A/N: Yes folks, the Paris sewer isn't the only place the Merde hits the fan... (Insert evil laughter here.)
Chapter Thirty-four: One Box
The Persian paced the living room of the house beside the lake. Leaning hands upon the sill of one of the windows, he glimpsed the lantern that Erik hung off the front of the boat listing slowly from side to side as Erik poled the craft homeward.
Sitting in the front, was Mirielle. Half-turned she chatted while looking over the edge into the water. Nadir sighed. Perhaps he'd been a little hasty to pin some nefarious deed upon Erik. Chuckling to himself, he straightened and waited beside the front door.
Erik offered a hand to Mirielle. Her dainty foot no more than brushed the pebbles on the shore than his door swung open to reveal a grinning Nadir Kahn. His hopes of achieving a quiet, comfortable evening with Mirielle evaporated.
"Oh, Nadir. How are you this evening?" Mirielle smiled.
"What are you doing here?" Erik asked.
Nadir lifted his chin. "I arrived at the Opera in time to see a man clad in a dark coat abducting a woman." He grinned at Mirielle, the corners of his mustache lifting. "Has this socially inept muti properly apologized to you?"
She looked shyly at Erik who stood with his hands locked behind his back. He glanced at his feet and then back to her. "Nadir," he began, his fey eyes glowing, "may I present my fiancée."
Overcome by Erik's simple revelation, Nadir took a deep breath. Stepping forward with opened arms, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Ma sha Allah," he pronounced his voice thick with emotion. Pulling them in closer, his placed a kiss on Mirielle's cheek. "May Allah bless you both, for all the years you shall share."
"Thank you," Mirielle replied.
Erik gave Nadir a pat on the back. "Come on, let's have something to celebrate. I think I still have some of that stuff you drink Nadir, the one with no alcohol in it."
"You don't drink?" Mirielle asked.
"Only in a rare circumstance," Nadir explained. "Alcohol is Haram, forbidden in the Islamic world."
She placed a hand on Erik's arm. "Well, we certainly don't want to lead anyone astray, do we?"
They turned towards the door. Nadir asked, "Now that you are here, can you tell me a little about your roommate?"
Percival managed to get his feet under him, one arm out to steady himself on the slippery surface that must be the door that admitted them into the sewer. Holding his breath and trying not to think of the wet, clinging sludge that coated him up to his thighs, he held a breath and tried prying the door open.
Finding an edge with a fingertip, he flexed his fingers into claws and pulled. After a few inches of movement, the door seemed to be jammed. "Damn.." he muttered. Trying again, it didn't budge.
"You," he called to Queval, "help me get this door open."
Queval attempted to take a step. Moving carefully with his arms out he slogged through the lower center of the corridor they stood in and made his way towards the inspector. Reaching for what looked like the edge the man had a hold of, he sat his foot on something that shot out from under him. Suddenly falling, his hands flailed, catching the other man by the back of his coat.
The two men swayed, Percival flailing to stay upright while Queval's feet shot out from under him, dumping him onto the floor. Climbing back to his feet, Percival caught hold of one of the man's hands and tried to steady him while he slid, gaining a foot hold. They stood together, breathing heavily, when the door swung completely open.
Tending the fireplace, Erik stood to accept the glass of Cognac that Mirielle offered. Taking a sip, he held the glass, his elbow resting on the mantel. Another wail rent the air.
"Oh, those poor men," Mirielle shook her head. Turning a hard eye on Erik she tsked. "Don't you think they have learned their lesson?"
He swirled the liquid in the glass and peered at her. "If they had gotten into the corridor with you, my dear, you might be with them even now."
Her eyes narrowed. "Well, leave them there a while longer." She turned back to the sofa and seated herself.
Nadir sat smiling upon the chair next to the fireplace. "So, do you believe that Mademoiselle Jardaux would not be opposed to taking dinner somewhere with me?"
"You'll have to ask her. I can introduce the two of you properly. Why don't you come for dinner tomorrow?"
"Would tomorrow be a good time?" Nadir queried.
Erik let a dry chuckle escape. "You're not in any hurry are you, Nadir? I thought you liked your ice cream cold."
Nadir raised a shoulder in an easy shrug. "A man can change his mind, can't he?"
Looking at his long time companion, Erik nodded. "Yes. A man can change his mind."
Sitting on the sofa, Mirielle looked quite comfortable in his house. A though crossed his mind. She'd never seen his bedroom, only the one he had prepared for Christine. Perhaps he should take Nadir aside and ask him how to breach the subject of the coffin.
Another pair of howls pierced the air. Erik withdrew his pocket watch. "They'll be out of there soon enough." He spoke to Nadir as he walked towards his front door, "Care to accompany me and assure those idiots find their way out of the sewers?"
Finishing his drink, Nadir arose and nodded to Mirielle. "I'll be at your apartment at seven," he said, retrieving his hat to join Erik.
La Chance could hear the direction of the howling. He could also hear a pair of voices. "Help!" he cried, banging a fist against the bricks and cursing his stupidity. "Over here! The door is jammed."
"Step away from the doorway, Monsieur," a voice from the other side told him.
With a faint grating sound, the door swung open. Standing before him holding a lantern was an exotic looking fellow with a fuzzy hat on his dark head. The man raised his arm and pointed down the corridor. "The stable is that way. I suggest you wash off at the pump near the horse trough."
"Who are you," La Chance demanded. "Are you working with the Ghost?"
Nadir Kahn turned a surprised gaze at the younger man. "No. Although I would recommend you no longer search for him. He's been quite lenient with you this time."
"I'm not afraid of him," La Chance growled. He started to pull his press credentials from his pocket, but something wet and slimy clung to his coat. He flicked his fingers in the darkness, turning away so he wouldn't see what it was he thought clung to his hand.
"It isn't the Ghost you need worry about," another voice growled. Off to the right of the lantern appeared Queval and the Inspector that had nabbed him when he was here with the dogs.
Nadir pointed towards the stables again. As La Chance turned to follow the other men, he swore he heard ghostly laughter.
Mirielle slipped off her shoes. The fire had made the room quite cozy. If Erik was escorting Jules out, and checking on those men, perhaps she'd have enough time to get really comfortable. The surprised joy in Erik's voice would be a wonderful way to cap off such an amazing day.
Getting up from the sofa, she paced through the house. Somewhere, a slim, flat box contained a beautifully transparent costume.
"Merde!" La Chance spat.
"Precisely," Nadir replied eyeing the dark matter sluiced off by the pumps water. The man who identified himself as Queval sat miserably waiting his turn.
"The water is freezing!" La Chance spat as he wrung off his coat and flung it to the floor.
Percival stood with a hand against the wall, attempting to scrape something off of his shoes. He muttered a stream of invectives in cadence with his sharp movements. Turning to glare at his companions he said, "If it weren't a health hazard, I'd have you two in the jail at the station!"
Nadir leaned against the trough, wondering if there were any further assistance he could offer, but decided Erik would probably appreciate them having to sort out their own way home smelling as they did.
"I think you gentleman can find your own way out from here." He paused momentarily. "I needn't remind you of what a trolley this is?"
All three men turned to gape at him. "I think you mean 'folly'," Queval offered.
Nadir tipped his hat and walked away, leaving the three ninnies. Tomorrow he may have a chance at speaking to the lovely Catherine.
The door swung open smoothly. Stepping inside, the room was dark. Mirielle went back to pick up one of the lamps and bring it with her. She'd already checked the parlor and the bedroom she had stayed in. Unsure of what room she entered, she poised at the threshold.
Stretched before her on a small dais under a canopy of black curtains was an elaborately decorated coffin. It wasn't exactly the sort of box she had hoped to find.
Erik hummed as he crawled up through the trap door and into the mirrored room. Going over to one of the panels, he tapped it lightly. "Mirielle?"
The sofa sat empty. He went to check the water closet, but its door stood ajar. Perhaps she'd gone in the kitchen. Standing at the threshold, there was no woman in sight. He sat hands upon his hips and turned back to the parlor. It was then he noticed his bedroom door was open.
Cursing himself, he'd forgotten to ask Nadir about the coffin. How on earth was he going to explain it to Mirielle? Walking quietly to his room, he pushed the door open a little more.
She stood with her back to him. "Mirielle, dear girl. I can explain."
She made a curious hiccupping noise and Erik realized she was sobbing. Going to her, and placing his hands on her shoulders he turned her gently. Silvery tears coursed down her cheeks. "Oh….Erik….."
"I can explain…"
"Why didn't you tell me?" she took in a breath. Her trembling hand rested upon his lapel. "How long do you have left?"
"Left?" He cocked a ridge of skin where a missing eyebrow would have grown. "What do you mean left?"
Her trembling fingers clutched his lapel, taking a moment, she sputtered, "To live."
His mouth formed a perfect o. "Oh, no. It isn't that! I'm fine darling, right as rain, you see," he lifted her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "That is a…um…I sa…its…"
"A coffin," she said softly. "You aren't ill?"
"No, I'm quite sure I'm fine."
Her soft lips pouted. "You aren't trying to spare my feelings are you?" He started to speak but she blurted, "I'll stay with you, darling. Right to the end. Don't send me away."
He took hold of her shoulders again. "I'm not dying, I promise you." He steered her towards the parlor. "It's a long story, so I suppose I should start now."