V. In this Labyrinth

Later on, Madame Giry was not quite sure why she returned to the cellars early in the next morning. There was something on her mind that bothered her, a strong feeling of uneasiness, of worry, which she could not really explain, and which made her want to seek out an old friend. At this time of day, she would surely find him in his lair, probably still asleep. After all, she knew his routine. He stayed up until late at night usually, sometimes got up again as night was growing old, only to go to sleep once more before the sky paled, and his day began somewhere around midmorning. He was perfectly attuned to the Opera Populaire's rhythm.

At this time of day, the corridors were deserted. There were yet two more hours until the cantina would open its doors. On her way down to the cellars, Madame Giry met no living soul. All the same, she took a careful look around before she pressed the catch which let a wall panel slide aside to create a narrow opening, from where a winding staircase led on into the darkness – or at least, it normally led into darkness. Now, there came a faint, reddish glow of light from below.

Frowning slightly, Madame Giry stepped through and slid the panel shut behind her. This way, she did not have to light a candle, but on the other hand… what was he up to?

Descending hurriedly, her feeling of uneasiness increased. What on earth was he doing there? Why that eerie, unnatural light? And why, for Heaven's sake, at this time in the morning, and in this place?

The stairs ended in a dusty stone chamber, and Madame Giry stopped dead. Where she had expected to find just one man, there were seven, all garbed in dark colours. While five of them were crouching around a lantern casting a strange red light over them, two stood directly opposite the stairwell, facing her, both in black cloaks and what reminded Madame Giry of medieval costumes, mostly held in browns and greys.

"Good morning", one of them said pleasantly, bowing his head in greeting. He was neither short nor tall, and he would not have stood out in a crowd. Madame Giry estimated him to be in his late thirties or early forties. "How may we be of assistance?" He wore a sheathed, long-bladed knife on his broad leather belt, she noticed.

"We know who you are looking for", his companion said, a tall man with broad shoulders, who spoke in a lazy, drawling tone. He, too, would not have drawn much attention by his blond hair he wore cut short, his pale eyes or his features – except for the scars. Five long, narrow gauges ran across the right side of his face, from immediately below the hairline down to his chin, like the marks of a clawed hand dragged through his features. The line from the smallest finger only began at the side of his nose, and the thumb-line below his temple, at about the height of the ear, but the others marred his forehead, two even disappearing into his hair. Ring-finger and middle finger had only very narrowly cleared his eye at either side. Madame Giry shuddered. What creature had a hand like this, a hand that could cause such wounds?

Behind them, a man stirred, about to rise to his feet, but another held him back.

"What business do you have with him?" the man with the horribly scarred face asked coldly. He had pulled his black cloak tightly around himself, yet Madame Giry suspected that he was armed just as well. "Be quick with your answer, woman, or –"

He was silenced by the other man raising his black-gloved right hand. Only one glove, Madame Giry saw. His other hand was left bare. "Don't do what you'll regret later on. Think of your Master."

For a moment, the scar-faced stranger's features twitched, but then they froze again. "Very well", he said evenly. "Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am known as Adhemar, and this is Aeternus." He used the Latin pronunciation of the latter name, instead of the French, and his companion inclined his head slightly as he was mentioned. "We are here for the same reason as you, as we presume: to find the man they call the Phantom."

Madame Giry drew a ragged breath, willing herself to look him straight in the face. "What do you want with him?"

"Worried, are you?" Adhemar said mockingly. "What does he mean to you?"

"He is my friend", Madame Giry replied firmly, though shaking inside. Who were those sinister strangers, and what did they want?

"So he is to us", said Adhemar, the corners of his mouth shifting into a smile which was rather a grimace, because one of the scars pulled the right corner of his mouth downwards slightly when his features moved. "Our own flesh and blood. Our kin."

Before Madame Giry could stop herself, her eyes slid over towards Aeternus, scanning his features for any kind of scars, yet there were none to be perceived. Then, very suddenly, something else occurred to her, and her eyes wandered down to his hand, his one gloved hand…

"Indeed", Aeternus said softly, his blue eyes glittering as he moved his hidden fingers slightly. "This is the mark I bear, the mark distinguishing me as a Lost One."

"Yet you keep it hidden." There was a small hint of anger in Adhemar's voice, Madame Giry realized, just as if what Aeternus did was not right, in his own opinion.

"Some things better stay hidden", Aeternus replied calmly.

Madame Giry found herself looking at the crouching men behind them now. Did they, too, have such markings, such strange scars? Could it really be possible that the Phantom was not the only one, that he had… some kind of relatives?

Again Aeternus recognized what she was looking for. "Those are nothing but servants", he answered the unspoken question with a curt nod in their direction. "None of our kind."

Drawing a deep breath, and steeling herself, Madame Giry asked: "Are there any more?" The Phantom had never mentioned any of this. Did he know about these men's existence at all? And if he did, would he approve of their presence? She, for her part, certainly didn't. Yes, they might be friends of his, or at least meaning well in their seeking him, yet she did not like them at all. They were too dark, too threatening; there was an almost tangible feeling about them, of fear and… many more unpleasant sensations, but swirling around so much in her head that she could not name them.

She had to warn him, she thought desperately. First she had to find a way to get away from those sinister intruders, and then she had to warn him about them. But how? How? If she tried to run, would they harm her?

"Several, yes, and stronger than we are." Adhemar spoke reverently, almost with awe.

"Not all", Aeternus reminded him.

Again there was a note of anger detectable in Adhemar's voice. "But the Master is, and it is the Master who is most important."

"I do not doubt his importance, Adhemar."

"Why do you defy his orders, then?" Adhemar asked sharply. "Why do you keep your hand hidden?"

A thin smile crept onto Aeternus's features, and it was not a pleasant one. It seemed that he was speaking to Adhemar, but his eyes locked with Madame Giry's as he answered softly, pulling the glove away from his hand, "They say that the touch of Aeternus is the touch of Pestilence." As he held up his bare right hand into the light, Madame Giry almost screamed. For it was blackened and skeletal, the clawed hand of a long-rotten corpse.

There was a stir among the crouching men again, and urgent whispers. Adhemar, seemingly unmoved by the gruesome sight, stood aside and turned, and where his head had been, Madame Giry could now see something glowing in the twilight beneath the arch of the doorway on the opposite side of the chamber. In the red light of the lantern, a tall man's shape was outlined, nothing but a silhouette – except for his bright green eyes, which shone like a cat's in the dark.

"Ah, Lionel", Adhemar addressed the fearsome apparition. "Can we proceed?"

The voice speaking from the doorway was strangely raspy. "What I found is a labyrinth, but I will guide your way."

Immediately the servants were on their feet, and Adhemar and Aeternus turned to go. "So long, then", Aeternus said mockingly, offering Madame Giry a bow, while pulling his glove back on. "We will be sure to send him your fondest regards." Then they all disappeared into the gloom beyond the arch rapidly, taking their eerie lantern with them and leaving Madame Giry alone in the darkness, just as if she had stood there alone all the time, just as if what she seen and witnessed had been nothing but her own imagination.

What now? She would have to find her way back. The staircase was right behind her. No, don't panic now, don't panic. She would find her way back up, and then she would try another one to –

At once somebody grasped her from behind, and a strong, gloved hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her scream. She froze in terror, expecting to feel the touch of cold steel any moment…

And then a well-known voice whispered into her ear, making her sag against her captor in relief. "You weren't truly worrying about me, were you?"