A/N: "Les Huguenots" is a real opera that was performed at the Academic Royale de Musique (the Paris Opera). In 1836, it starred Adolphe Nourrit as Raoul de Nangis and Cornelie Falcon as Valentine.


The following morning, Erik awoke to piano music being played above. Along with the piano, he heard a series of other musical sounds. He was able to recognize the sound of violins from when a member of the circus named Siren had obtained one, which he would play outside the circus to entice people in. There were notes lower than violins could make as well, but still the same type of notes. Stranger noise sounded like the cymbals he had attached to his burlap monkey, but harsher, like Master Namir tapping his foot on the floor when he was bored. Also, there were sounds like wind against the bottles in the pub he'd seen.

Eager to see what this collection of music was coming from, he crept upstairs to the planking above the enormous room again, and peered down into a jumble of violins, larger violins that stood on the floor from which the lower violin sounds were coming, a piano and various thin tubes from which the bottle music was rising. He lay down on the planking to get a better view of these strange things.

They were in front of the raised platform where the ballet lessons had taken place the day before. Most of the people making music – playing, he remembered from Marguerite telling him what a piano was – were sitting. However, among the ones standing was someone without a musical piece who stood facing the rest of the players. Instead he only had a holder with a thin sheet on it. He seemed to have an air of strict command about him.

Even as Erik watched, the man took up a stick and tapped the holder with it. "Gentlemen, I trust the instruments are tuned," he spoke above the din. Everyone grew silent within seconds, holding the musical pieces such that the man could tell they were not playing. "Good," the man replied. "Now open to the prelude."

And, with a full graceful hand motion, the musical pieces all went up and started working together. Up above, Erik gasped at the beauty of it and lay back, listening to the sounds create something more than their individual selves.

"Monsieur le Conductor says the instruments keep losing their tunings and wants us to do something 'bout it," said a gruff voice somewhere near Erik on the same level he was. He looked around and spotted the source of it – two men off towards the middle of the planking – and felt his heart race: the men gave off the same feeling as Master Namir – a cruel, impolite, drunken sort of air – and he imagined they would laugh at him if they saw him. Quickly, he glanced around for a place to hide and found it: a narrow notch in between three vertical planks. In there, no one could see him unless they looked directly in at him. Better yet, from their, he could still see part of the music going on below and could hear more of the conversation the men were having.

"An' what's he want us to do 'bout it?" asked the second man. They were getting steadily closer, and Erik found that if the music had been a person, he would have thanked it: it provided him the background noise to ensure they didn't hear him.

"Went so far as to accuse us of not taking good enough care of them, even saying that we didn't want the opera to go on. Not saying that I'm not sick a hearing it. Two years of hearing Nourrit sing the Huguenot Raoul de Nangis and Mademoiselle Cornelie do Valentine grate my nerves as much as the next backstage man, but I never thought a no sabotage. I need to live, right," the first man rambled.

"I dunno. I can never get enough of watching the battle scene an their dying on her father's gun." The second man laughed. It was a harsh laugh, and it made Erik shiver.

"Gautier! Old dog! You just like it 'cause it's when you're props get use." Erik remembered the name Marguerite had told him the day before to excuse his presence with if anyone should stumble across him. That this was the man he was supposed to claim was his father gave him relief and a sort of vindictive pleasure. He had feared Gautier's denial; however, now he had believed Gautier was one of the types who didn't keep track of his sons. He had also feared he would be accusing a gentleman of the type who did not go to the circus; however this man was hateful, lessening Erik's guilt about saying he was Gautier's son.

"Richard, my good sir, don't tell me I'm not allowed to enjoy myself with my imagined Valentine. We are worth how much because of his good sir, the wealthy Meyerbeer?"

The old Gautier and the younger Richard fell into fits of laughter. Erik sensed something funny had just been said. He also decided he didn't want to know what it was, merely hoping that these men didn't happen across him.

"Listen to them, down there!" Gautier nodded down to the music.

"Maybe the reason they think their instruments are out of tune is 'cause they can't play 'em!" Richard laughed. "Orchestra, my arse!"

Gautier nodded. "What time is this gonna be over?"

Richard shrugged.

"What time today do the sweet little ballerinas dance?" Gautier's voice became sleazier the lower it dropped.

"Mid morning. Wouldn't want them getting up too early, now would we? Although that one, Marguerite I think her name is, seems to be coming along quite nicely, f'you know what I mean."

Gautier laughed in agreement, and Erik found himself burning with the same anger that he had been in when he had killed Master Namir. How dare they defile Marguerite's beautiful name by even mentioning her! He vowed that, though they could admire her from afar, he would prevent them from getting close to her.

They walked on, but Erik stayed where he was, admiring the music they had so insulted from a vantage point no one could find. Finally, they put down their instruments, and the room emptied with words of breakfast.