Chapter Ten

Oscar's disappearance caused a great deal of pain to General Ferré. Although he let the authorities believe that his son had been kidnapped, he did not suppose this likely. His son went missing with André. Of course, no one except himself saw the significance of a simple foot soldier gone missing. He had provided both of them a high standard of training in combat skills. It was unrealistic to think both of them being held prisoners by the gormless Communards. The only plausible conclusion he could draw was that his soft-hearted son had deserted the army, with hopelessly devoted André in tow. He had no idea where Oscar got into his head that ridiculous idea of the army existing solely for the defence of France from other countries. However, one thing was certain. His heir did not understand the ruthless nature of the politics. To allow oneself influenced by mercy or integrity was to guarantee a political suicide.

Perhaps I should have made him spend less time in improving combat skills and more time in studying Machiavelli. He thought with bitter regret. He had relied on his power over his son all too much. He should have made sure that Oscar understood why the Communards would become the death of France, if not crushed out. The idealistic imbeciles who didn't understand the first thing about power would have ruined his country; they would have made her powerless and divided. Any sensible political body fighting against the national government would have seized the Paris Bank when they had an opportunity. The feeble Communards asked the bank for a loan! So concerned were they about their international image, which brought them neither money nor troops. Even their assassination attempts were pathetic, completely disorganised and left to those who probably had never shot anyone except at close range. He had been a target of several such attempts and no bullet came anywhere near him. Apart from himself and his son, to a slightly lesser extent, France was all that he really cared about. He was willing to do anything and everything in his power to keep her safe from the hands of those who were unfit to rule.

While regretful, the situation was not as hopeless as it had first appeared. He had a grand plan for Oscar; he had already secured his son's promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel. A little setback was not going to turn into a full-scale disaster. He needed to get his son back, re-educate that simple mind, and return the mended creature to the army. There was just one little drawback in that scheme. The General simply had no idea where his son was, which was the cause of his fury and anxiety. Oscar was his making and the creator should not remain ignorant of the whereabouts of his creation.

What was more important, however, was that his son should not give himself up as a deserter. That would be a disastrous move. His political enemies would absolutely love the story. He must get hold of his reckless son before anyone else did. After ten good days of abusing his household staff with his justifiably ill temper and grave mood, he finally came up with a plan that might just solve his problem. He would pretend to be grievously ill, making sure the papers printed the story. His son would come back, remorseful and guilt-ridden.

Erik aimlessly wandered the seemingly endless twists and turns of the dark tunnels that protected his home from the threat of prying eyes. His mind occupied with various plans and strategies, weighing pros and cons of each, his feet alone carried him around, determining his next turn while being mindful of and successfully avoiding any traps that he had set for the unwelcoming trespassers. The pitch blackness of the tunnels, and their ostensibly random, irrational layouts could drive simple souls into madness without hope. It seemed appropriate that he had chosen this place to think things through. No light could make wholly visible the mind of another; it always retained dark and unpredictable corners to the curious gaze of others. Erik was, however, the master of darkness and mazes, and Oscar's mind was merely another labyrinth that he could conquer.

The more he thought about it, the less he felt that it was hopeless to make Oscar fall in love with him. Unlike his futile affair with Christine, there were many factors that were in his favour. Firstly, there was no man who could compete with him for Oscar's affection. Begrudgingly, he admitted that André had been handsome and devoted to her. But what could have been his only rival was dead, and thankfully it was not his own doing. Second, there was no doubt in his mind that she thrived on the physical attention he gave her. It was easier to turn lust into love than to turn fear into love. Third, she was happy to stay with him, at least for now. He didn't have to be in a hurry to secure her. He could take his time to develop and adjust various strategies that would work. That Oscar talked and responded to his questions during her sleep would certainly help his cause.

Having decided that he had a good chance of winning her heart, Erik proceeded to think about what could go wrong in his endeavour. As his reflection turned inevitably to the curse he would never be free from, he felt brief relief at the absence of mirrors; he could not have resisted looking into one, however much he hated what he would have found inside. The relief was short lived, however, as his mind conjured up and threw into a form what it wanted to avoid looking at. The image of his bare face - such a small and insignificant part of him - nearly crushed his optimism, even without the aid of the mirror. Erik fought against giving in to self-pity, reminding himself that he had seen her shame without rejecting her. When that did not convince him, he drew comfort from the fact that Oscar was not intrusive. He needed not to reveal what lay under the white mask.

The first impediment somewhat brusquely examined and dismissed, his attention moved to more comfortable negatives. His jealousy could cause a problem. It would not do to show it against André; making sarcastic remarks about Oscar's treasured memory would seriously jeopardise his chances with her. It would be wise to avoid the topic unless judged necessary. His reluctance to talk about himself could pose another threat. Love without the real knowledge of its object had very little substance. It could very easily turn into an unforgiving disillusion. However, revealing oneself to another was not a risk-free business. He would have to proceed slowly, making her accept him gradually. Feeling more confident than before, he decided to go back to Oscar. He did not want to leave her alone too long.

On the way back, he thought of Oscar's status as his captive. He suspected that her unquestioning, absolute obedience to his commands had something to do with her standing with him. He found her submission pleasing, almost touching. Had he tried to manipulate her, he could not have hoped for a better result. Her willingness to follow his orders was certainly useful in ensuring that she would not neglect her body's needs. It certainly made his life around her a lot easier. The only problem he could foresee with her present position was that it could prevent her from expressing her own wishes and needs freely. Nevertheless, their initial agreement gave him the power to decide the length of her stay and could not be brushed aside lightly. For now, he just needed to make sure that he would be more attentive to her needs.

Oscar stood in front of a huge oak book case, haphazardly glancing at the titles of books. It covered an entire wall, from ceiling to floor, of a large, relatively damp-free and well-lit, square room. It was not just the sheer volumes of the books that intrigued her. She was also surprised to see how many different languages she could detect from the titles. Judging from what she had just seen, there was no doubt in her mind that Erik could pass as an intellectual. She was about to leave the library when she noticed a title written in a language that she had not seen before. She carefully pulled out the book from the shelf, just to have a better look.

After carefully examining the title, she concluded that it was not written in any European language.

"Perhaps Arabic?" She talked aloud, as if that would help settle the matter.

All of a sudden, a voice broke out. "I have been to Persia."

Oscar nearly dropped the book in shock. A talking book? Impossible. But the voice was coming from this very book. As if mocking at the limited power of her imagination, a soft chuckle came from behind her. She instantly turned around to find Erik, standing in front of her, their bodies mere inches apart. It astonished her that she had not heard him approach. She had a keen sense of hearing, which was only sharpened in this place of darkness. Had he been her enemy, she could have been dead by now. He certainly possessed valuable skills for one-to-one confrontations.

"Just a little trick of mine. There is no need to stand so awe-struck." he said, his lips slightly twisting in amusement.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to hear you talking to yourself. Were you that bored?"

Oscar realised that something was different about him. His tone of voice and the look in his eyes were softer, almost warm.

"I didn't expect that the book would talk back."

"Of course not. That would not have been half as entertaining," he said, with a quiet smirk playing on his lips. "Would you care for some wine?"

Without waiting for her answer, Erik strode over to a table near the fire place, gesturing her to follow him. She sat down on one of the wooden chairs, watching him pouring red wine into two goblets.

"Do you not wish to know what I was doing in Persia?" he asked, handing her the glass he had just filled.

"I didn't think I was allowed to ask questions about… your life." She replied, sipping the liquid and savouring the delicate, supple structure.

"Oh? Why is it that?"

His brow arched, reflecting his curiosity.

"A basic rule of any captivity," she muttered, no longer so sure of her belief.

"You can ask me whatever you want to," he said, with a tone that left no room for dispute. "I can judge for myself whether your questions warrant answers. I'm the only one who makes the rules around here."

She nodded at him silently. She could not contest the fact that he had the sole right to make the rules in his own home. She just wasn't sure whether she should be pleased with or suspicious of her new found freedom. After a while, she decided that she could get used to it. Being allowed to ask a few questions would not threaten her status as a prisoner, which was the only saving grace for the lack of courage to face either the wrath of her father or the military trial.

"You weren't just an idle traveller in Persia?" she asked, trying to focus on Erik rather than her bleak future.

"I designed buildings for the Shah," he said nonchalantly and took a drink of his fine wine before continuing his talk. He just wanted to enjoy, for a few moments, the look of surprise and admiration that crossed her face. "That wasn't the only service that I provided for the Shah."

"You were his musician, right?"

"No. I destroyed his potential enemies at his request. I was an assassin."