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Erik

Chapter 44

The Discussion

Vincenzo departed before lunch, and after, Christine and I practiced her singing then made the journey to Ibrahim's apartment. Out in the Parisian air, the sun peeked out behind white, gentle clouds as we walked. Christine had her hand on my arm.

"Ibrahim is going to laugh at the idea," I said. Through the streets, people seemed to be acting differently toward me. Not everyone, but some would perk up with delight at my masked face rather than offer a frown of distaste and wariness. It caught me quite off guard each time and I had to look away. Look back to Christine. Always my sanctuary.

"We don't know that for certain," she responded, and gave a slight smile. "At the very least, I think he'd be pleased to learn he was thought of to be a spy."

I snorted. "His ego would absolutely be tickled."

We turned a corner, only to have to come to a sudden halt. The door of a first-floor apartment flew open to our left, and an auburn-haired man holding a pen and pad of paper was thrown out. He stumbled a step or two but gained his footing. Another portly, balding man stood in the doorway, fuming.

"Leave, trickster," said the man at the door. By now, several people had stopped to watch. "If I'd known that this is what you came to my home to interview me about-"

"But, Monsieur!" The auburn-haired man with the pen and paper was stable now, and turned to him. "Monsieur, is it not true that you-" He looked around to the people watching, making his voice higher and gesturing widely with his arms. "The head of the Fund for Homeless Youth!" He made a show of pointing to the portly man. "That you have been embezzling hundreds of francs?"

The man in the doorway went white as people around glanced to one another. "Get off my property, scoundrel, or I shall call on the police."

"I'm on the street, not on your property-"

"Come, Christine." My voice was low. I kept my head down and pulled her along to go around the scene. She nodded and allowed me to steer her toward Ibrahim's apartment. The commotion at our backs, we turned a few more corners until we arrived at the Jahandir - or, officially, Ali - residence.

I knocked. Ten seconds, and then Ibrahim opened the door. His face lit in surprise, and he smiled.

"Good morning," he said. "Very pleasant to see friends, especially unannounced. Christine, it is funny, I intended to visit today to ask you something, but this works fine as well."

"Oh?" she said, interest piqued. "What did you intend to ask me?"

"Well, why don't you both come in, then? Come inside, out of the summer heat."

"Thank you," I said, and we entered. I removed my hat, placing it on his coatrack. The space was quite different from Nadir's. The former Daroga decorated with red and green Persian designs, ornate lamps and rugs, and seemed always to have incense burning. Ibrahim had apparently elected for a fully high society Parisian design, everything clearly bought from the most expensive shops. It was as though he was putting as much distance as he could between his life here and his life there.

"Who is that, Ibrahim?" called, to my surprise, Nadir's voice, speaking Persian. It came from another room in the house, somewhere close by.

"Erik and Christine," Ibrahim responded in the same language. "We will sit in the parlor while you finish in there."

Wherever Nadir was exactly, Reza was clearly with him. I heard his high-pitched gasp of excitement and then a shout, "Can I join them?"

I laughed. I spoke in French. "Clearly, the party is in here with us. Poor boy."

"Please, Father?"

"Reza," I called, "you know we want to see you, but can you wait a few minutes? I have matters to discuss with Ibrahim."

"Is Nadir here for Azizah?" asked Christine.

"To teach her French, yes."

"I was going to say," I said. "For a moment, I thought you'd lost your mind and was having him here for tea, or lunch, for pleasure."

Ibrahim grimaced. "That you'd even come up with the idea of a pleasure visit from Nadir shows that you are the mad one here, my friend."

"I can hear you," said Nadir in French. "If you're going to gossip, learn to do so quietly."

"We shall be quiet, then." I moved to a couch, leading Christine with me, her hand in mine. My voice was soft. "We have something to discuss."

"What was it that you wanted to ask?" She made her tone low as well.

So did Ibrahim. "Ah. Yes." He sat in the armchair across from us. "Azizah told me, Christine, that she might like to see you again. She found you kind. I think it would be good for her to have a female companion, if you're interested."

"Christine smiled. "That would be lovely. Only you know we'd have difficulty communicating.

"No issue. I could easily translate until she knows French more fluently." He turned to me. "And what is it that you wished to talk about?"

"How interested are you," I said, and slowed my voice down, enunciating each syllable dramatically, "in becoming a spy?"

A beat, and then he laughed. Hard. "What in Allah's name are you on about?"

I smirked at Christine, who shook her head good-humoredly and gestured with a nod at Ibrahim. A prompt to go on. So I did. "Working for Vincenzo, spying on the Comte de Chagny."

He scoffed. "You are joking."

"Quite serious, actually. He came to me this morning to ask me to ask you."

Ibrahim sputtered. "Why - why would I spy on the Comte de Chagny? The man was a perfect gentleman, a lovely host, despite the hiccup at the masquerade. The hiccup, by the way, that Vincenzo caused. You're asking me to work for the thief? And how? Waltz into his home and start taking notes?"

"The how is yet to be worked out," I said.

"That leaves the question of why."

Christine then explained to him what Vincenzo told her, regarding de Chagny's attitude toward the needy. Ibrahim's expression grew bored. He waved it away.

"And why do you care so much if a few prostitutes are sick?" he asked. "A few homeless cannot eat? Sickness and starvation have always existed. Such is life. Why think about it at all?"

Christine's face heated. "I was a prostitute once. Or did you already forget? Remember the Flowers? That my life was turned around before any real damage was done is a miracle. So yes. I care."

Ibrahim's lips thinned in shame and he nodded slowly.

"And I've been homeless," I added. "More than once, actually."

Ibrahim looked at me. "You made it out every time, it seems."

"I almost did not. In fact, it's because Vincenzo found me - caught me, really, but that's a story for another time - that I made it out the first time."

His eyes cast down, considering our words.

"You are free to say no," I said. "In fact, it was my assumption that-"

"Fine."

Christine turned her gaze to me briefly, brows raised, then said, "Sorry, Ibrahim?"

"I said fine." He smiled slightly. "I've played spy before - quite miss it, actually. The intrigue and secrets of court. Being both right hand man and worst enemy. I was...well, I was useful, wasn't I? So..." He shrugged. "Tell your thief friend that I said yes. Just let me know when and where I start. It'll be fun attending grand social affairs again."