobbing up and down and tilting as he reviewed the composition. After a second pass, satisfied, Beethoven began waving the sheets in the air, attempting to dry them. He looked at Bernhard and grinned.

"Is that it?" Bernhard carefully lifted one of the sheets to look at the notations, but he had no idea what any of it meant. "I always thought it took longer. Hours, days, even weeks of gruelling thought. Drafts torn up and thrown away. That looked ... too easy."

"I told you, I've been writing this for days, eh. Do you read music?" Bernhard shook his head at the Maestro's question. "Listen."

Bernhard thought the Maestro were about to start playing one of the exquisite pianos that surrounded them. Instead, Beethoven placed a finger under the first set of notes on one of the music sheets and began to hum the composition. The forefinger of his other hand rose and fell in time with the music and, once finished, Beethoven raised his eyebrows, awaiting Bernhard's thoughts.

It ran a little shorter than Bernhard expected. A little under two minutes. And he had trouble following the movements of both of the Maestro's fingers; the one passing under the notes and the other conducting. He didn't know what to say. Listening to someone humming a composition gave no indication of how good the music was until heard on the proper instruments.

"I like it. I suppose." He saw the Maestro's face darken. "I mean, I know nothing about music and I expect it sounds better on its intended instrument. But, I did like it."

"Idiots!" Beethoven turned away, folding one of the sheets as he moved back to the sheet music section, where the shopkeeper awaited him. "I'm surrounded by idiots and barbarians!"

Bernhard didn't know what more he could say. He watched as the Maestro placed one of the sheets into an envelope, writing his own address in Vienna upon it. That one he handed to the shopkeeper, along with a number of coins. The second one, he rolled into a tube and had the shopkeeper tie with a ribbon. That one he tucked into his coat.

Without saying another word, the Maestro rushed out of the shop, forcing Bernhard to run to keep up. This time, they strode in a different direction, moving past businesses and smaller housing, until they began to pass through streets that held far more grand façades. Large houses, the kind owned by nobility or rich merchants, began to pass them by and still the Maestro had said nothing.

In the dying rays of the Sun, Bernhard wondered whether he had truly insulted the Maestro. It wasn't something that he could help. Some people were more musically inclined and Bernhard was not among those people. He enjoyed music, appreciated it a great deal, but he had never immersed himself in the nuances of orchestral work. He had rarely had the time.

He came from a family of career military. From a young age, he had learned the arts of war, not the gentle arts. He had never painted, never learned an instrument, or spent much time reading fiction. The expectations of his family for him lay in the army. In the cavalry. And he had excelled in the career, choosing to buy out of his commission soon after the end of the war. He had wanted more. More than war and weaponry. He had wanted a wife. Until the fateful night upon which he met the Maestro, he had thought that little dream achievable.

None of that mattered anymore. The loss of his beloved had forced him to take up arms once again. Not against the tyranny of a Frenchman that wanted to rule the entirety of Europe, but against beasts of legend and myth, alongside perhaps the greatest musician of all time. A musician that, even now, hammered upon the door of an enormous house. After several more, thunderous knocks, the door opened. A servant appeared, spoke to the Maestro and disappeared.

Seconds later, an impeccably dressed man appeared at the door and seemed enthused to see Beethoven. They shook hands and Beethoven urged Bernhard to come closer.

"Your excellency, this is my associate, Bernhard Gerber. A fine soldier who fought with bravery and honour for Austria." The Maestro had changed how he talked, favouring a more refined choice of words quite unlike how he had spoken since Vienna. "Now, if you could lead us to the changing room, we can begin the concert in moments."

Bernhard struggled to understand what was happening. The Maestro had made no mention of a concert and Bernhard felt far too dirty and road-weary for such an occasion. No matter, the Maestro dragged him inside anyway.