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Spring 1851

Tehran

Nadir

"An insult!" Erik raged, pacing back and forth in his front room. "An insult to me and everything I have done for this place! They simply spit in my face for the pleasure of it, and they expect me not to do anything."

"You will not do anything," I said. "You know you cannot and will not."

He muttered obscenely and then collapsed into an awaiting chair, fingering the ties of his mask. The setting sun casted heavy shadows into the room, throwing his face in darkness.

"Yes," he said wearily. "I will not do anything, if only for the sake of the palace. The foundations have just been finished, for heaven's sake! To put this in jeopardy now would ruin everything I have worked on. Though perhaps…When will he arrive?"

"They are expected in a month," I said.

"They?" he said, irritation evident in his voice.

I hesitate slightly. "A letter from the regions of Bessarabia indicated that he had brought his wife with him."

He leapt up again, long and lean in the sunset, prowling around the room.

"He brought his wife?" he asked incredulously. "He is bringing a fat, greedy, self-righteous Christian woman here? Here?" Suddenly, he laughed bitterly. "I should like to meet her after they arrive. That is, if she is still here!"

I said nothing, allowing him to continue to brood.

"They are already halfway here," he said. "One month is not much time, but I must do something…Something. But why? You still have not answered my question. Why was this architect commissioned without my knowledge?"

"I believe," I mumbled, "it is to keep you in check."

He stared, and then laughed again. "One little spy is not enough?" I knew he was referring to me. "He must have two! Well, then, I suppose I should be flattered. He is taking extra interest in the palace, which will mean more funding and more flexibility with the schedule. As for the other architect, that is no problem." He was silent, musing for a moment. "Accidents do happen, you know…Falling beams, collapsing walls. Who knows?"

"Erik!" I said angrily.

"I was only joking!" he said sullenly, staring out of the balcony window at the disappearing sun. "Keeping my plans secret from this man will only mean more work for me; not hard work, just work. Somehow, I feel tired, and I haven't even begun anything."

I allowed him another few minutes of quiet, and then I said, "I'm leaving court for a few weeks. I will not be back until they arrive."

He turned and looked at me. "You are leaving me here? Alone, to fend for myself?"

"If I thought you needed help, I would offer it," I said, smiling a bit. "But I know you don't. I must get home to Reza."

"Yes, go," he said gloomily. "I wouldn't want to part you from your son longer than necessary. I suppose I shall simply have to entertain myself with other witless members of court. Of course, I will be visiting the khanum." His mood darkened visibly.

I suddenly felt quite sad for him. It was no secret among us that he detested every moment spent with that…woman, but it was not easy to simply refuse an audience with her.

"Go to the palace site," I suggested. "Say your work demands you there. It does, doesn't it?"

"Yes," he said. He shrugged. "I still must make some last-minute changes on the upper floors. That will keep me occupied for a few days. After that, there is little to do, however. It is now mostly manual labor. Well, I shall simply keep myself occupied somehow. I will not return to court anytime soon."

We somehow parted with pleasant feelings that night, though I sensed a foul mood brewing behind his cordial nature. Perhaps it was not best to leave him with the knowledge that someone else was coming who would have power just as he did. The new architect was allowed to have a say over plans, designs, materials, labor – in short, everything Erik did. And I knew that Erik was wroth to share that with anyone. He had slaved for years to build up the amount of power he had, but now, in Persia, with all of this incomprehensible power simply laid before his feet, he had grown comfortable with it. I lived in terror during that month of some irreconcilable disaster, something that would alert me to Erik's eventual snap of fury.

It was hard to enjoy Reza's company with Erik lurking in my mind, and yet I strived to be with my sick child as often as I could. He still clutched Erik's bizarre doll in his weak little hands, begging me to play with him, besieging me with questions about Erik and his wonders at court. I wondered briefly how it would be to tell Reza that Erik's latest toy was a poison that burned its way through men's insides. I lied through my teeth – Allah forgive me – and placated the unhappy child. I told him of the wonders Erik was doing at court, how he was improving agriculture and the economy, how Tehran was being uprooted with his ideas and inventions. Well, in a way, it was…

I learned later that Erik had been at the palace site for a mere two weeks before the khanum had insisted on his presence back at court. He managed to avoid this for another two weeks, but the month was up, and his time was due. I, too, was summoned to the court. It was my duty to greet the new architect and report on him to the shah. I also needed to see Erik – to see if he was alive. The statement was morbid, and yet sometimes he grew into these moods where I was not sure if it was really him or not. My parting with Reza was hasty and with much tears from him. He asked me to bring Erik back soon, and I gave him a noncommittal answer before making the journey back to Tehran.

When I arrived, I found Erik in his apartment, fingering a hashish pipe longingly. He glanced up at me and returned his gaze to its previous subject. The dexterous fingers wandered over and over the body of the pipe, and nothing was said for a long time.

"Sit down," he finally snapped. He stood and took a seat, his unnerving gaze wandering to me at last.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"No," I said quietly. "What's wrong?"

"They have not arrived yet," he said. His gaze left mine.

"Perhaps they were delayed," I suggested. "It is more than likely probable."

"Yes," he said gloomily. "They were delayed. She was taken ill near Astrakhan."

There was silence. A European woman would not do well on the borders of the Caspian Sea, and to be ill on top of that…I no longer expected the architect to come anytime soon.

"You are not relieved?" I said. "You no longer have to share you work with him."

"She is well again!" he suddenly snarled. "She is well! And they are on their way once more. Don't they understand? They will die if they come here! They will die!"

I did not object to this. If the new architect made one noticeable slip, first his wife would go, and then so would he. And Erik would probably be required to carry out the murders. He sighed and slumped into his chair, rubbing his temple.

"Now that I'm back at court, I shall have to see the khanum once again," he muttered. "This month was one of paradise. No blood…"

He looked at me suddenly as if surprised to see me there.

"Go," he said simply. "There is nothing more to say tonight."

I left him quickly, my own head pounding. I felt very afraid suddenly.


Erik was summoned to the khanum the very next afternoon. I was told she pressured him for hours.

"Does it infuriate you to know someone will hold as much power as you?" she asked sweetly, watching him interestedly. His hands clenched, but he did not reply. "You will have to share all your secrets with him, and if you don't, we shall know." Still, he was silent.

"Answer me!" she commanded savagely.

"What would you like me to say?" he said through his teeth.

She dismissed him hours later with a sneer, and he left, though later was informed that he was to remain at court until the new architect arrived. I took his anger that evening; he fumed and ranted for hours, occasionally breaking something or shouting obscenities. Finally, exhausted, he sat on an awaiting chair, his head in his hands.

"Erik," I finally said, "perhaps it will not be as bad as you think."

He glared at me, and that shut my mouth.

"I've written all my plans in French," he said, "so that no one here would be able to read them accurately but me. And now…this architect is French, and he will be able to see all of the…extras I have put into the palace."

"What 'extras'?" I asked nervously.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Traps, dungeons, secret tunnels and underground chambers. Things a proper palace should have. But I never intended to let anyone know where they were going to be located."

We were silent a while longer. "I am to remain at court, also," I said. "Until this new man arrives."

"It is as if she wants me to kill him!" he suddenly raged, looking at the wall. I knew he was talking about the khanum. "I don't enjoy murdering people! Well, I can't say I haven't enjoyed a few. But killing simply because she tells me to is not something I want to continue…Another month of blood." He moaned. "I just want to work in peace. Why won't they let me work in peace?"

He did not expect an answer, so I did not give one to him. Instead, I said, "I'm sure that he and his wife will arrive soon. You shouldn't be at court for very long."

Erik said nothing, and yet I knew he was hoping for what I said.


'Soon' ended being three more weeks. During that time, Erik became stretched and more irritable. He snapped at me constantly and then would apologize.

"Forgive me," he would sigh. "I can't seem to find a civil tongue anymore."

I knew that it was because of his routine visits with the khanum. The shah also demanded his presence. Erik showed him plans for the palace, which he had rewritten in my native tongue. Erik permitted me to see them, too, but I noticed a suspicious absence of secret tunnels and dungeons. He laughed when I pointed this out.

"Do you think I would tell the inhabitants about these? No, it is only a palace if no one knows of these things. Perhaps in the next century or so, someone will discover a few."

"You know of the whereabouts of these chambers," I said.

"I suppose I do," he mused sarcastically. "But I don't intend to live there, so it doesn't matter."

I think Erik enjoyed simply knowing things others didn't. Like a child, he held on to secrets furtively and was immensely pleased when someone begged him to reveal them. However, unlike a child, he hardly ever did. He took great satisfaction in hinting things to the shah, who could never understand what he was saying. The shah would nod knowledgably at Erik's grandiose description of the palace plans and materials, and then Erik would leave and laugh at him.

"As if he could tell marble from limestone!" he said. "Arches and pillars and abacuses are lost to him. It should be quite refreshing to discuss this with someone who actually knows what I am talking about."

I didn't remind him that only a week ago he said the new architect would no doubt be an ignorant, pompous idiot who only got through his schooling by generous donations and copying others. I sincerely hoped that he grew to respect – he didn't even have to like – this new man.

"He is taking a great leap coming here," I had told Erik seriously. "Paris to Tehran is no small feat. This must show that he is dedicated to his art."

Erik snorted at this. "Dedicated to his art? He is drawn by the shah's offer. That is all."

When the small party finally rode into Tehran, dusty and travel-weary, I met them. Erik was off somewhere. When he wasn't with the khanum or the shah, he had taken to disappearing, and no one ever knew where. Allah knows how many times I had tried to find him, but I never had success. As long as he didn't cause serious trouble, I simply let him do what he wanted.

The party consisted of five Persian men and the two European travelers. The men greeted me respectfully and informed me of their sorrow for being late; they explained the illness that had taken hold of Madame had been quite serious, and the European man had insisted going no farther until she was well. Three then went off to their separate duties, while I was left with the two who would transport belongings into their small, prepared apartment. The French man in question dismounted from his horse and greeted me, speaking rapidly in French and shaking my hand jovially. Although Erik had taught me some of his language, I was still a novice, and I stammered stupidly. The man said something to his wife, who was still sitting atop a fine gray mare. The woman laughed and then pulled out a little book, which she handed to her husband. He rifled through its pages before stammering out a greeting in Persian.

I replied accordingly and then motioned for them to follow, which they did. They were still speaking to each other, fast and laughingly. I wondered if they had preconceptions of what Persia and Tehran would be like. Did we meet those false ideas? Or were they simply too blind to see what was before them?

Both were very young. The young man was tall and well-built, with light hair and blue eyes. His face was set, with a straight mouth and nose, and I could see that he still held almost a boyish innocence and outlook on life. Well, I thought bitterly, that would change with his time here. The woman was similar. She, too, had golden hair and blue eyes, though everything about her suggested softness. They seemed very much a simple, happy couple. I suddenly envied them tremendously.

When I showed them their apartments, a translator finally showed. Through the translator, the conversation became much more informative. I learned they were Raoul de Chagny and Christine de Chagny, née Daaé. I told them who I was and that I would be responsible of making their time here 'pleasant.' It felt wrong to use that word, but I did anyway. Madame de Chagny looked around the apartment and declared it to be charming.

Monsieur de Chagny then asked about Erik. Not specifically, of course, but he asked to meet the man with whom so much work would be spent. I nervously replied that he was occupied today, and that tomorrow would be a very good time to meet him.

After making sure that they were settled and their luggage was delivered properly, I bid them farewell and headed back to my own apartments. Erik stole out of the corner.

"How was he?" he demanded instantly. "What was he like? He looked far too young to be considered worthy to come here."

"Erik, I believe he is only a few years younger than you. You aren't that old, you know." He scowled angrily, and I continued. "They want to meet you tomorrow. Perhaps you should have dinner with them. I'm sure it would be nice if they actually had a decent meal with someone who actually spoke their language."

"My lessons did you no good?" he laughed. "I always considered myself an excellent teacher. Though, perhaps, it all depends on the student. Dunces will never learn, you know."

I chose not to be offended by this, recognizing his light teasing, and simply smiled. "No matter what you do, I want you to at least be civil to his wife."

"I've never been anything but civil to women." He sounded bitter about it. I sensed some history behind this statement, but he didn't offer anything more.

"Will you come to dinner tomorrow?" I asked.

He grinned. "With you? I'm flattered."

I ignored this and simply looked at him. He sighed and shrugged. "I will go if you will. I need someone there to keep me sane."

"No one can do that, Erik," I said.