The Fiddler's War

Prologue

Connor took a deep breath and drew the bow across her strings, eliciting a soft, contented sigh. Mathilde's breath rose and became a song. The young violinist sat in the dark, bow and instrument in hand, and silent tears rolled down his cheeks at the beauty of Mathilde.

Her name was inscribed lovingly on her side, and whenever he picked her up to play, he felt complete. It was as if without Mathilde, he was simply not Connor...a nonentity, a hole in society. Connor Benton caressed the violin lovingly and coaxed the sweet melody from her lips, and time seemed to slow, to turn, to whirl. Space seemed irrelevant, a thin thread of music tying all places, all moments, together. Connor could meet Moses, speak with Suleiman, address the 101st President of the United States of America. Connor could soar on an eagle's wings over Tibet, burrow under Pompeii like a mad mole, and swim with dolphins through the ruins of Atlantis.

At the height of his song, the door creaked open, and Mathilde shrieked in panic. They had been discovered. Her voice was shrill and dissonant, and Connor flinched, eager to comfort her. He wanted to bring her back to the song they had shared, but he could not. He took his bow from her, stealing her voice, and as she begged him for her life, he sealed her again in her coffin. "I was in the middle of rehearsal."

"Sorry, Master Benton. Her Majesty will see you now."

Connor stood and ran a hand over his hair to make sure it was all in place. He smoothed his jacket and straightened his cravat. To play before Queen Victoria was his single greatest appointment yet, but to him, she was a woman with expensive clothes and an even more expensive mansion. Still, her power commanded respect. He would give her the respect she was due. But he was no Englishman; she was not his queen.

Queen Victoria raised an eyebrow at the young man who strode into her court. A shred of a man, short and scrawny, with his red hair pulled into a tight tail and a silk jacket hanging off of him. In his hands, he cradled a violin case jealously, gently. "Good evening, Your Majesty.