Chapter Twenty: Judgment

Erik had spent the day turning over in his mind the kind of punishment to fit the actions of Blaise Gaultier and Giles Charbonneau. They had Trahan transport Absinthe to England. Because of deaths, the government was cracking down on its use. Artist, writers, and performers all believed it enhanced their creativity, and would do anything to secure a bottle of Le Fee Verte as it was called. Surely this would give them cash, but not in sufficient amounts to buy one of Jules Gaultier's boats. Had they planned to get the boat and run larger quantities? They were inexperienced enough they might have believed they could get away with it.

The other option was to have the boat to assure a supply of something coming in to France. Emily had mentioned the sister. Perhaps it was a supply for her. Laudanum was cheaper than alcohol in most places, and though frowned upon, was freely used. She must be using the stronger Opium.

France and England had joined forces twice to fight wars over the availability of the drug. In the 50's an international settlement had been established in Shanghai to oversee twenty ports to assure the supply left China. According to the papers, England controlled the drug, and Parliament was moving to restricting its use to those registered opium smokers who could not survive without it. Was that why they needed it for the sister?

In regards to their crime, they had cost him to wages of a crew, damaged cargo, and the fees for having a steam-shovel rigged to help pull up the boat as pumps worked to pull out the water it had taken on. Getting the boat back into shape and hauling again had only taken two days. The businesses that sent cargo through him were happy to resume shipping.

Trahan was in his employ, and although the young man was new to the boats, he was showing signs of promise. He really couldn't view Trahan as the villain in this, just inexperienced and eager to take on some cash.

That brought him back to Blaise Gaultier and Giles Charbonneau. He could deal harshly with them, turning them over to the gendarmes. He could ruin both their careers by insisting they be fired without references. But he wanted the money he had spent to repair the boat back. Any of those choices would have bolstered his reputation. But what he had decided upon was the most logical course of action.


Emily and Javier wiled away the morning playing dominoes that Javier had found in the cupboard. When they started loosing interest in the game, Javier taught Emily a few very randy French drinking songs.

"You know," Emily said conspiratorially, "we should sing these in his study sometime. He'd have a seizure!"

Javier did he best to look stern, "Now Madame, you know that would not at all be proper behavior."

Emily laughed, "I am renowned for misbehaving. Haven't you heard about my escape attempt?"

"Yes, I did. And I must say I am proud of you. You need to give that man a challenge."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Emily, everyone is afraid of the great and mysterious De La Shaumette," he gestured grandly. "He needs a few people around him that remind him he is a man, and nothing more."

She remembered last night, he was definitely a man. "He told me last night his name is Erik."

Javier seemed surprised. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. I think that is who he really is. Charles Martin was only a way to get what he was after. Does he tell you anything about the mask?"

"No," she replied. "I would not impose like that. People are who or what they are, until they have the power to change themselves. Sometimes things can not be changed."

"I have never seen his whole face. I was coming back to the boat one night; he was inside working on something and must have taken the mask off. He reached up and covered his face, telling me to get out. I can remember the anguish in his voice. I waited outside until he came out later. We have never spoken of that night."

They sat for a while, and then started singing.


The gold chain of his watch crossed over the brown and gold threaded vest. A pair of gold cuff links peaked from under the wrists of his jacket and a large diamond pin accented his cravat. Satisfied with his reflection in the mirror, Erik made his way to the study.

He acknowledged a knock at the door, and Javier came into the room. He glanced up from his desk. "You dropped off Madame Griggs?"

"Yes," Javier replied.

"Was she angry," he asked.

"No. Disappointed I think. Anyone can get angry. Emily is offended by being thought of as brainless."

Erik glanced at him sharply, "I do not treat her as if she were brainless."

"No, if you felt that was the case you would have sent her back to America. But I think you could have listened to her opinions."

"Are you questioning my decisions, Javier?"

Javier shook his head. He knew from the sound of Erik's voice that he was treading a knife edge. "No Monsieur. I have always accepted your decisions."

"Then keep that thought in your head Spaniard. If it were not for me you would still be a river rat hauling cargo to Belgium and back."

"For that my family and I are in your debt, always. Phillipe and I both are thankful for the opportunities you give us. You are an intelligent man, Monsieur. But you lack a quiet heart."

A spark ran through Erik's body. The look of joy on Emily's face in the dream, A quiet heart she had said.

"There," Javier pointed towards Erik's head. "There are always thoughts running through your mind. Watching you is like standing at the edge of a storm. You can't think your way through everything, sometimes you have to listen with a quiet heart."

This was the sort of nonsense people wrote in books. Letting his heart guide him had lost Christine to another man, and Paris an Opera House. His music lay in ashes in the cold damp of the home where he hid from the world. All he had hoped to offer the world languished in darkness. "You are suggesting that I temper my decisions with the kind hearted opinions of a woman, Javier?"

"We haven't worked with Emily for long. I was surprised that you even dealt with her at all, really. I am just saying don't cut off her opinions because you think she is trying to sway you. Emily does not use her femininity that way. She is a business woman, or Remington would not have put faith in her abilities. Don't loose an asset because it wears a skirt, Monsieur."

This business had to be dealt with his way. He did not need her there to temper his anger. He'd pushed the anger aside, and studied the situation like a jeweler studies a gem. One cut here, another there, and the he would create something flawless from an otherwise useless lump. Erik had spent years turning situations to his advantage, this one would be resolved in the same way.


Blaise and Giles arrived at the warehouse at Number 37. It had only one large door with a smaller man-sized door cut in it for the workers to enter. Going inside, they paused momentarily to let their eyes adjust to the dim light from the top of the walls. Rows of crates marched off from where they entered; sitting on one of the closer crates with a small lantern was Alain Trahan.

"Do you have the money?" Trahan asked.

Blaise stalked over to where Trahan waited. "Do you really think you can do this to me?" Following close behind was Giles. The other man turned to glance over his shoulder as he thought he felt a gust of air at his back. "Where is Madame Griggs?"

"She's nearby, where's the money?" Trahan repeated.

Blaise offered a wallet to Trahan, "Here it is. If you are lying to me, I'll spend the next 500 francs having you beaten."

Trahan looked the soul of innocence, he pulled off his cap. "Not me" he gestured into the shadows behind him.

Out of a branching aisle of crates stepped Phillipe Robillard and Jules Gaultier. "Monsieur Trahan has wisely decided to change sides." Phillipe told Trahan, "You may go now. Be at the boat in the morning."

Walking past the other men, Trahan left the wallet of money on the crate. He slipped out of the door as Javier Fernandez came in.

Phillipe asked Jules Gaultier, "Are you satisfied, Monsieur?"

"Yes," he replied, "the boat is yours for the price you offered."

Blaise felt his stomach turn to lead. He would not humble himself for the way things had happened, but he would make his Father understand. "Father," he implored, "we were doing it for Phalene! You cannot order her to stop the drugs; she doesn't have the strength for that. She watched Mama, watched her slowly dying each day. She listened as you lied! You all lied to her, telling her Mama would get better. She saw what the drugs did for Mama. She only wanted that bliss, that escape from pain."

Jules replied, "I know, Blaise. She was young and we thought she would not understand what was happening. That is my sin in all of this, trying to protect her. And now you have sinned as well. I love you my son, but I cannot allow you to kill your sister one grain of Opium at a time." He told Phillipe, "I swore to dismiss anyone who would supply her with the drug." He turned back to Blaise, "And so I keep my promise, you are dismissed from my service, Blaise."

Momentarily stunned, Blaise did not feel Giles hand on his shoulder. When he did he turned in the direction Giles was looking.

Down another aisle of crates a form waited in the darkness, its restrained stillness sending dread up Giles Charbonneau's spine. "Gentlemen," the greeting whispered from the darkness.

The man stood in the failing light from the windows atop the warehouse walls revealing a wraithlike white expanse floating at head height. Giles knew who it had to be. He had heard the stories from the other legal assistants at Chalin's office. The shape must be the mask, the mythical mask attributed to De La Shaumette. He turned to Blaise who stood rigid, his temper threatening to explode. In a resigned voice he spoke, "Blaise, its over."

Blaise cast a withering glare at his friend. "No it isn't. I'm not finished yet."

"Ah, Monsieur Gaultier, we have not had the pleasure, although your companion can tell you who I am," the figure moved.

"This is Monsieur De La Shaumette," Giles said quietly.

Blaise tried to make out more of the man who stood a few scant feet from him. He gave a curt nod, "I had heard Monsieur never leaves his home."

"I travel as I wish." The voice was a slow taunt.

Stopping inside of the shadows, Erik examined both of the men before him. Giles had the forethought to accept his fate, but Blaise Gaultier stood rigid, his face revealing none of his thoughts. Erik nodded to Giles, "Monsieur, we have already made arrangements for M. Chalin to let you go for a period of three months," he looked back to Blaise, "and you appear to no longer be employed."

Blaise finally spoke, "What do you have planned for us?"

"Planned? Ah, you have learned the value of things being planned already?" Erik could not help tossing that barb to the young pup. Emily's intuition was correct; he radiated far too much self importance. He would have to keep a watchful eye on Blaise.

"Your actions have cost me quite a bit of money, money which you will repay." He gestured towards Jules Gaultier, "Since M. Gaultier has agreed to my offer, it now appears my fortunes are set to increase with the addition of another boat. I have decided that the two of you, with the help of Alain Trahan will work for me to repay your debt. How long it takes you will of course depend on how quick you are to learn, and how well you make deals for more cargo."

"You can't make us do that without our consent," Blaise interrupted, although Giles was studying law, Blaise knew enough to protest.

Erik heard the challenge in the boy's voice, he moved to the edge of the light. His voice became low and threatening, "It's you choice. Work off your debt or go to prison for attempted murder."

Giles looked panicked, Blaise now looked unsure of his footing. "There was no intent to murder," he stated.

"That is your view. A court might see it differently," Erik replied, his voice a stinging whip. "Trahan's panic at being found with the absinthe and the damage to the boat could have cost three people their lives." His voice turned acid, "Your unmitigated stupidity and lack of planning," he accentuated the word, "your careless actions, done with utter contempt of any consequences cannot be wiped away by your gallant attempt to help your sister."

He turned away from them, anger still burning like bile in his throat. They could have killed Emily. The thought of her slowly dying as the river filled her lungs made him feel ill. He turned to look at Javier who stepped forward. "This is Monsieur Fernandez. He will take you to where the boat is moored. You will return there tomorrow morning ready to leave," he turned on them, his voice turning to thunder, "or so help me God I will hunt you down, chain you to an anchor, and drop you into the Seine!"

He hovered on the edge of the dim light, while he watched the color drain out of their faces. They may think that they could have taken on De La Shaumette, but they could never best Erik.

Jules Gaultier and Phillipe joined the two men. Gaultier embraced his son and Giles before they turned to follow Javier out the door. Jules then turned to Erik. "I cannot repay you for the chance you have given them, Monsieur." He offered his hand, "You have only to ask, and I will do what I can." Erik stepped into the light and shook his hand with a firm grip.

Erik regarded the man before him. Was this what a Father was like? How different a man would he have been if he had a Father to give him love, to offer a strong hand to him? How much sacrifice would a Father make for his children? He had no children of his own, but would he love any of them any less than this man loved his?

"Take care of your daughter, Monsieur. She will need all of your strength to get away from the drug." He turned to Phillipe, "Escort Monsieur Gaultier to his carriage."


Sitting at the piano, he worked for hours on the music. As page after page was filled with notes, another stanza came to mind. He dropped the pages with the wet ink notes on them in a circle around him on the floor. He stopped when he was running out of room. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly three a.m.

He still felt energized, as the world slept there was no interruption but the mantle clock. In the darkness the music became something tangible. It became water, cooling and gently caressing, or air, floating around him. It took on smells and tastes offering a banquet to his senses.

After the loss of his music, after the long years on the river, he was finally coming back to the ecstasy the music gave him. His soul such as it was would fly, free of the earthly flesh. This was the only drug he would indulge in, the only mistress he could never deny. This was the part of him that God must have granted in return for the ruin of his face and the sad existence he had lived.

He left the piano bench and began to lift up the sheets of music, putting them in order he would lock them in his desk along with his manuscript; the two parts of his life, his music and his story. Together they were a picture of a complex man, a man he wanted the world to understand. A man who had finally brought triumph out of the tragedy of long years spent in despair.

On the return trip from the warehouse, he had Phillipe drop off a note to Emily. Tomorrow when she came he would be ready to announce his intent to court her.