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Warning: Adult language

Christine

Chapter 22

The Plans

Whatever magic sleep had on my body, it worked its wonders on my legs that night, just as it had my torso and arms.

I awoke, absolutely elated, able to stretch my legs and wiggle my toes.

Pulling the covers of the bed off of me, I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, grinning with all the joy in the world. At last - at last - I had full control of my body.

I was no longer trapped.

I tried to stand, but I hadn't been on my feet in several days, so I had to try a few times. When I was at last upright, I walked around the room, only until my legs were no longer shaking.

I was better!

Hands quivering with excitement, I went to the dresser where my clothes were being stored and put on a fresh outfit, feeling like I had the world at my fingertips. Nadir was probably already at work at the palace, and I doubted Erik would be here for several hours, but I could show Mitra. I could show Reza.

I went to the door, opened it, and found my way to the staircase. I went down, slowly - not just for the element of surprise, but also because I didn't want to trip and kill myself with my renewed legs.

It was at the bottom of the stairs that I heard that chatter of three voices. Male voices, all speaking French. One was definitely Erik. Another Nadir. And I made out the accented, jolly tones of Ibrahim as well.

Perfect.

Silent-footed, I made my way through the halls and to the opened door of the dining room - but I didn't enter. I stood just outside of it, against the wall, listening.

Nadir was speaking.

"...and this is why, really, we must make haste with our plans. The Khanum is growing more insane by the day, and the Shah has no intention of relenting his violence. Stalling in any way will only mean further needless deaths-"

"The deaths could be stopped any time," said Erik nonchalantly, "technically speaking. But yes, Nadir, I understand. You want him to feel pain. I do too, for everything he's done. So that's why I've already made it clear that I am continuing to work on it. I haven't stopped."

"Daroga," said Ibrahim, "why do you continue to barrage the Angel of Death with these demands? It's not even me who's working on the project and I'm exhausted by it - and I also want the Shah out of power. I want his brother on the throne. But Allah above, these meetings are growing tiresome..."

Maybe, I thought, they are choosing to speak in French just in case the servants are listening. I doubt this is conversation they'd want anyone else hearing and understanding. Maybe that's why Erik taught Ibrahim French in the first place - the language could become a secret conspiratorial code.

At last, I made myself visible in the doorway. Ibrahim and Nadir were sitting side by side, their backs to me. Nadir was sitting up straight, like a rod was down his spine, while Ibrahim lounged, leaning back, his hands behind his head. Erik's masked face was to me, and he was leaning forward, over what looked like a cup of coffee and countless sheets of paper. When I saw him, his eyes were trained on Ibrahim as he spoke, but my movement caused his gaze to travel over his head and to my presence.

It took him only a moment to register that I was standing there, and when that fact clicked into place in his mind, his eyes widened and he shot upward; he knocked into the table a bit on his way up, and the coffee wobbled dangerously.

At his alarm, his two companions turned around as well. All three men were looking at me, dumbfounded, as I lifted a hand and waved to them, smiling.

"Good morning," I said. "I have legs again."

The relief in Erik's eyes was palpable. He gave a closed-lipped, genuine smile as he looked me over.

Nadir's eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise, and Ibrahim grinned widely. "So you do!" exclaimed the Grand Vizier.

"That's good news," said Nadir, nodding. "Very good news."

"Why don't you join us, then, Christine?" Ibrahim gestured to a chair next to Erik, who was already pulling that seat out for me. "It's always good to have pleasant company."

I glanced at the Daroga. "Am I not...interrupting anything?"

Erik shrugged and collected the papers. He stacked them neatly atop one another and placed them in front of Nadir. "Nothing important." A gleam entered his eye as I made my way to the chair. "This is excellent news. We should celebrate." He looked at the Daroga, who now appeared entirely exhausted. "Do you have any cake, Monsieur Khan?"

"Do I have any what?" Nadir was flipping through the papers.

"Cake." He finally sat. I was sitting too. He leaned toward me and asked softly, "Chocolate cake?"

I smiled again. "Chocolate is delicious."

"Oh yes," piped in Ibrahim, "I do love chocolate."

"Chocolate cake it is, then." Erik clapped his hands twice. "Well, Nadir? Better get to it. Christine and Ibrahim want chocolate cake."

Nadir didn't even look up; he only continued examining the pages (which I couldn't see well at this angle) through his spectacles. His tone was dry. "I don't have chocolate cake, Erik."

Erik gaped, genuinely affronted. "Christine regains the use of her legs out of absolutely nowhere, and you tell me that you don't have a decadent desert readily prepared?"

"It's not out of nowhere," I corrected him, "I've been getting better by the day."

Erik threw up his hands in exasperation. "Even worse."

I giggled. He looked at me, and his act of a man deeply insulted was broken momentarily by the smile that threatened to reveal itself.

"Erik," said Nadir, and raised his jade eyes to him, "are Christine and Ibrahim going to eat all of this cake themselves?"

"I have no issue with this," commented Ibrahim, winking at me. "We can tackle it, can't we, Rose?"

"Because," Nadir continued, "I don't want cake - I'm not giving Reza any at this hour, either - and we all know you're not going to eat it. So unless the servants all want a slice, it will only be the two of them eating this dessert by themselves."

"Such assumptions, Daroga," drawled Erik, and patted his slight stomach. "You know I have a voracious appetite."

"For a mouse, perhaps."

"Actually, I'm not fond of cheese," he mused, "but point well taken. Can Christine at least have breakfast, then?"

Nadir called out to Nazneen in Persian. The kitchen must have been close, for I heard her respond from a room away.

"So," said Erik to me, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, "you already know that we are planning on killing the Shah."

I nodded slowly, surprised at the sudden change of topic and openness with which he brought it up. I glanced at the fully-open door.

"Well," he asked, "do you have any suggestions for how to do it?"

Ibrahim sat up straight, interest in his features. Nadir sighed. "Erik," he said, "we already have a plan for it-"

"And what if her suggestions are better than our idea? She's quite intelligent, Nadir."

"I didn't say she wasn't-"

"I'd like to hear her ideas, as well." Ibrahim interlaced his fingers in front of him on the table.

Nadir shook his head, rolling his eyes, but seemed to relent. He looked at me expectantly, though doubtful.

"I don't..." I said, frowning. "I don't have any ideas."

Nadir nodded in approval. "And there you have it."

I looked between them all, at the annoyed expression on Nadir's face and the eager and interested expression on Ibrahim's and Erik's. The way Erik had brought up the topic really had been quite flippant. It seemed almost dangerous. It had been discussed before, but always with the door closed, with servants well out of earshot. "Do...the servants really not know French? Any French?"

Ibrahim's eyebrows shot up. "Afraid we are going to get caught?"

I shrugged. "Well..."

"I've tested, on various occasions, their knowledge of the language," said Nadir. "They're strictly Persian-speaking. The only one who can speak French is Reza's tutor - but he comes a mere hour a day, and we never speak of this when he's here. But I see you are intelligent for your cautiousness and foresight. Still," he added, looking at Erik, "we don't need anymore suggestions for how to go through with our plans."

"What about Reza?" I said. "He could overhear something. He could say the wrong thing to the wrong person, couldn't he? By accident?"

"Reza is well out of earshot," answered Erik, almost amused. "We always make sure of that."

"And if you are concerned the Shah has planted spies here," added Ibrahim, "it is doubtful we wouldn't have noticed an extra pair of eyes and ears lurking around. Remember that the Shah doesnt know of Echo Hall, and it's likely that if Nadir's servants were lying about their lack of French, someone would have outed us by now. And should the Shah suddenly gift Nadir another, unexpected servant, we will have to find another place to meet or another method of communication. Though I'm not even certain he knows we three are meeting at all. In fact, I doubt he does."

I paused.

If they felt it was safe, then I would play along too. After all, they were the ones most at risk of being caught. I quickly thought of every adventure book that I could remember ever reading.

"We could..." I said, and looked down - what was it they did in that one story about the knight and the princess? "We could drop a chandelier on his head."

Erik beamed. "Genius."

"I love it!" said Ibrahim. "What else do you have?"

"We could put a trap door in the floor, and have it fill with water when he falls through."

"Incredible," said Erik.

"Keep these coming, Rose," said Ibrahim.

"We could unleash a thousand scorpions into his bed," I said. That idea hadn't exactly come from a story I'd read - but I knew scorpions were painful. If I had to admit it, I was having fun with them. I was actually enjoying myself in their company.

"Superb," mused Erik.

"Really excellent," approved Ibrahim.

Erik looked at Nadir, reached across the table, and tapped on the paper. "You really should be writing these down, Nadir. Don't just sit there uselessly."

Nadir only glared at Erik. "You are the Angel of Death." He looked at Ibrahim. "And you are the Grand Vizier of Persia. For Allah's sake, why do the two of you act like children?"

"Nadir," said Ibrahim slowly, "your asshole is far too tight to be on me like this..."

"No, not children," he continued coldly, "Reza is more mature than either of you. You behave like..."

"Revelers of sin?" asked Erik. He cocked his head. "I'm not sure if it applies here, but you did call Ibrahim and me that once." He looked at his fellow reveler. "Did you hear that? We are revelers of sin."

Ibrahim lifted a glass of wine. I blinked. I hadn't even noticed that it was wine. What was the time? Eight in the morning? His tolerance must have run circles around mine - though, I suppose, that wasn't saying much. "I'll drink to that," he said.

Erik grinned. "You will drink to anything."

Ibrahim lifted his glass even higher. "And I will drink to that."

I grinned as well.

"The two of you," the Daroga continued, "and your constant need for attention..."

"That's Ibrahim," said Erik. "Do not get us confused. For the love of God, we are not the same person."

"You should be so lucky," said the Grand Vizier, taking a sip of his wine.

"You're practically the same person." Nadir rolled up the papers - clearly, no more work was getting done. I felt a bit guilty for it, but the pleasure of Erik and Ibrahim's conversation was far outweighing that emotion.

Erik frowned in disgust. "I'm not fucking Ibrahim."

Ibrahim's eyes twinkled. "Do you want to be fucking Ibrahim?"

Nadir ignored him. "Perhaps not, but you manage to fray my last nerve in a very similar fashion." He stood up. "I should be off to the palace, I suppose, since our business here appears to be finished." He nodded to me. "Enjoy your breakfast, Christine."

Erik and Ibrahim stayed behind while I ate my meal. When I was finished, the Grand Vizier also left for the palace. Erik and I continued sitting for a few minutes longer as I sipped on the last few drops of my tea. I think, really, I liked my new friends. But a realization occurred to me as I thought of them - Nadir Khan, Ibrahim Jahandir and Erik...

I didn't know Erik's last name. He'd never told me.

So I asked him.

I'd thought, of course, that it was a simple question - but he actually looked down and thought about it for several seconds, before looking up at me, eyes sober.

"Perrault," he said.

Erik Perrault.

It fit nicely.

Over the course of the following week, life actually seemed fairly simple. It seemed as though, despite the absolute chaos the past week or so had brought me, my life in Persia - for however long it would be - would be peaceful.

Mitra was ecstatic to find me able to stand, and Reza was just as happy...But lessons. Lessons were the pinnacle of my day - and I like to think they were the same for Erik. That hour when I got to hear him sing, and just be near this man who'd shown me so much kindness and friendship (and had, honestly, asked for nothing in return) was what I looked forward to every morning and missed every night.

It was going well. So well. Too well.

A week after my legs decided to work, as he led me back from his chambers to Nadir's house through Echo Hall, he stopped abruptly. I could practically see the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He spun to me, alarm in his eyes, and quickly placed his hand over my mouth.

I was glad he did, for I would have screamed.

Lying on the ground in front of us was a man in black leather clothing, his throat slit clean through, eyes wide and frozen in fear, his mouth in a similar position. A pool of blood was still wet beneath him.

He hadn't been there an hour ago.

But here he was now.

Which could only mean one of two things:

One of the few souls who knew about Echo Hall had killed him.

Or someone who wasn't supposed to know about Echo Hall had learned of its existence.

I didn't like either possibility.