- ACT I –

.Scene 1.

'You are certain, then, that Mrs Verger is the only tenor here?' Hannibal pressed on, surprised.

He was quite certain of the pitch of his mysterious apparition's voice and was perfectly sure it did not belong to Mr Verger. The timbre had been richer, the voice fuller. Despite being somewhat promising is he put in the effort the young singer could not compare. Verger singing was… shallow for lack of a better word.

Hannibal had called early on Frederic, on pretence of having been around the area running an errand and hoping to make good on the man's promise of introducing him to the cast as he were here. The manager had been most eager to oblige, preening in the count's interest for his business.

'I am sure, Count Lecter, that if we had a second tenor going about the place I would know. I may not understand the artistry much,' Chilton announced with good humour and in an unexpected bout of honesty, 'but the book account for Mr Verger only, and I believe the man would sooner set the place aflame than take an understudy. Between ourselves the man is full of himself, and ….'

A shout echoing from the concert room, interrupting the manager chatter, soon reprised by a chorus of higher-pitched screams. Momentarily distracted, both men crossed at speed the last corridor leading up to the concert room. Chilton pushed open the heavy wooden panels and let himself in, Hannibal on his heels.

The action was confusing, with a great cloud of dust rolling about the stage, and a dozen or so people trying to retreat at speed from the place with a great deal of cussing and worried shouting. In the middle of the stage stood a whitened shadow, easily identifiable as Mr Verger from his vehement recriminations. As it remained standing, it was Hannibal's opinion that the chaos was mild in nature and only made to look terrible by the lack of restraint of all participants.

After a second's observation, it appeared Mr Verger was covered from head to toe in dusty sand. Said sand seemed to have come from a gutted thread bag, the kind of which were used as counterweight to lift props, that Mr Verger was presently weaving about accusatorily in-between fits of coughing. From this and the anxious looks most people directing above the stage, the accident could be easily reconstructed as a counterweight having dropped right onto Mr Verger head, miraculously leaving him unharmed by discharging his content before hitting the singer.

From the vocal expression of his displeasure, it seemed the man was not presently open to contemplate his luck.

'I am sure I won't remain in this accursed place one more minute!' Mr Verger finished petulantly, before thwarting the offending piece of cloth on the stage and making such a dramatic exit Hannibal had half a mind to start clapping the performance.

The man's departure left a lull in its wake, like the whole room had been smitten still after a thunderstorm. This effect was greatly helped by the fact that at this point, the majority of the chorus had huddled together to gossip somewhere backstage and away from any further potential falling objects, as well as the ballerina having scuttled to unknown corners in terror.

A man climbed up from the orchestra pit onto the scene, cast a glance to the discarded bag, looked up above the scene, and bellowed:

'MATTHIEW!'

'I am here, Mr Crawford sir,' someone answered from the wing, before crawling from behind a painted panel.

He looked a little crooked, Hannibal believed more out of habit of trying to blend in than any kind of ailment, but harmless enough from afar.

'I was there all along,' the young man insisted, 'fixing the set, sir.'

'If you weren't up there, then who was careless enough to let a counterweight fall onto Mr Verger?' Crawford all but growled.

'I wouldn't have been careless like that,' the man seethed, obviously vexed by the accusation, 'I know my way up there. But if you ask me, it must have been the ghost sir. You know he is not all too fond of Mr Verger.'

'Matthiew!' A woman with rich, dark hair, that Hannibal recognised with great pleasure as Miss Bloom, interjected. 'You know better than to go around spreading silly rumours!'

'I am not lying! I've seen him! The ghost!' The man insisted fervently.

'Matthew!' Alana cut sharply, with a warning edge to her tone.

The stage aide, Matthew, held her gaze defiantly for a few more seconds, before caving in.

'Sorry Miss. I'll go make a round up there to check everything is secured.'

'You do that. And no more silly talks of ghosts, if you please,' she gently admonished.

The man morosely disappeared between some curtains, supposedly to climb the maze of beams criss-crossing above the stage. He left consorting behind him a little group consisting of miss Verger, miss Bloom and Mr Crawford, all still oblivious of their public, and one very surprise Hannibal.

Frederic didn't seem exactly surprised, though. He looked more like this kind of display were an occurrence more common than he would wish for. The manager gave a long, wearied sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he could feel an incoming headache.

'It's not even noon and the cast are already in shamble,' he huffed. 'The stage will need to be scrubbed before any ballerinas even deign to set a foot back on it and the chorus are probably having a hysteric backstage.'

'The opera does seem to thrive on the dramatic,' Hannibal acknowledged, slightly bemused by the whole display.

'Night and day, I fear. I am sorry you had to see that, Count. There's been a number of accidents happening around the building lately. I have hired a number of recommended experts to look into it but despite what they proffer to be their best efforts, this old building keeps springing new tricks on us,' he explained with a rather vexed expression,' though Mr Verger seems to suffer from a special brand of bad luck with these accidents.'

They cross the room and walk up to the stage to engage the ushed group. Some musicians, a woman and two men, had hauled themselves from the pit to squab over the object of Mr Verger offense, and were excitedly chattering about the whole drama as they passed them.

The heart of the debate seemed to revolve around how Mr Verger had managed to live to sing another day, and why the universe would be cruel enough to allow such a thing.

'The bag has a hole in it!' The younger man pointed out.

'Well, yes Zeller, obviously,' the older one quipped back. 'I mean, there is sand all over the damn place! Of course, there's a hole in the bag. Question is, is it a tear or was it poked through on purpose?'

'You don't actually believe there is an angry ghost roaming the place, do you Price?' The younger man sneered back.

'Do you believe the ballerinas have flown away out of fear of the ghost or rather the dirt?' The woman pondered curiously, obvious to the antics of her two companions and peering backstage to make out, Hannibal supposed, the herd of spooked dancers form the shadows.

'If it weren't on purpose,' Price insisted, waving a flute in the face of his younger companion, 'Verger must have one hell of an ill luck. Seems more likely someone's after him, who decided to go for a flair of dramatics.'

'Don't you think, in this place?' Zeller snorted.

'A pint if you can prove that Price!' The woman jested merrily, sniffing out an opportunity.

The Opera House seemed a much livelier place than Hannibal had surmised. Fancy imagination could paint murder over a banal mistake, but the whole situation seemed rather more suspicious at this point. It seemed someone may be purposefully targeting Mr Verger, while leaving him relatively unharmed.

Either the poltergeist was a very clumsy one, or the purpose was not to kill Mr Verger.

Hannibal was shaken from his musing by a discreet cough from Chilton, trying to gather the attention of the rather absorbed little group of interest.

'Before you walk me through this latest incident,' he started, raising a pair of placating hands once he had everyone', 'and whether I need to prepare for another sinkhole in the budget,' he added in a rather acerbic tone, 'I'd like to introduce to you our latest and most important benefactor. Count Lecter, this is Miss Bloom, which directs the stage, and Mr Crawford, our Master of Music. Miss Verger, of course, you know already.'

'I do, and pity the man who doesn't for you voice, madame, is a delight to the soul,' he answered smoothly, returning the ladies' curtesy with a sharp bow. 'I am also delighted to renew acquittance with Miss Bloom,' he added, 'whom I've had the pleasure to meet here several years ago.'

'Count Lecter,' she acknowledged with a beaming smile, 'it is good to have you back in Paris. The Opera House couldn't have hoped for a more adequate benefactor. Count Lecter,' she explained, turning toward her companions, 'is renowned for his keen taste in the arts.'

Miss Verger looked from Alana to the count, with a puzzled and calculating look, before some recognition seemingly registered to her.

'Oh! I believe Alana talks about you, count! She may have mentioned you were a musician yourself?'

'I play the harpsichord,' Hannibal answered with a smile, 'though it may be sometime before I venture to entertain guests. I fear that I have had little time to practice during my travels.'

'A pleasure to meet you, count,' Crawford said, thrusting out a hand to shake Hannibal's. 'It is good to know we have someone interested in the arts going about the place,' he affirmed, giving Frederic a pointed look.

Frederic Chilton, through a commendable effort, refrained from making a display of his exasperation. It seemed Hannibal had just been made private to an ongoing feud between the two men.

'Yes, yes, the Opera is about singing and the arts, and I have no interest in meddling so long that artistry happens on time to meet the public! So, what with this last one? Refunds are not an option.'

'If Mason refuses to sing, that may come to be necessary,' Alana answered worriedly.

'Oh, I am sure my brother will sing,' Miss Verger retorted, 'he needs his ego to be stroked on a daily basis and he wasn't exactly hurt.' She stopped, seemingly turning an idea around before continuing, with a more careful tone. 'If Mason is to continue singing here, it may be necessary to prevent any future mishap.'

There was a fleeting look shared between the two women, too discrete to be picked on by any other than Hannibal. Alana looked worried and strangely hard for such a mild tempered woman. Miss Verger had a bleak air about herself.

'I'll go and talk to him,' Miss Verger concluded, taking her leave under the worried gaze of Alana.

'Is there no one who could take the role if Mr Verger were to persist with his threats?' Hannibal asked, playing the card of polite worry when his mind once again returned to the prior evening.

A quick glance was exchanged between Miss Bloom and Mr Crawford, seemingly carrying a conversation in its own before Alana turned to answer, with a pinch to her full lips.

'No count Lecter, there is no one.'

Daaammn. This came out way longer than I had expected. There was supposed to be a further three scenes in this chapter, one with dear Will, in the same amount of words XD

Well, good thing is I know exactly what to write next. But I will still post this scene first, cause it drained me and I need some feedback to put the life back into me. Writing like that is painful, if fun.

I thank you all for the kind interest you have shown in chapter 1. I really hope I will entertain your continued interest. I am the phantom singing from the deserted scene, and I cherish your words as so many roses to my heart.

Yours, UA