Nadir had to wait almost a week to put his scheme into practice for in those days Erik's nerves were raw. He hardly tolerated more than a glance thrown at him over the chess board, and his game, which in the last few weeks had been coming closer to its former brilliancy, had become careless again. Every evening, Erik quickly scanned the newspaper and threw it in exasperation after few minutes, and he snorted or replied with monosyllables at the few casual comments Nadir ventured.

So Nadir was pleased the day Erik received him with an offer of cognac when he entered the sitting room. Today would be the day to try to draw Erik closer to music.

After making a bit of small talk and ordering Darius, despite Erik's protests, to bring supper from a nearby restaurant, Nadir fell silent, waiting for Erik to start reading that day's newspaper. But instead of scanning any of the other newspapers that littered the coffee table, Nadir just fell silent and finished his cognac. After what he considered a substantial amount of time had passed by, he stood up and walked to the window. He idly peeked outside for a moment, and then he wandered to the glass door that divided the dining room from the sitting room. He opened it and paced in the dining room before sitting on the piano bench. He caressed the smooth surface of the instrument, fully aware of the fact that Erik had been following his every move.

Nadir finally opened the cover of the piano and touched one of the keys. A slightly discordant note resounded in the room. He lifted his finger and waited. There wasn't any movement in the sitting room. Nadir tried another key. Still nothing. Feeling a little bit more daring, Nadir extended his hand over the keyboard and mimicked the position of Erik's fingers when he played a chord. He almost shrank at the result. It was dreadful. Nevertheless, he extended his other hand and tried another one.

A roar almost knocked him out of the bench.

"Daroga!"

Nadir turned around to find Erik standing at the threshold, leaning on the frame of the door, his posture as threatening as if he was impersonating the Opera Ghost again. Somehow, Nadir managed to compose his features in what he thought was an innocent look.

"What, my friend?"

"What? What?" Erik growled. "Are you trying to torture me? That piano is completely off key!"

Nadir's eyebrows darted upwards.

"Is that the reason why you haven't played it yet?"

Erik grasped the frame of the door tightly. He glared at the Persian. Surely, this was too much. Nadir was overstepping the last boundary.

"That is none of your concern, Daroga," he seethed.

But Nadir didn't hear him. He was now staring down at the keys.

"Would you allow me to hire someone to tune it? I would send Darius to ensure. . ."

In an instant, Erik was by his side, and it startled Nadir. Erik hadn't moved so fast since the days he'd haunted the Opéra. One of his hands clasped Nadir's shoulder; the other one slammed the cover of the piano shut. The whole instrument resonated harshly, but Erik seemed to take no notice of the noise.

"If I wanted to play, I would have tuned it myself. I would have even gone out to purchase the instruments I needed," he hissed.

His voice was hoarse and his eyes burned with pain. Nadir's darted away.

After a very long time, they heard the front door open. Erik's grasp on Nadir's shoulder lessened, and Erik turned around.

"Come Daroga," he said wearily as he hobbled towards the sitting room. "Let's have something to eat."

Three days later, Erik walked one morning into the living room to find a small case lying on the mantelpiece. He couldn't hold back a gasp when he opened it and recognized the tuning fork, mutes and handles. He snapped it closed, in irritation.

That evening, he studied the Daroga closely, but the Persian didn't even cast a glance at the case. It was as if the damned object didn't exist. Erik muttered a few curses under his breath, but decided to ignore that particular intrusion. If the Daroga could feign to oversee the existence of an object he had brought himself, so could Erik.


Some days later, Nadir had to repress a smile when he entered the sitting room and found Erik, who'd gotten rid of his jacket and waistcoat and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, bent over the open piano.

"Not a word, Daroga," he grumbled. "Or I shall throw the damned thing down the stairs."

Wisely, Nadir served two glasses of cognac and handed one to his friend, in silence.

Nonetheless, despite the fact that he tuned the piano to perfection, Erik didn't play. He tried a song that first evening, to check out that he hadn't missed anything, he told Nadir, but then he closed the instrument and he hadn't come near it since then.

It was with dismay that Nadir noticed the surface of the piano had started gathering dust once again.