Chapter 10: At Tea

Salim did his best to appear shrewd and calm as he entered Philippe's study. It was rather late to be visiting, but business demanded a politician's absolute devotion at all hours of the day and night. The duke, his cousin who was a stranger to him, was one such politician.

Philippe stood from his high-backed leather chair and opened his arms with a deceptively amicable smile. "Cousin, welcome! How has your health been?" The boy trembled inwardly, but steeled himself to remember his fake personality.

"My health has been none of your concern." This made the duke pause, but he gathered himself and steadfastly maintained his friendly mask.

"In that case, may I ask why you've come here a mite later than business hours?" He poured himself a drink. Good. Perhaps he might slip and let me take Meg from his prison while he's drunk.

"For business, my good duke. I've heard you have a bountiful supply of cheap labor." Salim removed his coat and sat down before the ebony desk. "I'm looking for a new maid." Philippe gulped at the strong drink and smiled, white teeth glinting against the firelight in the background. "This was the cheapest place I heard of." The younger man could feel his hands growing clammy.

"Salim, why so formal? You may speak freely with me. Besides," he said with a flippant smirk, "I believe you are not looking for a 'maid,' but a 'mistress,' correct?" The scandalous suggestions made the baron's ears flush, but he went along with them.

"Admittedly, you are correct." As a believable touch, Salim kept a rather mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "And I believe you have quite a few beautiful young ladies kept here, though the conditions are less than flattering." This makes me sick… If Meg heard this, she'd probably never forgive me.

"True, true, but what are you willing to pay?" As if to emphasize the price of the women in his hold, he flipped a gold coin in the air over and over again, listening to the ringing metal as it hit his thumbnail. Ha! A young miser instead of an old one. Greed will be your downfall, cousin.

"The price should be reasonable. It is negotiable, depending on the quality of your wares." I know what he is inside. He's not a businessman, and he's not worthy of the title he carries. He is a slaver.

"Be careful, cousin. You might find yourself paying much more than you think now." Philippe stood, sliding lithely out of his chair with his naturally athletic form. All the same, I wish I was as physically attractive as he. He could actually have wooed Meg if he hadn't kidnapped her. "Shall we go so you may have your pick? I have a feeling your tastes are quite discriminating." Salim stood as well. He didn't like the sight of his relative standing over him with that vicious, cruel smile.

"Yes, I think I would like to pick out a girl on my own."

As they walked together down several streets, the duke, ever so tall and strong against the cold and bits of ice flying into their faces, noted that his cousin no longer flinched at the temperature. Instead, his hood was kept down, and his scarf trailed loosely about his neck. There had even been a change in his figure, for now he was lean and not skinny and clumsy. His growing years have done him well. He might become my physical equal in a few years.

"You have been well, then? You are not as weak as I remember." The baron smiled to himself. You have no idea, do you? I will be as healthy as you are for the rest of my life, and my life will be long.

His reply was less saucy than his thoughts. "I met a doctor. He made me well, but I cannot know where he is now, even though I would like to thank him." They walked the rest of the way silently, each tense and uncomfortable with the crunch of slush under their feet. Winter was stiff, and felt more that it should be dead than alive.

At last, when their feet were numb and their ears were stinging from the breeze's frozen fangs, the great grey building stood tall over them. Philippe did not seem unnerved in the least. He seems almost pleased to be here, as if something good has happened here before. Perhaps he uses the women he captures to warm his bed.

"Well then, baron, shall we go in and finish our deal?"

Salim ignored the sarcasm at his expense and entered the edifice. It stank like corpses and the very air seemed bloodied and sordid. "How many do you keep here?" He doesn't keep them. He lets them languish and sets them free as out as skeletons.

The walk was slow and torturous, every step echoing with the faint, weak cries of various victims. Thankfully there were few females to be found, so they stopped only a few times. In those few times, the prisoners suffered consumption, open, infected sores, and rotting flesh. Even when he had walked through the halls a few years before, they had seemed clinical and clean, and did not have blood seeping from under the doors. And some of them have open, even cuts. They are too methodical to be from beatings and knocking about in the dark.

Another door was opened. The girl inside was not a girl. She had been, at one point, as seen by the wideness of her pelvis, but she was not a girl now. She was a skeleton. So he does let them rot here.

"I suppose I'll have to have the guards clear that out later," Philippe replied in a rather bored tone. Disgusting. He has not a shred of respect for the dead. "We are nearing the last cells, Salim." The sound of his name coming from the duke's mouth made the young man shudder, and suddenly he was just a boy again, fearful and mentally stumbling on the murky, unclean floor. "Are you quite sure you do not wish to return? It is far too late to be out, especially in your condition."

"I am well tonight, cousin." Yes, make him feel as if he is family again, even though he is entirely soulless. And persuade him that you are well tonight and sick come morning. The smell was beginning to wear on him, and though his olfactory receptors had shut out the sense, his throat and taste buds were still functioning. He could still taste the blood and disease. "I shall continue."

"Then you have made a wise choice in pursuing your goal to the end." Philippe motioned at the last three filled cells. "The last girl is behind the door nearest you. Go ahead, open it."

Meg Giry, I hope you are not blinded by the light. He slid the heavy bolt back and peered into the darkness. It was quiet, dark, and damp, though from blood or excrement he could not tell. Something rustled, and in an instant, Salim Castelot-Barbezac found himself flat on his back with a dirty, angry Mlle. Giry pinning him to the floor. Why are her eyes closed? Did she learn one of those strange eastern fighting arts?

Her expression changed from one of rage to surprise.

"Well, it seems your little slut is eager for you already. Are you sure you don't want something more submissive?" Salim could hear the cruel nobleman chuckling somewhat sadistically. He turned again to Meg's grimy face and tangled hair, and decided to employ some of his best acting skills to keep her from saying anything.

He rammed his mouth to hers and kept it there until she went limp against his chest. I hope that shocks her enough to keep her quiet until I get outside again. "I am sure of my preferences, thank you. The money is here." He stood and pulled the stunned girl up beside him, handing over a wad of bills. "We'll walk back by ourselves, thank you."

He hurried down the grey stone hall again, eager to be gone from death's storehouse. He did not see Philippe smile to himself. My weak, illegitimate second cousin will be a lure. When the police come, they will find him raping that little dancer, and he will be arrested. A half-breed like him deserves it.

Meg still had her eyes closed against the light of the lamps, and it was only out in the moonlight that she opened her stinging, watering eyes. Even then, however, the streetlamps hurt as if she were staring into the sun. Wherever I'm going, it will be a thousand times better than that black hold. He thinks he can make me his? No, never… Charles-

She cut her thoughts off there. She had heard the screams of his torture just days ago, and her mental wounds were still fresh. It was as if every slash and brand he endured was her pain. But that hadn't been the worst part. She had been allowed by the silent guard to see him, but now she wished she hadn't taken the opportunity.

His mangled body was draped over a rack. She thanked God that she could not see his eyes, for the rest of him had been burned, lacerated, beaten, and starved beyond recognition. She'd known it was him, though. He was wearing the hemp tie through his sleeve, and his brown hair, though matted with blood, was still tousled and familiar. Charles would not want me to betray him. Charles would not want me to be some slave.

"Mlle. Giry, I can take you back to the opera in the morning." She wrenched her arm away from the man, and when her eyes had adjusted to the dim streets, she looked him up and down. He replied seemed to reply to her thoughts. "I had no intention of making you a slave. I intend to take you back to my place and have you cleaned up. You certainly cannot go back to your place of residence looking like this."

Salim watched her eyes narrow suspiciously. "I don't know who you are or how you know of me…but a warm bath is quite a tempting offer. I believe I will take you up on your offer."

…

Christine loved the way the ground crackled under her feet as she took a walk around the opera house. Perhaps she wished that Erik would come out and look for her again, and they could talk. I have come to think of him as simply 'Erik.' Is that too forward of me?

The opera was a large place, full of rooms and recreational areas. It would take more than just five minutes to circumvent its entirety. Perhaps he cannot see me, but he is looking for me. She had tried to rid herself of such silly and love-struck thoughts, but to no avail. After all, why try and exterminate such whims when they thrilled her to the bone?

The thought of her wiry, mysterious teacher searching for her so occupied her mind so that she almost tripped over said teacher when she finally happened upon him. She cursed at her red face. Then she turned a shade darker as shame washed over her for her foul mental expletives.

Erik could read her mind through her eyes. She has been thinking of me, obviously, but in what manner? What am I to her? He pushed his queries away and tried to concentrate more on Christine than his wandering thoughts of her. "Ah, Mlle. Christine, there you are. Practice starts early, do you remember?" He hoped the use of her first name would not seem too casual, but more personal.

"I- I remember, M. Erik." She calls me 'monsieur' again… The realization was painful, and surprising because of it. "I thought someone might come looking for me…"

Something shifted in the world's calibration as she practically forced him to take her on his arm and smiled up at him in gratitude. "Well, we'd best be going, correct?"

Then the world as he perceived it fell back to its original state as the butt end of a rapier grazed the top of his head and its owner tumbled down in front of him. In his daze over his young student, he hadn't heard the attacker until the last second. "Christine, run! Go!" The words rushed out of his mouth as he swung his lasso like a whip, entangling someone behind him. The swordsman on the ground got to his feet.

Erik pulled the rope tight and heard the person scream as the cord burned his skin. Then he saw the individual with the blade running as well. They want Christine! They cannot have her! His weapon snaked off, and he heard the thump of a familiar steel-tipped cane as Mme. Giry in her long black dress hurtled at man and dealt with him quite soundly. "Take that, you bastard!"

More and more of the unidentified thugs ran at him, trying to slow him down, but he was fluid and slippery again, nothing could hold him. His eyes targeted the first hostile that had attempted to knock him unconscious, and he saw the man pull his Christine back by the collar of her winter coat. He will pay with his blood!

If anyone had seen the masked man from afar, they would have sworn that all that was there was a black blur and the glint of something metal. He could not reach the struggling girl fast enough for his liking, but when he finally did, he easily pulled the ruffian off of her and sliced his cotton shirt front from his body, exposing the torso of someone too strong to have trained simply for amusement. He caught him by the throat. "Have you any last words to share with the world?" Erik hissed his eyes growing cold and dilated with the rush of combat.

"Erik, control yourself and your blade!" Whack. He heard the ballet mistress fending off two more men, seemingly without assistance, and that gained his attention. Thud. One of the mercenaries fell, clutching his awkwardly bent knee and howling like a madman. The one who had accosted Christine went limp, faint for lack of air and circulation. "Now come and help me!"

Christine herself stood, trembling, and shakily brushed herself off, more to assure herself that she had retained all her limbs than to clean her attire. She saw something white and silky seize the last attacker around the ribs and gulped back bile as she looked again to her assailant. His face had turned a dark crimson, and he gasped and at last closed his eyes, unconscious. Where does Erik find in himself such strength to crush a windpipe with one hand?

The composer released his grip, sure that the man would not attack again for at least half an hour and picked his way through the numerous broken, bloodied kidnappers. To his surprise, an old acquaintance of his was delicately wiping his gloved hands. He tipped his hat to Mme. Giry, and turned to Erik with an irritatingly cocky smile. "Erik, I see you're still wearing the mask I gave you. Could it be that you are turning sentimental and actually acknowledging our friendship?"

Christine at last gathered her nerves together and stepped here and there past the incapacitated criminals to stand beside her tutor. She felt him shift uncomfortably beside her. "As strange as it is that you are here, there was no need to make it any stranger by assisting a woman who is perfectly capable of defending herself." 'Antoinette' emphasized the point by crossing her arms and looking as condescending as one can look while gazing upward. Who is this man? How does he know Erik?

The younger lady watched with curiosity and willed her heartbeat to slow, taking slow breaths. "Daroga Nadir Khan, you are utterly insufferable and bloated with pride. And what is your purpose in arriving unannounced?" Erik saw confusion flash across the policeman's face.

"I sent a note last night from the station. It should have reached here by now." Christine pursed her lips and dared to interrupt, since the elderly woman to her left had not yet.

"Who is this man, Erik?" At this, Nadir grinned.

"First name basis, Phantom? I thought you were allergic to women." Then he removed his hat and bowed to the soprano, kissing her fingertips. "Allow me to introduce myself: Nadir Khan, at your service." The look he received from his former colleague could have turned a basilisk to stone.

"'Allergic to women'? What-"

"Well, I apologize for disproving your hypothesis, Khan, but this is my student, Mlle. Christine Daae." He grimaced. "Kindly remove your mouthparts from her hand." Nadir, who had continued to kiss the girl's hand just to taunt his friend, stood straight again, grinning from ear to ear. "Now, what is this about sending a note ahead of you? I have never received such a notice, and if it was delivered as you say, Mme. Giry here would have given it to me." At last the old woman got her word in.

"True, very true. But might we perhaps continue the discussion indoors? This weather, no matter what exercise, cannot be good for geriatric joints."

…

A few minutes later, when the kidnappers had been collected by the police, Erik, his students, Nadir, and Mme. Giry sat at tea on the spacious stage. At first, Mme. Giry had objected to sitting in the floor, but eventually her knees had started to ache from standing. Now she sat cross-legged just as easily as Eter and Nadir did. She didn't quite like the look that Anna was giving the Turk visitor, but he didn't seem to notice at all, chatting happily with Eter in Turkish, and even letting her assist him in removing his gloves. Artur restrained himself and avoided knocking the well-dressed competitor upside the head, even though he looked like he dearly wished to.

"What do you intend to do, Mme. Giry? Your daughter has been missing for over a week, and there has been no sign of her." She fought to keep her stoic expression and keep from dissolving into tears at the man's accented question.

"I intend to let you handle it, M. Khan. M. Erik has told me that you are reliable and resourceful. And if you are not, I will make sure you become as such." Her cold tone made him withdraw slightly, and he changed the subject. I miss my Meg…but if she is indeed my flesh and blood, she will not be in pain now. She will have escaped or…or died trying.

"He has been complimenting me behind my back? I am shocked, utterly stunned! Since when did the master of insults turn to what might be considered flattery?" Eter giggled, but scooted a little closer to her giant friend when he shot her a longing and rather jealous look. Her eyes seemed to say, 'don't worry. I belong to you and no one else.'

Erik scowled, and his mouth turned downwards. Christine, having kept her eyes on him throughout the conversation, suddenly developed a dislike towards this particular expression. He looks better when he is pleased. She sipped at her tea and ignored the sting of lemon against her chapped lips.

The composer stood suddenly, long legs unfurling gracefully in a manner that left the young Christine breathless. "We have work to do, and a long-delayed practice to attend. Even if there will not be a performance of Il Guarany, you all must keep your voices in top condition." Everyone got up and started to follow Erik backstage, where one of his many passages began, but Anna stopped to pat Nadir on the shoulder.

"He's always th'perfectionist, isn't 'e?" The policeman nodded distractedly, concerned over his friend's sudden mood swing. Then Mlle. Iseal took her leave as well, stopping only to take a last gulp from her cup, which she had spiked with brandy. The stern old woman next to Nadir gingerly massaged her knees and ankles.

"Any more of this and I might not be able to stand again." She extended her legs with several pops and cracks, ending in a rather undignified position that pushed her teacup and saucer a distance away from her. "You believe you can bring my daughter back?"

"I do believe so. But that does not mean I can guarantee her safe return. I have been wrong before, but thankfully all ended well." He swallowed his still-warm drink and set the porcelain down on the slightly dusty stage. "It was Erik who saved the situation." He smiled, amused, as Mme. Giry gave a wry grin.

"Somehow, Monsieur, that does not surprise me in the least." She hefted her cane and tried to pull herself up by it, slowly curling her heels under her again for support, but sat down again with a thump when she found that her arms were not strong enough to lift her body weight. "He has impeccable timing."

"Yes, and with that impeccable timing he saved my sorry neck." He chuckled when the lady's eyebrows moves slowly upwards.

"I should like to hear of that escapade on a merrier day." She at last succeeded in ordering her arthritic bones to obey and stood as proudly and uprightly as ever.

Nadir rose with her, then picked up his hat and looked around, bewildered. "That merrier day will be when two things that were lost are found."

"You are a cryptic man if you answer me as such, Daroga Khan." The widow raised her arms above her head in a stretch that displayed the flexibility she had once possessed. The man, who she had decided must be at least forty by the bits of grey at his temples, scratched his head.

"I mean that the merrier day will come when I have found your daughter…and my fine new gloves. I think that someone's managed to pickpocket me of them."