Chapter Three: The Curtains Open

"Are you sure?" Sadira asked, leaning forward in a most unbecoming manner. The curtains of the small sitting room were drawn, and there were half-mended children's clothes in a neat pile next to the floor cushions, where the two women were seated. The home was modest for the wife of a successful mason, but Leilah had been nursemaid to Princess Pareesa's children before she had married Rashid less than a month ago.

Leilah nodded. "Positive. Mehrdad and Settareh were taken from my care a week before I married. I do not know where they were sent, only that the khanum herself wished to take charge of their upbringing."

Sadira sighed. She had been asking questions for the better part of the past week, trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Princess Pareesa's children. So far, even their former nursemaid seemed to have no idea what had become of them.

"Thank you, Leilah," she said at last, turning away.

"Wait!"

Sadira turned back, and Leilah leaned in close, whispering in her ear.

"But I have heard my husband say that they have been using basket children to carry sand back and forth on the building site where he works…and two of them are fairly new. I am not permitted to join my husband, so I have never seen them...but perhaps it is Mehrdad and Settareh. I do not wish this repeated, Sadira! Even if they are her children, the khanum does not want them identified as such."

"Well, I can see why," Sadira replied, her brown eyes flashing with anger. "Of course she wouldn't wish it known that she's working her own grandchildren like slaves because she didn't care for their father!"

Leilah glanced around, as though she half-expected to catch sight of a spy or assassin. "Please, Sadira! You must take care. You know what happens to those convicted of treason—even the women."

"I do," Sadira replied, more quietly. "But I cannot forget my loyalty to my mistress, either."

Sadira recalled happier times, when Master Mirza had still been alive. When Leilah would take the children out to play, and Sadira would help clean them up, as they managed to collect an increasing amount of dirt each time they came inside from the gardens. And then dinner would be served, with the princess and Master Mirza exchanging loving looks over the children's heads…

Leilah was a friend to her, and also loyal to the princess. But she was afraid, and with good reason. Those convicted of treason faced Erik's maze of mirrors—and Allah knew what other horrors. She shivered involuntarily, and wrapped her shawl more closely around her.

Suddenly she cleared her throat, her eyes meeting Leilah's. "What building site are those children on?"

                                                                ***********************************

Erik stalked into the khanum's private chamber, extremely annoyed. In the middle of all the planning for Princess Pareesa's liberation, he had completely neglected his duty of entertaining the khanum.

The duty hadn't been difficult, at first. A few dead bodies a week were more than enough to please her. But now she was demanding more and more creative deaths…

Erik could appreciate a good kill, but death and violence for its own sake did not appeal to him—unless he was under the influence of powerful narcotics, which the khanum had provided him with.

But he was beginning to fill with dread over the growing darkness within himself—the darkness was not new, but it seemed to be taking over more and more. Erik did not desire to be its slave, nor a slave to any will but his own. Perhaps, with this one act of goodness, he could claim victory over the khanum—and the darkness that she threatened to unloose upon the world.

Shaheen Khanum was waiting for him, stretched out leisurely on a delicately embroidered divan, with two of her ladies present. One sat at her feet, bathing them in cool water from a painted basin. The other stood just behind her, hands folded and eyes downcast.

Shaheen herself was dressed impeccably, in a deep burgundy with diamonds around her throat and ankles, and rubies at her wrists and adorning her veils. Yet she was the sort of woman that would have been glamorous in a burlap sack. It was not the jewels or even the features that were majestic, but the woman herself.

But there was also coldness and calculation with all this glamour, giving Erik all the more reason not to trust her any further than he could throw her.

About five feet, I should think, with a good tailwind.

The image of himself throwing the khanum out the window almost made him laugh, and he was very glad of his mask at that moment.

"You have not come to see me, Erik," Shaheen said reproachfully. "I am growing displeased with you. I trust this failure is due to preparations for the No Ruz festival?"

"It is, madame," Erik replied firmly, refusing to yield. He would not beg forgiveness, nor resort to the flowery apologies characteristic of the Mazenderan court.

If I ever speak the words, "O Shadow of God" to any member of this twisted family, I shall cut out my own tongue!

"I am delighted to hear it," Shaheen replied with a smile, showing all of her gleaming white teeth through the redness of her veil.

"Will all the ladies of the court be present?" he asked lightly.

"Of course they will," Shaheen said irritably. "They would not dare miss such an event—and who would want to? After all, I am certain that your performance will be spectacular."

"I am glad of your confidence, madame. I had heard that certain members of your family were not in good health, which is why I asked."

"The Shah is in perfect health," Shaheen snapped. "I do not know what you mean."

"I was referring to his sister," Erik replied, equally annoyed. "I am skilled in the art of medicine, if she is in need."

Shaheen studied him with interest, and Erik found his muscles seizing up involuntarily. He hated being looked at that way, as though he were some oddity…like a carnival freak…an animal in a cage…

"My daughter is well enough, very busy with her husband," Shaheen remarked after a moment's silence. "She will be attending the celebrations, naturally. If any of my women are ever in need, I shall send for you. But I would prefer that you focus your considerable skills on more…diverting ventures." She was still looking at him with suspicion in her eyes.

"I intend to, madame," Erik replied. "If that is all, I have many preparations to make—"

"Wait," Shaheen said calmly. "I heard rumors, Erik, that a woman has been to your bed. Are they true?"

Erik smiled to himself, although he would have to tread carefully. It would not do to land Sadira in trouble, not when she was his only link to the princess.

"It is, madame."

"Who was she?" Shaheen demanded.

"A servant," Erik replied carelessly. "I did not ask her name, nor did I care to know it."

"I see…" Shaheen twisted the end of one of her veils around the tips of her fingers with a tenseness that Erik did not understand. It was as if she were sitting on hot pokers, the way she shifted suddenly.


"You are dismissed," she replied coolly. "And I expect that all your efforts will meet with success."

"As do I, madame," Erik replied, turning to leave.

Happy New Year, Shaheen Khanum!

                                                                ******************************

Plans for the No Ruz celebration were underway. Servants were dashing left and right, cleaning and adjusting under the watchful eyes of the guards, who stood in full livery. It made them seem twice as intimidating as usual.

Nadir tried to look as calm as possible while walking past the ongoing preparations. Erik's performance would be the following night.

Of course, Erik had not actually told him the entire plan. He had said that Nadir would be told only what he needed to know, for now. And once again, he was running errands for his strange friend.

It had been Erik's idea to pass Captain de Chagny and three of his men as assistants. Since many of Chagny's crew did not speak much Farsi, Erik had selected those most proficient at the task he intended for them—and whatever that was, Erik had assured both Captain de Chagny and Nadir that it would not involve much verbal interaction with the audience. Although Nadir wondered how Erik would manage to disguise someone with Sebastien's fair coloring as a Persian, he did not question his friend.

All right, so I did, but he wouldn't tell me. I suppose that's what I get, being merely a…what does Erik call it again? A sidekick. A lackey. Europeans have such odd expressions…though I suppose it is an improvement over 'son of a three-headed goat', for example.

At that moment, a frightened-looking servant rushed up to him. "The Shah is looking everywhere for you, daroga! His Eminence wishes for you to see him."

"When?"

"Two minutes ago, according to him!" the servant replied, rushing off down the hallway.

Nadir sighed, and reluctantly followed him.

When he arrived, the shah was seated in his throne, smoking from a pipe. The subtle pattern of his cream-colored robes made an almost perfect contrast with the bright purples and lavish touches of gold that adorned the royal chamber. But the look in the young monarch's eyes was sharp and purposeful, and seemed to penetrate the deepest corners of Nadir's mind.

Oh, hell.

Nadir stepped up to the throne, and bowed low before the shah. "Greetings, O Shadow of God."

"Rise, daroga, for I am in a foul mood," the shah snapped.

Nadir rose slowly. Did the sun rise in the east, my lord? He knew if he had said that, his life would have been over in an instant.

"May I beg to know what troubles you, O Light of the Universe?"

"You may indeed," the shah replied. "I have heard from the guards that Erik is bringing in several strangers to help with his performance tomorrow night."

"You heard correctly, my lord."

"Might I know why he finds that the palace servants are inadequate?" the shah asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps he fears that they will betray his secrets," Nadir said carefully. "He is, after all, most particular about his performances."

"And everything else, it would seem. My mother says that he even concerned himself with the health of my sister!"

"He is an accomplished maker of potions and medicines, O Shadow of God," Nadir replied.

"I am aware of that!" the shah exploded, rising from his throne. "I wish to know what his interest is. His behavior over the past few days has been very strange indeed. Find out what he is planning, daroga."

"Yes, my lord," Nadir said, bowing his head. He knew better than to argue with the shah…there were, after all, punishments far worse than death.

He only hoped that Erik would not be subject to any of them.

                                                                *****************************

A bowl of perfectly sculpted china flew gracefully through the air, and smashed directly into the tiled wall, showering the floor of Erik's otherwise immaculate chamber.

Sadira jumped about a mile in the air. "Master Erik, for the sake of Allah, please—"

"I told you not to call me that!" Erik shouted, and then took a deep breath. "I am not angry with you, Sadira. But if you ever do something so foolish as leaving the palace again, I shall prove that my reputation as the Angel of Doom is well deserved."

His yellow eyes were boring into her dark brown ones with such fiery intensity, the young maid wanted to fade into the woodwork.

"I'm sorry, Master—I mean, Erik," Sadira stammered. "But how else were we to find out where the children were? As it was, on the outside I was merely delivering an invitation to the No Ruz celebration tomorrow."

"All the same, you are a damned fool and would have deserved whatever fate the khanum would have devised for you," Erik replied sharply. "Since you are still alive, however—"

"There is more, M—Erik," Sadira interrupted, astounded at her own daring. Even to speak without permission in front of a superior was grounds for a beating at the very least. To say nothing of the act or what was technically treason that she was about to help commit.

"Out with it, then!"

"The children my friend spoke of have been put to work on a construction site. I don't know which one, but her husband—" Sadira began, but Erik cut her off.


"There is only one building being constructed at the moment—my palace that I have designed for the shah!" he exploded. "He has children working on the site? Of all the arrogant, cruel---oh, I shall take much pleasure in making a fool of him tomorrow!"

"But what can we do?" Sadira asked.

"We?" Erik demanded, rounding on her. "You shall do nothing but stick to your mistress like glue, and wait for my signal. Unless I send for you, I do not wish to see you until tomorrow night. Pack a small bundle of things for your mistress, and have it sent to me. Pack one for yourself as well, and be ready to leave the palace at a moment's notice."

"Yes, Erik."

He was so confusing! The proper forms of address he refused, and yet it did not seem right, somehow, to call him by his name. Sadira felt reduced to stammers whenever she was with him, and yet her unease seemed to annoy him terribly—but he never seemed surprised.

At least, not until today, when he had learned of her spy activities. She'd thought for certain at first that the ceramic bowl had been meant for her head.

But there were times…like now, when he did not seem so frightening. She had a feeling that behind his mask, he might have been smiling.

"Just Erik. You see, Sadira? That was not so difficult, was it?"

"No, Erik."

"Good. You are dismissed, and remember all I have said."

Sadira nodded, and backed out of the room.

                                                ******************************

The day of the No Ruz celebration had arrived, and the palace was teeming with activity.

Even Erik's chamber was busy, with Sebastien de Chagny and four of his men assisting in the preparations for the performance that very evening.

Jules, for example, was underneath some complex apparatus of Erik's that was covered with a large cloth. He was the best of Sebastien's crew at fixing things, and was always locked away in his quarters when he wasn't busy with sailing duties, working on new inventions.

"This is the most advanced gear system I've ever seen!" Jules exclaimed from underneath the cloth. "Have you read the treatise on—"

"I would much love to discuss the finer points of my process with you, Monsieur Jules," Erik interrupted, "Since I rarely get a chance to do so. But to get back to my question—"

"Yes, I can operate it perfectly well," Jules replied, sliding out from underneath the machine. His short, wiry form was slightly coated with grease, and his dark hair was standing on end, as always, but his eyes were aglow with excitement.  He peered under the cloth, examining the outside of the machine.

Rather sensible of Erik to stop Jules before he gathered steam—fond as Sebastien was of his comrade, he was unable to listen for more than five seconds together when Jules started to get technical…Although he was curious.

He started toward the machine himself, but Richard caught his arm. "I wouldn't if I were you. Forgive me, monsieur le capitaine, but you wreak havoc with anything more complicated than a shaving brush."


Sebastien gritted his teeth. "If you're referring to the incident with the church organ, I—"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Erik asked suddenly, casting an amused glance in their direction.

Wonderful. Thank you, Richard, I have always wanted to look like an utter imbecile in front of an employer.

"No," he replied, forcing himself to sound as innocent as possible.

 "Good," Erik said. "Then it's settled. Monsieur Jules will operate this machine tonight. Meanwhile, Monsieur Henri and Monsieur Richard will wait below the trapdoor for the…cargo, as it were."

Yes, that all sounded reasonable. And yet—

"Just a moment," Sebastien said, "Perhaps I shouldn't ask, but what is it that you want me to do?"

Erik surveyed him carefully, stepping closer, until he was less than a foot away. A soft Persian breeze caused his black cloak to brush against the sleeve of Sebastien's white shirt.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered.

                                                                ****************************

Nadir stood at attention as the last member of the royal court entered the banquet hall. Normally it was not common practice for the men and the women to dine together—but Mazenderan was famous for flouting religious codes.

The khanum sat in her place of power next to the shah, and he noticed Princess Pareesa and her new husband not far away. Sadira had chosen the spot according to Erik's orders. The servant girl was now sitting beside her mistress, hands folded in her lap.

He felt rather sorry for her, and yet had to marvel at the valor women could possess. Sadira's manner indicated that she was afraid of her own shadow, and yet her first act of disobedience was punishable by death.

Allah help me, I shall never understand women…but may the angels protect me if I ever become their enemy!

A large stage had been constructed at one end of the large hall, and the light suddenly dimmed, and went out. Amidst the curious murmurs of the audience, a light began to shine from below…and the tall, skeletal figure of Erik, swathed in robes of deepest violet, rose with it. On the stage with him—the only prop—was a large coffin made completely out of hammered gold, and bedecked with sparkling jewels.

His voice rang out in the chamber, like that of a despairing god. And yet the sound became more powerful as he sang of betrayal, of love and revenge. When the song died away, stunned applause took its place.

"But now," he said. "I have a much better surprise to welcome the new year—I have here the God of the Sun!"

He threw open the lid of the coffin, and another figure rose out of it. A gasp went up though the audience—the figure's arms were crossed in front of his bare chest, and he seemed to rise from the coffin completely unassisted.

Nadir gaped, but not because of the spectacle.

Captain de Chagny?! Allah, now I have seen everything!

At least now he understood how Erik had planned to disguise the captain. He had made use of Sebastien's fairness, even accentuated it with the application of gold dust to the man's skin. His eyes were outlined in black kohl, making his blue-green eyes stand out like a cat's. The captain was clad in nothing save gold-colored trousers that reached his knees, with a jeweled belt at his waist.

"The very Sun obeys the command of the Angel of Doom!" Erik thundered. "Step out of the coffin!"

The Sun God—or, more accurately, Sebastien—stepped out of the coffin effortlessly, and knelt down in front of Erik.

"Can the light of heaven overcome the blackness of death?" Erik demanded. "Show your light!"

Sebastien raised his arms, on which he wore bands of pure gold, and for just one moment, the entire room went a glowing, vibrating white.

"Nothing can overcome the Black Angel of Death!" Erik shouted, seizing hold of Sebastien's wrist. It looked as though an almighty battle were about to take place, between the forces of darkness and light. Out of the very air, it seemed, Erik plucked an obsidian dagger, and held it to Sebastien's throat.

In that moment, the chamber went pitch black.

There were screams and shouts, and even laughter from the audience, who burst into applause.

Nadir had to smile, though he sincerely hoped the captain was still alive.

Well done, Erik.

                                                                **************************

Pareesa felt herself being lifted by strong arms, and carried down….just down. But that was impossible, there were no stairs in the banquet hall!

She was being ushered down a long tunnel…where was she? Who were these people?

Opening her mouth, Pareesa tried to summon a cry, but a woman's small hand muffled her call.

She recognized the scent of the woman's hand…

"All is well, my lady," she heard Sadira whisper. "You are safe."

"Sadira," she murmured. "Sadira….what…?"

And then everything went blank.