Chapter 14

A single lantern cast an ominous glow through the back tavern room in the early morning hours. There were no windows, and only a single wooden door. A plain plank table with mismatched wooden chairs was sufficient to nearly fill the entire width and breadth of the room. Men paid dearly for its use. This place was not built for comfort, it was built for one purpose and one purpose only; the passing of secrets with the utmost requirement that they be retained. I often employed this room, located in the heart of the Hell's Kitchen district, when the passing of notes was deemed too slow, too liable. Now was that time.

Each of them had entered the room in response to the summons, each coming to a side of the table. I remained broodingly silent facing the door from across the table. They knew from my hasty summons not to speak a word of greeting. As the last of my three best informants seated himself on my left hand side, I cast my eyes over them collectively. Shuan Jin, an employee of the Phoenix Pavilion who provided me with the whisperings of the barely conscious men. Antonino Gallo, a young Italian with far too much time on his hands to be employed respectfully. Cormac Byrne, an Irish immigrant with a charming personality that could con the secrets out of any honest, or dishonest man.

In the flickering lantern light, I brought my palms together before me as if in prayer. Though there would be none of that this evening. "Gentlemen." My voice was an icy cold whisper, like the chill creeping on a late autumn wind promising the killing frosts of winter. "You are well aware by now that my midnight summons are never carried without just cause. You are all also well acquainted with the king's ransom I dispense when provided with timely information. Tonight, I have summoned you here with such a request."

Their eyes locked upon me in anticipation to serve. Already, I could see their desire to win my offer dancing in the black void of their exposed pupils. With a sharp thwack, I flung the knife from beneath my cloak to stick blade first into the center of the table. The silhouette cast an ominous shadow upon my chest.

"That very blade was intended to be delivered into my back earlier this evening." My voice pulsed with venom. "I wish to return to sender. However, I found its wielder without breath to provide an address. I require who the wielder was and precisely who sent him."

All three men leaned closer to the blade, examining it in the dim light. Not a word was spoken, but here and now I could be patient. as these trusted men weighed the currents of rumors to secure the threads of truth. Antonino's eyes glimmered in the light as he reached forth and gently prized the knife from the table. Studying the grip closer, he narrowed his eyes, nodding hesitantly.

"Monsieur Erik." His heavily accented voice broke the silence. "This blade was carried by none other than Ignazio Moretti."

If it were not for the fact that the man had previously tried to kill me, I should laugh at the significance of his first name. It meant 'unknowing'. Truly Ignazio had no knowledge of what he had been commanded to do the night he accepted my death order.

"What are his connections?" Beneath my cloak I crossed my arms over my chest.

The Italian laughed darkly as he expertly flipped the knife in his hands. "None really, just a common thug who regularly stirred up trouble. Hand for hire, you know the kind. Readily disposable, perfect for those jobs most sensible men wouldn't take."

"Like trying to kill Most Honorable Erik." Shuan gave me a respectful bow. "Man would have to take leave of his senses to even consider such a daunting challenge."

I glanced to the opium den informant. "Were there whispers of intent to harm me?"

"You would have been the first to know." He held out a hand, palm up. "Not a breath came within our walls, or the walls of the other dens. As always, our ears are trained to protect our great provider."

This troubled me. Normally there was at least a vague whisper. Someone had gone to great lengths to hide their intentions these last days. I needed to know who, and very swiftly before he learned of the first attempt's failure.

Catching the blade in mid air from Antonino's hand, Cormac offered a cocky smile. "Come to think of it, I remember that laddie now. Saw 'im stealin' amongst a tavern one night crowing to the stars that he had hisself a real loverly task to complete. Payment quite handsomelike. Should set him up for the rest of his days."

"Sounds just like his brazen demeanor." Antonino chuckled darkly as he studied Cormac's hands playing with the blade. "When he prized that knife out of a bar fight, his bragging filled the halls for weeks till he must've grown tired of his own voice."

Shaking his head, Cormac flipped the blade and jammed it down into the table as hard as he could, grinning at the reverberating whine of the metal. "Course he never named names of his target. So, you see, sir. I never imagined it had been your back he was referring to or I would have sent word right away. As Shuan said, man'd have to take leave of hisself to even try his luck on ya." He eyed my dark gaze before lifting his chin in question. "Trust he ain't in a state to claim this little friend no more." With a swift motion, he jerked the blade from the wooden surface.

I nodded scornfully. "Suffice it to say gentlemen, that if you wish to lay eyes upon Ignazio again it would require a trip across the Atlantic Ocean and the use of a pry bar to open his unusual casket. Shame I had been unaware of his name during his burial among the cargo, I could have written him a colorful epitaph."

The men chuckled at my dark humor.

"That task has been dealt with." I dismissed it with a wave of my hand. Turning to Cormac I inquired, "Did our friend provide a name of his employer with any of his bragging?"

The Irishman closed his eyes, deep in thought. He was. after all, privy to a number of secrets, it was no surprise he had to parse through his thoughts carefully. Providing me with false information could lead to a very serious inconvenience for both of us. If I was murdered, he was out of a job. If he lied to me, I might have to kill him. This meant I was out a reliable informant, and those were so hard to come by these days.

"Yes." Cormac opened his eyes slowly. "Turns out he did. Said he was approached by some go betweener who said he represented Goldridge."

"Really." It hardly surprised me, after all his had been one of the names on the officer's book. Goldridge had plenty of time at our little meeting at the Music Hall to become acquainted with me. An accurate description of my attire and stature would have been easy for him to provide. Balling a fist, I fell deep into thought, and with that singular motion my company remained taciturn, waiting their further instructions.

What had Goldridge, the city treasurer, to gain by silencing me? Unless he had been convinced by Ruescher to initiate the hit. Remove the connection of threat, the thread leading back to Goldridge would make no sense. Of course, he would mention the fight with Ruescher to the police, that shred of news making a clear motive for me to have murdered Ruescher. Perhaps before Ruescher had died there had been a deal struck, a bargain for the service rendered, a political favor of some sort. It mattered not now. Goldridge had foolishly revealed his presence on the chessboard to me. It was time for me to reveal my hidden pawn.

"Once more, gentlemen, I am indebted to you for your vigilance at my behest." Unfolding my hands, I revealed a bulging silken purse and dropped it on the table before them. Their eyes brightened, but they did not rudely reach for it. They knew there was more to come. "I require a message passed along with the breaking of the dawn." I cast my eyes to the blade Cormac was still fingering. "With a suggestion to follow."

"Heh, return to sender." Cormac smiled viciously.

"Indeed, but by a more deserving method." I leaned back and smiled broadly. "Down at the Hudson dock yards there is a port master who also serves as the leader of the union. A rather boisterous soul named Murphy who has had in recent years some difficulty in appropriating funds from the city for the maintenance of his docks. The result of which has been several serious accidents due to ill-repairs. Listen carefully, gentlemen, for I have been privy to this secret for years now and I am certain that now is the time to let it slip to the right ears. Goldridge has been fixing the books for some time, embezzling city funds to supply his own demand for his own indulgence. Now, his favorite fund to garnish was from the waterfront funds. Several years back when Murphy requested the funds to replace the moorings on two of the docks, which consequently tore loose within six months causing a ship to capsize, he was informed from Goldridge that all funds had been used. That same year Goldridge hired the contractor for his second mansion, the one where he currently resides, on 5th avenue."

Silence followed my revelation before all three men broke out into devious laughter. Antonino shook his head. "Murphy isn't going to take that news lightly!"

Cormac held up the blade. "Thus, the suggestion. I get it. Goldridge won't draw a breath past breakfast!"

I brought my hands together before me. "Precisely. And not a thread tying back to me. The hounds will wrap up a neat little package and this whole interlude will be behind me."

Shuan bowed his head. "No one is aware of your knowledge?"

"None save you three in this room, to whom I have only now revealed this move." I supplied. "My source has long since departed from this world, of truly natural causes. After so many years there is no logic in looking my direction."

Antonino clapped his hands together, "Ingenious. Absolutely perfect. We whisper the tale and leave the blade for Murphy in a convenient spot for his rage to seize. Goldridge gets his just desserts from the angry mob that follows. Both you and Murphy are avenged in one move." Laughing he pointed at me. "I had heard never to play chess against you, now I see why."

"If you wish you may try." I remarked coldly. "Though not this eve. Are we quite clear on the events?"

They nodded in unison. By daybreak, the dock would be rife with words of Goldridge's crime. It would take no time at all for the flood waters to break and the union to march in outcry for the man's blood.

"Very well. Here is your advance." I waved a hand at the purse. "The rest comes when the newsprint reveals justice has been played out."

As if I had performed a magic trick, all three men vanished from the room as though they had never been there. With them also vanished the blade and the purse. For a long silent moment I stared into the flickering light of the lantern. Goldridge had less than a day to live, and likely he didn't have a clue.

Sufficient time had passed before I left the dark hall, abandoning it for the night blanketed streets of Hell's Kitchen in the Upper West Side. There had been no true need to wait as long as I had, the sinister streets were devoid of all souls. Approaching, Faust I mounted him with a will, whispering into his back turned ear. "We have a little side trip before we return home."

Faust tossed his head and waited for me to suggest which way to go. With my knee, I turned him to the northeast and started to let him cantor on through the streets towards my target, through the dark and deserted Central Park. Iron shod hooves struck the cobblestones as I eased back on Faust beside the squatting opulence of Goldridge's obscene mansion. There, amidst the lavish pompous mansions on 5th avenue, stood this councilman's idea of beauty. The facade was vulgar, completely over-adorned. The stonework itself had been so over-designed as to lose the pattern or any semblance of one. It was appalling. Clearly the idea had been to impress with complexity. The end result was a mass of untidy stone and no clear focal point. The entire block was taken up by his six story monstrosity.

So, this is what the city's misappropriated funds had produced. This over-extravagant blight on the scape of the city.

Enjoy your last night in a mortal bed. I bid silently to his darkened window. Come the morrow you will have made a graven bed to lie in.

Unable to bear the sight any longer without the desire to sully my hands overpowering my shallow will, I urged Faust to carry me along the streets to my home along the edges of Central Park.

As I handed Faust over to a blurry eyed Jacques, I was a little surprised to discover how awake I was. I was known for requiring a mere short sojourn into the realm of unconsciousness, but still. Normally, after carving a statue I was left creatively drained. This time I felt a surge of energy I could only attribute to the intercepted murder attempt.

I slid through the quiet halls of my mansion, contemplating the very real puzzle that lay before me. Christine had seen me kill. Granted, there had been just cause for me ending Ignazio's life as I had. Had I not, he undoubtedly would have slain me and quite possibly Christine as well, since she would have been a witness. Somehow I had to mend the damage that the sight must have created. It didn't surprise me when I found my feet had carried me to my desk. Absentmindedly my hands took up the pipe with its load of opium. I needed to think. I needed to be inspired to help me look past what had occurred.

So, to the rooftop I ascended. Beneath the starlight, I inhaled the sweet smoke reservedly, taking more care than before on the rate I was letting it enter me. All I desired was a little effect, I still needed to be able to concentrate. My instincts still broiled to complete the job myself this evening. To not wait out the sure turn of events on the morrow.

Casting my eyes to the stars, I let out a breath and watched the slow tendrils of dragon's breath twist in the breeze. My cloak was caught up in the gentle play and swirled about me. The scent of the smoke usually brought me such euphoria. Grimly, I looked back at the pipe. Tonight something about my habitual addiction bothered me. My utter dependence on this substance disgusted me. I loathed weakness. And yet here I was, bending to a need for this plant derivative to bring about apparent stability. Even as these thoughts drifted through my troubled mind, I knew I was trapped, I had no choice. The years had been too long since I had gone without. The calming effects of the sweet drug indeed assisted in helping me function, stabilizing my mood … when it worked. I shuddered as I recalled the horror of the past night when I had partaken too swiftly. It caused me to stare at the burning pipe anew in contemplation if I really desired to risk such a dark journey again.

Leaning against the balustrade on my rooftop, I sighed deeply. The wind carried the soft echo of a lamenting voice. It was wordless in its grief, soft and muted. As silent as a ghost I followed the beckoning sound past the depressing rows of my flowerless garden. Someone was hiding on the other side. As I came around the corner, I saw her framed in the moonlight. Huddled in her own light cloak, Christine leaned heavily against a row planter that held some of my most prized rose bushes. She was sobbing wearily into both hands, her lap drenched in her tears.

I wanted to run to her, to embrace her fully and chase all her fears away. But I remained riveted in place, my slackened jaw unwilling to speak. I could not embrace her, it was not my place to do so. And yet, I could not simply stand here staring dumbly at her like a mute. Nor could I turn from her obvious anguished tears and pretend I had not been witness.

"Christine?" I spoke softly, barely a whisper. "My dear, why do you cry so?"

She choked back a sob and looked up at me with a start. "No! It did not happen!" She cried out desperately, "Tell me I did not see that! Erik! Please, just tell me it was a horrid nightmare and I will believe you!"

My shoulders fell as my eyes shifted despairingly to the side. It had been hours since Ignazio's body had lain sightlessly before my feet. Hours later ... and before me now crumpled in a heap of near hysteria, lay Christine, desperate to cling to a hope that what she had seen had not been real.

I could not lie to her. Not even for the sake of her sanity.

"Christine, I only wish that were the truth." I did not dare take a step towards her, it was tasking enough to force my eyes to meet hers. "I am not a grand enough illusionist to alter those grim events."

Pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders, she wailed out, "He was breathing, then he was not … so fast … barely a blink! How did you know it wasn't just a passing stranger asking the time? How Erik?"

My left hand held the pipe, while my right entangled long fingers into the hem of my cashmere cloak. "It is hard to explain, my dear." I kept my voice level and controlled. Careful not to inflict the note that gave me power over another. My sole purpose was to try and calm her down, draw her out of that hysterical state she had worked herself into. "I just seem to know when hostile intentions are directed at me." Most of the time … my temper in the past had been known to see threats where none existed. Fortunately, this time my instincts had been correct.

"Oh God." She was rocking back and forth, still clinging to her cloak as though it could shield her from the chill of the world. "We'll all be killed."

I reached out my right hand towards her, taking a single tentative step. I could not suppress the urgency that invaded my tone. "I swear I would never do anything to harm you!"

Shaking her head, she buried her face once more in her hands. "It's not your intentions I fear. There was no time for thought in that mindless reflex."

Placing the still burning pipe on the stone edge of the planter, I knelt down before her, wishing to all hell for the courage to reach out and embrace her. But my wish was not fulfilled. Tremulously, I hung back, leaving the void between us barren. "Do you understand," I began gently, "that the very man you grieve had no remorse in plunging that blade into my back and slaying me in cold blood? He would not have spared a moments thought for ending your life as well, to spare him the trouble of dealing with a witness to his crime. Christine, angel, if I had not reacted as I had we would both be dead. Think of Charles."

"I am!" She cried out, bloodshot eyes locking tightly on my own. In them burned a white hot emotion I could not identify. It was sufficient in intensity to force me to lean back onto my knees, to gain some distance. In her current state, I could not reach her by any normal means, but I could not leave her like this.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I had to stop her downward spiral. Attaining my full height, I opened my eyes upon her frantically shaking form.

"Christine," The one word broke through, her small form stilled to that chilling effect I could produce through sound alone. "My child, you must stop this senseless madness. It is unbecoming of you." It broke my heart to see how easily she succumbed to the power of my voice's more vile deception. I loathed that I had been placed in the position with no option but this controlling lure. Her bloodshot eyes slowly raised up to look sightlessly upon me. In that moment, I knew … she wasn't even there.

A hot tear escaped my eye and fled down my cheek beneath the mask. It wasn't fair. Why was I cursed with this ability? Thoughtlessly, my hand reached out and stole the pipe. I inhaled a lungful to quell the growing despair welling within me. As the wash of the effects hit me, I exhaled and witnessed my right hand flowing up to beckon her toward me.

Like a marionette, her limbs obeyed my orders. Drifting beside her, I drew her along with only the subtle motions of my hands. Down the stairs, through the hall, and at last into my study which lead to my room. A fluid gesture bade her lie down in the bed and cover herself up. Through the whole series of controlled motions, I never laid a single finger upon her.

"Sleep, my child. Let the morning sun banish your fears to the darkness of night." I was crushed inside by the command I had given her, but it was for the best. She should not be tormented by the acts of a heartless criminal. Her form was so still now, so peaceful tucked beneath the covers. I hovered over her so close I could feel the heat rising from her body. Clawing at me viciously was the desire to climb right into my bed beside her and fulfill my every burning desire. In her current state she would never remember. The twist in my gut wrenched me back to my dismal reality before I gave in to the instincts.

Guiltily, I slunk to the door of my chambers to spy Charles lying on the couch, slumbering peacefully; a thought crossed my mind. By now his stitches should be secure enough. I glanced back through the doorway to Christine's sleeping figure, then once more to Charles. I made up my mind. Purposefully I made for the couch and gently coaxed the child's small form from beneath the comforter. Nadir must have given him a sleeping dose a bit ago, his body nestled in my arms only shifting slightly. Carrying my son across the room, I swung around the right side of the large bed and nestled him beside her, gently tucking him beneath the covers. Mother and son were reunited, resting securely side by side. Let her wake in the morning to this perfect dream, let his face be the first sight she sees.

It was a painfully precious sight. As I stood beside the bed, I saw no part in it for myself. Who was I to disrupt the peace and tranquility of their lives with the turbulence that perpetuated mine? I ghosted out of the room, closing the door behind me.

The couch now lay empty in the middle of my stud. It seemed to beckon me. Quite suddenly, I felt like a broken antique, weary and cast away from any place in this world. I flung myself down upon the cushions to stare up at the ceiling. There was no way I could rest, no way I could sleep.

Hours passed in silence as the oil lamps flickered low and went out one by one. Still I stared up at the gilded ceiling. Certainly I could have taken my remedy for my regular insomnia, but it was not sleep I sought. An old familiar feeling, icy and cruel, lingered within me. Fingers longed for the earned death of an individual who had wronged me and endangered those who mattered the most to me. I failed to suppress the base emotion, my willpower faltered under the slow surge through me in the growing darkness before dawn. The trap had been set, Goldridge was going to pay dearly for his crimes.

The first shafts of reddish light speared the darkness of my study, and with them the silence broke. Not with the morning song of birds, but the outraged cries of men. Slowly I stood up and walked across the floor to my balcony. From behind me on the cobblestone street the dockworkers and shipbuilders poured out like a flood along the edges of Central Park. At the head of them I saw Murphy holding high a familiar shining blade. The lynch mob of scorned workers surged on with a singular purpose, an all consuming goal. The shifting wind caught my cloak and tossed the ends high into the air behind me as I gazed down upon the instrument of destruction I had set into motion. The collective anger of men, by far the most unstoppable force. The mob's near endless length at last rounded the treeline of Central Park, having turned north onto 5th avenue. I could no longer see them, but the sound carried. An outrageous cacophony of furious screams and cries. Delicate Goldridge was never going to withstand this.

Inside me, I felt that familiar sensation seeping through my veins. The sluggish spread of venom searing through me like blood from an internal wound. Instead of growing weaker from the bleed, my strength increased ten-fold. A malevolent force surging, as the sinister smile I had banned from my features for so long released itself. I had forgotten what it felt like to hold so much power. Standing on my balcony, I was as powerful as the Persian shah. My orders had been delivered, and my dutiful servants would carry them out. A cold laugh escaped me, echoing out into the morning air, Goldridge had fallen out of favor.

Across the cobblestone street, a solitary figure in a tweed hat strolled nonchalantly along the walk before my house. As he passed the pillars that held up my balcony, I dropped a single black purse to his waiting palm. Cormac never altered his pace, simply continued on his way as though walking home. The task was as good as done. My three most trusted servants had delivered, there was no need to withhold their final payment for the headlines.

Once he vanished into the shadows, I cast one last glance toward the treeline which I knew concealed the mob before turning back inside. The pulse of power still flowed through me, and I felt drunk upon it. Gliding down the stairs I found myself driven to my music room.

Taking up the violin, I slid the bow across the strings playing with the most obscene and overwhelming sense of joy. Laughter erupted from deep within, a wild and untamed expression that no willpower on this earth could hope to suppress.

"Erik?" Nadir rubbed his blurry eyes as he stood in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

The bow drew forth an amusing cascade of notes as I replied in a sing song voice. "I feel wonderful! The statue!" I smiled. "Ohhh such a sweet and loving angel, the statue is complete and she shall be mine forever! For once, dear friend, the stars are aligning for me."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Erik? What have you been partaking of? You are … unusually … "

I paused, ceasing the musical torrent, I finished the sentence for him, " … jubilant. Why should I not be? Am I not allowed moments to be joyous? Or must I forever remain sullen?" I mocked him, teasing the bow before his eyes to cause them to cross as he attempted to track it.

Nadir closed his eyes, forcing them to uncross. "This is most … unusual. Normally when you finish a project you are morose with the loss of purpose. Erik, what has possessed you?" His voice bore suspicion.

I threw my head back and laughed. "What has possessed me? Oh, Daroga! What a remarkable sense of humor you have. So, indeed for me to be happy I must be possessed by a demon."

He took a step back, eyeing me. "Do not put words in my mouth. That is not what I was suggesting—" He paused, asking slowly, "Erik, why would such a thought occur to you?"

I shrugged. "By now you know my mind." Drawing the bow back up to the strings I spun away from him, the cloak swirling around me in great black folds. "Today is the beginning of a new day, Nadir. Why not celebrate the glorious dawn?"

I could not see his face, but I could hear his troubled breathing. I did not care.