Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any material related to Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, Susan Kay's Phantom, Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, or any other outside references.

Chapter 1- A Calling

The Grand Audience Chamber

The throne room of the shah-in-shah was quiet in the early morning administrative hours. The sunlight from the high windows cast a warm glow on the center of the room, the bejeweled Peacock Throne. Courtiers, advisors, and dignitaries milled about, chatting amongst themselves, as the shah positioned himself with the khanumand the harem. Scribes organized papers, ink bottles, and pens as the agenda for the day was set, and their servants darted about bringing needed materials. A bell was rung in the back of the room to signal the beginning of the audience.

Behind the colorful screen that shielded the harem from the prying eyes of men, the khanum twisted the fabric of her demure black chador slightly between her fingers. She watched as her trusted eunuch, Tazim, made his way to her. He stopped and faced the back of the Peacock Throne, respectfully averting his eyes.

"What request does my mistress have at this moment?" he asked quietly.

The khanum said nothing for a moment, listening to the advisor who opened the audience with a report on the production and sale of rugs. Then, she leaned forward and murmured, "Tazim, please remind my son that Mustafa must have audience pertaining to the issue discussed last night."

Tazim nodded. "Does my mistress mean the magician?"

The khanum smirked at his use of her favorite's nickname among members of the court. "Yes, Tazim," she answered before reclining once more.

"To hear is to obey." The eunuch approached Abdul- Mutaal, the shah's grand vizier. She watched as he relayed the message to the rotund man who nodded slightly. Bowing obsequiously, the vizier murmured her request to the shah. The shah looked faintly annoyed and curtly replied. Tazim listened carefully to the message before returning to the screen.

"The shah requests that your favorite come after he is finished with the English ambassador and the audience be held in his private chambers." The man straightened once more waiting for her response.

The khanum narrowed her eyes in annoyance. "No," she snapped, "The audience will be held in my chambers. I want to hold both snakes at arm's length. Tell the shah that if my requests are ignored, it would be all too easy to request my Mustafa to destroy the plans of his palace."

Tazim nodded and the message was relayed to the shah. The grand vizier gave the answer to the waiting eunuch before he returned to the screen.

"His Exulted Majesty will hold the private audience in your chambers, but requests that you not stoop to threats to attain his presence." The khanum smiled. At least now, her son was showing what little backbone he possessed.

"Very well, Tazim. You may stand easy." The khanum turned to one of the waiting servant girls. "Naaz, fetch me my scribe. I have work to do." The girl nodded before scurrying away.

Reclining comfortably once more, she smiled wickedly. Already an idea was forming in her agile mind. Perhaps this diplomatic venture would rid her of two potential threats. Her favorite was making her uneasy just as the Russians to the north made her advisors uneasy. Her pleasant moment was interrupted by the crier stationed at the door of the audience chamber.

"The daroga of Mazanderan and the Honorable…" The crier paused momentarily. "Sir Erik?"

The khanum's eyes narrowed once more. "Tazim!" she hissed. "Why was I notified that he was to be coming today?"

The eunuch gulped. "Please, Shabana, I was not aware… I did not know…"

"Spare me your excuses, you fool." She stared intently at the odd pair that stood before the Peacock Throne.

The daroga was unimposing, a slight man with graying hair and wide brown eyes dressed in traditional Mazanderani clothing. He was loyal but eccentric for he had monogamous since the death of his wife and seemed more concerned with his son than with the affairs of the court. His placid disposition seemed an odd choice for her favorite's violent temper and occasional lapses from sanity. But, then again, the Angel of Death needed temperance.

The khanum's Mustafa stood before the Peacock Throne with a wicked grin on his face. He was a tall man dressed immaculately in a black Western suit, accented only by a colorful Gypsy belt. But the most astonishing feature was the white leather mask that covered the right side of his face. The left side of his face showed a strong profile softened on by long dark hair swept out of the way of his face. His amber eyes stared coolly at the uncomfortable shah and his arms were lazily crossed.

"Greetings, O Exalted One!" Erik bowed a little mocking half bow, his deep voice harsh and sarcastic. "What use do you have with a humble architect?" The room buzzed with the man's impertinence. Surely, the shah would have killed him if he had not been a favorite of the khanum.

"Welcome, Sir Erik," the shah said, raising his jeweled hand in a lazy gesture. "I only summoned you because I wish to hear how my palace is coming along," Here, he paused, his voice becoming irate. "…and why it is taking so long to design."

The man smirked as if the shah's impatience amused him. "This and that, my lord. Ideas have not been flowing and Tehran is not inspirational vista for anyone, let alone an architect."

The shah raised an eyebrow. "Your lack of ideas needs to be cured immediately. Summer is coming on, and you know it will be almost impossible to have the palace completed as I wish."

Erik began to laugh, and his laughter's rich tone filled the room. "Oh my lord! You are so droll." He paused to laugh once again. "If your very command could cure my lack of ideas, I would never need to use my skills at all. In fact, you yourself could the architect, and I just the lowly scribe."

"That may be so," the shah replied calmly. "But, as your patron, I expect work to be completed. Otherwise, you may find yourself unemployed."

Sir Erik's eyes narrowed. He lowered his voice, its tone icy and dangerous. "I would not advise you, my lord, to threaten me. I do not work under threat, and if my behavior is offensive to you, I can always burn the designs."

There was a communal intake of breath from the onlookers. It was well known that the man had been working on these plans for over a year now. Would the shah provoke him or back down now?

The shah reclined slightly in the Peacock Throne, observing the man before him. "Very well, I will not resort to threats. However, can you give me an estimate as to when this project will be completed?"

Sir Erik smiled again. "Mid to late spring, your Excellency. I am just having problems fine-tuning the details which you requested. However, the main wings of the palace are complete."

This answer seemed to please the shah who waved them away lazily. "If that is all, you are dismissed. And you also Daroga," Sir Erik bowed again before leaving the room. The daroga followed him patiently, and the door to the audience snapped shut behind them.

The khanum sighed. She wondered why her son delighted in tormenting the man. Did he not see that his assassin could turn on him at any moment with all of his vengeance? Some day, perhaps, Erik would be the death of the shah.

Naaz hurried to her mistress's side. "My mistress, Masheer awaits outside. Shall I bring him in?" The khanum simply nodded.

The eunuch positioned himself by his mistress, filling his pen with ink. "What message does my mistress wish to relay?"

"Address the note to Sir Erik. Tell him that I request his presence in my chambers one hour after the Maghrib. He must come alone and unarmed." The scribe nodded and scribbled the note onto the waiting paper. "After, you have completed this, make sure he receives it."

The scribe nodded. "To hear is to obey."

The khanum relaxed again. Perhaps, Sir Erik did need a change in vista to inspire him. At the least, the diplomatic venture would rid her of the Angel of Death for several weeks.

Meanwhile…

Nadir sighed as he attempted to catch up to the masked man striding before him toward his chambers. "Allah, be merciful Erik! Must you constantly antagonize the shah?"

Erik chuckled softly as he turned a corner, "Of course, daroga. How else is my superior intellect to be entertained?"

"I think you forget that it is my life you play with. I could be killed for your entertainment!"

Erik made no reply as he unlocked the doors to his room. He strode toward his desk, ready to return to the work he had been interrupted from by the shah's audience. The room was comfortably furnished, but cluttered with proofs and books in Russian, Persian, and Arabic.

"I doubt you would be killed, Nadir," Erik finally said, his face serious. "After all, am I not the khanum's Mustafa? her Angel of Death that keeps her amused?"

Nadir sank into a nearby chair. "But, the khanum is like a cobra. She can dance to your music, but she will strike to kill you. Someday, I think the shah will win over and have you executed."

Erik was not paying attention any longer, preferring to throw his efforts into the proof before him. Nadir reclined comfortably in the chair before pulling out his pipe. After filling it, he took a long drag and sighed contentedly. At least there were some comforts in royal life.

"Must smoke that vile thing in here?" Erik did not even look up from his sketching.

"If you are allowed to worry me to death, I am allowed to smoke to calm my fear of death," Nadir replied, blowing a thin stream of smoke in his friend's general direction.

"But…" Erik was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Nadir rose, brushing flecks of tobacco off his front, before walking toward the door. A servant of the khanum stood outside holding an official summons. Nadir read the contents briefly, before dismissing the man.

"Erik, you have done well for yourself today. What have you done to merit a summons from the khanum for a private audience?" Nadir asked in mock curiosity.

Erik rolled his eyes. "What does Her Majesty want this time?"

"It is the request of the honorable Shabana for you to attend an audience with herself and the shah after the Maghrib."

"Any restrictions?" Erik asked, his eyebrow raised.

"You are to come alone and unarmed. And, you are expected to be prompt." Erik rose, stretching out his arms. Nadir handed the note to Erik who briefly read it before tossing it onto the mess on his desk.

"Pity I can't bring anyone." Erik smiled, looking at Nadir. "You wouldn't be interested to come and taste the wine to make sure it is poisonous."

Nadir laughed at his friend, shaking his head. "I can't possibly be your taster. Didn't you hear that the shah is going to die tomorrow and leave the throne to me?"

"Of course, Nadir!" Erik slapped his forehead in mock horror. "How could I forget that your one drop of noble blood is so critical to the line of succession?"

But, he sobered, looking worried. "What the khanum wants worries me. I would like to have an ally in the room." He wandered toward the window facing the gardens. "Perhaps, they would not mind if I brought a friend from the Punjab."

"Erik!" Nadir sat up straight in his chair and looked horrified. "Your lasso would not help you in this sense, unless you wished to be strangled with your own rope!"

"That my friend," Erik poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter on the table with a wry smile on his face. "is the reason I always keep my hand at the level of my eyes."

Nadir shook his head. Erik would be his own death someday. He just hoped Erik's mad escapades would not kill him in the process. He took another pull of his pipe for the meager comfort the tobacco provided. At least the audience would be after the shah's usual alcohol-soaked dinner; Erik would be less inclined to kill the buffoon if he was not coherent.

"Wine, daroga?" Erik asked, his voice sounding crisp and official once again.

"That would be nice." The daroga of Mazanderan accepted the glass of wine, knowing it would be of high quality. "How you manage to get the best bottles of this, I can never understand." Erik only smiled.

"I'm a magician, daroga," The light from an open window glinted off his white mask. "I can do anything I wish."

An Hour past the Maghrib, the Quarters of the Khanum

Erik stood before the two massive Sudanese eunuchs that guarded the door the chambers of the khanum. He knew from their training that they could drop a man a hundred ways without blinking an eye. They, however, eyed him cautiously for a moment before knocking three times on the door.

"Come in!" The khanum's voice rang out in the quiet hallway. One opened the door slightly, and Erik slipped in to the lavish apartment.

The apartment of the khanum was lavishly furnished with elegant furniture and tapestries littering the room. The woman herself was reclining behind a gauzy curtain meant to maintain her modesty. Servant girls darted behind the curtains through doors bearing food, wine, and cakes of opium.

"Well, Mustafa," Erik resisted the temptation to strangle the shah who sat lazily on a couch nearby smoking an elegant ivory hookah. "I see you have decided to break your work with my palace to join us."

"Silence, my son," the khanum snapped. "Do not trifle with snide remarks. You only serve to make yourself sound stupid." The shah quieted instantly and glared at Erik who merely smirked.

"Now, Mustafa," the khanum straightened herself on the couch, "I have a task for you. It should be no problem for your….extensive skills, however, it does involve some traveling."

"Might I know where I am being sent, Shabana?" Erik inquired.

"Sweden. Apparently, Stockholm is delightful in the spring, and King Charles is quite a gracious host."

Erik did not quite believe her innocent tone. "Who is going to be at the court?"

The khanum sounded shocked. "Excuse me?"

Erik rolled his amber eyes in impatience. "Sweden is not a popular destination for social visits the royal family, so the logical conclusion is that you need an assassination."

The khanum laughed her cold laugh. "How clever, Mustafa. Yes, I need the Russian ambassador out of my way. The tsar is encroaching on Persian lands, and it displeases me mightily."

"But," the shah interrupted, "why Sweden, mother? We could strike at him in Russia without much problem."

"You forget, Your Highness," Erik replied through gritted teeth, "That your Angel of Death is a marked man in Russia. Have you forgotten the gift you sent that advisor who defected?"

"I am a dangerous man, Mustafa," the shah remarked, taking a proffered glass of wine from a scantily clad servant girl.

"You are no more dangerous than a common spider, however frightening your appearance, my lord," Erik said contemptuously.

The shah rose in righteous fury, and Erik briefly wondered if Nadir had been right to warn him of his employer's wrath. Nevertheless, it was highly amusing to bait the man. He gently fingered the rope that was coiled in a pocket of his dress shirt. It was comforting to know that he could kill the man easily.

"Desist, both of you," the khanum interjected distastefully. "I have no time for puerile squabbling. Now, Sir Erik," she said turning to the man, "I want this murder to be as quiet as possible. After blaming the Swedes, the tsar will inevitably turn to you. Make it look accidental."

"That can be arranged. Can I bring along the daroga?" The khanum shifted slightly behind the curtain.

"If it contains you, then yes, that will be acceptable. But, Mustafa, a word of warning…if you are caught, expect no help from this court. As the Spartans said, 'With it or on it'"

Erik grinned at the light irony on the khanum's parting words. "Hopefully, my lady, I will return with my Punjab friend. Shields are such heavy things. When do I leave?"

"Two days from now. You are to procure clothing from the western sections of Tehran and pack warmly. You are dismissed." The khanum rose and glided toward a door in the back wall of the suite with her girls following in her wake.

Erik bowed slightly before turning to the shah. "I can't say this has been a pleasure."

Lowering his voice as if his mother could hear him, the shah hissed, "Allah, being merciful, will mostly allow the Russians to kill you. Perhaps then I will be free of your curse."

"Unfortunately for you," Erik replied, his voice becoming icy, "I am never caught. What kind of Angel of Death would I be if I was careless?"

"You are no angel. You're the Devil incarnate, and I am the one who is tried by your antics on earth. Good day, Mustafa." The shah turned to leave, but the sound of Erik laughing was enough to halt him.

"The shah is mistaken. I am not the Devil. Oh no…" the masked man inched closer to the man. The look in his amber eyes was enough to make the diminutive ruler shudder. "I am Death. After all," he tapped his mask lightly, "I have her mark."

Before the shah could answer, Erik spun and stalked out of the room. The shah shuddered again before making for the door his mother had exited through. He wanted to be as far away from those terrible eyes as possible. Not even the thought of the Russians exposing him as a killer was a comfort.

The Chambers of Sir Erik

Nadir had been sleeping peacefully in the armchair near the large bay window, having eaten a quiet dinner alone. Peace was a fleeting mistress in the chambers of Sir Erik. The man in question stormed into the apartments, having just returned from his audience with the khanum and the shah.

"You had better call Darius, daroga. We have to pack." Nadir stretched, yawning and blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Might I inquire where we are going?" Erik made no answer as he wrenched open a nearby closet, and began to pull out clothing. "I just call Darius then."

"We," Erik's voice sounded muffled as he went farther into his extensive closet, "are going north, daroga."

"North?" This sounded very odd; perhaps Erik had angered the shah, and he was being exiled to a lonely northern province. "To Mazanderan?"

"Further north."

"Russia?"

"Sweden." Erik finally emerged holding a large canvas traveling bag. "Apparently, King Charles is a good host, and a Russian ambassador needs to put out of his misery. You'll need Western style clothing."

"You couldn't have been exiled to somewhere warmer, could you?" Nadir said dryly as he opened the door. Calling a passing servant over, he made his proper inquires after his manservant Darius. He returned to his chair and looked at his friend. His face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed his anger. "I'm guessing the audience did not go well?"

Erik just shook his head in response before stationing himself at his desk again. Finally, he turned to his friend lounging in his comfortable armchair. "Maybe I need a change in scene. A vacation of sorts."

"You will at least extend your life by another six months. I keep expecting you to be poisoned every day." Nadir retrieved his pipe yet again and took a meditative pull. Erik looked calmer at least, but his face still showed a pensive expression.

"A change of scene will not necessarily extend my life daroga. I still have to be the Angel of Death disguised as an ambassador."

Such was the life of the court assassin...

Author's Note(s):

- I would love if someone pointed out any spelling, grammatical, or historical mistakes. I am basing the shah's court off of Susan Kay's Phantom and outside research of the Qajar (Kadjar) dynasty.

-The names in this chapter are either Persian (Farsi) or Arabic:

Shabana: Persian, "queen".

Shah, shah-in-shah: Persian, "king".

Khanum: Persian, "little sultana"

Mustafa: Arabic, "favored one"- This was an artistic liberty of my own, and seemed appropriate for the sake of the story

-" To hear is to obey"- I used this saying from C.S. Lewis' novel The Horse and His Boy. I do not claim to own this novel or the saying.