Author's note: This is a parody of Phantom of the Opera. I have changed it so that the part of the musical will take place within the realm of Gormenghast, therefore there are some changes. Not all the Gormenghast characters, unfortunately, will be in the storey; nor will all the Phantom characters be replaced. For example, there is no Irma Prunesquallor, and there is a Carlotta Guidicelli; though for this storey Carlotta has Gertrude's passion for white cats instead of poodles. I'm using the film productions of both, for convenience, and though references may be made to the book, it will not be often.
1 PrologueTitus, Earl de Groan, valiantly ignored the gazes he was given upon entering the old ruin of an Opera House. Once upon a time this place had been beautiful, he noted with a strange stirring of sadness within his breast as he gazed at the old statues, their shine diminished by dust and cobwebs, a thick smearing over the gold sheen, covering it. It almost made him wish…
"Excuse me, sir, you are here for the auction?" he heard a man's voice. Titus turned to look at him. The man seemed to be sneering at him, and Titus looked down at his clothes. Of course, he had forgotten how much time he'd spent away from Gormenghast- and how much everyone disliked anyone not of the stones, as Mr Flay had used to call it. Since he had been gone for so long, he supposed no one would recognize him as Earl de Groan, and that was how he liked it. Presently he was dressed in the clothing of the Bright Carvers, those Outer Dwellers hardly a part of Gormenghast at all. He should have suspected he would be greeted less than courteously.
"That's right," Titus said evenly, lifting his chin a little. The man curled his lip scornfully, staring him down- then his chin dropped disbelievingly and he mouthed words hopelessly, trying to say something.
"T—Titus, Earl de Groan?"
"Yes, Rottcodd," Titus said briskly. The man's manner changed abruptly. He became at once all fawning servantry and pleasantness, that false manner Titus so despised.
"You have returned, our Earl, how wondrous it is…"
"I'm here for the auction," said Titus repeated, straightening his posture. It wouldn't do for him to walk around like the Wild Girl w hen he needed people to know who he was if he wanted to be treated decently.
Rottcodd bowed deeply, thinking privately of his embarrassment. He had always had a soft spot for the young earl, and here he was- a man. He had been only seventeen when- it- had happened, and here he was, an adult. It was sad that he hadn't been around the castle to mature, where he could have been watched, where his progress could have been recorded, but he was the Earl. Who was to stop him from leaving the castle?
The old man led Titus to a good seat and then bowed himself out. Titus barely noticed, waving him off, his gaze meeting that of a large and impressive woman with a white rook upon her shoulder sitting a ways away. She looked at him intently, and Titus merely stared back, able to recognize Gertrude from anywhere he saw her. Despite the years that had passed, her hair was still as red as it had ever been. Like a boulder, she seemed to be unaging, unchanging, inflexible. He had never been that way- nor had…she…Even in childhood, he had always been volatile, and so had she, ever-young despite the years that separated them. At 17 he had realised just how much older than her he had grown despite the years she had.
When the poet began the Auction, his attention jerked away from the massive woman, staring instead at the poet. Even as Titus hated the Rituals and had hated Barquentine, he had to admit that Barquentine had been good at what he did. It didn't matter how many years the poet had had to learn the trade; he still was not any good as a Master of the Ritual. Barquentine had had his drawbacks, too- he never saw the need for change despite the dust that coated the old ruin of an Opera House. There was someone who could have fixed up the Opera House- someone who had tried, and almost succeeded. But Titus didn't want to think about him, or her, or any of them. He had been haunted by their memory for so long…he hoped that once he finished this, once he made this purchase, it would all be done with. He would have solved the mystery, finally laid it to rest- for himself if not for anyone else.
"And now, here, lot 665-" the Poet was saying, "we have a child's dollhouse, modeled after the Opera House."
A child's dollhouse…Oh, if only he had known more about that very dollhouse…
"Shall we start the bidding at 10, then?"
Titus lifted his number. The great woman did the same.
"20?"
Titus and she both were unwavering. Only at 35 did she drop her number, never taking her eyes off him. Titus wondered…As Countess, she had more money than he ever could. Why did she let him have it? Maybe she knew just how important it was to Titus…
Titus paid and a violet-haired servant took the old dollhouse and handed it to Titus, who took it almost absent-mindedly. The Poet was moving onto the next item.
"And now, here, we have lot 666, a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera- a mystery never fully explained."
Well, thought Titus, that's the truth…only so many people actually know of it…
"We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier that figures in the famous disaster. In memory of the ghost, our workshops have repaired it- perhaps, with the new electric lighting, we can frighten away that spectre of so many years ago…"
But as the chandelier lifted, high into the air…Titus lost the sound of the Poet's voice. It seemed as though some strange music was playing in the ear, some lost memory made real…And Titus remembered.
