Just in Time Part 2 of 6

Vienna, 1786

The two women were no longer in that musty, crowded attic, but in a dank, cramped alleyway, wet cobblestones beneath their feet. Julianne found difficulty in standing in high heels on such unsteady ground, but it was Mida who experienced the most shock. She looked about her, about this strange, dark place that was certainly not Mr. Waltham’s attic.

“This is real,” she breathed, touching the brick wall behind her, feeling the sudden summer breeze on her arms. She turned, wide-eyed, to her companion, and then glanced at the silver watch-like device on her wrist. She tried to comprehend all that had happened–that it was possible that she had traveled just through time and space.

“I guess this is Vienna,” Julianne said casually, wobbling down the alley. Mida followed after a moment’s hesitation, still in shell-shock and still trying to overcome her own self-doubt.

“We shouldn’t have been a part of any of this,” Mida mumbled as she followed. A realization had come over her; the lurking truth that she, being in this alarmingly real place, would have to actually steal a piece of sheet music from Mozart.

“I’m mostly regretting my choice of footwear,” said her companion with a shrug. “And I wish I had brought a purse or something to carry around what we find. Julianne still held the copy of The List in her hand and regarded it with a frown. “I’m not sure how we’re going to tote around a velociraptor or Amelia Earheart.”

Mida rolled her eyes and stood at Julianne’s side to keep a better eye on her. “I still can’t believe Charles suggested we ‘borrow’ a whole person.”

“Maybe Amelia’s lost out there in the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe we’ll be helping her,” Julianne soothed.

They stepped into the bustle of the street and blinked at the bright daylight. The women watched the Viennese people pass and were alarmed once at their clothes, seemingly antique but appearing crisp and brand new, and the horses and carriages passing in the street.

“This is so cool,” breathed Julianne, racing at once into the road, heedless of the oncoming traffic or the passersby staring at her with wide eyes. They muttered to one another in German and Julianne brazenly approached a Viennese stranger, eliciting a gasp from Mida from faraway.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” Julianne chirped blithely.

Mida groaned and ran up to Julianne, grabbing her by the arm. “You can’t just run up to a stranger and shock them like that–”

“Parlez-vous français?” she added, and the man who she spoke with moments before turned to her with a smile. He began to speak to her in rapid French. Julianne, delighted, joined in the conversation, greatly surprising Mida at her proficiency in the language.

“A-ask him where Mozart lives,” Mida suggested softly.

“No problem,” Julianne smiled before she chatted on merrily with the Viennese man. They conversed for a short time, before the man pointed down the street and gestured to the right. “Merci!” said the young woman before racing off in the indicated direction. Mida followed clumsily in her high-heels, trusting the instructions of the stranger.

“I don’t think Mozart is home right now. Not according to that guy,” Julianne said over her shoulder with a sudden little chirp of a laugh. “That’s weird to say. Mozart isn’t home. Mozart lives down the street. The Mozart….”

Mida sighed and averted her gaze from those passersby who mumbled to one another as they passed. “It’s unnatural. We are out of their time frames… we could alter the future if we do one thing wrong–we shouldn’t interfere with anyone.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. If something bad could happen, Charles would have warned us about it,” Julianne dismissed.

The older woman kept her doubtful thoughts to herself and followed the girl down the street, her head bowed.

The gray cobblestone path led to multiple alleys, with tall, uniform buildings lining the way. The buildings all looked so similar, to the distress of the women–but Julianne fearlessly asked another passerby which house belonged to Herr Mozart.

“His apartment is over there,” Julianne reported as she pointed to a window in another white building.

“I have to give you credit, Julianne; you’re quite resourceful,” noted Mida as they scuttled across the road.

“It’s nothing.” She turned to Mida for a moment and raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve been wondering something about you, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“How did someone like you”–she gestured to the woman’s sensible red dress and her neatly-coiffed hair–“become friends with Charles?”

Mida laughed wryly. “‘Friend’ may be too strong of a word. I was paid to tutor him in Italian back when he was in high school.”

“Italian?” Julianne scoffed. “I don’t know what he’d do with that.”

“Speak it, I’d guess.” They rounded a corner and Mida added, “And yourself? How are you connected to him?”

Julianne waved her hand to dismiss Mida’s question. “Oh, it’s complicated. We kind of dated. Kind of. A little. Not really? He was too focused on college, I guess. He seemed really brooding back them, I thought it was cute–”

“I can’t picture him being focused and brooding.”

She shrugged and scampered to the door of the tall building, knocking upon the door.

“I thought we’d be a bit more inconspicuous,” Mida said under her breath.

“Do you know a lot about Mozart?” Julianne asked.

“A fair amount… why?”

“This is going to be the sneaky part,” clarified the young woman. “I’ll need you to be a really good liar right about now.”

Mida’s dark eyes grew wide. “I can’t–”

Julianne rapped her knuckles on the door again, and it opened within moments. A stout woman with blonde hair stood at the door, her brow furrowing at once. She demanded something in German, but Julianne held up her hands and began to protest in French. The woman just grew more confused and angry, however, continuing on in rapid German.

“Maybe she speaks Italian,” Mida said, growing flustered at the angry landlady before them. “Do you speak Italian?” she tested. The blonde woman halted, took a breath, and nodded at Mida.

“Thank heaven. Yes, I do. Now, tell me what’s your business here,” the woman  said in the same language.

“Is Herr Mozart at home?”

The woman at the door held her hand against her hip. “Why would you like to know?”

“Are we making progress?” Julianne asked hopefully.

“Wait a moment.” Mida turned back to the woman, saying after much stammering, “You see, we have been hired to clean his apartment today… we would not want to disturb him while he is at work.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence between the two of them, in which Julianne leaned over to Mida and murmured, “What did you say?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she mumbled back. “We aren’t in the clear yet.”

“You aren’t dressed like maids,” the woman complained. “You aren’t dressed like any well-respecting ladies, I might add.”

“Then pardon us for that. But if you’ll excuse us, we really are late,” Mida insisted with increasing urgency. The woman stepped out of their way with a sigh, gesturing for them to pass.

“Second floor, down the hall, to your right,” said the landlady, and Mida bowed her head in thanks. Confused but happy to be on her way, Julianne did the same, following behind Mida.

“What did you tell her?” Julianne pressed.

“That we’re maids. But we have to go fast–I don’t know how long we have before she gets curious or before Mozart comes home,” Mida replied, scuttling up a narrow staircase. “And we’ll really have to do something about our clothes. People are starting to question us.”

Julianne raced after Mida up the stairs and through the hall, saying, “If we get out of here fast enough, we won’t have to be questioned anymore. We can just grab one sheet of music and then go to wherever we’re going next.”

“And then return it at once–on this same day,” Mida said strongly.

“Yeah. We just hop through time, get as many things on the list as we can, and then meet up with the boys in the present. And then we’ll be declared winners, and then we’ll go back and put everything back where it belongs!”

“Let’s hope it’s that easy.” Mida stepped up to a door on the right side of the hall, knocking on the door. No one answered. She shyly twisted the doorknob and frowned at how it opened with such ease. “I guess he doesn’t lock his door.”

Julianne breezily passed through the open doorway, entering the wide, sunny room. “Now we justneed to find his music.”

“Don’t make a mess,” Mida insisted as Julianne scampered about the room, peeking in drawers and opening armoires. “It’s horrible enough what we’re doing–”

The younger woman continued to search the room, Mida following behind, gently shutting doors and tidying up behind her. As they walked past a wide dining table, Mida paused, staring at the dining set with a furrowed brow. She took a step forward and pulled out a rickety chair. On the faded velvet seat was a stack of papers. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she glanced over the music, the notes written by hand, the fortissmos and the da capos scrawled in beside tiny inkblots.

“The Marriage of Figaro,” Mida read in an awed whisper.

“Did you find one?” Julianne chirped.

For a moment, Mida wanted to lie, to replace the music and tell her partner to give up. But before she could act, Julianne stood at her side, plucking a sheet of music from her hand. “Okay, let’s go!”

Mida cautiously set down the paper, biting her lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

Julianne was already typing onto the face of her watch, raising her eyebrow at Mida. “It’s just a game. No one will notice.”

Mida took a step from the chair and drew her watch close to her, her gaze fixed upon the pulled-out chair. “Julianne–”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay.”

The room, known for the music composed within, was silent, except for the harsh ringing of the watch being set to its new time. In a flash of blue light, the women and the page of music vanished.