It was the mask engaged your mind,

And after set your heart to beat,

Not what's behind.

William Butler Yeats

Chapter Three: Toy Maker

When Phillipe was going over his schedule for the day with M. De La Shaumette, he noticed that it left him leaving a little earlier than usual. "I can take care of the bank draft to M. Dugast as well before I am done. I was going to stop by and order some fish at the market anyway."

Erik was pleased that Phillipe was taking the initiative to get some of the tasks out of the way personally. "Very good, Phillipe." He opened a ledger and handed the draft to Phillipe.

"Yes Monsieur. My sister and I have invited Madame Griggs to dinner."

Erik did not look up from his desk, but Phillippe could hear the change in his voice. "You have met Madame Griggs?"

"My sister is concerned that we have left her to languish in a hotel with no acquaintances in the city." Phillipe felt his employer's attention on him become more focused. "Especially female acquaintances, sir, you know, shopping, and things of that nature." Phillipe let the sentence wind down. He didn't want to babble but his employer was now looking at him.

Erik thought about the implications of Emily Griggs going out around the city. He had seen to it that he knew where to find her, and be able to trace her activities. Perhaps he was deliberating too long on what exactly he was going to do with Madame Griggs.

His prevailing instinct told him to be very careful with her. She could be an asset or a liability. If Madame started spending more time around the Robillards, Erik would be able to watch her when she was conducting what ever it was women did in their free time.

"Phillipe, I think your sister is right. Madame should have someone to accompany her." Erik noted how his employee relaxed. He called for Etienne to join them in the study. "Etienne will contact the market and have your order paid for and delivered to your address."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Phillippe said surprised at his employer's generosity.

"Think nothing of it. You must let me know how your dinner goes, and give your sister my complements."

After he had dismissed Phillipe, Erik found that he was still distracted by this turn of events. He could easily let Dugast take care of meeting with her. Since her arrival, he had been aware of his thoughts turning more towards her. Even when his deepest darkest voice had warned him, not to hope, not to care, not to be intrigued with this woman, he would remember her slight smile.

He saw her standing in the hall again. Closer to her, he saw that her eyes were a dark blue, that her hair was a color not unlike his own under his wig, that she had looked so small. She had to look up to see his face. Her eyes swept over the mask, he could feel it as surely as if her hand had touched him. Her eyes came to rest on his. She had not been startled or afraid. There was no hint of repulsion, or that damned inquisitiveness that people displayed, as if they were prying the mask off with their fingers, searching for the dark and disgusting. He felt no fear, yes fear that she could see inside of him and look at the bleak and dark soul he harbored. What had Christine called it, the true distortion in him?

Four years of his life spent turning that disillusioned creature hiding in the darkness into this man. He had been transformed by his passion and his need for a woman. He had wanted only what any other man could have; the love of a woman, a wife and companion, perhaps a family.

He had left his grotto, his throne of music, and made his way to the river. The canal boats offered a way to quickly leave Paris behind. He remembered drifting from one place to another, disguised by a dark cloth that partially covered his abnormality, and covered one eye. He hated the lack of the eye, but it fit his story of being in an accident that destroyed his face. In despair he wanted to numb his pain, but shied from Opium or liquor. He needed to be in control, not to loose himself in a drugged haze.

It was in a meeting with a Chinese merchant that was selling Opium along the waterfront, that his life had once again changed. He had gone to the merchant to pick up a shipment of the drug to smuggle to Holland. While Eric watched the cargo being loaded, the old man had handed him a book. It was a volume of Chinese poetry translated into French. Erik took the book; something inside him told him it was important. Many of the poems spoke eloquently of life and happiness. How true peace was achieved not from the outside, but from within one's self.

Erik began to find those moments of happiness. He crafted his destiny with the passion and precision he had brought to his music. One step building upon the next, he climbed out of the prison of fear and into a home where he could display his accomplishments and be proud of what he was. He had pushed away the darkness that had repulsed Christine. He sometimes wished he could show her his life now. What would she think of this man he had become?

He had taken his strengths and used them to their best advantage. After years of manipulating and terrorizing people into doing his will, he found that people responded willingly when they saw a chance to better themselves. He learned to refine his abilities into weapons in an arena where careful and informed speculation could bring him power. He had refused to succumb to fear, leaving behind the boy in the cage who had been beaten and laughed at. He had embraced his solitude, limiting the number of people he had direct contact with.

The one thing he could not change was his twisted face. He still felt a helpless loathing of his reflection, of how it still carried sway over his life. He had crafted a letter that was to be opened upon his death requesting that he be buried with the mask on, so that he could show God the man he should have been.

After dismissing Phillipe, he decided to write a note. It seemed the most logical step in dealing with Emily Griggs. They would have their first meeting about the typewriters.

Emily spent a very enjoyable afternoon with the first of her new clients, Hugette Pinson who had sent her own coach and driver to pick up Emily at the hotel. Arriving at Hugette's' grand home, Emily was amazed by the large front drive, sweeping lawn and the impressive house.

Emily was ushered into the house by the butler, and met Hugette and her sister Therese. Both women were probably in their late forties, but possessed a radiant porcelain skin that almost glowed. While Hugette had hair almost white in color, Therese sported dark red; they both had very light sky blue eyes. They had tea and small canapés in Hugette's study, while Emily recounted the story of her disastrous arrival in Rouen and the sinking typewriters. Emily enquired into the reason behind why the woman had purchased the typewriter.

"It's all that writing I do for the Rouen Morning Paper, you know," Hugette told her. "I do make notes during the day and at events, but then I must dash off my column and get it to the press before they print up the next day's paper. And, well, sometimes I just find that I am so pressed for time that details get left out. You know," she started in a conspiratorial voice," some of the people are most upset when I attend their parties, and then don't have the time to write about them. They feel slighted that they have put on such a production, and have not made the paper, especially if it is for a coming out ball."

"What is a 'coming out' Madame? I am not familiar with that term."

"Oh, perhaps I am not using a term that translates well. You see when a young woman reaches her age of availability for marriage, her family will put on a ball and invite some of the more prominent families to attend. It is meant to introduce the young lady into a proper society, as well as show her off to her best advantage to possible suitors."

Emily felt a little embarrassed. "Madame, where I come from, we don't have such grand society to worry about. In fact most of our dances are held in someone's barn. The town I come from has only about six hundred people in it. Most of us are either related already, or have grown up knowing every one who is marriageable or not!"

"Emily," Therese exclaimed, "that is just so charming. You are not from a city; you sound more like one of our village girls. Oh my dear, Rouen must be so exciting for you."

"Yes, I hope to go see some of the town on the weekend. I have been very busy setting up my first meetings, but I had hoped to do a little shopping on my days off."

"Oh you dear girl, you are indeed on quite an adventure are you not?" Hugette laughed. "This is just so rich a story; you will have to keep us updated when you come for your visits. You see, everyone is very interested in the mysterious M. De La Shaumette. We have all heard that he is a recluse and that the face is well," Hugette hesitated and hushed her voice, "has been damaged or diseased or something. Poor man, that wouldn't matter a bit to anyone as long as he was civil and a gentleman."

"From what I understand he is not very civil though," Therese added in a sorrowful voice. "High temper in a man can be very frightening to a woman, you know. One never knows when a man just might let his passions run away with him, and voila! You have a disaster on your hands. And all that yelling, men can be so loud you know."

The sisters sat and shook their heads sadly. Then Therese looked slyly at Hugette. "Of course there is the making up stage after that." Both of the women giggled and Therese actually started to fan her face which was covered with a very becoming blush. "La! You know after we fight my husband does buy me such exquisite jewelry to apologize."

Emily laughed as well. "Sorry to disappoint you ladies, but Monsieur I think was more stunned than anything else at the turn of events." She explained the 'Monsieur Emile' that the men had been expecting, which started another round of laughter.

"Well then, Emily, we shall once again be relying on good fortune to keep you with us. "

Hugette set up another visit with Emily, for she wanted to feature her in a story for the paper. As the young woman left, Hugette and Therese were already planning how to make sure that Emily would meet the right people in Rouen to keep her gainfully employed.

Phillipe and Emily arrived early at the Robillard home, but Sophie was prepared to offer drinks and an enthusiastic welcome to the American woman. Like Phillipe, Sophie was a brunette with lovely eyes, high cheekbones and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She was tall and slender, with elegant hands and a sultry voice.

Phillippe served a glass of Kir, a drink made of dry Burgundy white wine and blackcurrant liquor, while Sophie set out a dish of vegetables and dips. They followed this with an entrée of Onion soup au gratin, and a main course of a terrine of Salmon and Spinach served over rice that had bits of bacon and peas. For dessert Sophie served an apricot pudding. They ate slowly and talked continually, laughing about the stories Emily told of learning French and the misunderstandings she had gotten into over her mistakes. She was lucky that her brother had married a French Canadian woman, who had done most of her tutoring.

"Well, your French is quite good," Sophie said. "We must arrange some time to get together and I can show you some of the more interesting sites in town. You know the out of the way places that people don't go usually."

"Yes, like the dress shop and the hat shop and the chocolatier shop," Phillippe added. They all laughed.

"Thank you, Sophie. That would be wonderful. I was hoping to find some things to send back to my family as well," Emily added.

While they cleared away dishes, Phillipe answered a knock at their door. He returned bearing a note. After reading it he handed it to Emily saying, "We are going to spend some more time together it appears." Emily took the note and saw that Monsieur was asking for her to join Phillipe and his other assistant Javier at his home the next afternoon at 2 o'clock.

"Oh, Emily," Sophie gasped. "You are going to see Monsieur again; you must tell me what he is like."

Phillipe looked at his sister. "I've told you about him!"

"No, Phillipe, not like things that women notice!"

"Like what?" he asked.

Emily and Sophie looked at each other and grinned. "I understand," Emily said.

Returning to her room at the hotel, Emily was struck by the thought that Monsieur had some way of knowing her schedule. Undoubtedly he could learn from the hotel staff of her comings and goings, but how would he know what points in her days were not scheduled?

Erik had sat after dinner typing at his desk until he realized it was nearly midnight. At that point he decided it was time to go out. Night time was the part of the day that Erik felt the freest as well as the most restless.

Entering his bedroom, he opened one of the drawers in his dresser, pulling it out far enough to reach under it and detach a coil of catgut he carried for a lasso. Tossing it on the bed and pulling out more drawers, he added two knives. He crossed to the wardrobe, swung it out on a nearly undetectable hinge and reached beside it to unlatch a small door that went behind the wall of the room. Here is where he stored clothing and had access to the old servants' stairs.

He retrieved his dingy shirt, scuffed boots, and threadbare coat. Changing into these he switched from his white leather mask and wig to the black mask he wore as Charles Martin, the scarred man. More like an oversized eye patch, it left part of his face uncovered. He had thought of using stage make-up to cover some of his face, but leaving the skin exposed revealed the darker red shade of his skin that resembled the healing left after a burn. It lent credence to his tale that his face had been disfigured in an accident. Indeed, many a man along the waterfront sported scars, missing fingers, eyes, or even feet.

After dressing, he slid one knife in his boot top, one against his back in the top of his belt, and fed the lasso down his right sleeve where it could be easily dropped into his hand. Checking his image in the mirror, he left quietly by the servant stairs, easing his way down the darkened alleys that wound between the houses.

Reaching the river, he took a moment to look up and down the streets. A small bar was closing at the opposite end of the road, and outside one of the local prostitutes was dragging away a drunken patron. He waited until they turned the corner, and then made his way down the dock to a canal boat.

After Erik had purchased the boat, he had had the name on the stern changed to Erebus. Named for the son of Chaos from Greek myth, Erebus was one of the infernal regions below the earth. A fitting name he felt for the world he was to reside after leaving Paris, until he had the power and finances to move on. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door. Closing it behind him, he struck a match and lit a small lamp on the table across form the door.

Although the lower hold was used for cargo transport, the upper deck was used to store an assortment of tools and small machines that Erik used. He found that besides his music, he enjoyed coming here to work. He had started with carvings, and found a shop owner who would sell them. Later the man had asked if he could make toys. After doing some late night entry into shops on the other side of the river, he picked up ideas for toys and began making them. He enjoyed making things that moved; animals that did little tricks, or locomotives with wheels that turned.

He would often loose himself for hours fashioning the intricate pieces and fitting them together. It was relaxing and gave him a secure place to go to other than his home. At one point he had wondered at why he liked this activity. He had decided it was a glimpse at a childhood he had never enjoyed. His only toy had been a monkey he had fashioned from rags and straw.

He worked for a time on a music box until his eyes began to get tired. He put his work away, and slipped out of the boat locking it behind him. Making his way back through the alleys he arrived at his home as the first glow of dawn began to paint the houses around him. He put away his clothes and weapons, making sure he had not tracked in anything that Agnes might find later. Lying down on his bed, he closed his eyes.