Doctor Who The Year of Intellig Jonathan Blum

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.A genius in disguise.’‘Would you like to meet him?’ said Fitz, bouncing to his feet.Ann mugged delightedly.‘I’d love to.’‘He just happens to be an old friend of mine.’ He took Ann’s arm and steered her away into the crowd, throwing Anji a wink.She picked up her champagne and followed them.That had been weeks ago.Now Anji was sheltering in a shop doorway, peering up at the clouds.The rain started to pound as Fitz walked up to her.‘It came out of nowhere,’ she said angrily.‘You know what they say about the weather in Port Any,’ said Fitz, trying to be reassuring.‘If you don’t like it, wait five minutes.’The rain was pelting down now.The street emptied as everyone dodged into shelter.‘These sudden storms are happening all the time.You just don’t know what’s going to happen next,’ she said.‘Are you doing all right?’Anji glanced around.They were surrounded by people.Fitz followed her into the bookshop.They found an empty aisle in the section for handcrafted paper books.Anji murmured, ‘Do you believe me? About what happened the day before yesterday?’‘Course I do,’ mumbled Fitz.‘Something happened, anyway.’‘That’s what I mean,’ said Anji.‘I get the same reaction every time I try to talk to someone about it.The tigers are harmless and fluffy.I don’t think even the Doctor believes me.’‘Come on.’18‘He’s too wrapped up in his new hobby and his new friend to take much notice of anything,’ said Anji glumly.Fitz put a hand on her arm.‘Let’s grab some lunch.Then we’ll go and see the tiger lady.’‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.Five minutes later, in bright sunshine, they were standing outside Besma’s town house.Anji rang the doorbell.Inevitably it played a short musical phrase.They glanced at each other, rolling their eyes.Something large and orange and stripy opened the door.Karl lived in a small flat above the Albinoni Rehearsal Hall, surviving on his stipend and his teaching salary.The study and kitchen were cramped, the embroidered furniture and the Persian rugs were fraying, and the living room was interrupted by a concrete pillar.It would all change when his new concerto was performed.Karl wandered out into the living room in his dressing gown.They were having a rare day off from rehearsals.The Doctor was still thumping away at the harpsichord.Half an hour ago Karl had set him a theme.He had been grinding away at it ever since, zooming and twiddling up and down the keyboard.The sun had come up.Karl sat down in its hot slanting beams on the battered chaise longue.He thought his yawn was invisible, but the Doctor crashed to a halt at once.‘What a lot of nonsense,’ he said, sitting back from the harpsichord.He was in his shirtsleeves, his hair all over the place.‘What a lot of noise.I can’t do this, Karl.I don’t have an ounce of talent for improvisation, not this kind.Let alone composition.’‘Perhaps it’s not your instrument,’ said Karl.‘Let’s try again on the violin.’‘Oh, it’s just the same.I’m an idiot savant,’ said the Doctor glumly.‘I can play the violin like a genius, so long as some other genius writes the notes for me to play.’A month ago, the Doctor had appeared from nowhere at a party at Palmer Gardens.Musicians who were between jobs often played at these big evening do’s.A little circle had formed around him, among great bunches of roses and trays of bubbly.Karl had manoeuvred his way through the crowd towards the‘Sabre Dance ‘.The Doctor was standing with his eyes closed, absolutely absorbed in his playing.He looked every inch the devil’s fiddler, thought Karl – his slender body carelessly slouching, long fingers flashing, aristocratic face taut with concentration, long copper-gold hair flying.His audience’s appreciation was more than musical.But Karl was seeing something different.19When Karl Sadeghi listened to music, he could feel the notes moving around his body.A dancing bass line would crawl up and down his spine.Percussion flashed in the back of his skull.High string sounds burst from the top of his head like fireworks.He was certain that the same thing was happening to the Doctor.Khacha-turian was all over him, in his toes and elbows, tingling in his chest, running over his back.He grinned with Curious delight as the notes tickled him.The ‘Sabre Dance’ ended with a flourish.The Doctor opened his eyes again, and was startled to be met with a soft wave of applause.He gave a sheepish grin, sawed out the beginning of a square-dance tune-up, and handed the violin back to whoever it belonged to.An unshaven young man was perched on the edge of a huge pot plant, watching him.‘You see, Fitz?’ the violinist said.‘It’s not as difficult as it looks.No need to fret.’It was obviously a running joke between them.Fitz smiled and said, ‘I’ll stick to my Fender.’The little crowd was dispersing, but a young woman had stayed behind, a glass of champagne in her hand.Karl caught her eye and murmured, ‘Who is that?’‘That’s the Doctor,’ said the woman.‘Is he free?’‘Oh yes,’ said the woman, taking a long drink.‘Absolutely.’It hadn’t been hard to persuade the Doctor to audition for the new concerto.Since then, they had been in constant rehearsals.When they weren’t rehearsing, they were stoking up on sweet, hot coffee, and talking.By now, the Doctor knew all about Karl’s surviving family, his erratic career, his efforts to promote Octagonal Serialism.But Karl’s picture of his first violinist was still maddeningly vague.Whenever his questions got close, the Doctor would plead amnesia, some unknown trauma that had slammed the door on his earlier life.After a month, Karl didn’t even know the Doctor’s real name.Karl remembered hearing the Doctor’s heartsbeat for the first time [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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