Sorry for the delay. I decided to get quite sick on Friday and am still not myself. Currently very medicated, but at least I can stand to look at a computer screen for more than five minutes. Forgive me if I'm a bit slow this week, and also forgive the slipshod editing you'll probably see. I'll revive... eventually...

"I need a drink," Nadir said, as he closed the door after Mojgan's departure. If Nadir's memory served him correctly, he had never actually said those precise words before. Nonetheless, Darius disappeared with the tea tray and reappeared the next moment with a bottle of brandy and a snifter. Nadir stared at it for a moment, and then looked back at Darius. "You need a drink, as well."

Again, Darius silently departed the room, and when he returned was holding another glass.

The two men, only ostensibly master and servant at this point, sat across from one another, and drank.

"Did you know," Nadir started up conversationally, "that I very nearly made the mistake of thinking her insipid when Feridoon brought her to wife."

Darius snorted. "And I used to think of her 'Lady Gornafarid' in my head."

"'A warlike maid, firm in the saddle, and practiced in the fight,'" Nadir quoted. "All true, but not quite in the same style." He chuckled. "You were always a bit prone to being overawed by good birth, Darius."

The look on Darius's face suggested those days had long since passed. "He is still alive, then?"

"Oh, very much so," Nadir took the turn of conversation in stride. "In spite of himself, as usual." He rubbed at his face absently. "Perhaps he really was a sorcerer, after all." He glanced across the sitting room. "To think—Mojgan sipping tea in the very same spot Erik had declared his imminent death so very recently. I never used to believe in fate. But…" Nadir wondered at his loose tongue. But what was the point of staying quiet anymore?

"Will you go see him again?" Darius asked. "Like Lady Mojgan asked?"

"Of course," Nadir said. "For no other reason than I have nothing better to do."

Darius nodded sagely, and refilled their brandies.

This time, Nadir did not put off the interview. With a faint headache and faint displeasure, he set out once more for Erik's home in Opera cellars. There was a small boat he had moored on the far side of the lake, tucked into the shadows. He dragged it into the waters for a second time in that day, and paddled softly towards where he knew the flat was.

Nadir could not help but be wary of the inky blackness of the water. He could never forget his first, ill-fated attempt to gain access to Erik's home. The iron of Erik's grasp pulling him down, the chill of the water. It was pure luck that in surprise he had exclaimed a simple nakon! like one might say to a naughty child before he was submerged. It had been enough to jar Erik into recognition.

Why do you try to enter my home uninvited? He had raged once they were ashore, both soaked. Oh, you saved my life once, Daroga. And why? To meddle and make me miserable? It's enough to make me forget the good you may have done for me all those years ago. Is that what you want? For me to forget? I will, and gladly! But then what will become of you if your try this nonsense again? You know that no one can hold Erik back—least of all Erik!

Nadir had distracted him—asked him about his new trick for staying under water so long. It worked like a pressure valve might to alleviate pent-up steam, allowing Erik to chat merrily and direct his thoughts away from killing intruders. Nadir had listened, interested enough in the technicalities, but also painfully aware that Erik had not changed. Years had passed, and Erik had not improved.

I traded my life for yours, he wanted to say, and this is what you have done with it?

Well, if Erik had not changed, then Nadir would not either. Erik let him go; Nadir hounded his steps and tried to keep him from trouble—or at least, keep tabs on his trouble.

It seemed they were never to be rid of each other.

Nadir supposed that the only siren's call threatening to drown him today was his own memory. He shook his head and tried to gather his wits. When he at last arrived at the cottage, he hesitated, let his raised hand fall, and knocked at the front door.

There was a long wait, a shuffle behind the door, and then Erik appeared. He still had a well-maintained and well-tailored set of evening wear, Nadir noted somewhat sourly. The white tie was crisp, and in his hand he carried a top hat with a somewhat pronounced brim.

Nadir had no doubt that Erik's eyebrows were raised high beneath the mask. "What, twice in one day, old man? I am touched." He sounded anything but.

"I need to talk to you," Nadir said shortly. Actually, the more he thought of what he needed to discuss, the more it rankled him. He was about to push past Erik, but checked himself. "Though perhaps I should ask what it is you are up to. You're looking rather more put together than you were earlier."

"You mean, what mischief have I enacted since noon?" Erik said drily. "I decided to go to the opera."

"Are you not yet sick of Faust?"

"Prodigiously. I'm going to the Comique to take in Freischütz." Erik huffed. "As you so graciously pointed out earlier, I am not so old as to be in my dotage—the same cannot be said for you— so believe me when I say, I can make my way to and from an opera without unmitigated disaster striking." A beat. "Well. I've managed it before, but it's been a while."

Nadir shook his head. "Somehow, it is just as upsetting when you take my advice as when you ignore it. But let me in, Erik—I have news." A calculating look lit up Erik's eyes, and Nadir realized he was probably estimating the amount of time it would take his message via the Époque to reach its intended recipient. He shut that line of thought down swiftly. "It has nothing to do with that business. It's far stranger."

Was it Nadir's imagination, or did the mask look incredulous? Nevertheless, Erik flourished his top hat off and stepped aside for Nadir to enter. "I am agog." This, too, sounded quite flippant.

There was one thing to be said for Erik: he was not an idle man. Already, the public rooms of his home were neater than they had been earlier in the day. If not for the strange, musty smell of acrid gunpowder drowning in stagnant water that still lingered, Nadir might be able to separate what had happened here scant weeks ago. Erik must have caught the train of Nadir's thoughts, for he grumbled and threw his hat onto a chair with unnecessary force.

"The only hidden danger here now, Daroga, is the one that stands plainly before you," he said. "I think I can forbear to spare your life a little longer."

"Thanks," Nadir replied, and sat. He realized suddenly that he had been running on adrenaline for the past… well, weeks, but especially hours. His life had suddenly pulled him back twenty years, but, alas, his body did not suddenly regenerate into the strength he had had in his forties. Moreover, words had abandoned him.

Someone wants to see you, would only conjure up visions of the pale soprano.

I want you to come to my apartment this Monday, would no doubt set up Erik's hackles.

With Erik's stare weighing heavily on him, he started slowly. "Mojgan is in Paris."

Erik was silent.

Nadir let the silence stretch, but eventually had to break it. "Mojgan. My cousin's wife."

More silence.

"She has remarried a man in the foreign service and he brought her here. She visited, and when she found out you were also in Paris, asked to see you." Silence. "Do not ask me why, but she remembers you fondly." Silence again, and not an eyelash batted or head tilted to indicate Erik had heard a single word said. Nadir stared back. "Erik. You do remember Mojgan, don't you?"

Just when he thought there would be no reply forthcoming, Erik stood. Slowly, almost stately. He picked up his hat. He did not put it back on, but rather walked to the entrance of the parlor and set it carefully on top of a coat stand. "Erik thinks you should go now, Daroga." He made to go further into the house, but paused. "You may show yourself out. There are no more trapdoors to be fearful of here." He left Nadir alone then, with only a laugh echoing after him.

Nadir recognized that laugh. It made his blood freeze.