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Erik

Chapter 36

The Web

The moment I left the stage and stepped into the right wing, Franklin was there as last time. Grinning ear to ear. His hand was on my shoulder.

"A showstopper!" he exclaimed, eyes shining like gold in the sun. Like diamonds. "That was-"

"We need to go," I said, voice flat and low. "Now."

He blinked, and if I hadn't been so severe in mood, I might have laughed. Pity the poor man - I was not the easiest performer to handle post-show, was I? My first performance, I'd vomited up all of my insides. This time, I was demanding we flee into the night.

But I could explain on the way.

"Take what you need...any personal belongings, your wallet, keys, whatever have you - and then we need to go."

"What?" he sputtered, but obeyed. Partially, at least. He felt his pockets for his personal affects and apparently found them there. His hazel eyes were round with worry and bewilderment. "Why-"

"Have everything?" I asked.

"Yes. But-"

"Then follow." I started for the backstage door, the one that I knew led to an alley. I hadn't been back there, but Vincenzo had explained the full scope of the area to me. "You have a key to this door, I presume."

"Yes. Of course. But Erik-"

I opened the door to the dark alley beyond, like a portal to a black world. The barest light there. "I can explain in the carriage."

"In the - carriage-"

I felt the vaguest irritation, though I pressed it down. I would be untrusting too. I was reminded of the first time I'd met Christine, how she'd stood in the hall of the palace asking me about the guards. The irritation dissipated. "I will answer your questions. I will. But we need to leave. Quickly."

His chest rose and fell noticeably, but still he made no move to do as I said. "Vaillancourt will be expecting to meet me in my office."

"No. He won't," I said, then paused and corrected, "He will likely look there, then look here, but a note was left for him on your desk. I'd wager he's reading it as we speak."

He stared. "What on God's green earth-"

"And he will be quite angry. I can certainly leave you here to his wrath while I make my own escape. I'll come back tomorrow with flowers to lay at the grave he will make you dig for yourself." I watched him shuffle and blink rapidly. "Or you can follow me while I explain on the way." I opened the door an inch wider. "Shall we, then?"

Whether it was his good senses kicking in, or my eyes which gave away my urgency, he no longer protested. Now, he dipped his head and walked right into the night. I followed him. The door closed behind us, and I watched Franklin furrow his brows, mouth a thin straight line, and take his keys from his pocket with stiff fingers. His body had turned to moveable stone as he locked the door, then looked at me. Only the moonlight, dull as it was behind the clouds, illuminated the area. To anyone whose eyes had not adjusted to the darkness, we were all but invisible.

"This way," I said, and led him through the alley between his building and the shop behind it. Rubbish littered this sliver of street, and I though I smelled urine - and worse.

I saw the figure against the wall of the shop seconds before Franklin stretched out a hand to stop me, his palm on my arm. "Erik," he whispered, "there's-"

The man dragged on a cigar, a red glowing circle appearing at the end it, and he blew out smoke. I smelled it more than saw it. "It's ready for you," he said, voice rough with years of a heavy cigar habit. "Vincenzo is already on his way, and the target won't be far behind. Tell the driver your name and it's a free ride."

"Thank you," I said softly, and pressed on. The man blew out another puff as we passed, the smell reminding me of another man in another time, of a three-headed dog in a cage. I felt ghosts start rising in my brain, and I pushed them quickly away. I was several steps forward when I noticed a lack of footsteps behind me; I knew Franklin had frozen in place. Only when I glanced back did he finally follow again.

"I'm...becoming nervous," he said as we approached the coach at the end of the alley, its door facing us. "You don't...Erik, you don't intend to...you don't mean to harm me, do you?"

I whipped my head to him. "Of course not." That irritation returned. I opened the door of the carriage. "Mentally torture you, perhaps-" The joke fell flat between us, his eyes widening with fear. Now was not the time. I sighed. "No. I do not mean to harm you. Climb in. I will be behind."

He stepped up inside the way a mouse might step into a cat's mouth. I went a few paces toward the front of the coach and told the driver my name. He nodded his understanding and I climbed in as well. The carriage, which was on a well-lit part of Paris, looked unassuming as it made its way through the streets. No one looked our way - no more than usual, at least. Nevertheless, I closed the curtain, leaving us in near-blackness again.

"Please," he breathed in the dark, "explain what is going on."

I smiled, though I knew he couldn't see it. "Well. Assuming all went to plan, you will see your daughter before the end of the night."

Franklin asked a flurry of questions while on the ride to the Cat's Eye. The inquiries flew like frantic moths around the coach, and I plucked and answered each with calm ease. If I couldn't answer a question, whether because I didn't know or was told not to say, I would gently hand it back to him.

Where are we going? To a friend.

Is my daughter there? No, not there, but somewhere safe.

When will I see her? Soon. But Vaillancourt could be on our tail, so we need to outrun him.

Why will he be so angry? We took your daughter back.

That's all? And we took something very valuable of his.

Why? Leverage. My friend plans to use him.

For what? It's a lot to explain. You will find out.

Will we be safe? I don't know, but our chances are better if we act quickly.

Who is your friend? That's a lot to explain as well. You will find out.

Didn't you say you'd explain everything? Yes, but it will take longer than this ride.

Are we close?

"We are here," I said, and nodded to the carriage window. The tavern, just like I'd seen it the night I was reunited with my brother. Imposing. Welcoming. Secretive. Vincenzo himself in every stone, every wood panel, every sheet of glass.

The coach came to a halt before it. I opened the door and stepped out. A look around told me that no one had followed. But that didn't mean no one was behind. I turned back to Franklin, still seated inside. He looked from me to the tavern, wetting his lips.

I placed a foot back on the step and leaned on the door, making the carriage shift slightly. He hung onto his seat in response, as though I'd tip the whole thing over and force him to spill out.

"Franklin," I said, "do you need assistance in getting out of the coach?"

He wet his lips again and chuckled, the sound full of nerves. "No - no. I can..." He leaned forward, as though to stand, and I backed out of the way. But then he sat back down. "Just...remind me again what we are here to do."

"Luring Vaillancourt into a trap."

He nodded. "And I'm the bait."

"In a sense. He thinks you took what belongs to him." I looked at him. "But so long as we follow the plan, you are safe."

"I never asked why you didn't tell me about this plot," he said then, face tight. "It didn't occur to me to ask. I'd thought at first that you - but no. I doubt this is a spur of the moment plan, is it? This is pre-meditated, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said patiently. No sign yet of Vaillancourt.

"Then why not tell me?"

I paused, a bit of shame bubbling for adding to his anxieties. And for the lack of respect I realized I showed him in this. But it couldn't be helped; I couldn't have told him. "You might have refused to participate."

A small flash of anger appeared in his eyes, for which I hardly blamed him. I was betting on the fact that he'd forget his temper once he saw Grace. To my relief, he stood and exited the coach. The coachman didn't ask for payment, nor did he leave. He must have been one of Vincenzo's.

In fact, the moment Franklin had exited, he informed us that he'd be just around the corner. Another of Vincenzo's men would fetch him once we needed to leave. And only then did he steer the horses away.

Now Franklin looked truly uncomfortable. He hesitated to move at all, even when I took a step toward the tavern.

But the second the coach was out of view, a new one took its place, coming fast from the direction we'd arrived. It came to a sudden halt, horses whinnying.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door of the tavern. Franklin, realizing what was happening, didn't put up any resistance. I opened the door and-

"Knight!" came Vaillancourt's booming voice. "Phantom! Turn and face me, hornswogglers!"

I dragged Franklin, his bicep shaking, into the tavern. He stopped short and gave a gasp. "He - he doesn't have his-"

"My dog!" Vaillancourt stormed in right behind us, nearly ripping the door off its very hinges. He himself was unhinged. He looked ready to beat Franklin into the ground, so I stepped in front him, away from Vaillancourt's fury. At the dozen or so men who stood from their tables, the large man refrained. He was outnumbered here.

But had he found Franklin alone, he very well may have killed him. At that, my fury matched his own.

So I pushed him back.

I kicked him between the legs repeatedly until he fell.

I throttled him while he was down.

I grabbed the nearest knife and stabbed him through the chest.

I did none of those things.

My hands itched to, but I would have no more blood on them.

Vaillancourt seethed while Franklin breathed heavily behind me. "You're a rat," hissed the red-faced, red-haired brute to M. Knight. "A filthy sewer rat, born in the gutter and encroaching on civilization. I am the rat-catcher. And the thing about rats..." He stepped forward, but no more, as the men in the tavern steeled themselves, became armor, prepared for battle. "The thing about rats, Franklin, is that when there's one, there's bound to be more." He glanced around and smirked. "It appears I've found the nest."

"Oh, no, my friend," said an easy voice to the left. Vincenzo, sitting cross-legged on the bar, twirling a knife. Luciana's knife, his late wife's knife, I realized with a pang. He hadn't been there when we'd come in. "You didn't find it - no. I told you where to go. This isn't a nest." His smile turned roguish. "It's a web. And I have strings everywhere."