//------------------------------// // 25: Coneigh Island Db Major // Story: Inverno’s Opus in A Minor // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// Horseshoepin was in a full gallop with a flyer in his mouth. He was racing at full speed to the Blue Sun Bar and Grill, crossing busy roads, dodging commuters and tourists, and zipping by street corner vendors. There wasn’t any time for those that were glaring at him or were nearly knocked over. What he had was too important to stop. It didn’t matter if Liszt was in the middle of his lunch shift, what he found is their ticket back to recognition. In fact, when Fryderyk arrived at the restaurant and spotted his friend at the piano, he went over to pull Liszt off away from the piano stool by the collar. “What are you doing?!” Liszt demanded as he was being dragged away. “Come here,” Horseshoepin said through his teeth, carrying him out of sight of the customers. “I have something I need to show you.” “Can it wait? I’m working.” Pulling him around a corner Horseshoepin let go of him. “Listen to me. I found something that can put us back on the map.” “What are you talking about?” “This,” Fryderyk showed him the flyer. Liszt looked between it and his friend. “A piano competition?” “With a half of a million bits for the first prize!” He said, “That should be more than enough for us to find a better place to live and show off our talents as musicians again.” “Alright, but how would that help us?” “Think about it. With a prize worth that much, one would think there would be plenty of ponies there. If we pulled this off, we could get attention again and we would be recognized for our talents. Back in my day, these competitions are usually full of conductors for orchestras and music halls that are on the lookout for the next new star.” “So what you’re saying is that if we go to this competition and play our music there, we would easily win first prize and be catapulted back to fame again?” Horseshoepin nodded, “It’s foolproof! We cannot lose!” He grinned. “And when and where is this competition held?” Looking back at the flyer’s finer details, Fryderyk replied, “At a place called Coneigh Island. And it’s being held this afternoon. That’s why I was in a hurry to get over here.” “Wait a minute,” Liszt took a step back. “You do realize what you’re saying, right? That we should quit our jobs here – something we might not easily get again – to take part in a competition that we don’t know for certain if we’ll actually win this. Call me crazy, but this sounds like quite the gamble, don’t you think?” “I know. But do you honestly want to spend the rest of your life doing this?” He gestured over to the restaurant. “C’mon Franz, I know you. The stallion I befriended wouldn’t hesitate to a challenge to show off his skills. I mean, don’t you miss your audience? Don’t you miss having mares fling themselves at you when you’re on stage? Well, this is your chance! This is your and my way of reminding the world that we’re still here.” Franz hummed in thought. On the one hoof, there was a part of him that missed the days of the music hall where he wowed audiences by doing difficult, seemingly impossible piano tricks. While the restaurant did have its quirks with being intimate with a small audience, it was not the same as the thrill of having hundreds, maybe thousands of mares screaming one's name. He knew of course that being hundreds of years may have changed the audience… Then again, when he had been playing his pieces over the last few days, he had been pleasantly surprised by how many ponies recognize his tune… “I’ll do it,” Franz said but added with a raised hoof, “but on one condition.” “Yes?” “You’ll have to enter into it too.” Fryderyk’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” “Hey, I know you don’t like performing in front of crowds that much. But then again, ponies do recognize your nocturnes, so if we entered, there’s also a chance of you winning as well. Besides, it would increase our chances a little if both of us wins instead of relying on one to succeed.” “Well…” Horseshoepin frowned but looked down at the flier in thought. “I suppose…” “Great!” Liszt patted him on the back, “It’ll be good for you to get up to a real audience. Now… how do we get to Coneigh Island from here?” “You know I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this sooner.” Shining said, “Where did you get the idea, Professor?” “Buch gave me the idea.” Professor Key replied, watching the tent being set up by the guards. Even before they set hoof in Manehattan, the professor had pondered how to find two magic-prone composers in a city with a population of roughly eight million. Yet, recalling Buch’s story, he realized that the two composers – whoever they were – might be in the same situation as he was. More than likely require money and a job, and a piano contest was just the thing to lure them in. So as soon as the train entered the city, the professor immediately printed and set up fliers around city blocks. After that, they rented space on Coneigh Island with a rented piano. On short notice, they got ahold of an upright piano. So when the tent was set up, someone had to push it in. And Shining got Paganeighni and Vifilli to carry it. “C’mon! They might be here any minute!” Shining called out to the two heaving and struggling composers. “How’d you know…” Paganeighni asked between breaths as they inched the heavy instrument towards the tent. “…. They don’t… play the violin?” “Because most of you do.” Professor Key said, “So more than likely, whoever is here might know how to play the piano.” “Thank Celestia they don’t play the organ then,” Vifilli sarcastically remarked, after they pushed the instrument further inside and onto a small platform. “So, remind me again why we have to do this?” “Partly for probation,” Shining answered, “so consider this as taking your first baby steps for nearly destroying Ponyville.” Setting the upright piano on the stage, Paganeighni pointed said, “Hey wait, what about that Schubit fellow? Didn’t he do something worse than us? So why isn’t he moving this?” “Oh, we don’t have to worry about that,” Shining smirked, “Inverno is carrying out his punishment right now.” Meanwhile… “I want off of this thing!” Schubit frantically tried to push the bar up that was pinning him to his seat. He was uncomfortably high in the air, trapped in an open-aired carriage on iron rails that clacked underneath him, all head up by wooden scaffolding, being pulled almost straight up towards the top where he can see the entirety of the island, the city of Manehattan, and beyond. Below him, the rail tracks curved and looped at outrageous angles that were too tight for anything rolling down without falling off it. He dreaded the maddening trails that ducked through the towering arch, with beams so low that it could decapitate someone at with speeds of a falling guillotine. “Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket!” Worst yet, sitting and being pinned right next to him was Moztrot. Who not only wasn’t fazed of what was about to happen, but the madpony was excited about it. “This will be like sliding down a hill. Only that there’s no snow, the hill is actually a mountain of wooden scaffolding, and we’ll be speeding down on two thin iron rails that we could fall off at any time! This is gonna be so fun!” “I imagine that this would be like flying,” Buch added. He was just behind them, and they were at the very front of a row of rail carriages that was climbing towards the top. Inverno sat next to Buch who, give the large Pegasus’s size, gave the colt all the security he needed from falling out. “Or maybe like rolling down a hill in a fruit cart, as I did as a child. Ah, those were the good old days.” “Well, I have never been on any ride like this,” Inverno said, looking over to the side. “We’re up so high now. I bet we’re gonna go really fast. Oh, I can’t wait for my first roller-coaster ride!” “I don’t want this to be my first!” Schubit yelled, still struggling to get himself freed. “In fact, I don’t want to be on this thing at all.” “Too late for that!” Moztrot said as they reached the very top. They looked downward at the confusing tangles of lines below. “Everyone hang on to something!” Schubit didn’t know why everyone else behind him was cheering when they were slowly being pushed over the ledge. All he did know was that they’re about to fall straight down. All he could do was grab onto the fixed bar for dear life and screamed at the top of his lungs when they made their descent. Maneler lifted the flap of the tent, overseeing the guards setting up the chairs, the piano on a tiny stage, and spotted Shining and the professor by a table. He walked up to them saying, “So I got word that the guards had spread the fliers out. But I have to ask what you are trying to accomplish with all of this?” He waved a hoof around the tent, “I must say that even for a music competition, I’m not that impressed.” “Simply put,” Professor Key explained, “it’s a way to hopefully attract whoever is here with the promise of a large cash prize. So if this works, it would help us identify our mystery composers.” “But that is the part of the plan I don’t understand. How exactly would you identify them? One would think that any talented piano prodigy would come here.” “Maybe so,” the Professor grinned, “but I would a test for them. If they play anything from the missing composers, I will simply ask them to use that same piece and have them make it completely different.” “As in improvising?” Maneler blinked. “How would that help identify anyone?” “Because four of the six remaining composers – Beethooven, Horseshoepin, Liszt, and Debussy were known to improvise. If I asked any of them to take their piece and make it original – they should be able to do it. And if during it that it triggers in them their magic, well it would be a dead giveaway, would it.” “I… see…” the deer frowned, “But suppose if that does happen. That during their performance it caused them to cast a weird spell – or maybe they might try to run – what then?” He then heard someone clearing their throat, Maneler looked over to see Twilight sitting there. “That is where I come in. If either of those happens, I will immediately spring into action. I know at least fourteen different spells to contain whoever it is alone.” “Well,” Maneler blinked, “I’m glad all of you have a system in place.” Shining looked up, “Why?” “Because already there’s a crowd out there wandering around looking for a sign-up sheet.” “Already?” Professor Key got up and followed Maneler over to the entrance. There, the deer parted it open to show him a group of sixty ponies huddled around with one of them asking if this is where the competition is to be held. “So, shall we start our search?” Maneler inquired. It took hours for Liszt and Horseshoepin to get to Coneigh Island. Trying to navigate from the city to the park had proved to be a difficult chore as they had to spend much of their bits from the taxi that drove them there. But when they finally arrived, they were dropped off by the gates near a sandy beach that looked out to the sea. Before them was the amusement park where the air smelled of popcorn and sea salt. It was a place of bright colors and painted exaggerated faces of clowns dressed up in fantastical lights. There were screams of thrill-seekers from towering roller coasters, and lovers riding a fairs wheel. They passed by small rides and carnival games that called out to them to play. There were stands of popcorn and cotton candy, ice cream, and cotton candy on a stick. “It almost reminds me of the fairs from the old country,” Franz remarked, passing by a booth of ring toss. “Only I have never seen this many games around.” “I never went to any of them.” Franz raised an eyebrow. “You never been to a place like this?” “Couldn’t afford to go to one,” Frydrych answered, eyeing a funhouse with warped mirrors. “Growing up, my family had encouraged me to perfect my technique at the piano. I know I would have gotten into trouble if I ran off to a place like this instead of practicing.” Liszt shook his head, “But surely, even as a foal, you have been tempted to have some time off and be merry. Not even for amusements such as this?” “It wasn’t that I didn’t have the chance…” “Then Frydrych, you must beware of missing chances; otherwise, it may be altogether too late some day. Look at us now. Look at our lives. We have spent so much time working that we forgot how to live.” “But we can’t just seek pleasurable things forever. Eventually, we’ll have to pay for such things in the end.” “Of course,” Franz nodded, “but I say that taking a break and enjoy the small amusements makes a world of difference between making life a pleasure or a burden.” Horseshoepin sighed, “It’s not that I disagree with you, but we would need security first. After we enter the composition, maybe then we could finally relax.” Liszt agreed. While they continued to look for the competition, they spotted a group of ponies near the line of a roller coaster. A chubby unicorn had his head in a trash can, retching into it while a large Green Pegasus patted him on the back. Nearby, two pale ponies were chatting away excitedly from the ride they’ve experienced. At first, neither Liszt nor Horseshoepin paid any attention to them as they walked on by. However, when Frydrych looked over to the group again, he paused, but only for a moment before continuing. Franz noticed this, “Something the matter?” “No, it’s just…” He looked over his shoulder again. “What?” Franz looked behind him to see what his friend had spotted but didn’t see anything. “For a split moment, I could have sworn that I saw a familiar face.” “Where?” “Doesn’t matter, it’s just a trick of the mind or something.” “Why? Who did you think you saw?” “Well, I could have sworn for a moment that I saw someone that resembled Buch and Moztrot. But maybe I was mistaken.” Liszt looked over his shoulder again but didn’t spot the ponies his friend talked about. Although they did continue on to find the competition, a thought came to him. “Frydrych, do you suppose… No, it’s impossible.” “What?” “Just had this… peculiar idea that maybe… we’re not alone.” “Huh?” Frydrych stopped, “What do you mean?” “Has it ever occurred to you how strange this is? I mean, being displaced hundreds of years in a country neither of us has been to before.” “Alright, but why are you bringing this up now? I thought we already talked about the possibilities of how we-” “Yes, yes, yes, I know that! But maybe we’re asking the wrong questions?” “Huh?” Frydrych tilted his head, “What are you talking about?” “Well, maybe the question isn’t how we got here – perhaps the real question is this: are we the only ones to experience this? We know that the last thing we remember before waking up on that train is we were dying. Besides, we know for a fact this isn’t the afterlife. So… Is it just us, or are there others that have been given the same treatment?” Horseshoepin blinked, “Normally I would say that is just mad ramblings but-” “But?” He looked over again, the group of ponies that he had seen had disappeared. “I confess I hesitate to say that it isn’t possible.” “Yes, for all we know that might not be the case… but who knows? Maybe you did see Buch and Moztrot.” Frydrych said that they should keep looking. After wandering around, the familiar sound of a piano leads them to the music competition. At first, they were confused that it was taken place inside a tent, where the only sign to let anyone know that this was the place was from the chalkboard that pointed inside. Still, peeking through the flaps of the tent they saw that it wasn’t by any means empty. It was crowded by nervous ponies, all watching someone on a tinny stage playing away at an upright piano. Normally, the sight of this would give the two hope that they can still win this – if it wasn’t for two big factors. For one, near the stage were three judges at a table with boredom on their faces. The second and even more concerning was the fact that the pianist on stage was already playing something from Liszt. It was his more difficult and theatrical pieces – his La Campanella. For Franz, what made him concerned wasn’t the fact that someone else is playing his music, but that his crowd-pleaser wasn’t impressing the judges one bit! And it wasn’t the fact that the pianist performing this was doing it badly, it was that despite hitting every right note that it still wasn’t going well. When they entered the tent, the pianist was wrapping up the final few bars. Despite the performance receiving a modest applause, all of them turned to those three judges. The poor pianist turned to them. “Well?” He asked, “How did I do?” “It’s… good.” One of the judges said a deer that adjusted his glasses. “So, was something wrong with it?” “Not exactly to my ears,” the second judge, a white unicorn with a blue mane replied, “we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.” “No?” The pianist blinked, “Do you want me to do something else or…?” “Can you improvise?” The third and oldest of the judges inquired. “On that same piece, can you come up with anything original?” “Uh…” The pianist tensed, clearly showing that he doesn’t know-how. “Welp,” the second judge pulled his mane back, “thank you for that. But let’s see what else these guys can do.” Liszt and Horseshoepin winced at that. Despite how polite that was, that remark hurt. They saw it on the pianist’s face who looked dejected for paying his heart out. They looked at one another, wondering if coming here was a good idea at all. Before they could turn around, walk out, and discuss what they should do now, they heard from the first judge – “You two! Are you here for the music competition?” Everyone turned their heads. Whatever doubts they had, it was too late to back away now. “Uh, y-yes!” Franz smiled nervously, “We were wondering if we came to the right place. We’re here to compete, you see.” The third judge waved to them to come closer. With a gulp from Frydrych, they slowly navigated their way towards the very front. Franz whispered to him, “Listen, I’ll go first.” “Oh, please do,” Frydrych whispered back, “you’re better with crowds than I am. Especially ones that are staring at us.” Taking in a deep breath, Franz got up on the tiny stage. “I assume you didn’t sign up on the competitor’s signing sheet?” Professor Key asked and Franz shook his head. “Well, what is your name then?” “My name? It’s uh…” Franz’s eyes shifted to come up with a name. Then he remembered a name he used to call himself. “Abbé. Yep! That’s my name, Abbé List.” He wasn’t sure why all three judges suddenly looked up at him. Was it something he said? “List?” Maneler asked and Franz nodded. “Alright, so what are you going to play?” “Well…” He looked between the upright piano and the judges. “I was thinking of a Rhapsody. One of Franz Liszt’s.” “Let me guess,” Professor Key propped his head on a hoof. “Hungary Rhapsody number two?” “Uh…” “Could you improvise something based on that?” Shining asked. “Well of course! I’ll do that right now!” Liszt said, sitting down at the piano keys. “Just… give me a moment…” He closed his eyes tightly. Letting out a breath, he focused on his memories of his, of his foalhood home in Hungry. A memory so precious, that it helped to shape his life. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old on that summer night. At the time, he was sent to his room as punishment – for what, he cannot recall. But all he could remember was that he was upset and sulked at his open window. Perhaps he thought about running away, but as his room was on the second floor with no way to climb down safely, all he could do was pout. Yet, downstairs he heard his father playing on the fortepiano. One of Beethooven’s sonata’s that his father had stopped and started because he kept hitting the wrong notes. In his ears, it wasn’t that good – if anything, he had heard someone play it better. His father after all was just an armature musician, it was a hobby he picked up aside from his job as an accountant. Maybe that was why he was sent to his room because he could show up to his father that he could play better than he. Perhaps he would still play it if he didn’t interrupt and say that it should all be in tempo. But that night, Franz heard another sound. Through the window of their humble cottage, just over where the trees were, he could see it. The shadows of the wagon train and tents, with the fires that illuminated them. In the flickering lights, he saw them dancing. The gypsies. He can hear the laughter and the ancient melodies and wild rhythms of their violins and tambourines. On some level, he envied them. They don’t have to take boring lessons at a keyboard where they have to play exercise over and over and over and over again. They don’t have to play the easy songs that Franz could learn in a matter of minutes. No, they simply pick up an instrument and play what’s in their souls. Sure, the music can be nonsensical, but to his ears, it was new, it was fun, it was exciting. But under the full moon, Franz heard them both – his father’s playing and the gypsies celebrating. Together with the strict structure of the piano with the lively passion of the violins, it was like he was listening to a new concerto. His coltish imagination wondered what would happen if he put those two together. Opening up his eyes at the keyboard he lifted his hooves, just lightly touching the keys. Of course, he could easily play one of his rhapsodies. He knew everyone by heart. But at that moment, perhaps he would need a different approach. If he needed to show what he could do, maybe it was best to illustrate his roots. At first, he played the first few bars of his rhapsody. A fanfare of something dark and mysterious like the night. He played it proudly, letting the strings in the piano ring out like a bell. But, when his hoof repeated the theme to the higher notes, he slowed down, letting them echo like he was holding that moment still for a moment. For the first time since he had awoken in this strange new world, he felt that spark of inspiration. The memory, the carnival, and the piano. Yes, he may have started with a piece everyone knew him for – now he wondered what would happen if he took it in a new direction. He let his imagination go back to his foalhood days, repeating two notes on the keys, forming a kind of rhythm that got the judges’ attention. Franz felt an electrical feeling in his hooves that tingled and sparked like he was casting a spell from his hooves. He didn’t know what was happening or who was suddenly playing the cello, but it fits perfectly with what he had in mind. He saw all around him the tent grew dimmer with shining yellow stars coming out. He saw dark trees rapidly sprouting out. There was a commotion behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the rows of chairs had given way to gypsy caravans and tents. Yet, all around they were brightly colored like the park was, complete with carnival games. Among the confused contestants, there were other ponies there. Made out of paper and drawn crudely in crayon, it depicted ponies in hats and vests, holding up violins and tambourines. They moved and flopped around like paper, yet they danced as happy as the smile drawn on their faces. It was as if his colthood memory and fantasy had materialized. Yet, among the confusion, Twilight immediately sprang into action. She teleported out from the scattered contestants and onto the stage. “Hold it right there!” Twilight cast a spell around Franz, encompassing him in a bubble. “You need to stop.” Franz raised an eyebrow and continued playing, “Stop what?” “You’re casting a reality-altering spell, and you need to stop it right now.” “Assuming that I’m doing this on purpose, and even if I am, why would I stop? No one is objecting, are they?” Indeed, no one was. If anything, the contestants were starting to fall under the spell – or thinking that all of this is somehow part of the performance. Perhaps it was something in the air that was so intoxicatingly joyous because some of them were starting to join in dancing with the paper gypsies. “So if you don’t mind, miss,” Franz said, shifting his attention towards the keyboard, “I have a competition to win!” In his fervor, he pressed down harder on the keys, and thin golden strings from the piano shot out. Piercing through the bubble and connected with the paper stars above them. The stars glowed brighter and brought some of them down over the contestants but kept it above their heads. Yet they were so close that many of them reached out and touched them. Just when Twilight was about to cast another spell, the unexpected happened. The golden strings from the piano tightened up, the cheap wood from the instrument fell apart. The only thing left standing was a harp-like hunk of metal, exposing the hammers and keys that Liszt continued to play upon. Then the harp was stretched and pulled upwards before taking the hammers, keys, and Liszt on his piano bench. ‘Okay… that’s new.’ Twilight thought as she took flight after Liszt, who was not only still playing but is using the instrument as a swing. Flying back and forth among the paper stars. Liszt at this point looked like he was having the time of his life like a foal on a roller-coaster. Almost like an acrobat, he used his whole body to swing the instrument among the stars, twisting, leaning backward, playing with his hind hooves – all the while not missing a single note of his reimagined rhapsody. At first, Twilight tried to use her magic to disrupt the performance. She tried to cut the piano strings, but the ringing wires were curiously too strong. She tried to yank the pianist out of his seat, but he was seemed to be glued to his seat. Then as a last resort, she tried to catch the piano to slow it down – this failed tremendously too when she was whipped lashed around the tent. Meanwhile below, among the confusion of the contestants, Shining sprang into action. “Professor, get the guards to help you get these ponies out of here.” He then turned to the three other composers, “Tell me you three have something to disrupt this?” Vifilli, Paganeighni, and Maneler looked at one another. “Wait, what do you want us to do about this?” Vifilli questioned. “Remember back in Ponyville when you were disrupted when your magic was going? Well, right now I need one of you to do that.” “To Liszt, are you crazy!?” Maneler objected, “I only wrote orchestral works. There’s nothing virtuosic that could counter that.” “Wait, what did you say his name was?” Paganeighni asked. “That up there,” he pointed to the pianist, “that is Franz Liszt.” “Really?” the griffon smirked, “I think I know him. In fact…” He looked around, “Does anyone have a violin I can borrow?” He spotted one of the paper gypsies playing on a paper violin. So tapping it on the shoulder he said, “Mind if I have this?” And ripped it out of the gypsy. “What do you think you’re doing?” Vifilli questioned. Paganeighni spread a wicked grin, noticing the guards were escorting the other contestants out. “Something I know would get our friend’s attention.” With the crowd now being cleared away, the griffon flew up to the stage, front and center, and looked up. “Non ci vediamo da molto tempo, signor Liszt!” From above, Liszt looked down, confused, “What? And who might you be?” “Oh Franz, I’m hurt,” Paganeighni said in a hurt tone, putting a claw over his heart, “Your biggest inspiration, and you’ve already forgotten me? Here,” he lifted the paper violin underneath his beak and raised the paper bow, “let me give you a hint.” The moment the bow touched the strings, the music came to a sudden, abrupt stop. Even the paper gypsies stopped their dancing to look over to the violinist. The paper violin burst into flames, yet Paganeighni paid no mind to the flames in his face. With a demonic smile on his face, he began to play the piece that made him famous. While the instrument burned and caught the griffon’s claws on fire, the tune that was heard was like a sea shanty at an impossible tempo. The wave-like rhythm ebbed back and forth along with the ember soundboard, yet the speed made it melt like molten lava. So convincing was this firry effect that Shining nearly called out for someone to put the griffon out. That is for the fact that instead of the violinist screaming in pain, he was enjoying it. As he developed his theme into variations, Paganeighni’s feathery body was caught on fire, yet as the flames burned, it didn’t take anything – but added dirty dark clothing from centuries ago, and even from his head, the fire grew a long black, shaggy, greasy mane while he practically danced about on the stage. The stage too caught fire, but instead of destroying, it was replacing everything. Soon, stage lights were being burned into existence. Even when the mad violinist hand spat out flammable notes around, the rest of the tent too caught fire, and reality itself was being replaced with something else. Even with the very ground being set alight, it sprang out a charcoal audience from the ashes of mares screaming in delight. In a moment those watching this quickly figured out that this reality was slowly being replaced with an opera house from Tartarus. For Liszt, after the fire consumed the stranger, he nearly fell out of his seat. Even if he didn’t recognize the raggedy outfit, the greasy mane, or the fact that it was a griffon – the melody made it clear who it was. How could he not? The way the griffon moved when he played the violin, and the demonic sound that was coming out from the instrument. There was only one virtuoso he knew could do something like this. It was the same violinist that had changed his life. “Are you…?” Liszt held onto the piano that was catching fire and turning into a chandelier, “Niccolò?! Niccolò Paganeighni? Is that you?” “About time you recognized me!” The violinist called out, spreading his black wings, and flew up to meet him, no doubt sprinkling more flames to the rest of the tent. “You got a new face too I see!” “I can’t believe you’re still alive!” “Oh no, I was brought back, just like you, Signor.” “W-What does that mean?” “It’s a long story, but I’ll get to that later. How are you? Did your career finally take off since we last met?” “I… Yes, it did.” Paganeighni grinned, “Ah! Good to hear! And I’d bet you had plenty of mares chasing after your tail too, huh?” “I- Woah!” Franz’s seat burned away, so he had to grab hold of the crystal chandelier. “Well, I mean I used to, but I’ve changed since we’ve last met.” “Oh well, more for me I guess.” By now, sparks had caught the roof of the tent, it too transforming into a dome that upheld the chandelier. “You know as much as I love to chat,” Franz said, his hindlegs dangling, “But I’d really like it if I don’t fall.” “I got it,” Twilight said, using her magic to catch Liszt in her aura. “Okay Mr. Paganeighni, you can stop now.” “Now hang on,” the griffon objected, “I still want to catch up with him – I haven’t seen him in years.” He flew in closer to Franz, “So are you the only one here?” “Well, no, I came here with an old friend. We saw the flyer and hoped to get some money from the piano competition.” “Really?” Both Paganeighni and Twilight tilted their heads, “Who?” “Horseshoepin, Frydrych Horseshoepin. I…” He looked down at the demonic crowd below. “I don’t know where he is, but he was with me a moment ago…” “Maybe he was shooed out with the other contestants,” Twilight reasoned, “So he’s most likely still on the island.” Paganeighni looked down at the audience below where were screaming in adoration, “You know what? Why not you two go out and find whoever it is, I’d like to stick around for a little while longer.” While Twilight flew out of the tent taking Liszt along with her, Paganeighni returned to the stage. Even if, he thought this was an illusion, he suddenly felt right at home. So although his solo was brief, and no doubt Shining Armor and Vifilly were going to yell at him for not stopping when they got one of the composers – for now, he just wanted to indulge for just a little bit longer.