The Shadow of Great Britain

Back then, when Arthur settled himself on the piano bench and lifted the lid, the whole hall fell silent; it was as if he had been born to belong under the spotlight.

And now, that familiar aura had returned.

”Don’t worry, Flora.” Arthur’s voice was low and steady, carrying a trace of warmth, with no hint of bravado, none of that usual vanity, and none of the rashness of a man provoked: ”He just wants to hear how I’ll respond. Since that’s the case... then let him listen.”

Flora still wanted to say something more, but she realized Arthur’s eyes, tinged with a faint reddish glow, were already fixed on the stage.

He slowly raised his hand and smoothed the creases at his cuff; everyone in the London Philharmonic Association knew that was Arthur’s habitual gesture before every appearance.

Only, this gesture had not been seen onstage for four or five years.

Flora’s heart was pounding so hard she could almost hear the blood slamming against her eardrums.

She wanted to grab him, but did not dare.

Because everything tonight felt too much like a dream, and the people in dreams are not meant to be jolted awake by reality.

”Arthur...” Her voice was little more than a breath in the air.

Arthur had already started walking.

Each step was so light that even the wooden boards beneath his feet made no sound.

The lights at that end of the stage were swallowed up by him step by step; he walked neither quickly nor slowly, his whole figure drawing away from the shadows, as if he were walking toward some kind of destiny.

Watching him disappear beyond the curtain and reappear on the stage where all eyes converged, Flora suddenly felt a strange sense of calm.

She did not know what he would play tonight, nor whether he would win.

But she was certain that as long as he stepped onto that stage, even if every candle in the hall went out, he could still use his own sound to make the world light up again.

So she gently folded her fan.

Her palm was still burning hot, yet there was a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

In that smile there was fear and reassurance, and something more—a feeling she herself hardly dared to admit—she loved him, loved him exactly as he was in this moment.

The stagehands changing sets were hurriedly pushing the piano away; on the black, glossy keys a few of Liszt’s sweat drops could still be vaguely seen.

And the King of Piano, who had just completed a flawless performance, was at that moment walking down the backstage corridor; that passage leading to the side door was divided into bands of half-light and half-shadow by the hanging drapes.

He took off his gloves and casually tossed them onto his assistant’s bent arm.

For a pianist capable of playing eighty works and fifty from memory in a single concert, performing a single ”Memories of Don Juan” hardly counted as any real exertion; he did not look tired, yet he could not be called particularly proud either—he had simply conquered the audience, as he always did.

However, when he turned the corner at the end of the corridor, he saw Arthur approaching from the other side.

One had just walked off the battlefield; the other was about to step onto the field.

The two of them stopped in unison, separated only by the shadow cast from a marble pillar.

All the attendants around them held their breath; even the movements of those carrying away the piano bench slowed.

”Sir Arthur, I had thought I would be hearing your piano tonight. I did not expect you to choose to go onstage as a conductor instead. I must say, that is a pity.”

”Perhaps. But you must understand, if you want to win a war, you cannot rely on soldiers alone; you must depend on the General as well—just like the ’Wellington March’ I am about to conduct.”

At these words, Liszt inclined himself slightly, his smile still impeccably composed: ”Then I shall look forward to your battle tonight. May your... campaign proceed smoothly.”

Arthur answered with an equally subtle smile: ”And I must thank you for your valiant fight this evening. If not for the efforts of you and Sigi, all the preparations I’ve made would have been meaningless.”

(PS: I owed 4 Chapters from last month; with 10,000 Monthly Tickets I owe 5 more, so I currently owe 9 Chapters. This month I’ll update daily plus make up the owed ones, for a planned total of 39 Chapters.)