V. Look back on all those Times
To be honest, Madame Giry did not have a good feeling about this all. Quite the contrary, she was getting an increasingly bad feeling.
But the Phantom was strong. He could do what he intended to do. He was strong, and he was hard.
Yet all the same, he sometimes still was little Erik to her.
And there was yet another problem she did not miss spotting: Those looks her daughter kept directing at him… Meg was making calf's eyes at him, just like a silly little teenage girl.
Which she was, to be exact. She was almost seventeen; just the right age to be foolishly taken with a man.
And he certainly knew. He was clever; there was no fooling him. He had certainly noticed Meg's looks. And it certainly made him feel horribly smug to no end.
If he tried anything with her daughter, she would box his ears something dreadfully!
Madame Giry eyed him thoughtfully. She could see why Meg apparently fancied him – and why Christine probably secretly did, just as well. He was tall and well built, and even handsome – as long as he wore his mask, that was – and he radiated a most intriguing aura of danger. He might well be considered an attractive man.
Yes, and in case she decided to take a lover, after all… He would be the perfect choice, and he had signalled his readiness clearly enough last night. She could have him, if she only wanted. She could have him spend his nights in her bed, and she was sure he would be very… entertaining. Well, this was something to be thought about, certainly, but later on, not now.
There came a knock at the door, and when Meg went to open it, Gaston was first to step over the threshold, just as could have been expected. He was followed by Hulot, who had to be given a gentle nudge, and then Serge entered as the last of the three. But this was not all. The three stagehands were accompanied by three more people, three who Madame Giry knew rather well. Not the first of them, that was, about him she only knew that he belonged to the orchestra and was late for rehearsals regularly, but the other two were of her own charges, both ballet members.
After the polite greeting which had to be expected of him – that he had been a servant at very young an age made politeness come natural to him, it seemed – and after the obviously obligatory bow to "the Lord Phantom" – Madame Giry very nearly rolled her eyes – Gaston went right about to introduce them all. "Those are Leclair, Marie and Xavier. They volunteered to help."
Meg and Marie were already winking at each other merrily, and giggles were soon to be expected, yet of course Marie's eyes were irresistibly drawn by the Phantom, who seemingly did not shift his position at all. She was a slender girl, as they all were at the ballet, with dark hair and eyes in a strong contrast to her delicately pale skin, and she had a pretty face. She was quite lovely… yet sadly, she could not be placed in the front rows, even though she was one of the older girls, because she possessed an uncanny tendency to stumble at the most embarrassing of moments during a choreography.
Xavier greeted his ballet instructor with a polite little bow. He, too, was dark-haired and slender, with curly hair framing his boyish face. Quite the opposite of Marie, he was one of those skilled dancers who did practically nothing wrong, and if he did, he did not forgive himself easily. His only fault was that he enjoyed gossiping and giggling with the girls a bit too much, and that he kept dating up to two a week. It was rather ridiculous. At least he had stayed away from her daughter and Christine until now.
"What do you mean, help?" the Phantom inquired from behind her, his voice as cool and neutral as was to be expected of him.
Gaston beamed. "They can fight for you, my Lord Phantom", he proclaimed proudly. "They're just the first of an army I can build for you."
Heavens, what nonsense! That man had read more adventure stories than was good for him, it seemed. An army! That made him rank right behind that Lászlo with his so-called liege-lord. An army, really!
"Are they any good?" The Phantom sounded sceptical. "If Leclair fights as he plays the violin, this is going to be a rather pathetic expedition."
The man from the orchestra grinned apologetically; obviously it was not the first time that he heard something like that. "Sorry, my Lord", he said, scrubbing a hand through his brown hair cut short, "but I don't enjoy practising overmuch."
"Keeping your violin tuned has nothing to do with that", the Phantom replied coldly. "What you use for an A is practically a G sharp at times. It's really sickening."
Leclair grinned again. "Yes, right. Sorry."
Gaston shifted uneasily. "He will help you, my Lord Phantom", he insisted.
"If you think so", the Phantom muttered, unconvinced.
Raoul frowned as he regarded Marie, who stared back defiantly. "Gaston, have you told them what they are up against?" And he was right, Madame Giry thought, especially the girl certainly had no idea. And neither had Xavier, very probably.
"He has", Marie replied grimly. "And I can kick out those gypsies as well as any man!"
"I certainly don't doubt your abilities", Raoul hastened to assure her, while there came an impatient little sound from the Phantom, still standing right behind Madame Giry. "It's only… we don't want anyone else to get hurt. And we can't make a young lady –"
"How about Meg and Christine, eh?" Marie interrupted.
"They're not coming with us", Raoul said. Perfectly sensible.
"They are coming with us, if they want to", the Phantom said quietly.
What? Did the man want his ears boxed? Allowing her little Meg to go down there, and giving her nothing but stupid ideas? He was demanding to have his ears boxed! There would certainly be some discussion on this point, sooner or later.
And Meg was beaming up at him, the silly girl!
Raoul first frowned, then sighed. "If you say so. But still, we can't let a young lady fight for us, if you can let anyone fight for us at all. I thought this was going to be an operation of stealth." Which was the only sensible thing, anyway. At least the young vicomte had kept his intellect whole.
"Of course it is", the Phantom replied impatiently. "Listen, Gaston, you certainly meant well, but I hardly need an army."
"But they have one, practically", Gaston insisted. "We must protect you, my Lord, so you can protect all of us."
"Can you protect me from Créon? No."
"But we can protect you from the gypsies", said Gaston stubbornly, not heeding the cutting edge in the Phantom's voice.
"I can kick any gypsy's arse", Xavier proclaimed, then added, with a quick glance at Madame Giry, "Sorry."
Madame Giry shot him a stern look. She strongly disapproved of the use of certain expressions.
Unexplainably, Raoul grinned at that. "That's the spirit, alright."
Xavier grinned right back – until Madame Giry shot him another stern look, anyway.
"This is not just about kicking arses", the Phantom argued. Now did he really have to use that expression? Madame Giry could practically see his little grimace of disdain as he repeated it, but did he really have to? "This is about much more. Do you mean to face a Lost One like that? You can't deal with a Lost One. Nobody of you can."
Xavier exchanged a look with Leclair, who shrugged. "This may be so, my Lord", the violinist conceded. "I don't even know what a Lost One is, myself. But I certainly know what an arse is. And I certainly know how to kick it."
"That's right", Marie agreed, her chin held high.
"Exactly", Xavier put in eagerly. He seemed eager in most of the things he did. "Let us kick gypsies' arses so you can kick those Lost Ones'."
There was a short pause, in which Xavier received another stern look, his third in a row. Then, at last, the Phantom said, his voice very slightly tinged with amusement, "And so it shall be."
"Perfect!" With his fist, Xavier hit the palm of his other hand.
"But remember", the Phantom continued, "that I am the one responsible for you. Nobody of you is exposing himself to danger unnecessarily. The same goes for you three, Gaston. And for the girls. You will only do what I tell you, and nothing more."
There were nods as well as murmurs of "Yes, my Lord". Why, why on earth, did they have to call him that?
"Agreed", Raoul said, though it seemed slightly grudgingly.
Madame Giry cleared her throat. There were some things not to be left unsaid. "And remember likewise that this is my apartment, and that I don't want to hear certain words spoken in it again."
There were a few murmurs of "sorry", but not quite enough, for her taste.
"Or you'll box somebody's ears?" the Phantom suggested innocently.
"Yes, and you should be glad if they are not yours", she returned sharply. He could tease her all he liked in private – well, maybe not all he liked, but a bit, anyway – but there were certain limits when they were in public.
From the looks some of the newcomers were exchanging, she had just inflicted a serious scratch upon his image. Which served him right, for being horribly smug and playing at lord as well as for using bad language in her apartment. And for lazing around in her bed while she was already up braiding her hair, and for making insolents remarks about it. And for giving Meg silly ideas about adventures. And for trying to fondle her last night; that had been rather naughty of him.
She sighed. Why did he have to be nothing but trouble?
Well, this was not exactly fair. Very often, he had been no trouble at all, especially back in those days when he had hardly left the cellars of his own accord. She had always come for him, and he had waited for her deep down in the cellars, in the darkness, afraid to come up any further, sentencing himself to a life of eternal shadow. Later on, he had started to appear upstairs, until finally he had developed the idea that he could be seen stalking the corridors, and that this was pretty impressive. He was not shy anymore. He had almost given up hiding, it had seemed – though not completely. Never completely. He was too much a creature of darkness to turn his back on the shadows. But he had learned not to fear the light.
And yet again… had he really? Did he not shun the light still?
This all was rather more complicated even than it had seemed to be at first, and it had seemed complicated enough. Oh, Erik… As soon as they were alone again, she would have a word about it all with him – after she had told him to shave, that was, and to finally finish dressing. And not to wear his shirt open too wide; it was improper, especially if done for her daughter's sake.
Shaking her head, she left that train of thought. There were too many sins of his which might come to her mind otherwise.
But there were other things, too. Things he had said and done which proved that he possessed a kind heart, after all. Those moments when she could have just hugged him for being such a darling. All those times he had made her laugh, many years ago, with his child-like mischievousness and innocence.
That mischievousness he had retained for a long time, and it could still shine through even now, yet his earlier innocence had soon been lost along the way. She could not have said when; perhaps it had happened very slowly, very gradually, but soon he had been taken by the darkness, consumed by it.
Was he truly mad? Raoul had claimed he was, that night after the masked ball, and he certainly was right to a certain extent. Driven by his own hatred and malice, the Phantom hardly was her little Erik she held dear in her memory. But all the same, he still was her Erik, the very same who had stolen all the strawberry tarts and flooded the Ladies' room on the first floor, the same who had written her little melodies she could play on the piano and brought her rats in cardboard boxes to amuse her. He still was her Erik, even though he had practically forgotten that name. And once again she decided that she would not turn from him again. Maybe he would return to the light, if only cared about and loved enough. No, she would not give up on him again, never.
As if he had heard her thoughts, she felt how he lightly touched her shoulder, resting his hand there, and she placed her own atop his. For now, she did not care about what all those people crowding her living room might possibly think.
And could he not still be her little jester sometimes? Carlotta's croaking accident, for example… it had been mean towards Carlotta, of course, but that made it no less funny. And the evil-tempered diva had truly deserved it, after all. Heavens above, those croaks! Knowing him as she did, she assumed that it had been in fact himself who had been croaking so horribly, hidden somewhere up in the flies and using one of his ventriloquist tricks, while manipulating Carlotta's mind in one way or the other, though she could not have said how, so the bothersome singer fell silent at precisely the right moment to make the croak sound real. And indeed, it could have fooled even Madame Giry – had she not remembered only too well that little Erik had possessed the ability to belch so hugely that she had always expected the walls around him to tremble. Yes, on that night her little Erik had been back.
Up until the moment when he had murdered Joseph Buquet during the ballet scene, of course. Madame Giry suppressed a sigh. He should not have done that. Making Carlotta croak had been enough by far. But no, he had felt like killing the man, so this was what he had done. He valued a man's life for nothing.
And that he had done it during the ballet scene… She had the nasty suspicion that this bothered her even more than the fact that he had killed at all. After all, she had always strongly disliked Buquet, that lazy drunkard who had tried to sneak into the girls' dormitories far too often. This was not a decent thought, she knew, but the Phantom could really have killed the stagehand during another scene; it would have upset her much less.
With another silent sigh, she gave his hand a little pat. "You could really do with a decent box on the ear", she muttered gently.
He chuckled softly behind her. "Well, if you think so…"
But enough of that. They were not alone. Otherwise, she suddenly felt like snatching a pillow and hitting him over the head with it, then run for it, probably giggling. Heavens, she was really getting childish! They had last played that game many years ago, when he had still been a boy –
Now wait. He might have been a boy, then, but… he had not been supposed to, at that point. Not anymore. After all, he was just two or three years younger than her, or four at the most, but she had been in her mid-twenties, no, in her late twenties even, while he… he had still rubbed his chin experimentally and then complained about no growth of beard at all, and he had snickered like an idiot at the mere mention of a naked woman, and practically laughed his head off at the thought of certain compromising positions. He had still been an adolescent. Odd, definitely. It had occurred to her before, of course, but now…
Now she knew. And it answered everything, from his slow growing up, or at least slowed at the end, as if to give his mind more time to develop all its brilliance, to all those strange and unusual talents he possessed: He might choose to deny it, but he was not entirely human.
Blood of their blood, indeed. That Adhemar had been right.
Poor boy.
She almost sighed as she realized that she had done it again. Why did she always think of him as a child? Because of the darkness which had come over him, later on? That evening when he had first seemed an adult to her, right after Jules had died, he had also seemed very sinister, even though he had been kind and gentle. And he had never ceased to appear sinister later on, not even in his recent helpless grief. The darkness, the distance in those eyes…
May God have mercy on his twisted, tormented soul. It was not his fault.
Beside her, Meg gave a nervous laugh, which was repeated by several others, and Madame Giry returned to reality. In the meantime, Raoul had exchanged places with Marie; he was now standing at Christine's shoulder while the young woman was sitting beside the girl. A gentleman, the young vicomte. She wished the same could be said of the Phantom, but the Phantom was only polite if he chose to. The three stagehands had closed in around them, Serge just as silent as Hulot, but while Serge's gaze was that of complete attention, Hulot's was unfocused as always, and again a faint smile was lingering around his lips, just as if he was seeing something others didn't. He was even paler than usual, it seemed, but that might just be a trick of the light. Xavier was standing close by Marie's shoulders – maybe he was gong out with her currently, and maybe they would still be doing so in a week's time, but that would be way above average, then – while Leclair kept himself at a little distance, observing the others.
Had she missed anything? She could not possibly have been lost in thought for long, or could she? No, probably not.
"There is no other way", Raoul was saying. "We have no idea when any of them come up, or if they are intending to do so at all. We must go down."
Leclair grimaced. "Well, if you say so… there's no choice, then."
"We should not go unarmed", Gaston put in, and Serge nodded slowly to that.
"How many do we have to expect?" Xavier inquired.
Raoul shifted his stance slightly, obviously uneasy. "Yesterday we encountered patrols of three, and they were not aware that someone had come down there. If they notice us now, because our numbers are far greater… who knows?"
"We should reckon with about thirty of them left alive", the Phantom added from behind Madame Giry, his hand still on her shoulder. It would be a lot more proper if he withdrew it, but for now, she let him. Yet she might pull his ears a bit, later on. "Certainly not more. Probably less, but we should not underestimate their number."
"And there's still a handful of Lost Ones left", Meg reminded him.
"Five, to be exact. But leave them to me."
"Oh, and just to prepare you", Raoul said, "there are a handful of women among them. Not many, but there are."
Marie gave him a frown. "Does that matter in any way?"
Raoul's answering look was one of surprise, surprise that she could not see the obvious. "Why, of course! I don't want to harm a woman."
Yes, every inch the gentleman. Madame Giry gave him a little smile.
"You may not do it", said Marie tartly, "but I certainly can."
"Oh, how splendid." The Phantom's voice practically dripped with sarcasm. "We've got a secret weapon, then."
Marie scowled at him, but said nothing. At least the girl knew when to hold her tongue.
"Very well, then", Raoul said. "I think everybody ought to get ready now, right?" He looked at the Phantom, who probably nodded, because he continued, "Shall we say in an hour's time?"
"In an hour's time, same place", the Phantom ordered quietly.
Everybody acknowledged, and the three stagehands as well as the three they had brought along rose to leave, most looking eager – except Leclair, perhaps, who wore just an expression of indifference, which seemed to be his most usual one. Madame Giry suddenly remembered that he had been the one who had once fallen asleep during a rehearsal, and she was not surprised at all. He also belonged to those who seemed to choose their place in the orchestra pit so that they could see what happened on stage, which was what the musicians weren't supposed to at all. Somehow, she found as she watched the man exiting, that the word "sloth" might describe him rather well.
Easily the most enthusiastic was Xavier. As he left the room, he positively beamed. "Great", he announced, "let's go kick some arse, then… oh, sorry, Madame Giry."
Madame Giry sighed. Another pair of ears that deserved a good healthy box one of these days.
