Chapter Thirty

Lessons in Chess


"You're very clever and would be quite good at this, if you would just be serious and pay attention!"

"Oh! Do you really think I'm clever?" Éponine smiled. She thought herself pretty clever, personally, but Erik was a proper genius, so hearing him say it was another thing. It was even better than when he called her beautiful.

"It isn't what I think," he grumbled. "You simply are clever. Now, once more, I will ask you to pay attention."

"All right, all right. I'm sorry. I'm paying attention now." She bit back another smile, resolving to at least make a valiant attempt at being serious.

Erik sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. "Where was I? Ah, le fou. Le fou can go diagonally for any number of spaces."

"No, you said that about la tour. Or are they both the same?"

"No! I said that la tour can move straight up and down or side to side. It can't go diagonally."

"I don't think that's what you said." She frowned.

"Well, if it wasn't what I said, then what I said before was wrong. And it's very possible, because you keep distracting me."

"All right, so le fou is diagonal for however many spaces. And la tour goes straight—for how many spaces?"

"The same. Any number. As long as it isn't obstructed. Can you—can you stop playing with that?"

Éponine (who had swiftly disappeared two glasses of wine in a manner more readily comprehensible, though no less impressive than any of Erik's illusions, which will serve to explain her even more playful than usual behaviour) had been absent-mindedly galloping le cavalier across the table, and at Erik's request she made it come to a dramatic halt, and returned it to its place. "I like him. Little horse." Gently, with the tip of her finger, she booped the nose of the animal which was exquisitely rendered out of ivory atop its little pedestal of polished wood.

"I already told you, it's not a horse. It's le cavalier." Although clearly trying very hard to sound cross, Erik could not completely banish the hint of the smile which was threatening to show itself.

"I don't understand why it's called that, though. It's just a horse with no rider to speak of. Nor a body, either, actually. Just an adorable little head."

Ignoring her, Erik continued: "Now, listen carefully because this is the most powerful one of all. La dame. She—"

There was a ringing which sounded as though it were coming from inside the wall. Grumbling, Erik pushed himself back from the table.

"What's that?"

"Sure to be something annoying. I will be back shortly." There was a grim set to his mouth and a dangerous glint in his eyes that Éponine found unsettling.

As he made for the door which led out of the drawing room and into the small entranceway, Éponine stood.

"Wait here," Erik said, in a way that didn't invite argument.

Which was fine, because Éponine did not intend to argue. But neither did she intend to wait.

As soon as she heard the door shut behind him, she waited about ten seconds before following silently, slipping out the door. She found herself on the edge of the lake, in pitch darkness where, unfortunately, she couldn't see a thing. And then, there was a little bit of light—a lantern which Erik must no doubt have lit.

She carefully drew back from its light, but Erik's attention was on the water. "The boat..." she heard him mutter grimly.

And then, he set the lantern down, and in a very swift movement dove into the lake.

There was nothing but silence, then, and everything outside of the radius of the poor light thrown by the lantern was black as coal. Éponine shivered a little, because it was cold. Suddenly, she heard:a tremendous splashing sound, and some sort of a struggle. Still feeling in high spirits from her wine, she was more curious and less concerned than she probably should have been. There was more splashing, and then the sound of a thud as on wooden planking. Erik had found the boat, and by the sounds of it, he perhaps was not alone.

An out-of-breath Erik said, "I'm beginning to think you must want to die at Erik's hand. You really think I won't end by killing you one of these days? I might end by killing you by mistake, which would be gravely disappointing. If I am to kill you, I want to know that it's you, and do your death some justice."

"I sent you a message in the paper, but you did not respond. Did you find her?" It was the Daroga's voice which responded so simply and calmly, although also out of breath.

"Why would you come here so late in the evening?"

"The best time to slip down here without drawing attention is during a performance. Did you find her?"

"And what on earth has it got to do with you, booby?"

"Nothing. Until you brought her to my flat and placed her under my care, and after that, a great deal. It would have been courteous of you to reassure me as to her whereabouts and safety."

Éponine knew for sure now that the "her" in question was herself. "Yes, he found her," she called out wryly.

She heard Erik muttering a curse. Then: "There! Are you happy?"

"Are you quite safe, mademoiselle?" the Daroga called out.

"I've been annoying him at chess. Did he nearly drown you?" Frowning, she called, "Erik! You should let him come in for some tea or something. Otherwise I'm going to bed and I'm not playing chess any more."

She didn't really expect Erik to agree to those terms. Whatever the dubious friendship between these men, it did not seem to be the come-sit-down-and-have-some-tea variety. But surprisingly, after some barely-audible grumbling, she heard Erik say, "Well, booby? Do you want to come into my house for some tea?"

The Daroga, sounding to be caught quite off-guard, politely declined. He asked Erik to take him back to the opposite shore instead, and he called out to Éponine to take care and be safe.

Éponine went back into the drawing room to wait for Erik's return. She sat there and stared into the fire, and it felt like the edges of her brain were starting to sharpen again. When Erik came in, he was absolutely soaked to the skin. He was creating a massive puddle on the floor, and Éponine clucked her tongue and told him he had better go and change.

"Yes," he agreed absent-mindedly, clearly not truly listening. "Where's my wine? Ah." He picked up his glass (he was still on his first one). He went and stood in front of the fire, warming himself, taking a sip of his wine and seeming to let it linger on his tongue for a long while.

Biting her lip, Éponine watched him for a minute, and then asked, "Would you really have drowned him?"

Erik did not meet her eyes. He took another sip of wine. "It isn't something I would have enjoyed."

"That's an answer to a question which isn't really the one I asked. They're neighbours, maybe, but not the same."

"I am not a monster, Éponine."

"Erik, won't you look at me?"

After a moment, he did, and there was so much darkness and fire—but also pain—in his eyes that Éponine almost wanted to shudder, but she didn't. She didn't ask the question again, because she knew the answer. He would do whatever needed to be done. In light of that, the answers he had provided, while not the answers to the question she had asked, were really the ones that mattered. If he felt it needed to be done, then drowning a man would have brought him no pleasure, and in fact, would seemingly bring him a great deal of pain. Because Erik was many things, but he was not a monster.

"Good enough," she said quietly. "I think I'd like to go to bed now, if that's all right."

Erik nodded. He had turned his gaze back toward the fireplace, and he continued to stand, heedless of the water pooling at his feet on top of the fine rug.

Éponine quietly slipped over to his side, stood up on her toes, and tried to kiss him on the sharp corner of his jaw, just beneath his ear, which would have been a bold enough gesture. But she startled him, so that he turned his head abruptly toward her, with the end result that her lips brushed against his.

He immediately drew back as though he had been burned. She did not. They stared at each other for a long second. His was an expression of horror mixed with awe, while she wore a soft smile. Then, she bid him goodnight and reminded him that she would sleep on the couch, and she expected him to take to the bed at a decent hour—but to please dry himself off first.