Paganini led Mendelssohn and Chopin to the back room, handing them a new set of clothes.
"Change. Now. We don’t have much time," he explained, "our job is to reconvene with Franz, Robert, and Clara in Berlin, where the Teuflisch family handles their operation. I know it’s not exactly en route, but seeing as we don’t have much time, there’s nothing to be done about it. Furthermore—"
"Do we really need these outfits?" Chopin interrupted, "I’m sure our current ones will suffice…"
Paganini glanced over to Mendelssohn, “I thought you’d explained everything to Signor Chopin here. What’s going on?”
Sighing, Felix sat down on the wooden floor, placing his hands on his knees, and admitted, “Well, Frederic, there’s a few little… details… about this operation that I haven’t briefed you on: This Teuflisch family that you keep hearing about, they’re musical manuscript swindlers, and—”
"—the only way to stop them," Robert told Liszt, "in our opinion at least… is to infiltrate their organisation and stop this operation from the inside out."
"Are you suggesting…"
"Yes," Clara asserted, "we must go in to become little ‘musical swindlers’ ourselves."
"Have you two lost your minds? We’re great composers, famous musicians, acclaimed artists! Anybody would recognise us all at a glance…"
"No, not all of us,” the Schumanns expounded, “if what Mendelssohn relayed still holds true.”
"Parallel universes… time travel…" Liszt understood, "so it was all real after all, was it?"
"As you said, we are musicians, not scientists… In any case, time is limited," Robert admitted, walking over to the opening of the woods. Three horses were waiting there, tied to a tree. "Franz, I take it you know how to ride?"—