IV. Talk of Summertime

Madame Giry watched the proceedings behind the stage with a wariness she had recently adopted. Ever since Delannay and his men had come to turn the Opéra Populaire into something similar to their headquarters, she expected thieves and assassins to sneak around among the singers and dancers and stagehands, grey specks amidst the swirling colours of costumes, invisible until it was too late… Especially now the Phantom was gone, she felt how she and all her colleagues were more vulnerable than ever. What if something happened in his absence? Who would be there to defend them?

In the wings opposite her, Maurice de Bracy was leaning against a waiting prop with one shoulder, his coat over his arm and his hat in his hand, the ferret draped graciously over his shoulder like a rich lady's fur collar, and watching the milling about with obvious calm, like a rock oblivious of the waves beating against it. From time to time their eyes met, but he gave no sign of recognition, and neither did she. After all, both of them knew that the pair of armed men patrolling about seemingly aimlessly behind the stage were watching them.

She especially paid no attention to Gérard de Chateaupers, who was busy passing sandbags to a man on one of the galleries above him so he could affix them to the ropes meant to carry the counterweights for the backdrops. What Chateaupers was doing was very dangerous indeed; after handing over yet another of his conspiracy's letters to the Phantom for delivery, he had picked up a long-haired wig somewhere and now pretended to be a stagehand, for whatever purpose. But despite his wild tangle of hair, Delannay was bound to recognize him if he saw him up close, and others might as well. Of course, the Commune Council was busy otherwise at the moment, what with all the riots in the streets of which news had reached the Opera House this morning, but all the same, if one of them happened to come here…

A line of prop makers, among them Lászlo, carried in armfuls of fake branches, which they began tucking into their sockets in a model tree. Such a process usually still succeeded in amusing Madame Giry after all these years she had spent here, but not today. Not anymore.

One by one, the ballet members came on stage, fresh from the changing rooms and in their costumes for the third act of Chalumeau's Hannibal. Meg said they all were growing fed up with Hannibal, but when Delannay decreed to use it as means to raise the patriotic sentiment, what could she and Reyer and the managers do about it? Of course Xavier was surrounded by a flock of giggling girls, and of course little Cécile Jammes was one of them. And, needless to say, Xavier was one of those who giggled the most. But this time, there were two new faces among the other lads eager to join the group. It was not hard to identify Sándor and young Roger de Castelot-Barbezac, even in the chorus's armour and sporting helmets and fake beards.

This was growing more and more dangerous by the minute. Weren't those two supposed to be stagehands?

Did the Phantom know of this at all? Or were they doing as he had instructed?

"No need to worry, madame," a voice said by her ear, in a whisper that might as well have come from inside her head, as she felt. "I was told to keep an eye on the lot. Especially on Chateaupers, the young baron and the Chagny couple."

"The… " Despite herself, Madame Giry turned to face Aeternus. "You can't mean that the Vicomte de Chagny and his wife are here."

"Oh, I do," Aeternus replied evenly, his unreadable blue eyes gliding over the crowd, ever watchful. "Your friend let me know that they are no longer safe. Chateaupers has been replaced by a man called LaCroix, did you know that? At the moment he may still leave his house, but who can tell how long this will take? When will they sign the arrest warrant, when the order of execution? So he had them all moved here, and he asked me to make sure they are as safe as they would be with him to watch over them. As a matter of fact, he threatened me with various gruesome things." He chuckled dryly. "Still the same man as he always was, the worthy Lord Wraith."

Madame Giry merely sighed, watching her dancers form a line and start warming up. She had seriously begun to wonder last night when she had lain awake if it would do any good if Erik murdered Delannay, and the thought that she might actually approve scared her. "Too bad you came here in times like these. If you could see the Opéra Populaire as it normally is…"

"Yes indeed," he put in gently. "I should like to see that. And I should like to see you without the burden of sorrow you're dragging along with you day and night."

"You're trying to be charming, are you?"

"You're starting to grow fond of me, are you?" he retorted, never missing a beat.

"Get out of my thoughts. They're private."

"You like me to be in your thoughts."

"I absolutely don't!"

"You keep me inside your head even if I'm far outside."

This impertinent… For once, Madame Giry was at a loss for words. "I'm warning you, watch your tongue with me or else –"

"You'll have to box my ears, I know. I might actually appreciate it."

"In this case you're a pretty sick man."

Again he chuckled. "Oh, this opera house must be a very nice place indeed in times of peace. And I don't doubt you'll keep that peace with that cane of yours."

If that Prussian fiend could stop to be disgustingly smug for just one minute… She needed to have a word about this with Erik, about a certain guest of his and said man's behaviour. Not that Erik had invited Aeternus, but he was suffering him to be here and move around the building freely. Why couldn't he restrict him to the stables, if he needed him here at all?

He was not even handsome. He was perfectly plain.

"But I can assure you that you will soon see better days," he continued smoothly, as if they had just had a moment's polite small-talk. "This war will end, though I'm afraid there are rough times ahead. LaCroix has something nasty coming to him, if that comforts you. And as for Delannay… I think he won't outlast him long. Of course, I do not have Créon's gift of seeing the spirit world and reading a person's precise fate as it flickers before me, but I get a certain sense of foreboding, along with a general feeling of how the world will fare. Once winter is over, this will look better for you. Definitely." Regarding him from the side, Madame Giry saw that he was smiling slightly.

"Yes. Once winter is over. And winter has not even quite begun yet."

At first Aeternus did not react to this, and Madame Giry suspected that he knew a lot more than he was saying aloud, and that part of the reason he did not say it was that it was far too unpleasant for her to hear. Then, very slowly, he continued, "I should have an eye on the Phantom, if I were you."

"Why?" she demanded, sharper than she had meant to. What was happening to her Erik? Did Aeternus by any chance really know more about him than she did?

"His fate is dragging him back onto his old path, you see. He's fighting, but there's no fighting it."

Madame Giry almost groaned. Not again! "Oh, please…"

"Yes, I know you don't like to hear it. Sometimes it seems you're fighting it more than he does himself. But to do you the favour, let's speak of different matters. For example, I heard there's to be a masked ball on New Year's Eve…"

Madame Giry shrugged. At the moment, she could not have cared less. "The Communards might well cancel it."

"I think they won't."

"What makes you so certain?" she asked, truly growing fed up with his smugness. And, Lord in Heaven, did Xavier call that a pirouette? It was a disgrace, that was what it was!

"Well, being who I am…" And to think that she had assumed he could get no smugger! "Normally I don't meddle, but this time I might."

"Erik will never allow it," she stated firmly.

Aeternus shrugged. "We will see. I can assure you of one thing, though: I think there are a couple of jolly moments ahead, at least."

As she looked up at him, she saw that he really was smiling now, and it was not even an unpleasant smile.