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Erik

Chapter 47

The Uncle

We found Vincenzo leaning against a gray stone building two streets south of Notre Dame - just where he said he would be. He had his back to the wall, arms crossed, one leg bent so that his foot was flat against the stone. He twirled a fresh, unlit cigar between his fingers.

As we approached, Christine's question to me before we left the apartment took form in my head. My mind's eye saw her gently buttoning my waistcoat after I'd helped pin up her hair. We were very capable of dressing ourselves usually, but sometimes, when the other was near, we suddenly forgot how and simply needed each other's help. I watched as she smoothed down my clothes and looked up.

"Erik," she said, "how do we know that Comte de Chagny really is the...villain in this?"

"You mean what if Vincenzo has it out for an innocent man?"

"Mhmm."

"I thought of that too."

"And?"

"And I trust my brother. He was always one of the more level-headed of our group. I can't see him trying to ruin someone innocent."

She paused. "He's killed since you knew him last," she whispered, fingers lingering on my chest. Eyes there too.

"So have I."

She snapped her gaze up. Before she could react, before I could react either, I brought her fingertips to my lips and kissed them.

Hours later, in the soft blue light of mid-evening, we faced Vincenzo as he spotted us and smiled. Still leaning. Still twirling that cigar.

"I was not aware you smoked," I said.

He chuckled. "I don't. Picked it off some little boy earlier." He dropped it to the ground and stood straight. He stomped into the tobacco, crushing it. "Saved that child's lungs, likely. Nasty habit."

I smirked. "I can think of worse habits, thief-lord."

Vincenzo's eyes glimmered at that, amusement shining, then nodded to Christine. "Piacere di rivederti, Signora Perrault."

She smiled back. "It's good to see you too, M. Santi."

He raised is brows, impressed. "Erik, you taught your wife Italian."

"No, actually," I said, surprised.

"I guessed," said Christine with a breathy chuckle. "Glad I guessed correctly."

"What if he'd said something rude?" I was smiling as well. "Don't put that past him, my love."

She shrugged. "Then at least I'd be the polite one between us."

Vincenzo laughed. "I'll say it again, Erik. You did well."

It was darker when we arrived at Ibrahim's apartment. I knocked on the front door. No response. I tried again.

We were here so that Vincenzo could formally discuss with Ibrahim what he'd be doing as a spy. Vincenzo admitted that he did already have an excellent spy in Raoul, as we knew, but two eyes were better than one. And since the de Chagnys had a strained relationship, Philippe might say something to Ibrahim that he'd not let slip to his younger brother - assuming Ibrahim got into his good graces. A foreigner, this could either be very difficult or very easy. Yes, he looked and sounded different - but he was charismatic and rich, which meant he was "exotic". An intriguing thing to the bored and curious nobility and aristocracy. Ibrahim would need to play into that, if he was to spy.

I was about to knock on the door a third time, then give up, when the door opened. Ibrahim stood there, looking wan. His hand had a tight grip on the door.

"Good afternoon," he said, voice oddly strained. "I am...not prepared for guests today."

"Is everything all right?" asked Christine.

Ibrahim's mouth opened for a while, then his eyes landed on Vincenzo. "Is this visit for a reason?"

I explained to him why we were here. Ibrahim thinned his lips and drummed his fingers on the door. "I would ask to have this conversation another day." He looked to Christine. "You may come in, Rose." And looked at me as well. "And you, of course." His attention was on Vincenzo again. "If you do not mind, I wish to only... Something has happened, and I wish to only speak to...close friends."

"Understood." Vincenzo dipped his head. "Do let Erik know when you are ready to discuss."

"Yes I will." Ibrahim watched as my brother turned and walked away. I could sense the tension in Vincenzo's shoulders as he did so, but he clearly knew that an argument or even questioning was unlikely to convince Ibrahim to stay. Politeness was the correct route to diplomacy. When Vincenzo was out of view, Ibrahim muttered, "I still do not like him. But I want something useful to do."

"What's wrong, Ibrahim?" I said.

"Come in," he murmured, and made way for us to enter. We did, Christine first and then me. She stopped short with a gasp.

"Er...I-" she sputtered. "Ibrahim, there's-"

I looked, and froze too. "Ibrahim...surely you are aware that there's a sleeping infant on your couch."

Indeed, there was a baby, eyes closed and swaddled, lying on the center cushion of the sofa.

"Yes," he whispered, and went to the baby. "Yes, I know. This is Dilara Jahandir. She was born two hours ago." He picked her up and faced us, chuckling nervously. "I am her uncle."

Christine's hands flew to her mouth, clearly ready to congratulate him, but I asked, "And Azizah? Is she..."

His smile faded. "She's well. Exhausted. Sleeping. So I brought Dilara out here to allow her to rest uninterrupted." A pause. "I do not know if that is the right thing to do, or if I should be letting them sleep together. Clearly, I don't know much of anything."

"That's not true, Ibrahim," said Christine.

"Exactly," I said, "for example, you know very well how to be an enormous donkey almost all of the time." I winked.

Christine elbowed me, but Ibrahim laughed. It seemed genuine, though it didn't last long. He continued, "Nadir was here. He left an hour ago." He looked at his sleeping niece. "He had to be the one to find a midwife. To go and purchase items an infant might need. I thought of none of it."

"Didn't your sister?" I asked.

"I suspect she's been putting the idea of her baby off. Not wanting to think about it - not wanting to be pregnant with her husband's child. But then she saw Dilara and loved her." He looked down. "I love her too. But I failed as an uncle before she even came into the world. So...I need to spy for Vincenzo."

"How are those at all related?"

He sighed, frustrated, and met my eye. "I need to do something of value. If I were to disappear tomorrow, Nadir would be here for Azizah and Dilara. On the other hand, it seems that Vincenzo needs me."

"Your sister needs you, too, Ibrahim," said Christine.

"Thank you," he responded, smiling.

But his smile - the smile he wore now - reminded me too much of the secretly pained grins he wore to the Persian court, in a palace where no one actually knew him or his true feelings.