VII. Where Night is blind

Cleaning his dagger with the shirt of one of the fallen men, the Phantom allowed himself a moment's triumph. There had been four on this patrol or whatever it was supposed to be, four filthy gypsies, and they all were dead now. One had died from the noose thrown around his neck, because he had never learned to keep his hand at the level of his eyes. One he had stabbed with his dagger, and one he had killed with his bare hands, by breaking his neck. He felt rather smug after that one. Oh yes, and one the boy had stabbed. At first the silly kid had proclaimed fair fight and everything, but that dead man had taught him that it was better not to think along those lines in their current situation. That dead man had shown the foolish boy that the enemy did not play fair, either. While Raoul had crossed blades with one of them, that one particular gypsy had come at him from behind, trying to strangle him, and Raoul had only been free to defend himself because the Phantom, seeing the ambush coming, had broken his opponent's neck at precisely that moment. Foolish boy. But he had learned his lesson. Those gypsies were an honourless kind, so why meet them with honour? He hated them, hated those swarthy faces with all his heart. Death was all they deserved.

Getting back to his feet and re-sheathing his dagger, he met the boy's eyes. "That's the way it's done", he said. "It's good if it's a clean job, but the most important thing is to do it fast."

The boy swallowed and nodded, his eyes glittering behind his feathered mask.

They continued on their way through the lightless passages, the Phantom leading and Raoul close at his shoulder. He assumed that the boy's night vision was not good enough for this, that Raoul was practically blind, but he did not care, and the boy had not complained yet. Anyway, in those straight, smooth-floored corridors no special night sight was needed, and he would stop the boy before he stubbed his toes.

Maybe.

They walked in silence, meeting no more of those patrols. Once they passed one by very closely; he could feel their presence without reaching out to search. But they encountered no-one.

He wondered how long it would take for Créon to detect his proximity. Those threads of darkness were still there, pulsing gently, the winding tendrils reaching into every corner. But they did not touch him. It was as if they slid off some kind of smooth surface before and all around him, like rivulets of water running down a wall of glass. He could almost see the rivulets.

How long until Créon would know? It was only a question of time.

Darkness seethed in the corners, shadows playing all around him.

How long until Niobe would know?

Her voice was still in his ears, tenderly whispering to him about power and glory, but he refused to listen. Christine is my one and only love, he told the disembodied voice. Go to Hell. But it would not go away.

When they reached their destination at last, he immediately opened the large square trapdoor in the floor – and a weak shimmer of light, coming from the braziers down below, cast the dimmest of glows into the narrow room. The boy's sigh of relief, however soft it was, was quite audible.

Getting down to his hands and knees and depositing his unstrung bow beside him, the Phantom allowed himself a glimpse of what was going on down below. There were servants, small dark shapes huddled together in several groups, but he paid them no attention. His searching eyes found Aeternus, flanked by his pair of fair-haired Hungarians – this one he would have to spare – and what probably was Bertrand, a hooded figure directing a handful of servants around. There was Ferox, his yellow mane marking him clearly, and Atrox only a little way off. They were visible quite clearly in the braziers' red firelight.

But where was the rest? Where was Créon? Where was Niobe? And where was that worthless worm Adhemar?

The monster inside his chest threw back its head and roared. Rage burned in his mind, enough to come close to putting a red veil before his eyes.

Until they turned up, he might have to wait.

There was a risk to waiting, of course, and it would increase with every passing minute, but he wanted Créon to die first, either him or Niobe. One of those two. He meant them to die on this day. So there was nothing for him but to wait for their appearance.

Unclasping his sabre belt, then the one with the dagger, to which he had fastened his quiver, and last removing the length of rope he had slung loosely around his waist, he sat down with his back to the rough stone wall and motioned Raoul to do the same. "We wait", he told him, and the boy nodded, without protest.

Patting his pockets, he searched for his bowstrings. He felt the ring, a hard lump against his thigh, and caressed the clear stone through the rough fabric of his trousers before he delved into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bowstrings. Picking one out, he laid it over his knees, then stuffed the other two back where he had taken them from. He might be needing a spare bowstring later on, but not yet.

The darkness was seething inside his head now.

His arms around his knees, Raoul sat beside him quietly, though the Phantom felt the slight nervousness he radiated. Not that the boy was afraid, not truly, but he was… tense. Uneasy. He did not know what to expect.

Braver than he had thought.

All the same, if one of them was afraid, then it was the young fool beside him. "Relax, kid", he muttered. "I can handle them."

"I'm fine", Raoul murmured. "I'm really fine. Really."

That sounded very much like trying to convince himself, more than anybody else. The Phantom smiled to himself in the darkness. Of course, the boy was not used to a night as complete as it was down here, in the deepest vaults of the Opera Populaire. While he himself… he felt at home in the darkness. The darkness was around him and inside him, just like it had always been.

Inside him, it was even deeper than outside.

Why were so many afraid of the dark? He could not recall ever dreading it. The night was gentle, like a blanket around his shoulders, protecting him, and merciful, hiding him just like his mask did.

Who had ever shown him as much generosity as the darkness of his cold dungeons?

Raoul shifted uneasily beside him. "How long do we wait?" he whispered.

That foolish boy had never truly learned to wait, most likely. "We shall see."

"It's only…" Once more the boy twitched around. "I ought to go to the privy."

The Phantom groaned. That complete idiot! "Does it have to be now?"

"Not exactly… but I'm not exactly sure I can wait for long, either."

"Satan disembowel you!" the Phantom growled. Nothing but trouble, that ridiculous little fop! "So I was right after all."

"Nice curse", Raoul whispered back. "I'll have to remember that one. And about what?"

"I thought you'd be in danger of wetting your pants before we even started."

To the Phantom's surprise, Raoul laughed softly. "But we have started, haven't we? I mean, we got in a fight, alright."

"Yes, but a few dirty gypsies don't count."

"It's Créon you want."

"Yes."

There was a short pause. "But you don't like the gypsies, either."

"No."

"Madame Giry says you were their prisoner once. Until she rescued you."

There was not much to say to this. "Does she?"

"Yes. Just a few days ago."

They fell silent again, and the Phantom decided to have a few words with a certain ballet instructor. Not rough words, of course. Just… stern ones. Yes. That was suitable. That would fit with her. A few stern words.

Well, maybe more than a few, considering that she had shown that young idiot the way down to his lair. He snarled silently. Had she not shown him so much affection later on, he might well have harmed her for her treason.

"Er…" Raoul cleared his throat. "Is there any chance of some secret passage leading to a bathroom?"

Annoying little cockroach. "See the passage over there? The narrow one? Never mind, you'll see it once you're a bit closer. Follow it for a bit, and it will take you straight to a crack leading down to the sewers. Mind you don't fall in. Oh yes, and be careful, there's that hole in the ground, just in the middle of the tunnel. Nobody knows how deeps it is, but if you throw down a stone, you never hear it hit the bottom." He gave the boy a cheerful nudge. "Good luck, kid."

As Raoul ambled off into the darkness, the Phantom grinned at his retreating back. Now that had been mean, making up that abysmal hole. But imagining that fool searching for his way fretfully was just too much fun.

Pulling his quiver towards him, the Phantom took it between his knees and started counting the grey-feathered shafts inside it. Twenty-three. Good. He would lose quite a few now, he expected, for there was small chance of retrieving them from amidst his enemies, but there would be still enough left. He would have to make new ones soon, though. With a little sigh, he ran his fingers over the pigeon-feather fletchings. Making those was not easy; it took a lot of time and concentration. And in combination with sharpening the arrows… yes, he would undoubtedly have to make new ones, or else he might soon be in danger of running out of arrows. Which meant another afternoon on the roof, hunting pigeons. He sighed again. Not that they were difficult to kill; with all the idle hours spent practicing, he did not hesitate to consider himself a fine shot. But the mess of cleaning up afterwards, and especially in the snow… nobody should be given the slightest hint to suspect anything, and he was very thorough there.

He had not yet found out where to get his hands on decent arrows. The first he had had, originally stage-props just as the bow, had turned out to be not much good, yet at least they had revealed to him all he needed to know to make his own. The only thing left to wish for were metal heads; just sharpening the wood and then hardening it over the fire worked as well, but it was a question of style. However, if he could find metal arrowheads somewhere…

He let the quiver glide to the ground again and fitted on the bowstring instead. It was not a very large bow, so drawing it was not hard, and one could fit on a string in just a moment, but the disadvantage was that its range was not by far what could have been expected from a decent one.

However, it would do quite well enough for his purpose. The only trouble was his difficult position, above his victims. It would make them smaller targets than a man standing opposite him. But he had a good aim; there was nothing he could not handle.

Just a little more time, and then… Grim satisfaction spread through him, making the flames of his wrath boil higher. He would yet have his revenge. The darkness inside him raged, threatening to swallow up every conscious thought. When the time came, there would be just one wish, just one purpose on his mind: the desire to kill. Already it was there in his head, the dominant motif in a symphony of his hatred…

The power of the music of the night, Christine had said, and he had inwardly smiled at the girl. She had no idea how right she was. In a moment like this, he thought of his dire emotions and passions in terms of music, a dark, wild music playing inside his head.

Quantus tremor est futurus…

His wrath would be dreadful, his retaliation swift and hard.

Confutatis maledictis…

He would make them pay for everything they had done to him, to him and Christine.

Quidquid latet apparebit
Nil inultum remanebit…

Now where was that stupid boy? Had he found a hole to fall down into after all? Why did that ridiculous creature have to spoil his perfect vengeance, just by his insufferable presence? If Raoul took any longer, he might have to go looking for him.

No, certainly not. Raoul could go to Hell, for all he cared.

But Christine had made him promise…

He fought back an agonized groan. Everything just to please Christine. He would probably run through the Opera House in a fluffy pink loincloth and an old felt hat with a stuffed pigeon on it if she just asked him to! There had to be an end to this. By having that ridiculous young snob with him, he made himself look ridiculous.

Just as he thought so, Raoul re-emerged from the darkness, and the Phantom grimaced to himself. Swiftly the boy covered the space between them and allowed himself to slide down along the wall more or less comfortably. Yet there was a tone of urgency in his voice. "Listen, there's trouble", he hissed into the Phantom's ear. "I saw them, and they probably saw me, because they had torches. At least they must have known immediately that someone was up there, above them. I didn't realize they were there until later on, when they came to check if they could see somebody. I didn't know what to do, so I ran for it."

The Phantom muttered a curse which would probably have caused his old friend Claire to firmly box his ears, but the silly boy grinned with delight as he heard it. "Who is they?"

"Some of those servants. Gypsies. And they were armed."

"We must lose no time, then." That disgusting little bad excuse for a young nobleman spoiled everything! No chance to wait for the arrival of anybody more important now. It had become too risky. The Phantom got to his feet, picking up bow and quiver, and covered the distance to the open trapdoor in two swift strides. "Now", he whispered, handing over the quiver, "you simply do as I tell you. I'll climb down, and you'll hand me the arrows. Make sure you're quick about it."

"Right." The boy nodded. "But take care, will you?"

Who did he think he was, telling him that? The Phantom snorted under his breath. Stealthily he climbed down through the open trapdoor and onto the broad beam right beneath it. Now all he needed to do was to find a good position to shoot. He could kneel on the beam, which was the simplest thing to do, but his vision would be limited because his head would be slightly above trapdoor-level, then. Or he could lie down on his back, twisted so that he was practically lying on his side, and take out some enemies that way. This would give him a rather uncomfortable feeling, no doubt, and probably balance problems as well, and he could only cover one side – except if he tried to shoot left-handed, which he had never tried before – but he would be better hidden, and able to see all the way to the wall opposite the red-lit doorway with its carved cherubs. After a moment's consideration, he decided for the latter.

Raoul knelt down beside the trapdoor, his tongue caught between his teeth in excitement, and carefully handed down the first arrow. Clearly he thought this was just an adventure. That fool. In his innocence, he would probably never understand the true concept of revenge.

Slowly, very carefully, the Phantom nocked the arrow. The darkness was pulsing inside him, along with the increasing thunder of his heartbeat.

Quidquid latet apparebit…

The bow creaked gently as he drew it, as taut as he felt himself, and he craned his neck to pick his first target.

Nil inultum remanebit…

The music in his head, the music of the dark fire of his wrath, reached a wild climax as his eyes fell on the tall, broad shape of Ferox, near the end of the hall. An easy angle. An easy target.

Nil inultum remanebit…

He loosed the arrow.

Down below, the first man fell.

It was a beautiful way to kill.

He reached up to accept the next arrow from Raoul as panic ensued below him. Not knowing from where the arrow had come, the servants were milling about frantically. Good. He hoped they would not realize until much later on. He hoped they would give him time.

Atrox was the one to die next, clutching the feathered shaft at once sticking from his chest as he fell. The servants' panic increased.

Damn it all, why could Créon not have been here?

But Créon would die as well. He would yet see him die.

A large, muscular gypsy had his throat pierced by another arrow, and the Phantom almost smiled with content at his own deadly precision. The next found a man's heart again, and so did the one following it. Now where had that sneaky Bertrand gotten to?

Kill them, the monster howled in his head, kill them all! Over its roars, Niobe's voice could not be heard anymore.

His next arrow killed one more gypsy, and the music in his head sang of blood and death, a truly glorious requiem.

But as he nocked another arrow, he found that it sang of something else, too.

Christine. His beloved. She was coming closer.

Curse the girls! They were not supposed to be here! For that Meg was with her was certain to him; Meg was the one to embark on adventures, not Christine. Adventures! Curse that silly girl's folly! She had no idea how dangerous this all was! But she would not believe his word; she was just as stubborn as her mother. And that she endangered Christine as well… He bared his teeth. The girl might be amusing at times, but his patience was running out.

Snarling, he drew his bow again, ready to unleash his new anger at another of those hated gypsies… only to realize that most of them had fled to the other side of the hall, and those who were still more or less in his range, seen from his current position, were practically straight below him, which made aiming difficult, as they exposed no easily vulnerable part to him.

If he only had metal arrowheads! But those hardened wooden tips, however sharp they might be, could just not to be trusted to penetrate massive bone.

Twisting around and pulling himself up smoothly into a kneeling position, but remaining crouched to see as much as possible, he surveyed the situation. Part of the servants were fleeing in panic, while others… were gazing up at the ceiling, searching for their hidden ambusher. And one had a crossbow.

Careful now. In his black attire, he was well hidden in the shadows, but they might still spot him when he leaned forward to shoot.

"Watch it", Raoul hissed urgently.

And at the edge of his awareness, he felt the threads of darkness contract.

Come, he thought, feeling his features twitch uncontrollably beneath his mask. Come to me! Come here and die!

A single shape caught his attention, the figure of a woman, red-haired and in a ragged brown dress with altogether too much cleavage. Fifi stood near the exit uncertainly while others fled, her head turning this way and that, searching for who was attacking them. A smirk twisted his lips as he bent the bow again, drawing the arrow's fletching to his cheek –

He ought to take out the man with the crossbow first.

But no. That one would be still there later on, while Fifi might not.

Nil inultum remanebit…

Die, Fifi. Die. And wonder why while you burn in Hell.

The trumpets of Judgement Day were sounding in his head as he sent forth the arrow.

"My God!" Raoul gasped above him, flat on his stomach so he could see the more outlying regions of the hall. "You just killed a woman!"

"Yes, and a filthy gypsy wench she was", the Phantom growled. "Next arrow."

Something went whirring past them, directly past Raoul's outstretched hand, making him drop the arrow he was holding out, and the Phantom watched it descend all the way down to the ground, twenty feet below. The crossbowman had found his target at last. With an audible click the bolt met the stone ceiling and fell down again, and instinctively the Phantom snatched it out of the air as it fell past him. "Another!" he hissed at Raoul, watching the crossbowman hurriedly start to reload. "Quick!" Damn him, that one was fast.

A brief moment of pattering footsteps on the stone floor above him was all the warning he had. Raoul's head suddenly jerked up, and he threw aside the quiver and lunged for his discarded sabre, while at the same time fumbling for something under his vest, but the dark shape collided with him in mid-air, and they rolled over and over, struggling for supremacy. For a moment, a dagger in a raised hand gleamed dully in the dim light –

The Phantom leaped up through the trapdoor, casting the bow aside, snatched the attacker by his hair, yanking back his head, and without much thought rammed the crossbow bolt into the side of his neck. The man gurgled and twitched, but the Phantom stabbed again and again, until with a soft hiss the air escaped from the man's opened windpipe. With a metallic clatter, the dagger dropped to the ground beside Raoul's head, making the boy wince. The dead man's body fell to the side heavily.

Hell consume itself, he should have felt it earlier on! He should have known someone was coming!

Another crossbow bolt hit the ceiling and fell back down again.

And the threads of darkness, drawn together to a tight-meshed web, began to vibrate all around him. Something which felt like an auger passed over him, sliding off him but grazing his awareness almost painfully.

Créon knew where to search.

And if he would not find him, then at least he would find Raoul.

There was no time to lose. Pulling the boy upright, he pushed him roughly towards where they had left their things. "Quick!" he snapped. "Get your stuff and run! Run for your life!" Bow, rope, quiver and dagger-belt – luckily Raoul had not unhooked it –, the enemy's dagger, hurriedly thrust into the quiver, amidst the arrows… He saw Raoul grab both their sabres, and then they ran, back the way they had come, off into the darkness. Throwing the bow over his shoulder, the Phantom pulled Raoul along through a night which probably seemed complete to the boy. Along lightless corridors and through dark chambers they raced, the boy more stumbling blindly than running at times, up a narrow stair, until at last they came into a larger room. Gasping for breath, Raoul steadied himself against the wall. The Phantom, however, reached for his dagger. After all, he could see in he dark…

A match was struck, lighting a torch, and in the sudden flash of firelight three figures were outlined clearly, three swarthy men glaring at them balefully. And one of them, the one to the far right, he knew only too well.

"Well, well, well, son of a serpent", Kalo sneered, "we meet again. And this time, there is no-one to get in my way."

"Like the little girl with the sabre, muckraker?" the Phantom answered coldly. "I have another kid with a sabre here, with two, to be exact, and one who seems quite eager to stab more than your arm. It looks like I do not even have to get involved. However", he continued lazily, while at the same time keeping a wary eye on the gypsies and their knives, "I always wanted to know the effect of shooting an arrow into someone's eye, so your presence is very welcome. Or you can always share your filthy uncle's fate." He still had a nice length of rope with him currently, after all, but as a little experiment, a belt might do just nicely as well, if applied correctly. "Your own choice, scum."

Beside him, Raoul drew his sabre and tried a smirk. "I'll spear you, fatty", he proclaimed in a tone horribly reminding the Phantom of a boy showing off. However, the lad could fight; he had to admit so, though grudgingly.

Kalo regarded both him and Raoul furiously, then his small, malicious eyes flickered over to the two men at his side. They were both tall and muscular, and they held their long, curved knives as if they knew how to use them. "Kill them", he commanded. "Both of them."

Raoul threw back his head and laughed, just as if he had heard a fine joke. To the boy, this all seemed to be one exciting adventure. "You can try", he said.

The Phantom reached over to take his own sabre from him, offering the pair of slowly approaching thugs one of his most evil smirks – and suddenly felt his insides freeze to ice. Christine. The girls. They were in trouble. He could feel Christine's fear as clearly as he could have felt his own, had he been afraid. No, he corrected himself, he was afraid. He was afraid for Christine.

Hell be cursed, there was no damn time for this!

"The girls need us", he informed Raoul hastily, urgently, feeling the uncontrollable drum-roll of his own heartbeat against the inside of his ribcage. "Now."

For a moment Raoul's jaw dropped. "Now?" he asked uncertainly.

"Right now", the Phantom confirmed, grabbing his sabre tighter. They had to be done with those three as fast as possible; no time to triumph over Kalo. "Make it quick."

"Right." Then Raoul did something utterly unexpected: He reached under his vest, pulled out a revolver and fired at one the approaching men, only a few feet away from him now.

The shot rang out ear-splittingly, resounding in the dark passages and corridors, making the Phantom wince, and the man's skull positively exploded. There was no other word for it. The Phantom drew back involuntarily as what seemed to be small fragments came showering down upon him, and so did the other thug. Then the man turned and ran, and Kalo followed his example. Their companion remained lying on the stone floor, and above his nose there was nothing left of the head. Nothing at all.

Now that was interesting.

No, there was no time for that! Kalo was getting away, and –

Grinding his teeth, the Phantom realized that there was no time for that, either. Kalo's death had to be postponed until later on. Now, they had to go and find the girls.

Curse those girls!

Re-sheathing his sabre and leaping over the fallen man's body, he already broke into a run, with Raoul close beside him, doing his best not to drop one of the many items he was carrying. "That wasn't fair", the boy panted, doing his best to keep up with the Phantom's paces in the darkness, occasionally stumbling, but never slowing. "I shouldn't have – shot him – but you said – we had to – make it quick – and if Christine – is in danger –"

"You did well", the Phantom interrupted, not wanting to think that particular thought to an end. It had certainly solved their problem rather quickly, though it lacked the proper style. It had been the best they could have done. That foolish boy truly had done well.

Sprinting up a flight of stairs to the third level, they had almost reached them. The Phantom could feel Christine's proximity, as well as her anguish, her fear. I'm coming, he tried to soothe her. I'm coming for you. But the feeling in his head did not change.

Turning around a corner, Raoul almost colliding with the wall because he could hardly see anything, they glimpsed light ahead and redoubled their efforts. It was coming towards them, a flickering torch, the light dancing madly as the one carrying it was running for dear life. Two slender shapes, both in men's clothes, their hair streaming out behind them…

How lovely she was.

And though he could not see the pursuers, he could feel them. They were close. Very close. And they were many.

What had those foolish girls been up to? What had Meg gotten his beloved Christine into?

Suddenly an idea formed in his mind, and he held out an arm for Raoul to stop. They both skidded to a halt, Raoul almost losing his balance as he very nearly stumbled over a piece of rock in the darkness and cursing softly to himself. Experimentally the Phantom knocked against the wall with his knuckles. Yes! Precisely! He had remembered it correctly. And he saw it, if he observed it closely enough, although that was difficult without a bit more light. "We have to stop them", he told the boy, who nodded eagerly, finally sheathing his sabre. "Right at this point."

And there they came, Christine launching herself at Raoul, while Meg tried to hug the Phantom while still holding the torch. Swiftly he dodged her, then threw himself at Raoul with some force, dragging Meg with him, slamming the boy and Christine into the wall – which gave way smoothly. For a moment his world tilted, and he ducked as the torch sizzled by overhead. Then they all landed in a tangled heap on the rough stone floor beyond it.

There was a moment of ringing silence outside, then the sounds of pursuit rushed by.

Breathing heavily, they all remained lying between their jumbled equipment, huddled closely together.

After a moment, Meg came crawling over to the Phantom and buried her face against his chest, sobbing softly. "It's all my fault", she whimpered. "It was my idea, and I almost got us killed…" Disentangling his hand from his own quiver, which had apparently littered part of the ground in arrows, he patted her head soothingly. "But you wouldn't let us come", Meg sobbed, still trembling slightly with shock. "You left us all alone with the little children, and the only thing we could do was worry about you. You did not even give us a chance to help…"

"Quiet, little one", the Phantom murmured into her hair. A moment ago he had been angry with her, but now he found that it was quite difficult to be angry with someone who snuggled against him and even stroked his chest.

Sly little creature. He could have laughed out loud.

And in a way, he understood. It was true, they had not given the girls any chance in the slightest. They could have found another reason for not taking them on this particular mission, not just that they were girls. Otherwise, it reminded him too much of himself, cast out from society, hunted and feared by everyone just for what he was, what he had been born as. "You will not just be left out again", he whispered, stroking her hair. "I promise."

Beside them, Christine had wrapped her arms around Raoul's neck, and they were cooing to each other in a most ridiculous way. The Phantom ground his teeth. Why would she choose that idiot over him? Why did that insolent fop have to turn up precisely when he wanted to make Christine his own completely? And why did Christine have to fall in love with that slimy thing?

No, he was not exactly being fair. That boy had some qualities to him –

But all the same, he was an utterly unnecessary bag of sticky slime!

Finally sitting up, Raoul groaned and massaged his shoulder. "Did you really have to do it that way?" he complained in a whisper. "But thanks for saving my life." Taking off his mask at last, he wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve.

"Don't mention it", the Phantom replied, the irony of it boring into his heart like a needle. To win Christine's love, he had rescued the one who had stolen all her affection from him, and not only once, but twice…

But had he really thought of earning Christine's love when he had saved the boy? To his own irritation, he had to admit to himself that he had not. No, he had saved the boy… because the boy had been in danger. He had saved the stupid little fop for his own sake.

Why? Why would he do any such thing?

But then Christine gave him a brief, but tight hug, and all other thoughts dissolved into nothingness.

At last they all let go of each other and picked themselves up, and the Phantom collected all the arrows spread on the ground and restored them into the quiver, assisted by Meg. Just fifteen left.

Had it really been worth the trouble? Only two Lost Ones dead, and a handful of gypsies, and no-one really important, when what he had wanted to do was kill Créon, or at least Niobe. Should their mission not be considered a failure?

But had he truly believed that they would succeed with this?

The music in his head had calmed down to a gentle whisper of regret, of all the glory he had missed… of the beauty of his own death.

With a silent sigh, he made himself abandon all his bitter thoughts. "We're not safe here", he reminded the others. "Not for long."

Meg's head swung around as if already searching for new attackers, and he calmed her by a hand gently placed on her upper arm. While he belted on his sabre as well as the one dagger he had taken with him, just as Meg wore his other dagger, she seemed to wait impatiently until he took her hand in his. While he replaced his new-won trophy dagger in the quiver, she almost scowled at him.

Squeezing Meg's hand gently, he turned to see if Christine was coming. Like he had expected, his beloved was holding on to her annoying fiancé for dear life. The Phantom wrinkled his nose at Raoul. How could anyone?

Christine frowned at Raoul's clothing. "You're covered in dirt, sweetheart", she stated. "You need a bath."

Raoul grinned, tucking his mask into his belt. "Well, if you will accompany me…"

"Raoul!"

The Phantom grimaced silently, holding Meg's hand tighter, while Raoul snickered like a naughty schoolboy.

"Where have you been rolling around, anyway?" Christine asked suspiciously, though caressing Raoul's cheek as she did so. "Erik looks much cleaner than you. Dusty, yes, but not splashed with the occasional bit of… is that mud?"

The Phantom smirked. "I reckon you don't want to touch that, child. Very likely, it's somebody's brains."

Immediately Christine recoiled, withdrawing the hand she had stretched out towards Raoul's lapels. "Erik, that's disgusting!" she protested.

Raoul continued snickering. "He's probably right, love."

"Raoul…" Christine's lovely features took on an expression of shock, and the Phantom regretted ever bringing it up. "What happened?"

"Later, love", Raoul answered gently. "When we're all back home."

We all? The Phantom frowned slightly. Surely the boy did not intend to take him along again?

Meg squeezed his hand. "Is Raoul really covered in somebody's brains?" she asked, her eyes already shining again with their usual adventurous gleam. She actually seemed delighted at the idea.

He sighed. "Not now, little one." Anyway, it was good to see her cheerful spirits return, and her hand felt so warm in his, just like Christine's presence warmed his heart.

No, he would not leave them behind again. Not ever again.