Editing Vek's Journal on Randal (section)

=='''Steinway'''==
A couple nights later though I found a place.  

'''''"Lubros"'''''  Its a black-walled joint with a couple tiger rugs. It has a nice dinner menu from a restaurant next door.   The stage is a low wood affair. The lights are yellow white and soft.  There was a trio playing when I entered and ordered a tall rum drink.  Bass, Sax, and drums. The trio was better then they knew they were.  They lacked conviction. The stage had a third of it taken up by a heavily abused magnificent grand piano that was covered in bottles, glasses and stacks of newspapers and sheet music.  The bench was being used by the drummer.

I asked the bartender what the deal was with the piano and he said that it was a sore spot for the owner.  It was a family heirloom, brought to Randal by an ancestor at great expense, and it was made originally on Earth.  The bartender shrugged, with a knowing wink.  He told me that every dive and every snooty home has trash that "Came from Earth."  He thought the piano a joke and the owner a bit irrational about it but it was his building, his bar and his call.  It occurred to me that an enterprising adventurer with a fast star ship could make a killing importing antique's from earth. 

I listened to the group and thought them fairly good.  The sax player moved to a table with an electric piano of a kind similar to the one I keep rolled up in my pack for camping.  When the bar was closing I stayed till the manager came to move me out.  I asked him if I could stay and examine the piano?

It took some convincing, and showing him my active credit balance and leaving him a couple hundred creds, but he left me alone when he locked up.  I cleared the piano of its refuse. I summoned cleaning supplies and started work.  I had noted immediately that while it may not have come from earth it certainly was older then Randal. It had 400 years of dust, wax, cigarette burns and general abuse.  After a couple hours it was clean.  It tinged like broken wind chimes.  It was missing a third of its strings and the ones it had were stretched and ratty.  The pedals didn't work.  The case had been full of trash thousands of times and not a few things had been born, lived their lives, died and decomposed among the clutter. I found skeletons for dozens of rodents and a few snakes. 

One thing was clear; it was a Steinway D-274 of great age. My guess changed from 400 to 800 years old.  I summoned wood products I knew of in shadow that filled wood chips like new. I sanded it carefully.  I lost track of time.  Kindof played "Havana Nights" while I reverently took layers of grime from the ancient beauty. 

In the morning the owner arrived.  He had been told I was interested in the piano and he had flown in for some reason.  He was livid and yelling as he entered. He came over swearing blood over the desecration of an ancient family heirloom and i would suffer for harming it.  Then he saw the Piano... 

He froze.  I had the lid off and the frame was spotless.  I had decided to magically clean the interior rather then disassemble it.   When he entered I was restringing the plate.   I had the action frame on a nearby table and it was spotless, free of centuries residue.  He looked over my work.   Silently he went and got us coffee.  When I went to spike mine with rum from my bottle he waved to his mug as well.  

We talked music.  '''Agalos Dreet''' was a very old man and had never heard the piano make music.  His grandfather said he used to play it as a child till it lost too many strings. He asked, reverently, if I thought I could save it?  

I asked if he had an empty apartment in the building and he said he did. He said if I could make it work I could use the corner one on the top floor as long as I liked.  We shook on it.   Now that I had his permission I moved the piano and all into a back room and kept working.  

Food was brought to me by a curious waitress.  The bartender looked in on me too.  Wood shavings and sanding, caring for every inch of the ancient magnificent beast. I stained it eventually, and sealed it, buffing its surface to a high polish.  I repainted ''Steinway'' in its place of honor.

Tuning it was a joy.  To work the forks and bring the thing back to life.  To see each key land perfectly.  To hear the magnificent thing make music again.  On this rugged world, so far from the center of the people of this galaxy, to find such a rare treasure. It was good stuff to be sure.   I finished and I played and it was magnificent.

I rolled the thing out of the back room out to the side of the stage.  The trio looked over and stopped playing.  The crowd went silent.  I cleared the way and lifted the front wheel up on the stage.  Two of the guys came over and the three of us pushed it up on stage.  I sat and took out my ashtray, setting by it my tankard, filled it with rum from my own bottle and set the bottle beside it.   Slipping my glasses on, lighting my cigarette, I bent over to play.

Oh bliss.  Like the first rush of blood or the first kiss of a new lover.  She sang.  I settled in to a run of old familiar favorites.  "Kind of Blue" & " Round midnight"  Just to get my fingers working.  Then I went into my stuff.  'Observation on the Abyss I", "Deep Woodland Serenade".  I looked up and the place was dead silent in shock.  Then they erupted.  The owner came over and hugged me.  Our deal was set.  

After I assured the trio that I welcomed them to join me we really gave it to them.  They didn't know my stuff that first night but they picked things up fast.

The night was magical in the way place without magic sometimes are.  We worked wonderfully together.   they had no idea that i was dragging them along.  Letting my psyche nudge them in its way. Binding us together rhythmically.  No one wanted to leave, especially us, but at i know as well as anyone, all things end.