(A/N: Thank you, dear readers, for putting up with the insanely long waits between chapters. For those of you who are waiting for the next chapter of "The Price of Vengeance", yes, I DO plan to finish it. I can't say when, but I promise I will. Art school has taken over my life. :( However, for those of you who have been following this story, I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's a bit of ass-kicking, just for your amusement. And mine. And L'Ange, I promise, Sebastien's backstory will come out. There are some hints in this chapter, though more will be revealed in the next. And Aathiya Lia...thank you!)
Sadira's eyes followed Erik as he moved back and forth, pacing. Her stomach was twisted in knots, and she was beginning to feel nauseous from watching him.
"According to Nadir's information, as well as my own conversations with the khanum, they suspect me of arranging the abduction, and it is only a matter of time before they close in," Erik said at last.
"If they want you dead, why don't they just kill you outright?" Sebastien asked.
He was rewarded with a scathing look from Erik. "Because, Captain, the shah still needs my services until the palace I have designed for him is complete. There is still time, but once it's finished"
"All bets are off," Sebastien murmured.
"Which is why we must act quickly if we are to succeed without unnecessary hindrances," Erik continued. "At the week's end, I will set out for Ashraf to find the children, and bring them back here."
"But how will you recognize them?" Sadira blurted out. All the men turned to look at her, and she felt a faint blush spread across her face. Speaking out of turn like this—if Master Mirza could see her now! Sitting here, planning rebellious acts with such men, and being treated like an equal! No one in the royal harem would ever believe it. Yet here she was, in her own adventure story.
"That brings me to my next point," Erik replied smoothly. "You will accompany me, my dear, disguised as my servant boy. I brought these."
From somewhere within his cloak, he removed a bundle of clothing, and placed it on the table before Sadira. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, feeling sick.
He must be joking! Me, go off adventuring? I'd be worse than useless, I'd only slow him down! And time is so important.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Nadir cut her off.
"You are the only one who will recognize them, Sadira. There is no one else, you see."
Ice gathered in the back of her throat. He was right, and she knew it. There was no one else. Settareh and Mehrdad needed her, and she would go to them.
"I don't object," Sadira said at last. "Naturally I will go wherever I'm needed. But Erik, I've never—done anything like this before!"
Erik's golden eyes took on a softer, more sympathetic look. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes!" Oh, if only he knew how afraid she was.
"Good," he responded. "Then I can be sure that you won't do anything foolish."
"But—"
Captain de Chagny broke in. "Are you sure this is wise, monsieur? Sadira is not an experienced traveler, and time is of the essence. And assuming she does go, what is she to tell the princess?"
Sadira sat up a bit straighter. She was curious about that, and it was something she had not even thought of.
"The truth," Erik answered. "That she is going to Ashraf to bring back the children, accompanied by a guide. There is no reason to say who the guide is."
I've never lied to you before, Mistress, Sadira thought. I hope you will forgive me for doing so now. It is only to save you that I do this, as you would do for me.
"Then I shall go," Sadira replied, hoping her voice did not shake too much.
"I will come for you four days hence, then," Erik replied.
"If that's settled," Nadir remarked, "There is still the matter of afterward. When the children are back, what then?"
"Then Captain de Chagny will take them away from Persia," Erik said. "It is important that the princess and the children be out of the shah's reach. They must get as far away as possible."
"Consider it done," Captain de Chagny replied, nodding.
"She's been having nightmares," Sadira said suddenly.
"What?" Nadir asked, looking at her with deep concern.
"My mistress has been having nightmares about Lord Ahmad, or what she can remember of him," Sadira replied. "He...he's a cruel man. If he finds her again..."
"He won't," Erik said firmly.
"No, he won't," Sebastien agreed. "We've got a plan. And we're going to see it through." He stood up straighter, somehow reminding the others that he was the captain of this ship.
Sadira nodded, hoping that they were as good as their word--not that there was any reason to doubt the captain. Or the daroga. But Erik...
Those yellow eyes stared out from an expressionless white mask, making it virtually impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Please, be as good as your word, Erik. I have no one else, and I can't do this alone!
"If that is all for the evening, I had best make my exit," Erik said casually. "Before I go...tell me, is the princess asleep now?"
"She was when I left her," Sadira replied.
"Good," he said softly, almost to himself.
She summoned her courage. "Erik, why do you--"
But in a flutter of cloth and the opening of a door, he was gone.
Nadir sighed, and shot a weary glance at Sadira. "I hate it when he does that."
**********************************
He had no idea what made him do it. What spirit, what madness had taken over his body? Would he ever begin to understand the workings of his mind? The events of that night, the night of Mirza Taqui Khan's assassination, were embedded in his memory forever. As his feet carried him in the direction of Princess Pareesa's cabin, snatches of that fatal night flashed through his mind.
The scorpion skittered across the smooth stone of the outer wall of the palace, trying to elude Erik's hand. But he had his now-empty water container at the ready, and quickly scooped the insect off the wall.
There was still time. People had a lot of blood in them, after all. Erik had learned that conclusively. Mirza Taqui Khan wouldn't be dead yet. He would have his revenge.
After leaving the Captain's quarters, he lingered for a bit. Most of the men stayed out of his way. It was just as well, really. He moved silently through the narrow passageway, until he finally came to a door.
He made sure the captive scorpion was attached firmly to his horse's saddlebag, and strode toward the door of the bath house. He could hear the calls and jeers of the assassins within. His supernatural hearing pricked. They couldn't have...no, it was too soon!
His moment of truth. Would he keep walking, or enter?
Mirza Taqui Khan floated face-up in the water, surrounded by a cloud of red that nearly enveloped him. Through the crimson mist, his eyes--so intelligent and penetrating in life, now blank and cold in death.
No! NO! Erik raged, but the assassins merely found his agitation amusing. There were too many of them to attack...his rage was helpless, as though he were confined to a cage....
NO!
Erik pushed open the door...
Once in the courtyard, he could just make out a shape running toward him. It was she!
And there she was, asleep on the hammock. Princess Pareesa's dark hair was carefully arranged in two braids on either side of her head--probably Sadira's work, Erik mused. A blanket covered her from the neck down.
The look of horror in her eyes increased when she heard the shouts of the assassins within. In that moment, she understood...her screams would sound in his ears for the rest of his life, haunting him in his dreams until the end of time.
But the woman's face...it was still so thin, despite the hopeful prognosis that the others had given. Her skin was still an unhealthy color, and the dark circles stood out like bruises.
You did this!
I didn't mean to! Erik thought desperately, trying to fend off the onslaught of guilt. Her husband brought it on himself! It was her mother who poisoned her, not I!
But you drove her to it.
No! NO!
"NO!" He roared.
At that moment, Pareesa's eyes flickered open, and Erik realized with a shock that he had actually spoken aloud. Of all the damned foolishness--
Perhaps she won't notice me, he thought, edging toward the door. Pareesa was still half-asleep, and her reflexes would be slow. Perhaps...
Her dark eyes locked on him, as though she could just barely see him. He found himself utterly trapped against the door, a prisoner of her horrified gaze...
And he remembered the cage---those hateful, jeering faces---fury welled within him, and he ran from the room just as Pareesa screamed. The sound burned his ears like white-hot acid, and his feet barely touched the wooden floor as he flew up the narrow staircase and back on the deck.
A small bundle fell to the ground during his flight, but he took no notice.
*******************************************
She had thought it was a figment of her imagination, another dream brought on by the opium...but she had felt him, standing there, making the whole room cold...
And then he'd shouted, the sound of it had brought her crashing back to reality, tearing through the veil of the drug. In that instant, she was back in the harsh reality.
Pareesa screamed. She hadn't known what else to do, but if Erik was real, then the ship was real, and surely someone would come for her. Sadira, or Captain de Chagny---
Then everything went dark.
When she came back to herself, both Sadira and Sebastien de Chagny were leaning over her. She tried to speak, but Sadira pressed a cup of water to her lips. She drank it, for the only alternative was choking on it. When she lay back down, she did feel a little calmer. Looking up, she noticed Nadir Khan standing just behind Sebastien, looking apprehensive.
"Why did you cry out, my lady?" Nadir asked, stepping up next to Sebastien.
Pareesa glanced from the daroga to Sebastien. "I saw him. My mother's Angel of Doom. He was here...I see him all the time in my nightmares, but this time he was here in this room!"
"You were dreaming," Sebastien said gently. The light from the lantern hanging nearby cast a soft glow on his hair, forming a white-gold halo on his head.
"He's right, my lady. The...Angel of Doom would have no cause to be here," Sadira said. There was a strange undercurrent of anger to her voice, though Pareesa did not think it was directed at her.
"Angel of Doom?" Sebastien repeated, raising a puzzled eyebrow at Sadira, who looked extremely uncomfortable.
Pareesa sat up. "He was my late husband's enemy when he was alive, and took part in his assassination! The Angel of Doom is cold as ice! He has no soul, he--"
"Mistress, you must not think of it!" Sadira cried. "Please, lie back down...you are safe."
Since Pareesa's vision was turning gray around the edges, she decided to comply with Sadira's request.
"Erik will always haunt me, in my dreams and in my waking moments," she murmured softly.
"What?" Sebastien asked. She was dimly aware of him leaning over her, putting one strong hand to her forehead. His fingers were rough, but warm.
"Careful," Nadir warned. "Don't distress her."
"Erik," she started to explain, but Sadira shushed her.
"Sleep, my lady. He is not here, he has never been here."
"You are always safe aboard my ship," Sebastien said resolutely. "You have my word of honor, madam."
All four of them jumped a moment later, when a knock sounded at the door. Sebastien, looking strangely determined, answered it.
"Sir, our employer left something of his in the corridor," came Raphael's voice. "We were wondering--"
"I'll get it back to him," Sebastien replied. From her position on the hammock, she could only see Sebastien's back blocking whatever it was that Raphael was holding.
"You're sure, Captain?"
"Oh, yes," he responded. "I want a word with him, anyway. Several, as a matter of fact. Nadir, would you care to join me?"
**************************
The ride hadn't taken quite so long as he expected. But then, Erik was in more of a hurry than usual. His horse trotted silently along in the darkened streets of the city. The palace was just beginning to come into view. Deciding against the most direct route, he dawdled a bit in one of the back alleys to lengthen his ride. Somehow, he did not feel quite up to going back to the palace just yet.
What had he been thinking? Of course the princess would wake up. It had been a foolish, impulsive action. He would have to be careful not to give in to sentiment again--or guilt. The guilt he had felt was still pulsing strong through his veins, as much a part of his being as the blood that ran though them.
I must never allow her to see me again. I only hope that Sadira and the captain will be able to calm her. And Nadir--
Erik started. Nadir. He had completely forgotten about his friend. And Nadir was not going to allow this to pass without comment.
Stifling a groan, Erik urged his horse down one of the side streets. It looked completely deserted, as though no one had ever lived there.
That was when the first shot came. It startled his horse, normally a calm animal, and he had to fight to keep control. Fluidly, he dismounted the horse and turned--only to find himself face to face with at least five cutthroats, all brandishing lethal weapons and all in various states of hygienic disaster.
Erik grimaced. So it was to be a fight? Very well, then. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that someone had tried to assassinate him. He reached into his cloak, searching for his lasso.
Oh, hellfire.
He must have dropped the blasted thing when he fled from Princess Pareesa's cabin. That was the only explanation. Cursing his own stupidity, he knew he was cornered. He had a knife, of course, but now the whole business would take entirely longer than it had to, and probably be a waste of time on all accounts. Not to mention a waste of lives...
"Come on, then," he growled softly in Farsi. "I haven't got all night, children."
The first attack was almost a joke. Erik jabbed his elbow into his attacker's stomach, causing him to drop his weapon. Another blow left him crumpled on the ground. Another assassin flew out from the side, and then another followed him--there were more of them than he expected—
His movements were automatic and detached, as he succeeded in dispatching several of his attackers. Fabric tore and steel flashed, and rivulets of dark red, almost black in the moonlight, stained the ground below them. The sounds of leather on hard-packed dirt was all that could be heard, accompanied by a symphony of death threats, swear words, and the occasional scream.
Erik couldn't remember how long it went on. It could have been a matter of minutes, but it felt like years. There were times when he felt as though this was all he did, all he was good for. He was Death, for these men.
I am the Angel of Doom!
Suddenly something struck the side of his head.
Curse it! Why wasn't I watching?
He landed hard on the ground, hand held to the wound to staunch the inevitable flow of blood.
Is this how it will end for me? Murdered like some common street rat in some back alley? Nono!
He might have lost consciousness—it was impossible to say. But when he opened his eyes, the assassins were no longer looking at him.
"I heard something!" one of them insisted, pointing upwards one of the nearby buildings. "Just there!"
"You're imagining things," snapped another. "Let's finish the monster off, before he comes to!"
Just then the second assassin was knocked off his feet, as something flew full force into his shins, in a heap of cloth and leather.
Then Erik realized that the 'something' was in fact a man, in a dark hooded cloak. The man leapt to his feet, his hood thrown back. Without missing a beat, he drew his sword, and two of the assassins backed away.
Captain de Chagny!
"Monsieur Erik, are you all right?"
I was fine until some idiot sailor decided to play hero, Erik thought sardonically, getting to his feet. Almost unconsciously, he brushed some of the dirt off of his clothes. For his part, the Captain was covered in dirt from head to toe, and didn't seem to care.
"Fine," he said crisply. "I trust Nadir is here, also?"
"Yes," Captain de Chagny replied. As if summoned, Nadir Khan joined the fray, his own blade drawn. Both he and Captain de Chagny moved in front of Erik, defending him. If he didn't know any better, Erik would have sworn that he was still unconscious.
"Who is that?" one of the assassins demanded, pointing at the Captain with one pudgy finger.
"That's the daroga!" exclaimed a rather scrawny one.
"Who cares?" cried another. "Kill them all!"
The Captain threw Erik a sidelong glance. "You need to find some better friends, mate."
"So long as you never again refer to me as 'mate', Erik shot back.
"You know, there are more pressing matters that demand our attention," Nadir remarked, glancing at the assassins who were quickly surrounding them.
"True," Captain de Chagny agreed, his expression unreadable in dim light. He reached into his vest pocket, and pulled something out. He tossed it carelessly to Erik, who caught it in midair. "By the way, you dropped this."
The punjab lasso. These ruffians will never know what hit them!
For once, it seemed, Chagny had managed to do something right. With his familiar weapon in hand, Erik was ready to give his would-be assassins a lesson in manners. To start with, attacking a man when outnumbering him ten to one.
He lost count of the number of assassins to feel the wrath of his lasso. Did it really matter? It only meant that fewer of these rats were prowling the streets.
This is all I am. A Living Death.
******************************************
Sebastien struck with the heel of his hand, sending blood flowing in all directions. His opponent's hands flew to his nose, as he cried out in pain. Leaning down, Sebastien picked up his sword from the ground. The assassin had been lucky when he'd managed to knock it out of Sebastien's hands, but he would not be lucky again.
Leveling it at the man's throat, Sebastien paused to give the man one last chance to surrender and escape.
A strong arm wrapped around his throat from behind, dragging him backward. He just barely managed to hang on to his weapon.
Then again, maybe pausing wasn't such a good idea.
The assassin's grip was incredibly strong. Sebastien struggled violently, fully aware that he only had a few seconds before the lack of oxygen took its toll. He sagged in his captor's arms, as though he had lost consciousness. When the other man's grip loosened a little, Sebastien brought his head up very quickly, smashing it back into his opponent's face.
Not bothering to see how the man reacted, Sebastien slipped out of his grasp, and finished off his opponent with a sharp kick to the stomach.
Only a few assassins were left now. Many of them had simply run off when they had seen Erik's lasso, and after seeing Erik wield it, Sebastien couldn't blame them. He had never seen anyone fight so coolly or so efficiently. And yet it seemed like it was nothing to Erik. He fought as only a man who had nothing to lose could fight. Sebastien remembered that feeling all too clearly.
Glancing to his right, he saw that Nadir was doing quite well against his own opponent, having backed him into a corner.
"Who sent you?" He heard Nadir ask.
A movement on his other side distracted Sebastien, and he turned sharply--
--and then there was the glint of metal, the sharp pain---
--he fell against the wall, struggling to keep upright and holding his hand over his wound.
His opponent came at him again, but this time Sebastien was ready. And this time, he wasn't about to show mercy. His sword buried itself in the man's heart, and he slid to the ground.
Sebastien's vision was beginning to blur. Glancing up, he saw Erik disposing of the last of his opponents. He took a step toward Erik, and the ground rushed up to meet him.
**************************************
Between them, Nadir and Erik managed to support Sebastien de Chagny's semiconscious form, maneuvering him into Erik's quarters. There was just enough moonlight to see by, as it lit a path as bright as day for the weary men. Hardly a sound was heard at this hour in the palace, and Nadir kept his ears pricked for even the slightest new sound.
"Quickly!" Erik snapped, breaking the silence.
"Why? Is the injury serious?" Nadir asked, glancing at his friend. His mask was no longer pure white, but now bore streaks of dirt and blood from the fight.
"No, I told you before that it wasn't fatal," Erik replied irritably. "I meant that the idiot is bleeding on my favorite carpet."
"I'll bleed wherever I damn well please," Sebastien murmured through a curtain of filthy hair. "Let go, I can stand now."
Nadir and Erik stood back. Nadir lingered closer, just in case Sebastien was in error. In any case, the wound seemed to have been a catalyst to some new recklessness---there were none who spoke to Erik as Sebastien had, and who still lived.
But then, Nadir thought, would it be so terrible to have him meet his match? Assuming,of course, that two such people could ever get along without killing each other.
Leaning heavily on the edge of Erik's divan, his wound having been roughly bandaged earlier, Sebastien hardly looked intimidating. It looked, in fact, like all his effort was concentrated on standing upright. He was glaring daggers at Erik.
"You have some explaining to do," Sebastien said icily. "You were in Princess Pareesa's quarters. Do you deny it?"
Erik crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you putting me on trial, Captain?"
"Do you always answer a question with a question?" Sebastien countered.
Nadir fought the impulse to groan. It was like watching two brothers argue, both knowing full well that it would not achieve them anything.
Erik regarded Sebastien coldly. "Lay down before you faint, Captain."
Sebastien took a shaky step forward. "Who do you think you're talking to, monsieur? I never--"
Nadir had just enough time to push the divan forward, and Sebastien collapsed onto it, unconscious.
"Thank you," Erik remarked. "I can take care of his injuries from here."
Nadir remained where he was. "I'd prefer to stay. Just in case."
"In case I try to smother the Captain with a pillow, or some nonsense like that? Oh, very well, have it your own way. Make yourself useful, and get me that roll of bandages."
Nadir obliged, and Erik cut apart the remains of Sebastien's undershirt, setting to work with the air of an experienced doctor. After a few moments, he stood up.
"The wound should heal, if he can keep out of trouble for awhile. He'll have to stay here the rest of the night, and we'll get him back to the ship tomorrow."
Erik handed Nadir a rag. "See if you can't get some of that dried blood out of his hair. I am going to...wash my hands."
Nadir sighed, and took the rag, dipping it in a basin of water. From his tone of voice, what Erik really wanted was to wash his hands of all of them--the Captain, the princess, the maid--even Nadir himself.
He brushed aside a mass of hair at the back of Sebastien's head, as the man shifted and groaned a little. Nadir cleaned the bloodied area--and started at what he saw.
Hidden by hair and blood was a small scar, just at the base of his skull. It was a brand placed on pirates--and not just any pirates, but those condemned to death. He had seen the symbol only a few times before, in his dealings with criminals.
What have you done, Chagny, to deserve the death sentence?
The question now was obvious. Should he tell Erik? Nadir doubted it would make much difference either way, and turning Sebastien over to the authorities would be self-defeating. Erik still had use for him.
For Nadir himself, he was sorry. He genuinely liked the sailor, and hoped that the accusation had been false.
"Erik," he called quietly. "There's something you should see."
