Chapter 13—A Chase And A Lie

Uncounted of constant traveling later, Christine woke up suddenly. It had not been the jolting of the carriage, nor had anyone spoken to her. Madame Giry, who had stubbornly insisted upon accompanying them, and Erik, whose embrace she was curled into, were both asleep. With an uneasy feeling, she glanced out the window and tensed, awakening Erik.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Look," she replied. They were passing by a gypsy show—Cirque de Masque— which Christine recognized. It had been the one she was part of, nearly fifteen years before. She told this to Erik, and he closed the curtains so no one could look in. Christine opened the small door on the roof of the car so the driver could hear her.

"Monsieur, get us away from here, quickly!"

"Right away, Ma'mselle." He swung the horses into a full gallop, and she closed the door and laid her head on her young love's chest. He stroked her hair tenderly.

"Don't worry, my sweet. No one will find you."

She sighed. "One would hope."

The new speed caused the woman next to her to awaken. She saw the drapes closed and Christine's worried look, and asked, "What happened?"

"We passed by the Cirque de Masque," replied the girl simply.

Madame Giry had aided Christine in her escape. She had shown her the secret entrance to the tunnels below the Opera House, where she had been studying to become a ballerina. She knew how frightened the nine-year-old had been then, and now, nearing her mid-twenties, Christine still shuddered at any mention of the gypsies.

"Where are we?" Erik wondered.

Madame Giry drew the curtain back an inch and looked out. "Somewhere in Turkey, by the local dress. We're nearing Persia…" She stopped suddenly, watching the road behind them.

"What? What is it?" the young couple berated her.

"I think, my dears, that we are being followed."

"Followed? By whom?"

Madame Giry squinted a little. "I can't quite make it out, but it is a local-style carriage, and I think it may be the police."

"Not the Secret Police?" Christine asked anxiously, for that would be a good thing.

"I am sorry, Christine. From what I can see, it is the national law enforcement."

"Brilliant," said Erik, his face going pale. "Simply marvelous."

"My fault," claimed his lover. "They are after me."

"Never mind whose fault it is—they are following us. A moment…" Madame Giry stood and opened the window to talk to her driver. When she sat down again, there had been a change in pace. They had slowed down when they were past the gypsies, but the horses sped up again. They turned down several narrow, winding streets and even made a few complete changes in direction.

"I do not know how your people get their skills, but thank you, dear Madame!" said Christine gratefully.

"They are still following us," she replied nervously. "Perhaps we should try something else."

"A disguise?" suggested Erik.

"I have a veil or two in my bag," said Christine thoughtfully.

"I have a bit of stage makeup with me," Madame Giry added.

A few minutes later, the three had changed their appearances considerably. The women wore Christine's thick veils, and Erik had let his hair fall over his face, in contrast to its usual slickness. Christine had removed her telltale mask, and Madame Giry had doctored all their faces so that they could hardly recognize each other. The older woman told her driver to slow and let the police stop them. A Persian man got out, came to their window, and rapped sharply on it with his stick. Madame Giry opened the door and assumed a rickety British accent when she spoke to him.

"Good evening, sir, is there something we can do for you?"

The man flashed his lantern over the three of them almost carelessly. "May I ask your business in Diyarbakir, good lady?"

"I simply am escorting my daughter and her fiancé to Persia," she replied. "I assume that there is no law against it?"

The man looked at her suspiciously. "You need to get a new driver, if you do not mind me saying. He was driving all over."

"Yes, we have been having a bit of trouble with him," Christine broke in with a voice very different from her own but similar to the one her "mother" had. "We seem to have lost our way—would you please tell us how to get to Tabriz?"

They listened to his instructions and thanked him. Madame Giry made sure her driver had heard them, then closed the door and the curtain tightly. As the cart started again, Erik allowed himself his own means of showing appreciation to Christine.

Madame Giry watched them nearly smother each other, suppressing a smile at the memories of her own loves, years ago. She knew that her lie might well be called truth—the part about Erik and Christine's relationship, in any case. "You'll smudge your disguises, darlings," she cautioned them kindly, although she had to wonder if they even cared.

Christine pulled away slightly. "She's right, my love," she said to the man at her side. He gave her one last kiss, and restrained himself. Madame Giry shook her head, laughing to herself.

"What is funny?" asked Erik, with what was supposed to be a look of hurt on his face.

"Nothing."