There's an "Easter Egg" for those of you who have read all 3 of my Phantom Stories. I'll explain at the bottom.
Ch 15
Erik stormed down the street and back to the celebration where even more people were gathering for the festivities. He had every intention of purchasing a bottle of imported French wine, a chardonnay from Dupree Vineyards, if he could find it.
He muttered a curse and bent down to pick up a rock, which he threw so hard that his right arm hurt from the exertion.
Corinna infuriated him. She was a prying, meddling, inquisitive little minx. He had told her to stay in her room and she had not listened. Nothing was more galling than a disobedient brat.
Erik slowed his pace once he reached the corner and grit his teeth. With a sigh, he felt his shoulders drop and his anger lessen. He turned and frowned at the Inn. The room Corinna and Ursula shared was the only dark window in the two-story building. She must have gone straight to bed after he had ordered her into the building.
Anger quickly lapsed into shame. He knew he shouldn't have called her names or humiliated her. She had inadvertently stumbled upon an open door. He had been fortunate that Joseph hadn't seen the healing scars and questioned him, though Erik knew it wasn't in Joseph's personality to think of anyone but himself.
For a moment Erik hesitated, caught between the decision of turning back and apologizing to her or continuing on to the celebration.
"A damned coward would turn back," he muttered to himself as he whipped around and faced the twinkling lights along the river.
Erik knew he had made her cry. Before the door closed he had heard her start to sob. His hand had reached out but his fingers only grazed the doorknob. Once the door shut he couldn't bring himself to open it again.
Erik clenched his fists and cursed to himself as he headed toward the dark riverbank. The more he heard laughter the less he wanted to be part of the mirth. He would disappear for the night, meld into darkness and misery. It was as much as he deserved.
Heading toward the dreaded river was punishment in and of itself.
Erik had developed a fear of water in early childhood, one that still made him uneasy as an adult.
Large ships didn't unnerve him but small boats and swimming in unfamiliar water made him apprehensiveHe had carefully maintained his position in the center of the ferry while on their way from Dareesh to Chandernagore. No one had seemed to notice his knuckle-white grasp on one of the seats when the ferry bumped and rattled against the dock.
Erik knew where his discomfort came from. One of the boys had pushed him off a pier by a duck pond when he was around the age of six and he had almost drowned. In his panic, he hadn't realized how shallow the water was until the same boy had hauled him to safety and mocked him for his tears.
The water in the Hughli River looked like ink beneath the moon's bright glow. Erik slowed his pace once the turf turned spongy beneath his shoes. He was panting from the brisk walk down to the abandoned portion of the river, panting and cursing himself.
A shiver ran through Erik's body as he stared at the rippling surface of the river. Ravi had told Erik that gods and goddesses called naga protected all bodies of water. Hindu religion said naga brought rain when the soil dried and plants would not grow.
"They believe gods and goddesses do everything," Erik muttered to himself. His eyes closed to the darkness. "What do I believe in?"
Erik slid his hand beneath his shirt and shuddered at the raised marks beneath his fingers.
Twenty-five lashes. He bore the scars from twenty-five lashes, reminders of his insolence.
Four rocks held the corners flat on the marble tabletop. Erik sat and stared at the finished plans.
A rose garden in a glass box.
The Sultana had promised the children a special party in an English garden. Delighted, they had bowed and clapped in appreciation of her generosity.
"The Frenchman will build it for you," the Sultana promised the children as they exited her apartments.
As he stared at the plans he could still hear her words. There would be English Ivy climbing the walls, Morning Glory, Violets and Venus' Looking Glass in flower boxes and pots. Everywhere the children looked there would be beautiful flowers and colors.
And behind it the valves which would lead to their deaths, leaking sodium cyanide into the glass room.
Erik couldn't do this. He couldn't hand the Sultana designs for a Garden of Death. One by one he removed the rocks from the edges of the design and watched as the corners curled inward.
"Well?" the Sultana asked from behind him.
She would order his execution whether he complied or not. His uses were few now that the palace was near completion and she had many devices to with which to amuse herself.
Her hand ran along his shoulders and up to his neck. The sensation startled him. This time she used her fingernails rather than a blade.
"You give me great pleasure," she said, her voice sultry as she stepped closer to him.
Erik took the document from the tabletop and stood very still as her fingers slid down his back to his hips. If he didn't design the garden, someone else would. Handing her the plans would prolong his life.
I'll escape, Erik decided. I'll escape from Persia
But he couldn't escape the sound of laughter turning into gasps and convulsing. Erik knew he would never be free of those smiles turned to masks of horror.
Her hand rested at the front of his trousers. The first button popped open.
"Let me see what you have designed," she said against his shoulder.
His answer was a rip of paper.
With a shriek she backed away, groping for her dagger. Before she could turn back to him, Erik disappeared through a secret passageway he had designed
The resulting lashes had been worth every last drop of blood.
A breeze crept beneath Erik's sherwani again and gave him goosebumps. He was reminded of the Sultana's icy touch, of the cruelty in her eyes and voice.
Corinna had not made him angry. The scars had made him angry. Cowardice, weakness, and guilt had made him furious with himself.
He would apologize to Corinna. He would leave the river and nagas behind, knock on her door and explain himself.
Erik turned his back on the river and faced a different goddess.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping back toward the water.
"Good evening, Monsieur Levesque," the dark goddess purred. "Celebrating the Goddess Kali tonight?"
If anyone is really good at designing graphics I was going to have a Cafe Press shop and make a t-shirt that says Dupree Vineyards Owned and Operated by Erik and Sophia since 1876.
If you rock at making graphics let me know. I'm easy to reach.