Confessions of a Piano Demon by Irene Radford

Author:Irene Radford [Radford, Irene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61138-812-1
Publisher: Book View Cafe

My thighs burned, and my breathing came rapidly, putting undue pressure on my chest. How high had we climbed? The shallow steps with a dip in the middle grew narrower about every ten feet in height. Cold penetrated to my bones. My feet grew numb and slipped with a moment of inattention. I had to keep one hand on each wall as we wound around a central column.

I thought there would be an exit at the ground floor level. Nothing visible. Not a mismatched stone, a deeper shadow, not even a landing. Just more steps leading upward. I was glad Archie had my back in case I faltered.

The people ahead of me moved slower and slower. We all gasped for air, even the experienced climbers, who of all of us should be the most fit and used to heights.

Claustrophobia hovered around the edges of my perceptions.

“Mr. Driscoll, is this all illusion or are we losing air?” Westerbrook called down to us.

Archie paused and stared at the burning cross on his chest. He pulled the chain upward so that the pendant hung on the outside of his clothing. “I think it’s an illusion. Try turning around and face downward, see if your breathing is easier.”

We all did that. It was a bit tight, even for me, and I was the smallest person in the group.

Suddenly the spiral opened, the stairs lost a lot of their slipperiness, and the dip in the middle flattened out so that it was more an inconvenience than a threat to our balance.

I dragged in a huge lungful of air, replenishing my depleted body. Two more deep breaths and I was almost back to normal.

“When you turn back to face upward, keep your eyes closed until you adjust to the real environment,” Archie advised. “Let your hands and your ears guide you for a few steps. That should banish the illusion.” Then he muttered a few words in a strange language. I thought it might be ancient Celtic, based on my memories of the nightmare Euterpius had given me of the bard by the campfire.

“What was that about?” I asked him.

“Insurance. I’ve been reading up on demon incantations.”

“Wouldn’t it have been prudent to do that before we were nearly killed in an avalanche of rocks?”

“There isn’t a general spell against all dangers. I have to know what I’ve encountered before I know how to protect us.”

Either way, the stairwell opened, and the air seemed fresher.

“Here we go,” Westerbrook chortled. “Seems like we are actually spiraling around the entire tower, not one tiny space straight up from the dungeon.”

We pressed forward to find him shaking the latch of a door leading off a landing.

“How high are we?” I asked.

“Ah coonted t’ steps,” said the short and wiry climber. He seemed too bright and cheery for someone so recently oxygen deprived. But then he was a professional rock climber. They were all crazy, in my opinion. “Only two storeys, that makes this the musicians’ loft above the Great Hall.”

“It felt like two hundred steps,” I grumbled.

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