Raoul opened his eyes slowly, the light burned his eyes sharply and he quickly shut them again with a groan. He lay there for a while before with a growl he shrugged off the covers and got unsteadily to his feet. Questions niggled at the back of his mind and the murders of some of his closest men niggled at his soul but still he would not be swayed. Raoul De Chagny always got what he wanted, and what he wanted was Christine Daae. Clearing his throat he took a deep breath and shouted for his maid – his loud timbre shattered the peacefulness of the air around him. Elisabeth came hurriedly to her master's room, with a hesitative knock on the door she walked in slowly, her head facing the floor. From the air in the room she could tell her master was not in a good mood. She had experienced these kinds of moods before and knew how to react so as not to goad him into something he might regret later.
"Send for François" came his voice, sleep still tainted it slightly as it cracked slightly as he spoke.
Elisabeth swallowed; François was not someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of, he was the desperate measure for the desperate man and she knew it. So it had come to this? She thought to herself. Nodding quickly she turned her back and started to walk out of the room. A hand, tight on her shoulder, stopped her before she got to the door. Raoul bent forward slightly, the stubble on his cheek grazing Elisabeth's ear as he spoke, low and dangerously
"And you'll do it quickly, and you'll not let anyone know where you are going and what you are doing, too much rides on this Elisabeth" the way he drew out her name made her feel afraid for a moment. She nodded again and swallowed audibly, her legs threatening to give out underneath her as she made her way quickly out of the room, glad to be out of there but the sense of foreboding over what she was about to do was almost consuming.
She had become fond of her mistress and had seen her almost as a daughter during her brief time at the house. She was heartbroken at her sudden departure and had seen Raoul slip into the guise of a person she didn't recognise in order to shield his broken heart – he had become almost like the man he hated so passionately. She knew the truth however, she knew one had to follow their heart and her mistress had. Even she could see that it was not to her master that her heart belonged – even if her master himself was oblivious to the fact before his life came crashing down around his ears.
She crossed herself quickly and sent up a prayer to the gods to keep her mistress strong, to keep her safe for she knew that to summon François was to send them into the jaws of death one last time, the final time. She made her way silently down the stairs of the house to send a messenger to send word to François that his undeniable skill was once again need.
He came within the hour, the promise of considerable wealth after the task as much of an incentive than the job itself - here was a man that enjoyed his work. He stalked up to house and knocked on the door before clearing his throat, straightening his tie and fingering the blade that lay in his top pocket. The door opened slowly and Marcelin's head poked round the door – his eyes grew wide as he saw the man who stood in front of him, he found himself shivering as he stared as if looking at Death himself. Marcelin was young, no more than 16 but even he showed distrust to the man who stood before him. François removed his wide brimmed hat and bowed stiffly before flashing a toothy grin at the boy. This did nothing to ease Marcelin's nerves and only served to make him more on edge as he opened the door more to allow the man the step inside and out of the rain, which slowly fell from the sky.
"Fran…François" his voice came nervously
"Don't just stand there boy! Lead the way! I have been brought here for a reason and I don't have all day"
Marcelin nodded and tried to apologise but his words were dismissed or unheard as the older man followed the younger upstairs to where Raoul no doubt stood waiting for him
At the sound of his voice, everyone in the hall went silent, all eyes fixed on the man who stood next to Marcelin – no one dared breath as he walked past them all. Eyes followed him slowly and only when he was out of breath did they breath a sigh of relief.
When they had reached the room, Marcelin knocked on the door and waited. Only when he heard his master's voice bidding them to enter did he give a quiet nod to Françoise who made his way inside, leaving Marcelin outside alone. Taking a deep breath, he crossed himself and went quickly downstairs to questions and rumours from his fellow servants.
François removed his hat once more and bowed to the younger man in front of him
"You sent for me monsieur" came his voice, low and dry.
"I have a job for you" Raoul replied, surveying the other man.
François was a tall, thin man who was clean-shaven. His nose long and straight set off his dark narrow eyes; he looked as dangerous as he was. His long hair slicked back behind, tied neatly back in a dark blue ribbon. His cloak hung over him and leather gloves adorned his hands.
"Yes?" François said, sarcasm clear in his voice.
"You know very well I do" Raoul growled. "You are to find my fiancé and the man to whom she is now wed and when you do, you are to bring him back and the other… is yours to do whatever you want with, you have my word."
François nodded, a murderous glint in his eyes, his tongue playing over his lips thoughtfully.
"Any information on their whereabouts?" he said slowly, "Otherwise this is akin to finding a needle in a haystack. How are we sure that they are even in Paris monsieur? How can we be sure that they are even in France!"
"They were last seen heading out of Paris, they won't be very much further than that. Her husband…" he felt the bile rise in his throat as he uttered the word "Will not like it. He killed 4 of my best men and made their way out of the city. Search around, make sure you find them, it is important Françoise."
Raoul chucked a sack full of gold down onto the table; "This is for your trouble, there will be more when you return with my wife, and his head on a spike!" he growled, before regaining composure at the thought of his Christine coming back to him. It was time; vengeance would be his.
