“Cantabile. The Singing Planet,” the Doctor announced. “Famous in this part of the Cecilian Galaxy as the meeting place for musicians playing all manner of galactic genres from Monoidian chanting to Killoran metallic.”
“Did you swallow the guidebook?” Margaret asked.
She had a headache after waking up from a particularly nasty nightmare featuring ten-foot slugs invading her garden.
“I think it’s refreshing to visit such a harmonious planet. It reminds me of Traken,” said the Doctor wistfully.
Their discussion was interrupted by a quartet of Ogron heavy metal enthusiasts.
“Harmonious?” Margaret shouted, putting her hands over her ears.
The Doctor pointed down the hill and Margaret followed him gladly. When the wall of rhythmic noise had reduced in volume, the Doctor pointed out a spectacular hexagonal building next to a small artificial lake.
“We might find something less injurious to our hearing in the Auditorium Cantaré,” the Doctor suggested.
Once inside the entrance hall, even Margaret was impressed. Corridors led off to six geodesic domed concert halls. Each one had a display that played extracts from the artist due to perform: Vespasian jazz, Peladonian opera, Sontaran Martial Rock, a Silurian percussion band, the Rhapsodian Interstellar Choir and, Oodkind who played ambient trance.
“Virtuosa, an accomplished performer, possessing dazzling musical technique and artistry,” read Margaret.
This was the act in the main hall. The Doctor bought their tickets and they settled into their red velvet seats. Margaret had been to concerts in the Albert Hall, but this was a spectacular venue. The hexagonal plexiglass ceiling revealed blue sky and white, fluffy clouds.
Virtuosa swept onto the stage wearing a jade-green dress. She was a tall, memorable lady with flaming red hair and fantastic stage presence. Margaret had never heard such a voice, even at the BBC Proms. Her vocal range was incredible; from warm and sultry contralto to a piercing bright soprano.
Virtuosa also played a variety of instruments including: the piano, clarinet, electric violin, and other less familiar ones. She finished her performance with a triumphant Martian aria. She bowed, acknowledged the applause with a smile and left the stage.
The Doctor sat thoughtfully with his eyes shut. Margaret thumped him.
“Doctor! How could you sleep through such an extraordinary performance?”
In an opulent backstage dressing room, a blue-faced Cantabrian praised Virtuosa on her latest performance.
“What an incredible sound you create, Maestra,” Dolce crooned.
“Thank you, Dolce.”
“No, truly. An exquisite performance. Worthy of the Maestri themselves.”
“Oh, yes?”
He bobbed his thick neck. “They speak to the fundamentals of our Galaxy.”
“Dolce… My performances are mere trifles compared with my masterpiece,” she smiled and sipped her iridescent cocktail. “Would you like to hear it?”
“I was not asleep,” the Doctor told Margaret indignantly.
“I believe you, Doctor, the rest of the audience is undecided,” Margaret replied.
“Very droll, but look at the other people, Margaret,” he pointed to the couple sitting next to them.
They were sitting quietly with contented smiles and hardly moving. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button. Gradually, the audience slipped out of their reveries. They started putting on coats and hats and began to leave the auditorium.
“Well, that was odd.”
“Terribly odd,” she agreed.
“I think I’d like to meet Virtuosa. Something is not right,” the Doctor’s face took on a determined expression. “Hypnosis… Could it be…? No, he’s still frozen at the bottom of that icecano… Perhaps, it could be—? Ah, but then Zodin would have left her calling card…”
Margaret had not known the Doctor long but she knew that look.
“So, what are we going to do, split up and search for clues?” Margaret raised an elegant, curved eyebrow.
“Good idea, Margaret. Ask around and see what you can discover,” the Doctor replied, getting up from his seat and heading for the stage.
Margaret watched him go and shook her head.
“That’s it, Doctor, off you go. Leave the hapless human to fend for herself,” Margaret muttered as she left the auditorium.
The backstage area of any venue is usually considerably less glamorous than the public areas. The Doctor found the dressing rooms and a door marked:
‘STAR PERFORMER - VIRTUOSA’
The Doctor knocked confidently on the door. It opened and Dolce stood there regarding the Doctor with wary suspicion.
“What do you want? La Maestra does not give autographs,” he said.
“Well, I was wondering whether I could just have a quick chat? That was such a bravura performance,” replied the Doctor.
“I’m sorry but La Maestra cannot be disturbed. She is resting—”
Virtuosa’s voice cut in, “It’s all right Dolce, he can come in briefly, if he must.”
Dolce ushered the Doctor into the diva’s dressing room.
Margaret found herself a pleasant spot in an outside amphitheatre and sat down. A familiar tune wafted up from the stage.
“That’s Eleanor Rigby,” she said to herself. “They’re playing the Beatles.”
She waved at the multi-species folk band, the drummer waved back. When the band had finished, she walked down and asked them to play another song. After a brief discussion, the band started playing ‘Help!’. Margaret smiled at them and sat down tapping her feet.
Even on a planet far, far away from their native Liverpool, the Beatles still sounded fab; so much nicer than those horrid Rolling Stones. Her father never approved of Margaret’s exploration of Sixties pop music when she was a teenager.
What is this racket? Turn it down, Margaret, was his usual response.
Margaret leant forward. “Can you play any louder?”
“Why sure,” grinned the ursine drummer. “Let’s turn it up to eleven…”
Virtuosa was entertaining the Doctor, still dressed in her jade-green stage dress. She regarded the Doctor’s technicolour coat with some amusement.
“You must be an entertainer wearing such a peculiar outfit.”
“Not really. I’m a scientist and traveller and a lover of the arts. I’m intrigued by the reaction of the audience to your concert. Positively mesmeric. ”
Virtuosa glowered while Dolce served the Doctor a purple fruit juice, was dismissed by Virtuosa and left the room.
“So, Doctor, wasn’t it? Why is a Time Lord visiting Cantabile?” she asked.
“Why shouldn’t a Time Lord visit Cantabile? I’ve always wanted to explore the famous singing planet.”
“I simply cannot have any Time Lords interfering with my plans,” she stated coldly. “I wonder what a Time Lord’s resonant frequency is?”
She started to sing, the sound was horrendous. As she started to increase the pitch and volume, the Doctor became paralysed. His hands clamped over his ears to block out the sound but he soon collapsed to the floor unconscious. Virtuosa stopped the sonic onslaught and smiled…
AFJ Kernow
