Erik was grateful that the streets of Delhi were still crowded, despite the fact that it was late in the evening.
Long accustomed to the curious and hostile looks of strangers due to the mask he always wore, he kept to the shadows in an attempt to avoid unwelcome attention.
He had been known by many names throughout his life. The Devil's Child, The Living Corpse, and more recently at the court of the Shah as The Angel of Death.
And now he was seeking one of the few who had called him friend, a man Erik knew would not turn him from his door on the strength of a promise made in the innocent days of boyhood.
He would never forget the day they had first met, how Ralph had stood with him against other boys determined to ridicule and tear off his mask.
The memory of that encounter was one of the few bright ones he possessed. He had watched in astonishment as Ralph had delivered a scathing lecture to the boys, and as his father was one of the school's richest benefactors, and Ralph had earned the respect of the headmaster they soon sought other amusement.
From that incident sprang a close friendship, and thereafter on every school holiday Ralph asked Erik to stay with his family.
Their friendship had strengthened with the passage of years, and even after Ralph left school to pursue a career as a soldier he wrote often to Erik.
Tales of battle, of the struggle to survive and the hardships of war were faithfully recounted, and Erik did what he could to encourage and strengthen his old friend through prolific epistles.
Ralph had told Erik of how in time he had been promoted to Captain, of the challenges of his new position and the interest he took in training all under his command in weaponry and tactics.
A year later he had written to his old friend, informing him that he was permanently stationed in Delhi India and was about to marry the daughter of an officer from his regiment.
Erik had always regretted the fact that due to his studies, and the years of his captivity that he had not been able to visit his friend often after the marriage.
He had found Ralph's bride to be an intelligent and well read young woman, one of the few who had accepted his disfigurement and welcomed him into her home as a friend.
The recollection of those visits lent him confidence now as he continued to walk the familiar route to his friend's bungalow.
Ralph and Mariana had been true friends. Their door had always been open to him, even in those moments when he fought his own battle against the darkness which sought to consume his soul.
Ralph had listened as he spoke of his skill with the Punjab lasso, of how his expertise was tested against condemned criminals and the speed with which he dispatched armed warriors sent to test his strength.
The daughter of a soldier, Mariana had often participated in the friends' debates concerning battle strategy or weaponry. Her perceptive comments and the knowledge she had picked up from her father and his army friends, had made her a formidable opponent. Indeed such was her skill that Erik and Ralph often found themselves proclaiming her the winner of many friendly arguments.
Now as he approached the entrance to Ralph's house, Erik hoped that his friend would be there to welcome and offer him help.
Well aware that his presence could mean trouble for his friend, Erik hoped that he would be able to secure Ralph's help and quickly move on.
He had always visited Ralph in secret, knowing that as a respected Captain he could ill afford any trouble which his old friend could bring to his door.
The years spent at the court of the Shah had taken much from him, and it had been the memories of Ralph and Mariana's kindness which had kept him from surrendering utterly to darkness.
As he moved cautiously from shadow to shadow, Erik smiled as he recalled Ralph's heated answer to his declaration that he should not visit lest Ralph or Mariana's reputations should suffer.
Ralph had glared at him in exasperation, before he bluntly stated that if anyone ever questioned his choice of friends he would demand that they leave his house and never return.
Mariana had promptly cut short his list of reasons, effortlessly countering each of his arguments with a combination of logic and fervent affirmation of her regard for her husband's oldest friend.
Even so Erik was grateful that he was prepared to recompense Ralph for any trouble he might bring upon his house with the answer to a tantalizing mystery they had often puzzled over during his sojourn in India.
It was a secret which Erik knew Ralph would be delighted to learn, for his friend had become respected as a man of wealth and integrity, a lover of knowledge who always sought to learn more of the culture of the East.
The servant who opened the door at his knock was slender and tall, dressed in a sari of deep crimson embroidered with golden thread.
Erik stared at her in astonishment, wondering at the richness of her dress and air of confidence and dignity.
Then again, Ralph like Erik had never been one to follow the expected dictates of custom. Perhaps he viewed this girl more as a friend than a servant.
At her pointed look of inquiry, Erik addressed her in excellent Hindustani.
"I wish to speak with your master, the Sahib Captain Crewe. Does he still reside here? If so, please tell him that Erik needs to speak with him on an urgent matter."
A warm smile lit the girl's dark features, as she gestured for him to enter.
"Ah, the Sahib has often spoken of you. Yes, he and his little daughter are here."
"I didn't know my friend had been blessed with a daughter. And Mariana how is she?"
"The Mem Sahib died giving birth to the little one. It has been seven years since her death."
Shock coursed through Erik at this news. He had deeply valued Mariana's friendship, her kindness and fierce defense of him whenever someone had questioned his presence in her house.
Persia had changed him so much, given him a cool indifference to death and the many ways it could be invited to claim a soul.
He had forced himself to become hardened to suffering and pain, because it was the only way to survive and become skilled as the Shah's Angel of Death.
And now hearing the news of his old friend's passing had awakened long ignored and forgotten feelings of sorrow and deep regret.
The servant girl closed and latched the door carefully, before beckoning him forward.
"If you will follow me, I'll inform the Sahib of your arrival. He should be with you shortly."
Nodding his thanks, Erik followed the girl into a richly furnished drawing room. Oriental rugs covered the floor, a tiger skin lay before the hearth, and many curious ornaments were scattered throughout the room.
Erik looked with interest at the decorations. His friend had always taken a keen interest in Indian art and culture, even as a boy Ralph had devoured books of history and the many legends which this country possessed.
His gaze was drawn to a painting displayed above the fireplace. It was a portrait of a young woman, with strong features and chestnut curls. The artist had been a skilled one, for he had caught perfectly the dark expressive eyes full of warmth and intelligence.
Erik moved closer to examine the picture, marveling at the artist's skill and grasp of Mariana's personality which had been captured so well.
Turning away from the portrait, Erik's gaze was drawn to a large statue of the goddess
Kali.
It was a true work of art, and Erik could not help wondering where his friend had found such a lifelike image.
It stirred memories best forgotten. Foolish, to let the statue of a goddess of legend affect him so deeply. But the memories it evoked would not be denied.
For this was not the first time he had visited India. He recalled all too vividly the years he had spent perfecting his skill with the Punjab lasso, often against criminals condemned to death.
He had watched some of the dark rites this goddess demanded from her worshipers, even helped participate in the bloody sacrifices made in her name. Yes, she was a goddess whose presence had marked his life. Ironic that some looked on her not only as a goddess of death and destruction, but a deity who assumed the role of mother and protector. Hers was a mysterious and complex nature, one he had never sought to understand.
The sound of approaching footsteps abruptly interrupted his musings.
"Erik," Captain Ralph Crewe crossed the room and warmly grasped his old friend's hand. "It's been too long since your last visit."
Seeing Erik's glance towards the portrait he continued. "I'm sorry Mariana isn't here to see you. She passed on seven years ago, giving birth to my little Sara
.Lakme said you needed to see me on urgent business.
Erik cast a quick glance towards the drawing room door. Recognizing his friend's concern Ralph swiftly crossed the room and pulled the door closed, pausing for a moment to check that the hall beyond was deserted.
Whatever Erik needed to discuss must be serious. Returning to his chair the Captain gave his friend a reassuring nod.
"It's all right. No one will overhear us, and I took the precaution of instructing Lakme to tell the other servants we were not to be disturbed. She's more a friend than a servant; you can trust her to keep silent about your visit if that's what's worrying you.
What is all this about Erik, the last time I saw you so tense was when you received the Shah's summons to Persia."
Erik gathered his thoughts and met his old friend's look of anxious inquiry with a grim and desperate expression which Ralph knew well.
He had worn that look often, on the eve of battle when the burden of sending men under his command to death lay heavy on his spirit.
He had watched as young soldiers who spoke passionately of the glories of war returned from the battlefield. He had watched as their confidence had been tested, and their dreams of glory turned to nightmares of death and slaughter. It had always vexed him that it was on his orders they had rushed so eagerly into war's madness, only to return forever changed by her touch.
With an effort Ralph forced those memories to the back of his mind. Here was a friend he could help, one he had long ago sworn to stand with against the cruelties of the world.
He could not know that a moment later the strength of that promise was once again to be tested, as he learned the reason for Erik's visit.
"Ralph, I need sanctuary."
Note from the authoress: After much thought I'm venturing into the world of Phantom of the Opera fan fiction with this story.
My apologies to anyone who thinks that my portrayal of Erik is out of character, but when you're trying to bring together elements from two novels things are bound to change.
A little Princess has always been one of my favorite novels, and ever since I heard the musical and read the different versions of Erik's tale I've been drawn to the story of the Phantom.
I'll be incorporating ideas from the musical, as well as Kay and Leroux's retellings into this tale.
Also there will be influences from the excellent movie named after Burnett's novel starring Amelia Shankley and Maureen Lipman.
Bringing together elements for both novels for this story was an idea I thought worth exploring, and its funny that just after I started writing down thoughts for a plot, I came across an author on this site who wrote a Phantom Little Princess crossover.
It's called The Princess and The Phantom and is a really awesome read.
Look for it on my favorites.
The name Lakme is taken from the opera by Delibes.
My thanks to SarahBelle, for her support and encouragement on the ideas for this tale.
I'm looking forward to sharing this story with you and would love to know what you think in a review.
Thanks for reading.