| The Wedding Thief ~ Chapter 4 |
| Raoul de Chagny worked tirelessly in the dank cellars of the Opera House. He led his force of gendarmes to the best of his ability, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to find the path to the Opera Ghost’s lair. “The Phantom has a boat!” he cried angrily. “We need a boat to cross the lake. Or we must all swim!” “That will never do, Monsieur,” one of the officers responded. “We must keep the firearms dry. How else will we be able to threaten this monster if we are all drowned like rats?” Raoul cursed and looked out across the dark underground lake. “There must be another way!” “If you beg pardon, Monsieur,” the officer said again. “I can send some of my fellows to fetch a rowboat or two. The rest of my force will continue to scour about.” “Merci, Pierre,” Raoul said with a sigh. “And if I might add, Monsieur le Vicomte, you should get some rest. Or at least fetch yourself something to eat. You can do your ladylove little good in such a state.” Raoul nodded wearily and allowed himself to be led from the dark dungeons up to the backstage area of the Opera House. As he approached the stage itself, he could see a group of ballerinas gathered about a tall gentleman who was most fashionably attired in a tophat and velvet waistcoat. “Pray pardon,” the stranger was saying in a thick Spanish accent, “but I am looking for Seńores Andre and Firmin.” For some reason he could not fathom, Raoul took an immediate disliking to the handsome stranger, and he brusquely approached the Spaniard to call out, “Who might you be, sir?” The stranger looked up from the adoring dancers to meet the gaze of the Vicomte, and he clearly smiled. “I am Don Carlos del Travieso,” he said suavely. “A new patron to this fine establishment. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell your masters that I am here.” “My masters???” Raoul gasped, turning white as a sheet. He trembled with rage and was about to offer a violent reprimand to the stranger when Madame Giry stepped out of the shadows. “Gentlemen!” she cried. “What seems to be the matter?” Though Raoul was loath to trust her, he turned to the ballet mistress and offered a slight bow. “Madame, this foreign gentleman appears to be lost!” “Indeed!” the Spaniard said with an astonished smile. “And who are you, seńor, to talk so boldly to your superiors?” Raoul raised himself to his full height and summoned up every inch of the famed Chagny pride. “I am the Vicomte de Chagny, proud patron of this opera house.” “I see,” Carlos laughed. “You must forgive my impertinence, but I was not aware that the French aristocracy attired themselves in rags!” Raoul blushed furiously and looked down to survey the torn remnants of his wedding clothes. His disheveled dress-suit seemed to pale in comparison to the Spaniard’s finery, and he bowed his head in shame. Madame Giry stepped between the two men, and inclined her head towards the Vicomte. She insisted that he go home for a rest, then she turned her cold gaze to the Spaniard and offered to accompany him to the manager’s office. Carlos gave another brilliant smile to the chorus girls, and readily followed the ballet mistress. Erik, of course, watched the entire scene from the shadows, and he felt a smug sense of satisfaction when the Vicomte took his leave. He had enjoyed the Spaniard’s humiliation of Raoul, but he could not side entirely with the newcomer. There was something that did not ring true about the man’s presence at the Opera, and Erik’s intuition pricked at the back of his mind. Intrigued, the Phantom slipped through the shadows and entered a secret door that would lead him to his own private viewing chamber of the managers’ office. When he arrived, he caught a glimpse of Madame Giry introducing the young man to the two managers. “A new patron to see you, gentlemen,” the ballet mistress was saying. Both managers seemed to grow pale at the Spaniard's appearance, but they ushered him into their office. “Th-thank you, Madame Giry,” Andre stammered nervously. “No more disturbances, if you please,” Firmin instructed hastily. “We would like to speak with our new patron alone. And you have a rehearsal to run, I daresay!” The ballet mistress offered a polite curtsey and then shut the door. After a moment, Andre ran to the door to make certain that she had gone. Then he offered a conspiratorial nod to Firmin. At that confirmation, Firmin nearly sprang out of his seat to grasp the Spaniard by the lapels. “What in God’s name are you doing here? Masquerading as a patron?” “Por favor, Seńor Firmin,” Carlos purred. “Do not excite yourself.” “Excite myself?” Firmin repeated madly, and he gave the Spaniard a shake. “What kind of game do you think you are playing?” Carlos smiled in the face of Firmin’s fury. “If you would allow me to explain myself….” As if on cue, Andre stepped forward to unclench Firmin’s grip on the Spaniard. Then he led his partner to a chair and gently lowered the shaking Firmin into it. “Thank you, Seńor Andre,” Carlos said with a bow. “Now if you remember, gentlemen, you hired me nigh unto a month ago to help you catch a ghost. And not just any ghost, but the fabled Phantom of the Opera!” “And you’ve done a brilliant job so far,” Firmin muttered with a sneer. “Do you know that the fiend has struck again? This time in a church no less!” “Indeed?” the Spaniard raised a black eyebrow. “Yes!” Firmin hissed. “He has arisen yet again to carry off Christine Daae, the object of his affection!” “And the Vicomte and the gendarmes have already gone down into the cellars to look for him,” Andre chimed in. “Ah,” the Spaniard smiled, “but are they looking in the right place?” The managers turned to each other and then back to Carlos. “What do you mean?” Firmin asked suspiciously. “The Vicomte and his party are hunting for this specter in a tomb,” Carlos replied. “But they have failed to recognize that this ghost is far more interested in the realm of the living.” “I don’t understand,” Andre shook his head. The Spaniard gave an arrogant laugh. “From what you’ve told me about this Phantom, all of his tricks and escapades have happened above the cellars, not below. He may use the tomb as his hideaway, but he lives and breathes in the very shadows about us!” Firmin and Andre looked nervously about, straining their eyes to see if the Opera Ghost was near. “You think he’s here?” Andre whispered fearfully. “But of course!” the Spaniard said. “Why, you’ve said so yourself that he seems to come and go at will.” “But what makes you so sure he’s here now?” Firmin countered, gesturing to the walls about them. “Do you really think he’s more interested in our idle chatter when he is most likely hiding deep in the bowels of the Opera House, doing God knows what to Christine Daae?” Erik growled out loud in disgust, and the managers jumped in fright. Fueled by his anger towards them and his frustration with Christine's kidnapping, the Phantom used his trick of ventriloquism to make it seem as if his ghoulish growls were echoing all about the unseemly trio. The managers looked helplessly about and pressed their hands to their ears. But the Spaniard stood straight and tall, his black eyes flashing brilliantly as he surveyed the room. To Erik, it seemed as if the man was purposely and fearlessly taunting him. The Phantom instantly withdrew his voice and let his silent threat ring throughout the room. The frazzled managers glanced around in fear and quickly turned back to the Spaniard. “Do you really think you can capture him?” Andre whispered in terror. “Of course!” Carlos said confidently. “But in order to do so, you must allow me to continue my masquerade. The cast and crew will be more accustomed to my presence at the Opera if they assume I am a patron. Then I will be able to traverse this place without question.” Firmin and Andre reluctantly agreed to the ruse, as they were anxious to simply rid themselves of the Phantom once and for all. “However,” Firmin glowered, “if the Vicomte and his crew find the Phantom first, you will receive no compensation from us.” The handsome Spaniard merely smiled and promised that he would be the one to capture the Opera Ghost. “Though I cannot guarantee if he will be alive or dead.” “Just as long as he’s gone!” Firmin seethed. Carlos del Travieso gave a reassuring nod, and left the managers to attend to their affairs. * As he departed the opera house, the sun greeted him, and Carlos delighted in the golden warmth. He took his time strolling about the streets, drinking in the beauty of Paris, and flirting shamelessly with the ladies who passed him by. There was so much opportunity about him! It was nearly overwhelming! He stopped at a marketplace to purchase some groceries; then he made his way further into the city. It wasn’t long before his fine-tuned senses told him that he was being followed, and he glanced back, catching sight of a well-dressed man who seemed to keep to the shadows. “Excelente,” Carlos whispered. He had no doubt that the Opera Ghost was following him, and Carlos chuckled to think that he had brought the Phantom out into broad daylight. What a stir he would create if he happened to get close enough to unmask the fiend! But Carlos longed for a bit of fun, so he lured the Phantom along, basking purposefully in the sunshine, knowing that the Ghost wouldn’t dare set foot outside of the dark shadows. Carlos chuckled to himself as he walked from the finer parts of Paris to a neighborhood of ill repute. He approached a rather humble dwelling that was sparsely populated by young women in garish clothes. A few of the girls lay sleepily on the stairwells, and they stirred drowsily when the handsome young Spaniard drew near. “Ladies,” Carlos purred, eyeing each prostitute with ill-concealed lust. “Who would like to share my breakfast with me?” Most of the girls quickly rose to their feet and beckoned the young Spaniard to go inside the house. Carlos cast a quick look over his shoulder to make certain that the Phantom was still following him. Though at first glance he saw no one, he thought he could detect the ghostly glimmer of a pale porcelain face cloaked in the shadows of a dark alley. Carlos smiled in satisfaction and strode into the brothel. Erik surveyed the scene from the dark alleway and chastised himself for walking through the very heart of Paris in broad daylight, following a young scoundrel who may or may not have had anything to do with Christine’s disappearance. But he could not disregard his intuition that the young Spaniard was possessed of ill intentions, and so he decided to watch and wait. The minutes slowly turned into hours, and the Phantom began to fear that his quarry had evaded him. He knew that there was only one way to confirm his suspicion, so he took a gamble and approached the unseemly hovel. He gave a quiet knock and pulled the brim of his hat quite low over his face. As the door opened, he beheld a beautiful girl who was wearing little more than her undergarments. Erik blushed to find her so arrayed and quickly utilized his exquisite voice to capture her attention. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” he said gently, and he noted with relief that the girl seemed to be instantly enchanted. “I am looking for a young patron of yours, a gentleman who may still be here. I believe his name is Carlos?” “Oh, yes!” the girl said, drawing close as if to tempt him inside. “He had to leave unexpectedly. Are you a friend of his?” “In a manner of speaking,” Erik murmured. “Do you know where he has gone?” “No,” the girl lowered her lashes coyly. “But you are welcome to come inside and wait for him.” “I’m afraid I cannot stay,” Erik protested mildly. He pulled a gold coin from his pocket and held it before the girl. “Are you sure you don’t know where he is?” The girl eyed the coin hungrily and grabbed it from the Phantom’s fingertips. “He went out the back door…had some private business to attend to….” She looked up at him curiously. “But he said that we should expect you.” “Oh?” Erik’s voice lilted in surprise. “Yes,” the red-haired girl replied. She swayed intimately close to the Phantom. “He said he didn’t have time to meet up with you, but that he had something of yours that might interest you.” “And what might that be?” Erik asked breathlessly. The girl reached into her bodice and withdrew a small, lace handkerchief. It was old and worn, but Erik recognized the kerchief instantly. It had been his mother’s, a small token that he had passed onto Christine. Erik snatched it away from the girl and held it close. As if to taunt him, Christine’s scent wafted up from the delicate fabric and wrapped about him. “Where did you get this?” he choked. “Carlos gave it to me,” she replied. “He said to pass it on to you, though I can’t imagine why a man would need a lady’s handkerchief….” Erik unconsciously raised his head to look at the girl with pleading eyes. He could see her expression change from playfulness to fear when she caught sight of his mask, and he instantly regretted his show of weakness. The girl abruptly swallowed her words and began to back away from him, but Erik caught her by the wrist to keep her from running away. “Here now…” she stammered nervously. “I don’t want any trouble…” “You won’t receive any from me,” Erik promised, halting the girl’s retreat with the unearthly beauty of his voice. She looked up at him uncertainly, as if torn between fear and intrigue, and Erik gently released her. He used her hesitation to produce a bag of coins from his cloak, thus enticing her further. “I’d like to buy your services,” he said smoothly. “Not in the manner to which you are accustomed. I would merely like you to keep your eyes and ears open where this Carlos is concerned. Tell your friends to do the same. Any information you discover about him will earn you more pieces of gold.” The girl grabbed the bag and peered into it. “All this for spying on him?” “Yes,” Erik replied. “But be careful. This man could be dangerous.” “Oh, don’t worry about me, love,” she said dryly. “Just living as we do is dangerous enough.” “Indeed,” Erik remarked. “So you accept this task?” The young woman looked up at him and perused his masked face with her keen green eyes. Erik could see her waver for a moment, but she finally gave a slight nod of her head. “I'll do it,” she said. “Merci,” Erik sighed gratefully. “What is your name?” “Marie,” she answered cautiously. “Enchanté, Marie,” the Phantom said with a bow. “You may call me Erik. Now, when you have something to report, I want you to go to this address on the Rue de Rivoli.” He hastily scribbled Nadir’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “There you will meet a Persian gentleman who will reward you for your service.” Marie gave Erik a hard look, as if trying to ascertain his true intentions. “And that’s all you want me to do?” “Yes,” the Phantom replied. “I must rely on you to see that which I cannot.” “But how do you know I won’t disappoint you?” she asked in a whisper. Erik took a step back from her and assumed the mantle of the dark angel once again. “Somehow I know you will not fail me.” ~ Chapter 5 ~ |