“Got it,” I said. “And I’m sorry, Father, but can we set that aside for now? We’re in a hurry.”
He nodded. “I mean no offense,” he said, scrubbing his face, “but I’d rather hoped you wouldn’t be back.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I figured if you returned, it would mean your wraith was still killing people.” He crossed himself.
“We dismissed the wraith that came into the Abbey the other night,” I told him. “But something far older has been called up.”
He stared back. “Older?”
“Many, many souls,” Lakshmi said. “Muster Brach bound it to his cause, and it’s fed voraciously for days. But now it’s free again.”
I quickly filled Kincaid in on the wraith, Brach’s plan, and how we hoped to use the wraith to stop that plan.
Kincaid hefted his rod again. “How can I help?”
“You told me you know about the people buried here in the Abbey. George Handel would be one of them, right? I need you to tell us everything you about know him.”
Kincaid’s eyes grew wide. “Handel? That’s your wraith?”
“What do you know about him?” I pressed. “Not his accomplishments.
Tell us about his disappointments.”
Kincaid shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jack. His father died when he was twelve. He left home soon after that to pursue music and began to grow a reputation.Even Handel’s peers, Bach among them, spoke highly of him, though today most people only remember hisMessiah.”
Church raised a hand. “We don’t have much time, Jack. What are you looking for? You’ve got to be more precise.”
I thought a moment. “We need to know why Handel’s spirit is writing out old songs and composing new ones, when there’s no apparent audience. You said before that you have archives.”
He nodded and led us from the Chapter House, past a locked door, and up a spiral staircase to a private room. Rich wood bookshelves with attached study desks lined each side of a long, wide hall. Down its center were glass cases of rare volumes and notation. The room had that library silence to it, the smell of old books and old wood, and an air of knowledge and secrets.
Halfway down the right side we entered a row inscribed with anH. Kincaid pointed to two shelves. “There’s a lot to sift through.”
“Let’s skip the compositions,” I said, feeling I probably had the most important piece of Handel music in my pack, anyway.
“What exactlyarewe looking for?” Lady asked.
“Journals,” I said. Handel was a genius, a monumental figure, but he was still rewritingMessiah, as if he felt he hadn’t got it quite right. It was crazy to think evenhemight have this problem, too. “Letters, interviews. Anything that might reveal how Handel felt about his own music.”
Kincaid began to pull volumes from the shelves. “Handel was a notorious perfectionist. It alienated him from many of his friends and associates.”
Kincaid handed out books to everyone, and we began scanning through them.
“Man, this is tough to read. It’s like a bunch of scribbles,” Chuey said. “Can you narrow it down any further, bro?”
I remembered the smashed trunk in Handel’s attic. “Look for references to a newsletter calledThe Musical Times and Singing-Class Circular.”
Everyone sat at one of the little desks and dove in. A few minutes passed before Chuey mumbled, “This is like looking for a major chord in a death-metal tune.” After about thirty minutes, Lady happened on a reproduction ofThe Musical Timesfrom June 1, 1773.
“Listen to this,” she said,“it’s based on a story from librettist Thomas Morell”:
The work, as often happens with non-success, was a great favourite of its composer. Asked “if he did not consider the grand chorus in theMessiah(probably the ‘Hallelujah’) his best production,” he replied that “He thought the Chorus ‘He Saw the Lovely Youth’ fromTheodoraAct II far beyond it.” He was nettled at the audiences’ unenthusiastic response to it.
“How does this help us?” Lakshmi asked.
I pointed at Kincaid. “You said something before: most people only know Handel forMessiah. In his attic study, I found an old trunk filled with version after version of it.”
