Hugo

I decided early on that the little sultana was a very strange woman. She would have been attractive if she didn't reek of death.

Though I later realized the stench came not from her, but from the room itself, where her sick pleasures took place. Who but a madwoman would smile about an angel of death?

It troubled Schneewittchen very much to hear she had been referred to as an angel, even an angel of death.

"Does she not understand I am like her?" Schneewittchen had asked me. I shook my head, awed as always by her innocent ignorance of humankind; that is why I called her 'little one'. I did not know if the sultana knew we all were the same, really.

"I do not know," I had said, and Schneewittchen had tucked her hands in each other and looked away.

---

The day after Kizzy and Schneewittchen had been summoned to the sultana's chamber, I was walking with Schneewittchen and we came across the Daroga. I do not know exactly what happened in the chamber; I do not think even Schneewittchen knows. I only know what Kizzy said, and that is only what she wished for me to know. All I know is that Erik was there, and Kizzy was not there for the whole time. Other than that, I know nothing.

When Schneewittchen started to cry on my shoulder about her not being an angel, I whispered soft things to her, and then did what worked usually: I hummed her a lullaby, the lullaby my mother used to sing for Jorge and Carmen and I.

Ay, mi palomita
La que yo adore
Le crecieran alas
Y volo y se fue!

Ella no comia
Ni frijolas ni arroz
Y se mantenia
Con solo mi amor.

Me sente en un tronco
A verla pasar.
Y como no pasaba,
Me eche a llorar.

She managed to hum along for a little, and then asked the Daroga to tell Erik that she was sorry. It seemed momentous to the both of them, Schneewittchen's apology, I mean, but to me saying sorry is not such an amazing thing. Perhaps they are not so civilized in Germany and Persia?

Though I do not think Señor Erik, as I call him when I talk about him, is Persian. He is so very pale, or so I thought when he was holding me by the neck when I first saw him. Though I do not know if it was his mask I thought was pale, or Señor Erik himself. But all of the Persians have brown eyes, and Señor Erik's are yellow. Or perhaps golden. But not brown.

Certainly not brown.

So I have decided that since Señor Erik is certainly not Oriental, he must be European. I guess that he is German; Schneewittchen said he spoke in German to her and Kizzy. Although Kizzy is not German and knows the language, so perhaps Señor Erik is not German either.

I do not know what to think about the man, to be honest. He is such a mystery. I have been in his presence for very few moments, and yet he is such an enigma that I cannot help but want to know everything about him. Of course, I doubt very much I shall ever know much more that what I know now, which is very little.

For some reason, Señor Erik does not seem the sort of fellow to convey his deepest secrets to a young Spaniard like me.

---

It has been more than two weeks since we arrived to Mazanderan Court, and the Sultana has not asked to see Jorge, Carmen, or myself. I am not very surprised; we cannot give anything to fuel her sick passions.

I learned three days ago what 'Angel of Death' meant. I have been romping about with Jorge and Carmen, and we have been friendly enough to Afshin that he has told us what the Angel of Death here in Mazanderan Court really is— or who, at any rate.

The Angel of Death is Erik, as I already knew, but now I know why.

He makes torture chambers, and kills people.

There, it is out. I could not believe it, but Afshin has assured me it is true. And to think I once thought the man was German! Germans would never do such horrors as Afshin described to me— pits of fire, halls of mirrors... it is too gruesome to relate all of the details. Carmen looked close to fainting by the time Afshin had finished telling all of it.

We three triplets have sworn not to tell Schneewittchen. She is such a child, and for her to know would only drive her into one of the chambers from curiosity or force.

She has taken too much interest in Señor Erik. Jack White has become increasingly concerned, for she is no longer like his shadow. He loves her so dearly; I pity the man, for he's a hopeless romantic. If I ever fall in love, it will be with someone who loves me, not with someone who needs me to survive. Because they all grow up in the end.

And now Schneewittchen is growing up, and leaving Jack White behind. I feel he will not leave Persia alive. It will be his ruin. And if it is not Persia, it will be Erik.

I wonder how long it will be before Schneewittchen does not come back to us until morning.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kizzy Ferko

The Daroga has done a wonderful job at keeping me away from Erik. I daresay even the sultana has no idea what he is up to, so tied up is she with Schneewittchen. I truly do pity her. Schneewittchen, I mean. She is destined for destruction, what with her ignorance about people like the sultana, and her unearthly complexion. And she unwittingly causes so much tension! More than me, even.

Last night, Jack White came to me, demanding information. He asks so little of Schneewittchen, and yet it is the one request that is impossible to give.

"She is not a child," I said to him.

"Of course she is not! But I need her, don't you see— she's my sanity! I'm going mad with rage and jealousy, you silly girl, and I'll very soon be past all reasoning!"

"I am not a silly girl, Jack. And you're drunk, or on hashish. Reasoning is pointless." I held up my hand, because Jack looked close to exploding. "Schneewittchen is not under anyone's control, least of all yours."

"You think you can manipulate her!" Jack bellowed. "And me! I will not be bullied like this, Ferko. You think you can be in charge of everything, because Moses bends to your every whim—"

"That's not true and you know it." I kept very calm, knowing that anger would only provoke him more; he was always wild with his tempers. "Moses can't be bullied by anyone."

Jack threw a string of curses at me, mixing all sorts of strange languages together— Arabic, some Persian, English, lots of English, and even some German and French and Spanish. I stood there, my right hand cupping my left elbow (I had hit it on the edge of a table earlier), very quiet and calm. He finished, panting as though he had just run a distance.

And that was when we saw the shadow in the open doorway.

Erik stood there, daunting as ever, sneering at Jack White.

"I suppose you know all those languages fluently? Or do you spend your hours learning curses instead of doing something more—"

"Go to hell," Jack spat out, and I stared at him with shock. Erik is not to be trifled with. That much even I know.

"I have been there. It is not so interesting. I would much rather spend my time in Rome or Venice."

"Or Mazanderan?" I said; he glared at me. "Jack, go away."

"So now you betray Moses as she betrays me!" Jack laughed, wild and with an evil passion. "You two sluts—"

His pale hair suddenly parted, and a thin red line of blood ran down the top of his skull. Jack touched his fingers to the cut my knife had inflicted, staring at me.

"Never call her such a thing again, or you will have much more blood to clean from your yellow hair."

"And what about you?" Jack leered. "You do not deny it?"

"I want nothing more to do with this masked man than you. Leave, Jack, or I will cut your throat."

He left, knocking over a small glass jar in his stupor. The little jar never hit the floor; Erik suddenly appeared with it in his hands. "Your friend is such a pleasant fellow."

"He is angry," I countered. "And I understand why. I am angry, too, Erik. What sort of horrors have you been showing her?"

Erik laughed. "And that is all I am capable of! Horrors, indeed! I suppose it would be useless to tell the truth. Shall I just tell you how I have been manipulating her, taking over her mind and bending her to my will?"

"Oh, good sir, I would not doubt you could." I closed the door, took a deep breath, and smiled at him. "No one is listening now, Erik. You can tell me the truth, and I will not laugh."

"Laugh? I would think you might scream." His voice dripped sarcasm.

"I only scream when I am pretending to have some semblance of modesty. One has no chance of that with you."

He steepled his fingers under his chin, and he moved gracefully to lie out on the divan. I sat against the wall, and was shocked to see he was smoking the opium pipe that had been across the room!

"How did you do that? That is amazing, Erik!"

Erik waved his hand aloofly and took a puff of the opium. "A trifle." He tilted his head at me. "I should think you would be able to do much the same thing."

"Throwing and stealing are very different."

"Not at all." He closed his eyes; he seemed relaxed, yet I knew he could sense when I stood and went to open the window. "Your white-haired friend is quite the enigma. I have been trying to understand why she is how she is."

"Her skin and hair?"

"Her mind! Surely she has been scorned all her life, for being different!" His voice was eager, and I was reminded of myself when I was younger and wanted to know something. "Yet she has no ill will towards a soul! Not even that odious woman, or towards anyone else! Erik cannot understand how she is so pure, how she is so good!"

Erik's outburst disturbed me greatly. I know the man is a genius, but who refers to themselves in the third person? I was deeply disturbed by his ramblings as he went on about the wonder of Schneewittchen. I sat down, overwhelmed by his sincerity and eagerness. What was so amazing about someone different being human?

He spoke long into the evening, and I was close to falling asleep by the time he took his leave.

That night, Schneewittchen and Carmen and I heard from Carmen's small statue of the Virgin Mary a lullaby, and Schneewittchen sobbed herself to sleep.

"My mother sang that to me, Kizzy," Carmen whispered. "And Hugo sang it to Schneewittchen." She was quiet for a moment. "Was that an angel, Kizzy?"

"No," I whispered back, "something so much worse."

Her dark eyes glinted in the darkness, silently questioning what I could mean.

I rolled over, away from her gaze, and shuddered.

Oh, Erik...

---

The Daroga never knew of the visit Erik and I had, nor did he suspect anything had changed between us. Yet the balance of power in our relationship had suddenly changed— no longer were we enemies. I could not understand why he had suddenly opened up to me, for I had done nothing to apologize or recommend myself open to his presence. But Schneewittchen told me, in a rare moment of truth, that she had told him all about me.

I was angry at first, but I realized it had opened up so many possibilities between the two of us. Perhaps he thought I would help him understand Schneewittchen. I wonder if she ever told him her real name. Only Jack White knows, out of the seven of us. And he has sworn to take that particular fact to the grave.

From Erik's angry stares at Jack White as he left, I suspect that he will end up in the ground much quicker than any of us suspected.

Note: The song Hugo sings to Schneewittchen is Mi Palomita (My Little Dove). I found the following translation online at http:// www. karenmerchant. com/ lyr/ mipalomita. htm (take out the spaces):

Oh, my little dove
Whom I adored,
Who grew wings
And flew away

She did not eat
Either beans or rice
And she lived only
On my love.

I sat upon a tree trunk
To see her pass by.
When she did not pass
I burst into tears.