A/N: This chapter took a lot longer than expected to get right, so I apologise for any lingering errors. Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Omar Khayyam is a well-known ancient Persian poet. You can find his 'Rubai'yat' in most bookstores. Please read & review!

Erik 1853: Part III

Early the next evening, Nadir paid me a visit. He had been enjoying all the feasting, dancing, and feminine delights the palace could offer. The fulfilment of his sexual appetite intoxicated his every gesture. He looked like a man finally at peace with his surroundings. A man who would spill secrets with the right prompts.

'Daroga,' I began auspiciously, 'the court's good fortune seems to suit you well.'

He smiled and sat down; his eyelids half-closed, 'It's delightful the things virgin girls are trained to do while still retaining that title. Simply thrilling.'

This conversation could easily be turned.

'And what do you know of the harem girls?' I smiled back.

He sighed and moved closer to the hookah that stood on a dark oak stool before him. Raising his eyebrows he reached out his hand, and I gave a formal nod of hospitality. Breathing smoke deeply into his lungs he spoke in bursts, 'Many things. Wonderful things. Does it bother you?'

'Why should it bother me to see you happy again?'

He gave a half nod and sucked thoughtfully on the long tube, but said nothing in response. I frowned. It would, perchance, be harder to gather information from him than I thought. Seemingly satiated, but patient to indulge my questions, he continued to smoke.

So I pressed a bit with my voice, 'How much credence do you give the information you receive from the eunuchs?'

'It depends on the money that exchanges hands, Erik,' a surprised look passed his face. 'You're not still haunted by that slave girl, are you? She died months ago. There wasn't anything you could've done ….'

Except taken her, said his eyes.

'No,' I replied a bit sharply, 'I have just heard rumours of a woman who hails from the country of my birth. That's all. I wondered if they were true.'

'Esmée,' not even a whisper, but I knew at once he withheld secrets. More clearly he answered, 'Yes, I've heard of such a girl. She's been the khanum's favourite servant since she was brought here ten years ago, I believe. In fact, there are stories that say the girl you speak of is very dangerous. Never accept anything she offers you, Erik. She can't be trusted.'

Turning my back on him, I spoke to the emptiness before me. It seemed to suffocate every word, 'That's exactly what I've heard. Thank you, Daroga.'

'Be careful with what you know,' he returned the tube to the hookah. The conversation turned to other things, and then he disappeared down the softly lit hallway.

Alone with my thoughts I paced the floor in front of my windows. Before I had a chance to tread a path into the very stone, a small grey pigeon smashed into the closed glass door. Immediately I opened the panel and stepped out on to the large balcony. The bird lay fluttering against the wall. Her wing was fractured; I gently lifted her into my hand and inspected her, but it seemed that was all she had broken. A heavily bound piece of parchment fell from her leg. Curiosity stepped in the way of practicality. I held her struggling form against my body — probably doing more damage to her delicate bones — picked up the parchment and stuffed it into my cloak.

It took almost two hours to set her wing properly. She had broken it close to her shoulder, and every time she was placed in a cage the movement would jar her wing free again. Instead of putting her through another ordeal I simply held her under a small cloth against my collarbone until she fell asleep. Once assured she would not easily wake I placed her gently into the cage. Enervated, I fell back under my sheets and forgot all about the tiny scrap of paper until morning.

Written in a scrawling hand was my name followed by a beguiling message in French:

Two lovers are barred from every joy and bliss,

Who through the live-long night embracing lie:

They guard the folk from calamities,

But with the rising sun apart they fly.

I knew it to be a riddle but had forgotten the answer. I spent the day in the shah's palace, and as I worked my body to the point of numbing exhaustion my mind raced. The natural light had long since left the heavens. Torches had been brought to aid my inhuman quest. Dehydration and fatigue threatened to send me into oblivion. A frightened man came to me with a bucket of water. His hand trembled as he offered me the ladle. Rudely, I snatched the bucket from him and drank deeply. The cold water spilled down my chin and along my naked torso. It drenched my trousers before I stopped … gasping for air.

'Master,' he bowed and took the bucket from me and pivoted on his heels for a polite escape.

'Wait,' — I clenched my side in pain. Too much water too soon —, 'are you a clever man?'

It was inappropriate, but I hoped he would answer none-the-less. Without turning to look at me he said, 'No, master. I'm just here to serve you.'

'Enough!' I shouted. Weariness spread down through my toes, and I gathered my shirt and cloak. 'Enough. I heard a riddle today, and thought you might have a guess.'

He waited for me to catch up, 'My daughter enjoys riddles, master. Maybe I've heard this one?'

Slowly, having already committed it to memory, I recited it for him.

'Yes, I've heard that one,' his eyes lit up with the power of knowledge. 'The answer is: the leaves of a door, I believe. Is that right?'

I blinked, working out the answer with the clues, and answered, 'Of course it is. Very good. Now, off you get to your daughter. I'm finished here for tonight.'

Once home I searched the door of my apartment. There was nothing in the leaves. I ran my hand along the top and bottom to be certain. But, rolled around the bottom hinge I found another parchment. Scrawled on it was a familiar poem by Omar Khayyam. It read:

There was a Queen of Egypt like the Bride

Of Night, Full-moon-faced and Canopus-eyed,

Whom one among the meanest of her Crowd

Loved — and she knew it (for he loved aloud),

And sent for him, and said 'Thou lov'st the Queen:

Now therefore Thou hast this to choose between:

Fly for thy Life: or for this one night Wed

Thy Queen, and with the Sunrise lose they Head.'

He paused — he turn'd to fly — she struck him dead.

'For had he truly loved his Queen,' said She,

'He would at once have giv'n his Life for me,

And Life and Wife had carried: but he lied;

And loving only Life, has justly died.'

Followed by Esmée's name. If these lines were meant to be a riddle, I was lost. If they were meant to be a cryptic warning, I was still fumbling in the dark. And if it was a trap, then I was doomed to die in Persia.

Again I found solace in the confines of my bed. I slept on through the next morning and late into the afternoon. When I awoke it was to the sharp knock against my door.

o . O . o

I had been summoned to a private audience with the khanum. A feeling of dread pushed visions of Esmée enchained behind a wall of hot glass past my nebulous eyes. I rubbed them vigorously and then remembered what the eunuch had told me almost a week ago in the moments before I had passed out.

She was an apostate! Her lies clung to me like opium residue. But what about the fascinating notes? The scars on her back?

The possibility of her duplicity burned in the back of my throat like some black bile ready to be spat upon the floor. Or into her false face — that perfect oval which held such power over me even after I knew the truth. Electricity trembled through my arms and pooled in my wrists. Sparks continued to wound my psyche as I walked the long road to the harem's secluded sanctuary.

I still — stupidly — believed her, and maybe that was why a tiny voice in the back of my thoughts continued to urge me to reconsider. Trust her and you have a chance at love. Real love, it said. Deny her and you are left alone … again. Better to be alone than dead. I had made my decision before the guards opened the wooden doors on the entrance to hell.

Singing and the delicate timbre of tiny bells greeted me. A façade for the real danger that lay within these hearkening walls. Women of all shapes cooed at each other, but the moment they glimpsed the white of my mask they fled whimpering. It would have been roguish to chase after them, corner them, and push myself against their perfumed skin. Perhaps so, but their fleeting steps vilified my very existence. I had never hurt a woman; besides the khanum and her pet, Esmée, I had vowed never to harm one in any way.

The sultan's mother lay against a cushioned divan. Ropes of pearls and a diaphanous fabric cleaved to her form, but I could see every curve of her body … every pore of her perfect skin … through the material. The sight made me shudder with lust. Biting the inside of my cheek I nodded in her direction.

'So the great magician comes to entertain me at last,' her voice was sultry; yet at the same time revolting, for I knew her heart.

I gathered my cloak tightly about me, 'You know as well as I do, madame, that I was summoned here with no explanation. I've prepared nothing by which to entertain you.'

The cadence of her laughter caused her breasts to seem to shimmer beneath the substance of her gown. I forced myself to look only into her eyes. 'Why, Erik, I'm almost ashamed to have put so much faith in your genius. Fear not, I'll supply the entertainment with your … assistance.'

Something in the way she paused set me on edge. Mentally flipping through my escape routes, the number of men in my way, and the weapons on hand, I dipped a small bow. She clapped in response, and two large eunuchs appeared behind her carrying musical instruments. I would have to sing for her. Nothing more terrible than that, or so I believed.

The khanum clapped again. A rush of bare-feet followed, and then the doors opened and in streamed twenty of the harem girls. I caught sight of Esmée. The verdigris of her eyes was unreadable. Trusting my head I summoned the words of warning both the eunuch and Nadir had spoken. My heart had no place here in this viper's lair.

'Now,' said the woman stretched upon the cushions, 'you shall choose a partner!'

Horror flooded my thoughts. I would not disgrace myself, or any of these girls, for the sake of entertaining her. My fingers already clenched the Punjab lasso. All I needed was a clear opportunity to strike hard and fast.

'If you can't chose for yourself,' her voice found that hardened edge, 'then I will choose for you.'

She dramatically glanced behind her — it was all for show — and then spied Esmée kneeling beside another courtesan. A broad smile spread across her face, and her eyes grew darker.

'Nājia,' she bubbled in mock surprise, 'I choose you. Go, take your place at his side.'

The girl jumped to her feet and made a practised little curtsy. It had been almost a week since I had last seen her, but she looked different. Her lilac coloured outfit covered none of her almost emaciated torso and the bones of her ribs stuck out above her painted navel. I could not help but reach out my own hand to meet hers. For all her seeming delicacy her grip remained steady. The bones of her wrist were sharp and delicate much like my own, but she was not built to survive half-starved. There were still traces of a very supple figure which with the proper nourishment held the power to entice any man — especially this man.

The khanum slapped her hip in feigned delight, 'Ah, I've found you a willing partner. Good. Now, you will dance for my approval.'

At once chords were plucked on the lyres, and they were not the light quick pace of the music from the fête. They were melancholy and slow. I stared down at Esmée, but her face was almost entirely covered by a convenient lace veil. Her eyes only reflected my masked face, but her body stepped closer to mine and we began to move.

'What do you mean by this game?' I hissed in her ear.

She shrugged and looked at my face, such as it was, 'I had no prior knowledge of this, if that is what you are accusing. I only knew she was planning something this afternoon to amuse herself.'

'Then you do not deny it is a game,' I felt the walls I had built up around my heart crumble. What good were walls when someone like her could sneak in through the cracks? 'And the notes? What were they supposed to mean?'

'Notes, so you figured out the first one,' her grip on my shoulder tightened and her voice dropped. 'The second one was a warning. This is the moment to be most careful in the Queen's presence. She will strike you dead if you do not please her. Dance like there's nobody watching us, and it will be over sooner than you think.'

'Esmée,' I forced myself to give words to my warring thoughts, 'I heard a strange tale about you the other day.'

She seemed to bite her lip under her veil, but I could not be sure. 'From one of her spies, no less.'

'And from Nadir,' I answered grimly.

Her answer seemed smug. 'Who receives his information from my keepers. You don't believe them, do you? I have heard that the khanum watches from behind closed doors as I bed her enemies and poison them in the same night. That I actually enjoy the beatings I receive, as if it is some kind of reward. Is that what you are referring to? You hear echoes and see shadows of what you have been cleverly fed, therefore, anything I say now must be a lie.'

'What about your parents, Esmée? How long have you served this court?'

She stiffened under my questioning countenance. 'I told you. They died four years ago. I've been here since then. There is nothing else to explain.'

'Do you spy for me,' I raised my voice so all could hear, 'or her?'

Esmée looked out of the corner of her eye. Apparently, she waited to catch the khanum's slight nod of encouragement before giving an answer. 'I am your partner as she commands.'

My heart fell into my stomach, 'Did she command you the other night?'

'As she has done every night of my life. …'

Glancing over her head I saw the khanum's forehead wrinkle with unmasked amusement and, it seemed, a tinge of jealousy. Esmée must have orchestrated the entire prequel to this repulsive dance with her mistress's keen eye for the tasteless in mind. It was she who grabbed my hand under the star-filled sky. It was she who sought me out to be my spy so many nights ago. There was no other explanation for this torture. This utter mind fuck.

I dropped Esmée's hand and forcefully pushed her to the floor.

'You're as false as she is,' I spat. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Oh yes, cry! You are such a believable actress, after all. Show me how you've been trained to lure men to their deaths with just your pleading eyes.'

She shook her head in disbelief and mumbled, 'I-I never played you falsely, Erik. Never.'

'Then explain to me, dear Esmée, how it is that you came to this place? Tell me the truth because your version of events rings of lies.'

'I told you already,' she said through clenched teeth. 'Why would I tell you again?'

'Maybe you'd like to tell me why they're still alive then?'

She gasped and wildly looked around her for help. Then she put forth heavy sobs accompanied by the slow dirge of Persian music. I turned from her sodden face and began to walk away.

'BECAUSE THEY SOLD ME!' she screamed. 'Is that what you want to hear? That my parents never wanted me and sold me to the highest bidder as soon as we crossed into Persia? That after I was sold my mistress beat me for trying to escape?'

'You tread on dangerous ground, Nājia,' the khanum sat up. The folds of her shift slid off her shoulders. 'I have treated you like a daughter, and you will respect me.'

She fell to her knees. 'Oh Great and Honourable Mother, please forgive me. I live only to serve your family.'

'For once,' I shouted towards her, 'I believe that is not a lie!'

'Erik, please!' her voice sounded through my heart.

I rounded on her. She lay sobbing, still crumpled against the floor. I had to force myself not to gather her into my arms and carry her away with me. Removing a scrap of parchment and tearing it to shreds, I threw them at her face. 'Here! Take back your notes. Your sweet opium addiction. Remove your shivering heart from your sleeve. And please don't forget to wipe the moonlight from your eyes!'

And then I was gone. I have no knowledge of what happened once those doors closed the khanum's laughter from my ears. I would never ask what became of her after that night. Now, I would live for my work. Nothing could bring me to look into those deep and vivacious pools of emerald fire again.