A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: We will say nought. We know you have waited long. Well, so have we.
33. The Phantom of the Opera
The Phantom of the Opera is a tale that has been told many times. Half the literate world knows its story. But it is very rarely that a tale is told from the point of view of the people behind it, from the angle of the backstage.
The backstage we speak of was currently in absolute pitch darkness. No one moved. Everyone was frozen in one spot: seated on chairs, perched on tables, curled up on the floor. Not a word was said to mar the lines being delivered onstage. The golden rule of stagehanding: at all times, shut up.
Hermione, appointed stage manager, was standing in the wings, one hand raised. She was waiting for the cue to signify the scene change.
Courfeyrac, who was playing the auctionneer for the prologue scene, said it. "Let us frighten away the ghost of so many years ago – with a little illumination."
"Right," mouthed Hermione, "here it comes……"
Courfeyrac's hand moved on the fake switch.
In the AV booth, Celeborn flicked the real one. The stage was plunged into darkness, as the chandelier simultaneously lit up with a staggering brilliance.
"Crank!" hissed Hermione.
Van Helsing, whose responsibility was the chandelier, seized the handle of the flywheel and cranked furiously. The flywheel, which had been painstakingly oiled by Galadriel several times the day before, moved without a single squeak. The chandelier lifted off the ground and drifted above the heads of the audience, who looked suitably awed.
In the meantime, the scene change was taking place with all the secrecy of a guerilla operation. In a stagehand's daydream, he is invisible, or at least unseen by the audience. The heaviest of props can be lifted like a feather, and however hard it is flung down it makes no sound. The stagehand sees perfectly in the dark, and potential stumbling blocks move out of the way as he runs across the stage. And everything lasts five seconds.
In the real world of the practical theatre, there was a lot less perfection and a lot more effort required. The scene change, a deeply complicated one, went off without major incident (not counting the minor one when Frodo smashed a table into Gimli's midriff, causing the latter to emit a muffled groan and fellow stagehands to wince) Hermione checked that the props were at their markers and the actors in position.
"Set!" she hissed into her walkie-talkie.
"Set!" hissed Van Helsing, referring to the chandelier.
"Good," said Galadriel, picked up her own walkie-talkie and hissed, "Set! Set! Set!" into it.
Celeborn got the message, and the lights came up.
The scene bore Galadriel's directorial mark of being artistically messy. Elizabeth was leading the dancing girls in their stringy costumes in a rousing chorus of "Hannibal comes!" In the background, Gavroche juggled three papier-mache heads, pitched them all into the palm trees and executed a bow, even though no one had actually seen him; he had been blocked by the fake elephant upon which Piangi was riding.
The remaining stagehands (not many, because several were onstage playing stagehands of the Opera Populaire) settled down on the newly vacated chairs and spaces and watched the scene with relish.
Merry and Pippin, dolled up in the best of waistcoats and extravagant moustaches, watched along with the audience as the dancing girls skipped across the stage. Holly hoped that they were looking at Arwen and Briseis and not at her.
"If you please, monsieur," Andromache was saying – she looked particularly forbidding as her cane struck the stage boards in an ominous rhythm – "we take particular pride in the excellence of our ballets."
"I see why," agreed Pippin, knowledgeably. "Especially that little dark-haired angel – "
"Meg Giry, my daughter," murmured Andromache as Briseis danced a pretty step in the centre of the stage, before retiring to make way for Arwen.
"And that exceptional beauty," added Pippin. "No relation, I trust."
"Christine Daae. Promising talent, M. Firmin, very promising."
Arwen spun, her skirts flaring. From what the stagehands in the wings could see of the audience's faces, they looked quite impressed. Even from the distance of a back row seat, Arwen's beauty was astounding.
Galadriel smiled to herself, and remembered to gesture at Legolas and Chix, who were waiting for her cue. The two leapt up soundlessly and ran for the ladder which led to the flies. Legolas climbed it; Chix flew beside him. On the top, Legolas stood up, balancing with elvish ease, and began to walk the thin metal bars that made up the flies. He took up position at one post, where the stage scenery was suspended from; Chix flew silently to the other.
Down below, they could glimpse Elizabeth's golden head as she sang her horrifically cabaret and over-accented rendition of "Think of Me".
"When you fiiiiiiind that once agaaaaain you loooooong to taaake yoooouuuur heaaaaart back and be – "
Chix looked at Legolas, who nodded. Then they both simultaneously sliced at the bindings which held up the scenery. The scenery did as the curtain had done on Wednesday, and collapsed.
Elizabeth's scream nearly knocked Legolas out of the flies; as it was, he got back to the ladder without further incident and shimmied down it easily and gladly. Chix stayed a little longer to drop an envelope on Andromache's head. Mme. Giry picked up the envelope, and began to read the Phantom's note.
The stagehands were on edge again; another scene change was coming up, and this time an even more complicated one.
"When you find," sang Arwen as Christine, "that once again you long to take your heart back and be free – if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."
And the orchestra burst into full harmony. The stagehands leapt up as the lights dimmed, and began to drag the elephant out. Andromache and Briseis were helping to fix Arwen's dress. Andromache did a final tugging check to make sure that the tiara was firmly affixed to Arwen's hair, and then escaped.
The lights came on upon a scene which seemed to have seamlessly transited from the previous one. Galadriel exhaled in relief.
If the audience had been impressed by Arwen's dancing, they must have been blown away by her singing. Arwen was in top form tonight. She was the blushing Christine down to every last detail; her tiara sparkled, her smile gleamed, and her voice soared and hit the arching ceilings of the auditorium.
"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons; so do we," sang she. Hermione began to get the others up and ready for the next scene change. Despite the popular belief that stagehands stone backstage during a scene, in truth a good stagehand is always on edge. Hermione went to check the furniture for Christine's dressing room.
It was in the left wing, third curtain row. Jack was sitting on the dresser, awaiting his scene.
Hermione frowned down at him. "Unnecessary items should not be left on necessary props."
"You break my heart, love," Jack told her with a saucy grin. Hermione glared at him further, and he slid off with a sigh and headed behind the mirror.
Christine's dressing-room was set up, and the scene commenced. It was after the dancing girls and Mme. Giry had retired, and Christine and Raoul were alone in the dressing room, when the first calamity of the night occurred.
Cosette was crossing between the wings, behind the cyclorama; she was carrying an open tin of dressing pins which Andromache had directed her to bring back to Galadriel. Eponine was walking behind her. Normally all that would have passed between them would have been a couple of hard glares on Eponine's part and aversion on Cosette's. But this time, Cosette saw something else first.
A rat chose this moment to make its appearance backstage. It was a truly large rat, a species of freak rodent, as long as her forearm – tail-length not included. Its little red eyes gleamed in the darkness lit only by what light filtered through the cyclorama. It stopped right in front of Cosette, sniffed the air, and looked around at her.
Cosette opened her mouth to scream.
Eponine registered all of this in a matter of seconds, and made the further realisation that if Cosette screamed in the middle of a scene, and the audience heard – then it would be all over.
Eponine had a very straightforward method of problem-solving. If there was a problem, then the ideal solution would be to physically remove it at once. She leapt upon Cosette from behind, clapping her hand upon the girl's mouth, and tackled her to the ground, muffling whatever sound might have emerged from that orifice. The dressing pins went flying; there was a sound like a thousand raindrops as each one hit the floor. Eponine could feel one of them digging into her elbow; it had cut a small gash. She wished Cosette would stop struggling.
The two of them had rolled into the cyclorama, which had begun to ripple at the slightest touch. The light twisted and rolled as it hit the undulating surface. Eponine shut her eyes and hoped that the audience would be too occupied with Angel of Music to notice a rippling cyclorama.
She opened her eyes. The Lady Galadriel was looking down at her.
"What happened here?" she mouthed.
Eponine sat up, wincing as a dozen dressing pins dug into her hips and legs. Tentatively she retracted her hand from Cosette's mouth. Cosette was trembling like an aspen in an avalanche. She was sucking in her breath in violent gasps, and her eyes were dilated.
"Cosette," whispered Galadriel commandingly, "calm down."
Eponine watched as Cosette's terror immediately settled into an expression of calm. "Rat," she said, her voice empty. "Very large rat. Here, backstage……"
Galadriel looked around. The rat had wisely chosen to evacuate the premises.
"There is no rat backstage," she said.
Eponine opened her mouth to gainsay her, to protest that yes, there had been a rat, she had seen it too – but then she looked into Galadriel's eyes and realised what her teacher was doing. "There is no rat backstage," declared Galadriel again.
Cosette nodded. "Yes. There is no rat backstage."
"You had a collision with Eponine. It is very dark behind the cyclorama."
"Yes. Very dark."
"Excellent. Now, pick up those pins." Galadriel rose, leaning as she did so over to Eponine. "No one will hear of this." Then she was gone, a ghost in the dark.
Eponine looked at Cosette. The girl was obediently bending down to feel for pins in the darkness of the floor. Eponine sighed and followed suit.
It was impossible to find the pins. Like Galadriel had said, it is very dark behind a cyclorama. The pins seemed to have been swallowed up by the floor, until one of them suddenly pricked Eponine on her groping palm.
There had been no footsteps behind them, and so they nearly screamed again when Haldir's voice said in the darkness, irritably: "What are you two doing here? The Phantom of the Opera scene change is due in a minute!"
"We dropped some dressing pins," Eponine tried to explain. "We've got to pick them up, or people will start stepping on them and screaming. Have you got a light?"
Haldir left without a word and returned with an object held in his palm. He flipped it open, and a square of blue light glowed in the darkness. It was Lili Frond's handphone.
"Thanks," said Eponine gratefully, sweeping the ground with the luminous blue beam and gathering up the pins illuminated in its wake. "Get someone else to carry my prop, will you? I have to get this done."
Haldir left them. "Eponine's busy," he told Hermione in left wing. "She needs someone to carry her prop."
"I'll do it," decided Hermione, not asking for an explanation. The scene change was too close for comfort.
The audience had just finished being impressed with Jack's appearance from behind a seemingly opaque mirror. The stagehands took the opportunity to sweep the dressing room (and Aragorn in it) offstage. Van Helsing was working the cranks; the gangways lowered themselves into place. It was pretty expensive machinery, for a school production, but Galadriel never spared any expense when it came to her students.
"Second station," said Hermione briskly, as Jack and Arwen hurried past her to the ladder, which they began to climb; Jack first, then Arwen, clutching the skirts of her costume in one hand. "Are the others in position?" she barked into the walkie-talkie, and listened to the crackle of answering static. "Right. Go, go, go!"
There were two pairs of Phantoms and Christines altogether; to give the impression that the pair was popping up everywhere, they would be running across the stage in different directions, in an attempt to bewilder the audience.
The other pair was Anna and Enjolras – Anna had been chosen because she was dark-haired, like Arwen, and around the same build. As Jack and Arwen went on singing in the wings, their voices echoing across the stage, Enjolras led Anna down the gangway. They disappeared into the wings below, as the authentic pair emerged from the second gangway high above the stage, and rushed down it to the right wing.
The boat was waiting for them. Jack had nicked it for them from the Sailing Club's shed, and it had been sufficiently draped in gauze and spangled taffeta that any members of the Sailing Club in the audience would have to be extremely paranoid to recognize it as one of their own. Jack leapt into it, Arwen clambering across the side and sitting down behind him, as he seized the pole Hector held out to him, and the boat was pushed out onstage.
The boat was now supposed to travel across the stage. This was to be engineered solely by Hermione, who was the only student of magic advanced enough to move a whole boat with two people in it across such a long distance. Now Hermione pointed her wand at the boat, which began to weave sinuously across the stage. Beads of sweat were standing out on her head.
"Levitation," hissed Harry. Every other student of magic who had been able to master levitation had been assigned a specific candelabra. Now each candelabra rose into the air, different ones at different speeds, as whispers of "Wingardium leviosa" sounded across the backstage, mingled with the prayers of Briseis and Carl and various grunts of effort from those with other types of magic.
From the audience's point of view, it was a truly marvellous spectacle. Hermione could hear them gasping in wonder as the set seemed to move around the Phantom and Christine by itself, but dared not let relief intrude into her concentration.
"Sing," cried Jack, who as the Phantom firmly believed that all this wonderful movement was his doing, "sing, my angel of music!"
The remaining crew backstage held their breaths. This was the pinnacle of the spectacle.
"He's there, the Phantom of the Opera," sang Arwen in a low voice, and then she hit the high notes.
Her voice rose in an incredible crescendo, soaring above the imaginary water, above the gangways, above the sky of the stage and into the flies, higher and higher but still true to the note. The candelabras swooped around her, and Jack forgot to pole in wonder, and as the song reached its most staggering height, Arwen screamed.
The lights went out.
The audience applauded wildly. Hermione, nearly crying with relief and exhaustion, directed the stagehands to facilitate the scene change for the Phantom's lair.
After the Phantom of the Opera, Music of the Night was a walkover. The stagehands relaxed upon their perches and watched Jack pretend to play the organ and sing. Jack had always enjoyed pretending to play the organ; he always took it on more amazing arpeggios and scales than Artemis, who was doing the real playing in the orchestra pit, could have managed.
"Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the world you knew before! Close your eyes and let music set you – "
"Come on," muttered Aragorn, "you can hit it." The rest of the cast stared at him in amazement.
"Free!" sang Jack, perfectly on key.
Aragorn made a small and understated gesture of triumph.
"Only then can you belong to me……"
The stagehands were secretly glad when Music of the Night ended, because despite Jack's improved singing the audience was beginning to look faintly bored. The madness and confusion of the next scene was certain to wake them up.
They made the scene change for the managers' office. Merry and Pippin wandered onstage, reading their notes this time – real notes, written in Arwen's best cursive.
"Who would have the gall to send this? Someone with a puerile brain! These are both signed O.G. – who the hell is he? Opera Ghost! It's nothing short of shocking – he's mocking our position; in addition he wants money – what a funny aberration to expect a large retainer – "
Aragorn burst onstage. "Where is she?"
It was shaping up to be a highly confusing scene indeed.
Backstage, Andromache fussed over Elizabeth's bright pink hat, and stepped back as the prima donna rushed out. "Where is he? Your precious patron…"
Andromache settled back to wait for her own cue, but froze.
The rat had made a reappearance. It was creeping along the edge of a stage block, to where Mulch had left an open ham sandwich lying on a props table.
Andromache was not as given to screaming as Cosette was, but when she ran onstage it was clear that she had a strong reason for running as she did, that was not an overwhelming desire to deliver the managers a note.
The stagehands turned as one, and beheld the rat.
Lili Frond opened her mouth to scream. Holly tackled her as Eponine had done Cosette, and they flipped over onto a couch, struggling. Arwen flattened herself against the wall. Frodo, who had been sitting on a cushion directly under the ham sandwich, leapt up with a muffled oath and edged away.
The rat turned to stare at them, whiskers riffling. There was only one thing to be done. Hermione whipped out her wand and approached it nervously.
The rat stared at her transfixed, and then abandoned the sandwich and scuttled for cover, followed by a bolt of light and Hermione's hissed "Immobilius!" The spell just missed its quivering tail, and it plowed through a group of seated stagehands, who jumped out of the way. Hermione marched after it with her wand raised, like the Statue of Liberty come alive and vengeful.
Jack came round the corner. "What the – " he began, and then saw the rat. To Hermione's horror, he understood instantly and whipped out his own wand.
"No!" she began, but Jack pointed his wand at the rat and opened his mouth.
Hermione considered immobilizing him as well; he was definitely a larger target. But there was something intrinsically wrong with immobilizing the Phantom on performance night, so she simply elbowed him aside and went after her prey.
Onstage, Merry and Pippin were serenading their Carlotta. "Prima donna, the world is at your feet! A nation waits, and how it hates to be cheated!"
Hermione pelted after the rat, Jack on her heels.
"Light up the stage with that age-old rapport!"
The rat took the path behind the cyclorama. Hermione and Jack leapfrogged Eponine and Cosette, who were still gathering pins, and turned into the right wing.
"Sing, prima donna…"
A poorly-aimed spell froze a nest of ants in the wall.
"…once…"
Hermione shot another spell, but the rat evaded it. It turned tail and ran towards the light, emerging onstage just as the cast was pausing for a hasty deep breath.
"…more!"
Hermione stopped just in time, teetering at the edge of the wings. Jack shot past her.
The audience turned to stare at him.
"Aha," said Jack to himself. And then, to the audience, "So it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!"
And he offhandedly pointed his wand at the rat, which had climbed onto Firmin's chair, and let fly the spell.
The chair burst into a fiery conflagration. The rat was immediately razed, along with the upholstery.
"Once more!" sang the cast with aplomb, as if the managers' office was not burning down behind them.
Then they got off the stage as fast as possible.
The first act was over. Aragorn and Arwen had sung the house down with All I Ask Of You, the chandelier had crashed, and now it was intermission.
While the audience lolled in their seats, the first-years went backstage and stressed.
"I forgot a line!" screamed Elizabeth.
"I couldn't tell," admitted Will. "Where?"
"Prima Donna. It was an Italian one."
Will groaned. "Nobody's going to notice, Elizabeth!"
But the whole cast was in a state of mind where they simply had to blame something. Some people were blaming the rat, but the majority of the blame was self-targeted.
"I didn't move the block to the correct position! It was a foot off!"
"I sang off-key during Hannibal – did you notice? Did you notice?"
"I stepped on my own foot during Il Muto! How stupid is that?"
"All right, that's enough," said Galadriel, imperiously reassuring. "It's all over now; you must devote your energies to Act Two. Girls, get ready for Masquerade. Come, Jack, I have to put your face on."
With the memories of yesterday's masquerade still fresh in their minds, the students, dancers especially, were not looking forward to this next number. However, they went back to their dressing rooms mutely and got ready. At least most of the gowns were decent, unlike the stringy costumes.
Wordlessly, the dancers sat down in the wings which they were due to enter from. As if in silent agreement, they were all sitting with their respective partners.
"You know something?" said Anna, kicking her (too-high) heels on a stage block.
"What?" muttered Van Helsing, who was hiding his face under a hat in the hope that no one in the audience would recognise it.
"I'm nervous."
"You think I'm not?"
Anna shrugged. "It's just – solo dance? I hate doing solos on something I'm not good at."
"You'll be fine," said Van Helsing.
And this was so uncharacteristic of him that Anna couldn't think of anything to say.
Éowyn was pacing the wings. It was making Faramir edgy, but he didn't dare tell her to stop. Éowyn had a way of snapping that was enough to take the heart out of any person.
"I hate this part," said Hermione testily.
"So do I," agreed Malfoy.
They looked at each other through the masks, and then away.
"Even if we are agreeing for once, it's not working," sighed Hermione.
Twenty minutes was over too soon. Once more the curtain rose; once more the audience applauded. The stage had been gifted with a new staircase, which had been draped in curtain material to disguise the fact that it was hollow.
"Dear André, what a splendid party," chirped Pippin. "A prelude to a bright new year. Quite a night, I'm impressed…"
"Well, one does one's best," said Merry, none too modestly.
"Here's to us," they sang together, "the toast of the city – what a pity that the Phantom can't be here!"
A trilling parade note sounded. ("Damn," said Éowyn, "it's us.")
The managers were abruptly joined by a marching crowd costumed in glitter, pouring upon them from both wings. Almost everyone had been made to come out to form the crowd, and the stage was quite packed.
"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade – hide your face, so the world will never find you!"
The couples stepped out, joined hands and began to dance a stately waltz to the beat. The chorus sang on, quite relieved they were singing and not dancing.
It was the second spectacle of the night. Glitter was everywhere, true to the song; currently it was pouring from the flies by the bucketful. The girls kept thinking, with faint annoyance, that it would take ages to get it out of their hair.
Arwen pulled Aragorn out of the crowd. She was even more stunning than usual; she was dressed as an angel, and the wire halo did not make her look cheap, it made her look heavenly. She was laughing. "Think of it – a secret engagement. Look, your future bride!" She waved a ring on a chain that had been borrowed off Frodo (no one had asked him what he was doing with a ring) "Just think of it!"
"But why is it secret?" demanded Aragorn. "What have we to hide?"
As they argued, the dancers whirled (in varying standards of gracefully) in the background.
The argument was resolved, and the song ran full tilt into the dance sequence.
The solos were to be opened by Cosette and Enjolras – Galadriel felt that their dancing was better than most, and thus they were a safe choice. They were followed by Carl and Helen – Helen carried herself elegantly, Carl did not – and then Eponine and Grantaire. Eponine danced like something was on her mind. Whether it was unfinished pin business or something else, no one could tell.
Holly and Sam were up next. Holly's dancing had actually improved tremendously since her first erroneous pirouettes, though she would die before she admitted it. And then Lili and Grub – altogether not too successful, but Galadriel had fortuitously timed their solo time to be shorter than the rest, so the audience did not suffer much.
Hermione and Malfoy still danced like they were armless with prosthetics. Somehow Anna and Van Helsing seemed to have improved; while their technique was still rocky, they seemed to have gained some sense of rhythm and also response. The real improvement was with Éowyn and Faramir. The others were surprised to note that Éowyn was actually a good dancer when under pressure, as she was now – and she seemed to be trusting Faramir's judgment instead of trying to lead. All in all, it made for excellent viewing.
The highlight of the solos was the Screen Couple themselves. They were truly beautiful together, Arwen and Aragorn; they had a chemistry in movement that the others could only hint at. Elizabeth half expected Galadriel to burst into tears from ecstasy.
Even after Masquerade was over, the image of the dancing was still vivid in the minds of the watchers. The energy carried on to the graveyard scene, after which it simply got spooky.
Jack was showing a previously unseen proclivity for being still. He was so still throughout the whole of Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again that when he suddenly turned around, cloak flaring out, someone in the back row spilled a drink from shock.
Unfortunately, his proclivity for setting things on fire was by far the most prominent among his predilections, and when it came to the part where the Phantom shot fireballs from his skull-headed staff at Raoul, Aragorn had to do some unchoreographed somersaulting to dodge the fireballs Jack was gleefully hurling at him. He did succeed in setting a couple of cellophane vines on fire. The stagehands dragged them in before it spread.
"We," Aragorn told Merry and Pippin in the next scene, "have all been blind. And yet the answer is staring us in the face. This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend." He sounded as if he was looking forward to it even more than his own birthday.
The audience watched the meandering plot, and brightened when another song beckoned. This time it was The Point of No Return. Arwen had her most brilliant gown yet; it was a vision in flaming ruby chiffon, and had rather daring sleeves.
Currently Don Juan and his servant were having a bout of confusion about their respective identities.
"Here's my hat, my cloak, my sword," Will told Paris, who was being his double Passarino, handing him said effects. "Conquest is assured – if I do not forget myself and laugh!"
He laughed. Will was very unconvincing when it came to diabolic laughter.
He ducked behind a curtain prior to Arwen's entrance. Jack was standing there, dangling a Punjab lasso nonchalantly in one hand.
"This is the part where you kill me, isn't it?" said Will in a resigned tone.
"Aye," grinned Jack, and dropped the noose over Will's head.
After some time, Will said, "This is not the way you punjab someone. Look, you pull this cord, not this one. You're an absolute moron, do you know that?"
Jack yanked hard on the relevant cord and left Will gasping behind the curtain.
Arwen had just finished her pretty solo. Jack emerged behind her.
"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish that has now been silent…silent…"
In the backstage, Aragorn stared hard at the pitch darkness of the floor. He tended to not to want to look what was going on in this scene. Jack was slightly too enthusiastic for the amount of chemistry to be healthy.
In the auditorium, the audience watched in a tense silence as the Phantom and Christine stood alone in the centre of the stage.
"Anywhere you go let me go too," sang Jack. "Christine – that's all I ask of – "
Arwen ripped off his mask.
There were sharp intakes of breath in the audience. Galadriel was good at what she did. Even Arwen couldn't resist a convulsive shudder at being so close up with such a face.
Jack waited a few seconds for the audience to thoroughly appreciate the horror that was currently pasted on his face, and then kicked the chandelier chain. In the wings, Van Helsing released the cranks, which whirled furiously as the chandelier swung down towards the stage, meeting it with a violent crash. Jack and Arwen escaped while the chorus screamed for the sake of it, led by Elizabeth, who was towing Will's body and shrieking like a distress signal in an atomic plant.
The stagehands hurriedly dragged everything offstage, including the tablecloth, which was mysteriously on fire. Once more the gangways were lowered, with Jack dragging Arwen down them as they creaked into place.
"This is the part where I save my girlfriend," said Aragorn to no one in particular. "How I love it." He climbed the ladder and emerged at the second gangway. Andromache was waiting for him.
"Come with me, monsieur, I will take you to him. But remember, keep your hands at the level of your eyes!"
"I'll go with you!" cried Briseis enthusiastically.
"No, Meg, you stay here. Come with me, monsieur."
In the meantime, Jack rowed Arwen out on his little boat. "Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair, down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down once more into darkness deep as hell!"
He was successful at hitting the note. Arwen was having trouble believing that this was only a play. Jack looked terrifying in the light, with his face like that.
"Why, you ask, was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any fault of mine, but for the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"
As their boat poled out, Aragorn appeared briefly on the gangway above them, considered his options, and then jumped. As a two-day-old ODACian he already knew how to cushion falls, but nevertheless it was painful. Wincing, he checked that nothing was broken, and then crawled out under cover of darkness.
Once more they were back in the Phantom's lair. Its owner was having a vehement conversation with the little guest. Christine was vindictively pointing out where the distortions in her host's character lay, when Aragorn arrived. Hermione had splashed a bucket of water over him, for the look of it.
"Wait! I think, my dear," said Jack with malicious delight, "we have a guest. Sir, this is an unparalleled delight. I had rather hoped that you would come – now you have truly made my night!"
"Free her!" sang Aragorn, "do what you like, only free her! Have you no pity?"
"Your lover makes a passionate plea," Jack told Arwen, who was feeling more real fear by the second.
"Please," she whispered, "Raoul, it's useless."
"I love her," sang Aragorn, and there could be nothing truer, "does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion."
"The world showed no compassion to me!" hissed Jack.
"Let me see her," demanded Aragorn.
"Be my guest!" responded the Phantom, grinning skeletally. "Sir, I bid you welcome, did you think that I would harm her? Why should I make her pay for the sins which are yours?"
He dropped the Punjab lasso around Aragorn's neck, remembered which the right cord was, and pulled it. In the background, Arwen screamed.
"Start a new life with me!" sang Jack, triumphant. "Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you send your lover to his death. This is the choice. This is the point of no return!"
Arwen looked up at him, looked up with her lips trembling, looked up with eyes that stunned the audience into silence.
"What tears I might have shed for your dark fate," she sang, voice quivering with emotion, "grow cold and turn to tears – of hate!"
They waited a few beats for the music to begin, and then all three began a three-part counterpoint chorus simultaneously. The audience could not make out the words, but the harmony more than made up for it.
And then suddenly it crescendoed and dropped. The auditorium was deathly silent. All eyes were fixed upon the three figures on the stage.
Arwen knew it was her line, but somehow she could not force the words out. Something was choking up her throat. Tears – real tears! – were prickling her eyes; the emotion she had garnered for the performance had been too much. She raised a hand and touched the corner of her eye, and gazed almost as if in wonder when her fingertip came away wet.
The crew in the wings was silent; whether in awe or horror, it was hard to tell. "Oh my god," gasped Elizabeth, "oh my god, she's crying."
"Come on," whispered Andromache, "come on, Arwen, sing! Oh gods, what can we do – "
Achilles held out a hand to silence her, and said in a low voice, "Look at the audience."
They looked.
The audience was crying too. Dozens of people were tearing and dabbing at their eyes. Several of the girls were leaning into their neighbours' shoulders. Professor McGonagall was sniffing. Foaly was crying openly into a large handkerchief.
Andromache and Elizabeth turned back when they heard a sniff behind them. Hermione was sobbing into her sleeve. Ron was patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. His nose was red.
"Oh, please, not you too," began Elizabeth, and stopped when she heard the hobbits weeping onto their stage blocks. "Oh, damn," she said, "you're making me cry too," and she ran off into the dressing room to find the tissue box.
Back onstage, Arwen had found her voice. It came out shaky at first from the tears, and then gained strength. "Angel…of Music…you…deceived me. I gave my mind blindly."
"You try my patience," snapped Jack. "Make your choice."
Arwen walked up to him. Her cheeks were tearstained. Beneath the stage lighting they glistened like ice.
"Pitiful creature of darkness," she whispered, "what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you – you are not alone – "
And then she looked up and kissed him.
Those members of the audience who had been on the verge of weeping now broke into full-blown tears. Onstage, Aragorn looked distraught. He wasn't acting.
The kiss lasted nearly a minute, for full effect. The crew was so dazed with wonderment that they nearly forgot that the next lines were theirs.
"Track down this murderer," rang out from the wings suddenly. "He must be found!"
Jack broke the kiss. He looked around, frantically. "Go now – don't let them find you!"
Christine needed no telling. She ran over and began to free Raoul from the lasso. Once she had flung the rope aside, the two of them kissed and clung desperately.
("That's not rehearsed!" exclaimed Will.)
("Who cares, it's sweet," said Elizabeth with gleeful abandon, and went on singing.)
As the lovers poled off with the boat into the darkness of the wings, Jack regarded his empty lair forlornly. "You alone can make my song take flight," he sang softly, and then, with full-blown grief, "It's over now, the music of the night!"
He sat down on what had been his throne and pulled his cloak over his head, covering him in black from head to toe.
And as the music of the night soared through the flies, Meg Giry emerged from the mob that had been climbing down the portcullis and walked over to the throne. She raised a hand tentatively, and then whipped the cloak off.
There was nothing beneath, except a faint gleam of silver.
Meg bent over and picked up the Phantom's mask, staring at it as she held it in her small hand.
And the curtain fell to wild applause.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…
Epilogues and Endings