AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for a bit more feedback… though I know exactly there's a whole lot more of lurkers (yes, Polly, I'm talking about you pokes tongue out)… Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed.

Bea: Yeah, free publicity… ;) Don't call my Erik merciful, he'll snarl (which would be a pity since you've got him purring at the moment g). Yes, I like him best in his dark moments just as well. Why does he hate the Communards so much? Well, because they infiltrated his Opera House, obviously. And because he detests the rabble. He does not care much about who they are, not when they are first threatening Christine and the little fop (and he's the only one who is allowed to threaten the little fop, remember?), then appear at the Opéra Populaire and think they're in charge. Lethal mistakes, both of them. ;)

Pertie: Well, he's going to show the nasty intruders whose Opera House this is. And he's taking revenge for that one stage carpenter – since he works there, he's his creature, and nobody's interfering with his creatures.

Morleigh: Hello, and welcome. :) No, I couldn't have the Phantom simpering, he'd annoy me if he did. ;) As for Christine getting dirty (yummy! Ahem… g)… well, this is Erik's point of view, and for him she is the purest of beings, a true angel. She doesn't see herself so, of course. There hasn't been much of her point of view until now, but maybe your opinion will change once there's a bit more (Book Five will change your opinion, at the latest… g). And she hasn't been too "pure" during The King of the Catacombs already, so don't worry. ;-)

jtbwriter: Hello lurker. :D Thanks for showing up. ;) Well, I'm trying to make my characters "dynamic"; after all, they can't go through all I'm sending them through without developing, and they're bound to influence each other. Now what, you asked? Now the update comes earlier than expected. ;)

-.-.-

II. Say the Word

As Gérard de Chateaupers took his seat, he felt as if a heavy burden had just been dropped onto his shoulders. Just as he had feared, LaCroix had been to see him again, and the unspoken, but well-hinted threats had been renewed. Only that this time there had been something more, an assignment from Delannay himself on which Chateaupers had spent much thought already, yet he had not come to a decision until now. So Delannay wanted the cellars of the Opéra Populaire turned into a prison? And the lowest levels, preferably? This might become a major problem.

He needed to consult with Erik, he really needed to! But when he had left his office the day before, he had been under the strong suspicion that someone was following him, so he had refrained from heading over to the Opera House. At least he had been able to have a word with Maurice de Bracy in private, and Bracy had carried the message safely to Erik, no doubt, but all the same… he was worried, and he did not like the feeling of having no answer to a question he had been asked a day ago already. He did not like it at all.

At least he would see Erik tomorrow morning. He could not leave the house anymore without an utterly inconspicuous destination, it seemed, but Erik could always come to him. Erik was stealthy. If anyone could slip into his house unnoticed by Delannay's spies, Erik could.

Erik was perhaps the most dangerous man on earth.

Despite himself, Chateaupers smiled at that.

Vincent de Chagny was watching him closely, he realized, and he seemed somewhat… surprised. Of course, what must his old friend be thinking – him smiling at nothing at all, and in this situation! Chateaupers winked at him encouragingly, which seemed to unsettle the poor vicomte even more. Oh, Vincent… always so worried about everything, and so easy to confuse!

At his friend's side, Fabienne de Chagny was resolutely straightening the folds of her dress. Vincent's wife was resolute in everything she did; one could tell from the stern expression on her face, an expression which only seemed to soften when regarding young Christine Daaé, her son's fiancé. At first she had objected to her son's choice, Chateaupers knew, but once she had come to know the girl closer, she had taken to her considerably. Chateaupers suspected that she favoured Mademoiselle Daaé over husband and son.

Which was not surprising at all, really. The girl possessed a natural charm that was quite dazzling, while at the same time she seemed so simple, so modest. A true jewel, that girl.

Erik was completely enthralled by her; it was common knowledge.

And the Chagny boy just as well. One could see from the looks he threw her that he was utterly enchanted. It would be a happy marriage, Chateaupers assumed. Unlike many other young couples, those two loved each other dearly.

And the boy was just like his father. Chateaupers could practically imagine him in Vincent's place, grey-haired already, perhaps with a moustache like his father, but still smiling at his wife.

Yet Mademoiselle Daaé would not become like the vicomtesse. It was highly unlikely. The vicomtesse had been like that in her youth already, always ordering people around, including her husband. Sometimes he seriously wondered how Vincent put up with her. She had a kind heart, true, and she was intelligent and well educated, and she would stand by her husband's side whatever was going to occur, but all the same, she just pushed him around too much.

Well, one had to admit that Vincent allowed himself to be pushed around. He was simply too good-natured.

Just like his son. Maybe the boy's fiancée did not dominate young Raoul, but little Mademoiselle Giry teased him quite enough, it seemed, while Erik did the pushing.

All the same, the Chagny family was a perfectly lovable family, and Chateaupers was ready to keep them under his roof with no regard to his own life. If the Communards wanted him dead, they would find just any excuse for that, no matter what he did. He would not forsake his friends because of them.

The door creaked softly as Maurice de Bracy slipped in, still in his rough black coat, but with his broad-brimmed hat under his arm. As usual, his pet ferret was perching on his shoulder. Behind him came another man, clearly older and of a rather massy build, his greying dark hair slightly tousled by the cold October wind. While Bracy greeted the assembled with a curt nod, the other man bowed politely. After all, despite his regular errands with the police, Robert Millet was Chateaupers's personal butler and knew how to behave.

Chateaupers returned the nod. This was no time for formalities. "Be seated," he said. "You too, Millet. Just take that chair over there."

They did as they were told, Millet with another bow, while Bracy just let himself fall into the armchair that was not occupied yet. Immediately his ferret climbed down his arm and started nibbling his hat, which did not seem to disturb him at the least. Fabienne de Chagny raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully, but he only grinned at her and inclined his head in a mock little greeting. Maurice de Bracy had never been one who bothered much with formalities.

"I have breaking news for you," Chateaupers began before Millet had settled down completely. They had waited long enough, after all. "Even as we speak, Gambetta is meeting the enemy in battle."

"Ah, something new," Bracy remarked, not looking at anyone, but at his ferret, who had now climbed into the hat and curled up there. "The Germans will love him for it, I bet. They must have gotten pretty bored with us already."

"Don't try to be witty," Fabienne de Chagny snapped. "The situation is too serious."

"I beg your pardon, madame. I'm merely stating a fact."

"I doubt he will be very successful, though," Vincent put in while his wife glowered at Bracy, who completely failed to look intimidated.

"No," Chateaupers agreed, throwing Bracy a sharp glance. No need for such remarks, though Chateaupers himself did not mind them much. "He will prove to be nothing but a distraction, I'm afraid. Especially since I seriously doubt his men have much morale left. The same goes for him, by the way," he added, thoughtlessly twirling his glasses between his fingers as he did so often. "He's trying to free a city held by his political enemies. Gambetta has a contingent in the west, as far as I know, but having it march on Paris will take some time still. Once they are here, he might even stand a chance – if Metz holds that long, that is."

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "Metz?"

"The fall of Metz will at once free yet another German army. While some more are approaching the Loire already, don't forget them."

"Yes, I know that." The vicomte waved it away with a motion of his hand that was more performed by the fingers than the hand itself, a gesture peculiar of him. "But do you think they won't be able to hold the city?"

Chateaupers sighed. "I do."

"That leaves only one city still holding out," the vicomtesse stated.

Her husband nodded. "Paris. But for how long?"

"Supplies are being rationed already," Millet reported, with a small bow of his head as if apologizing for speaking up without being asked. "Worries have been voiced as for whether we can outlast the winter."

"Yet the public spirits are still high," Bracy added. "They believe the city will never be taken. The siege makes them unwilling to shake off the Commune, though. As long as there's a threat from outside, they will not fight the oppression from within."

Once again, Chateaupers congratulated himself on picking Maurice de Bracy as his personal assistant. The man saw the problems straight away, and he could sum them up in short, precise words. "Exactly."

"So we must get rid of the Prussian threat first, you mean?" the vicomtesse asked, her tone as if speaking of getting rid of a bothersome servant or a similar problem.

"In theory, yes." But this was where the real problems began. "Yet we must take into consideration that the army of Prussia is probably the best in the world currently. Let's face it: Despite what the emperor used to claim, France entered this war utterly unprepared and with the most exceptional display of self-overestimation."

"They may be good, yes," the vicomtesse admitted, "but not invincible. Winter will not hurt only us."

"I'm afraid it will hurt us more," Chateaupers replied. "They have come prepared. They have been expecting a siege, and they have the resources to lay siege to Paris for a year or more, I presume. They are not only good, they are too good. Remember Königgrätz, four years ago? They did not simply defeat the Austrians. They destroyed them. And suffering only minor losses themselves." He exhaled slowly, answering his friend's wife's gaze. It was a simple truth, but an unpleasant one. "I hate to say so, but under the current conditions, we can never defeat Prussia alone, and especially not them and the rest of the German countries combined."

For full six seconds there was heavy silence; Chateaupers counted the ticks of the clock on the mantelpiece. Then Vincent spoke up again. "So we can't win this war alone."

"Allies," his wife agreed. "Are there no allies?"

Chateaupers shook his head. "None I know of."

"But the Austrians must hate Prussia," Vincent argued.

"More than they fear the Russians?" Bracy threw in. "They're waiting at their border, forcing them to remain neutral. Well, a treaty broken can upset a former ally pretty much, especially if that ally in question saved the other country from revolution."

The vicomtesse frowned. "That was back in 1848."

"The revolution, yes. The war in question was a little later on, and Austria refused to come to Russia's aid. The Russians do not forget that easily, madame."

"Moreover," Chateaupers added, "they have enough problems of their own, what with all those nations demanding more rights and so on."

"Any chance to get help from England?" Vincent suggested, though rather half-heartedly.

"England?" His wife snorted derisively, probably more because Bracy had been right than because she found her husband's remark stupid. "Saving France? Never."

By now they must have seen the situation. "So this is the choice we have," Chateaupers summed it up. "To endure an endless siege, until starvation, and under the reign of the Commune. As long as the siege is going on, an uprising is out of question. And winter is not far now. Once it falls, it falls swiftly. And it will fall hard, after that hot summer. The harvest has not been brought in completely; many crops have been lost. How long until the people of Paris are dying? The children will be first, and the old and the ill. But then the rest, the women, then even the strongest of men. And by the time they realize it is time to throw off the oppressors from within and without, it will be too late. A starving man cannot wield a sword. And those who do not starve will be diminished by the reign of the Commune. The death toll is mounting fast; whoever opposes them dies. I've seen the lists, and I've signed them. I have no choice but to sign. If I oppose them, I die. If I give up my post, I die. This is all I can do to work against them, to stay in office as long as possible and save who I still can. But they are watching me already. Delannay's advisor, a Charles LaCroix, has been to see me twice already. It won't be long now until I'm no longer of any use. But until then, we must act. Before it is too late."

During his little speech, Chateaupers had watched Vincent's eyes narrow. "You mentioned a choice, Gérard," he now said. "What is this choice?" And the same question was written in the vicomtesse's face. Millet looked merely concerned and irritated, while Bracy's expression revealed absolutely nothing. Had he seen it coming, perhaps?

So now the time was there, the time to voice what he had been pondering for the first time. "I will be open with you," he began. Yes, because he trusted them. Because they were the people he trusted most, apart from some of his own men still left to him. "The highest priority in order to re-establish justice and peace is to rid ourselves of the Commune regime. And since we cannot do this alone, and since we cannot do this in a besieged city – the city must fall."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the Chagnys as well as from Millet, and even Bracy's eyes narrowed as his dark eyebrows descended abruptly. "This is treason," Fabienne de Chagny said sharply. "I will hear no more of it."

"It's our only hope. And the only hope to save our women and children, who are murdered despite their innocence. It is better to lose a war and regain justice than to lose a war and justice along with it."

"Vincent," the vicomtesse demanded, "say something."

Her husband passed a hand over his eyes. "Yes, but what should I say? You are right, my friend is a traitor, but it makes sense. It makes perfect sense."

"And how, if I may ask?" Bracy interjected. "How is the city to fall? And what about the losses that will come from a battle fought inside the city itself? What about the destruction? True, the Germans will root out the Communards for us. But they will root out our civilians as well."

Had this argument not come, Chateaupers would have been disappointed. "This is why we must wait a little longer yet. But don't get me wrong. We must start negotiations at once, yet the actual action must wait until there will be not much resistance to expect."

"So you counsel us to wait after all?" the vicomtesse inquired.

"No. I counsel you to negotiate now and then to give the signal when the time is ripe, so we avoid as many losses as possible."

"How about your loyalties?" Vincent's voice sounded strangely pressed, as if he were very agitated, and his knuckled were white. "The oaths you have sworn? Can you forget them that easily?"

"I have sworn loyalty to my superiors, but I have sworn to save the city and my country and to protect the weak and the innocent, just as well. When there are two opposing oaths binding a man, he must break one of them. It's as easy as that."

His head inclined to one side, Bracy seemed to be busy watching how his ferret nibbled his fingertips, yet his eyes were still narrowed, and he was clearly thinking about what he had just heard. Where did Maurice de Bracy's loyalty lie? It would be a hard decision for him, but Chateaupers knew what he would choose in the end. Bracy would be with him.

And Vincent? "What will you choose?"

The vicomte and his wife exchanged a glance. "We have to discuss this in private first," Vincent said at last, and at once there was weariness in his voice.

"What do you mean by negotiations?" the vicomtesse demanded. "Do you have any hidden allies? Any contacts outside the city?"

At once Chateaupers felt very smug. "Let's say I know a man who can walk past a regiment of guards without them noticing."

Again the Chagnys exchanged a glance, clearly clueless. But Bracy's hard features lit up with understanding. "You're talking about Erik."

"Indeed. Indeed I am." If anyone could find a way out of the city, Erik could.

"Not that masked rogue again!" the vicomtesse groaned. "Would you really trust such a scoundrel with something that important?" As she said so, she shot Bracy what could be considered a rather pointed look.

"I would trust Erik with my life," Chateaupers answered seriously, while Bracy smiled at her amiably, stroking his ferret.

"After that nasty business at the Opera House?"

"Fabienne," Vincent began, one hand on her arm, "our son speaks very highly of him…"

"Hah!" The vicomtesse snorted. "Our son has no idea! And do you remember that little incident at the Baron de Castelot-Barbezac's, when he and the baron's lad and your own son, my dear, set the hedge on fire?"

"Now, now, darling. It was an accident. Roger simply dropped a lantern."

Again the vicomtesse snorted. "Accident? Now how about our garden party in June? When the worthy Monsieur Ghost and once again your own son found it a good idea to try on women's, well, lingerie?"

"Not in the garden, luckily," Vincent said quickly, while Bracy grinned. "Besides, darling, Raoul is your son as well, not only mine, and he is a good boy. And if they want to have a bit of fun, why not let them?"

"With women's lingerie!" It was the third snort in a row.

Vincent shrugged. "Well, there could be worse our boy could have messed with."

"Anyway, that Erik of yours has a bad influence on my boy! And on our little Christine!"

"Darling, please…" Vincent raised his hands in an attempt to calm her, which remained unsuccessful, of course. Once angry about something, Fabienne de Chagny was like a thunderstorm.

"My dear husband, they sleep in the same bed! Is that enough for you?"

Vincent frowned, while Bracy was clearly biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing. "Who exactly? Christine and Raoul? Christine and Erik? Raoul and Erik, perhaps?"

"All of them!"

Bracy gave a half-strangled snort and quickly bit his hand, while even stoic Millet grinned.

"Well then, darling, when there's three of them, they'll hardly be able to misbehave with the girl, now can they?" the vicomte reasoned.

"Wouldn't put it past them," the vicomtesse muttered. "Not past that Erik fellow, anyway. What a blessing our girl is so decent." At once she stabbed at her husband with her forefinger. "But there's that other girl, too, so that makes them four. What do you have to say to this?"

"Five," Vincent said brightly. "You forgot about the dog. Only joking," he hurriedly added when his wife turned a murderous glare on him. "Anyway, Meg Giry is decent just as well. And you like her mother, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, but that still doesn't – Maurice de Bracy, what are you snickering at like an imbecile?"

"Nothing, madame," Bracy answered innocently.

"Weren't you the one who was at the garden party as well and tried to tie young Roger de Castelot-Barbezac's hands behind his back with a stocking of doubtful origin?"

Somehow Bracy managed to keep a straight face. "No, madame."

"No? I quite distinctly remember you doing it!"

"I never denied it was me, madame. I only mean that the stocking in question wasn't of doubtful origin. I know exactly where it came from."

As the vicomtesse snorted for the fourth time, while Millet was still grinning as discreetly as possible, Chateaupers hastily decided to cut this exchange short. "However, I take it Erik will be here to see me tomorrow. Am I correct?"

"Precisely," Bracy replied, stroking his ferret under the chin, which it seemed to enjoy. "First thing tomorrow morning. He gave me his word to come."

Which was important, since he was to be confronted with his mother. Chateaupers just needed to know who Erik really was, he needed to! That he was more than just human was obvious, but what this Créon had said… Erik refused to believe it, yet Chateaupers somehow tended to. Before he had met Erik, he had not believed in the supernatural. But now, ever since he had encountered him, he did, and at once he was convinced that Nietzsche was right. Erik belonged to a higher race, a better race… a new stage of evolution, perhaps. And Chateaupers needed to know all about him.

Realizing Bracy was still waiting for an answer, he gave his faithful right hand an affirmative nod. "Well done. You're dismissed. Have a glass of brandy before you go."

Rising, Bracy bowed his head. He would return to his office now, no doubt. "Thank you, but I must decline. I don't drink when on duty. If there is anything else you need, you know where to find me. Just say the word, and I'll be there." Replacing the ferret on his shoulder, he gave them all another of his mock little bows before he headed out and closed the door behind him.

Just say the word… Indeed, it was true, all that was necessary was one word from him, and Bracy hurried to do his bidding, with his usual diligence and efficiency.

Say the word… Erik had said just that when he had heard about the LaCroix business, but would he say the same, once Chateaupers told him about the quest he had in store for him? Chateaupers's friends had not asked him about the details much, but he was sure Erik would. And then… would he accept the mission? If not for loyalty to Chateaupers, then maybe because it was a challenge? He was quite ready to kill at one word from the chief of police, yet would he endeavour to take a message behind enemy lines? Chateaupers could only hope he would.

"He may be a good officer," Fabienne de Chagny stated flatly, her eyes still on the door, "but he's a horrible person. And this nasty little animal of his… Have you heard how he calls it? Madame Blanche! I mean, Madame! It only shows his contempt for society, if you ask me, and a man who holds such an opinion –"

"Please, darling," her husband interrupted, "we've discussed that before."

She through him a measuring glance. "Not often enough, then."

But Chateaupers did not heed them. Say the word… So much loyalty, and for respect and friendship, not for fear. Blessed was the man who had subordinates and allies like that around him!