She'd risen early, a good deal earlier than most days. Her household, save the lone maid that even now waited on her, still slumbered. She'd not eaten breakfast; a bit of coarsely ground coffee strained through steaming water with milk, and a smallish plate of ginger bread and sorghum had filled her in the wee hour.
Now she sat looking out the window at the City that slept under her watchful eye. What had driven the man and his wife out of Chauesser in such unfavorable weather? Whatever it was that had taken him from his house, it had likely been far more serious than his household even knew. Andre had spoken of a rather pleasant young woman from the man's household that he'd opportunity to converse with. He'd spared her much of the detail from the visit in favor of the brevity she so esteemed. They would be gone several days more, and then, surely she'd receive word from his household, perhaps an invitation would be sent her in earnest. Though she could not say just what it was, there was something of promise in the air, and that so seldom happened, especially these last days.
She sighed once more, looking at the eastern sky. There was yet to be a true hint of morning, but she did not worry. Time would produce what it would.
XXXX
The propsmaster sat gasping against the cold stone. He shivered so hard that he was certain that he could hear the rattling of his bones outside his own skin! He was chilled, that almost went without saying, though it was the fear that made him shiver. Was it…had his mind deceived him? He thought not.
His clothing was sodden, and his ankle donned a fresh bleed. Both were certain evidence that he had indeed been in the depths of the water that lay in the channel just a meter from him. Someone….something, had pulled him from the water. He had been released from the gripping jaw of an unknown trap submersed in the murky depths…it could have been no other. Even as he sat there he wondered, was the Phantom sitting in some obscure corner studying him as if he were a rat in a sewer? Surely he'd nothing to fear that his life would be ended for venturing there, for if that was the Phantom's intentions to put an end to him, he'd surely have left him to drown.
His eyes grew wide, as his mind retrieved itself from the numbing grasp of the cold…if it had been the Phantom…why…..why had he been spared? Stories abounded of the kiss of death one might be unfortunate enough to receive if they'd encountered him in unfavorable condition…there was simply no logic in it.
He began to rub his hands together rapidly, trying to warm them. If he were being studied…observed…perhaps it was best he not tarry should the onlooker change his mind, and he find himself, quite regrettably, at the end of a rope. He rose slowly, any thought of quick movement was a fleeting one, for he was stiff from the chill that gripped him and the fear that too sudden a movement could solicit a strike like that of a mighty cobra.
As he stood, he thought to have heard a sound, though however faint. His breath caught in his chest. His sense of hearing highly keened to listen…was that whimpering? He spun his head this way and that, looking desperately into the black void that encircled him. His only light now gone; the torch having gone to the depths with him. There was nothing but darkness to comfort him, his fear to guide him. Slowly he slid along the corridor, his back gliding along the wall. He really had no idea where the wall would end, or how wide was the path he now walked. Caution was his only hope. Though his heart and mind pounded, a great flee instinct urging him to go…he could not. He himself had been spared…how could he not reciprocate if it were needed? Should he not have want to do the same for another if it were required of him?
The further he moved along the wall he began to gather his bearings. He was moving back toward the great opening, and as he did, the sound became stronger. His breathing increased until it was nearly a gasp, full lungs of air rushed in and out until he felt quite light headed. He stopped. Calming himself, he listened as if a hunter in the wood. Yes, it was whimpering indeed. He had want to call out, but the very fear drawing the attention of whatever, whomever it might be, kept his tongue frozen in his mouth as a great river freezes in the dead of winter. Then the whimpering ceased.
"Who's there?" Raoul rolled around on the ground. He'd thought himself dead, save for the pain in the back of his head, he'd have believed it to be so. "Who's there!" He said in a nearly demanding tone. If it was the beast come to claim him, he'd give him no satisfaction in his weakness.
The propsmaster was both confused and relieved. The voice sounded human. "Dear sir, I mean you no harm," he called out wearily, "I heard but a noise, and I confess…thank you sir, for sparing my life…" The propsmaster castigated himself for not having thanked his savior first, and then begun with his explanation.
"What is this you speak of?" Raoul now sitting though his head throbbed in protest. It was a man's voice, one he did not recall ever hearing.
"Sir, thank you for sparing my life, though feeble and feckless it may be, I will speak of this to no one, I'll not betray you." There was silence. "Was it you sir, you that I saw in the inner courtyard the night before last?" As soon as the question had left him, he feared for the answer. What if now he had angered him? Why had he not been grateful enough to thank him and flee for his life?
"I do not know of what you speak man, who is it that I address without knowledge?" Raoul was a bit irritated, this surely was not who he had feared.
"Sir? You've known me a great long while, though I've never met you properly." The man was beginning to wonder, this did not sound like a Phantom, it sounded rather like someone else whose voice he'd heard.
"I demand it now, to whom do I speak?" Raoul had taken his shirt into his hand, ripping off one sleeve, making a swath of cloth to tie tightly round his head.
"It is I sir, Claude LeJure, the propsmaster, as you will. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He said, a strange look of wonder crossing his face.
"Well then Claude, the pleasure and relief is mine." Raoul said, slowly pulling himself to an erect position.
The man flinched. "Vicomte…Vicomte DeChagny?" He thought he'd recognized the voice…but how?
"Yes, Claude, and just how is it that you found yourself here? Is anyone with you?" Raoul suddenly wondering if this man was but a pawn, or worse yet bait to distract him.
He batted his eyes, his mind racing madly. He'd not want to say, but he too wondered what would have drawn the Vicomte to that very place. He could fashion no untruth that was plausible….perhaps the Vicomte had right to know, he was after all, the patron's son.
"Vicomte…you shall surely think me quite mad, and I assure you, the same doubts of my mental acuity have coursed through me since I came to these levels." He paused, perhaps if he knew that the Vicomte had been the one to rescue him… "Vicomte, I must thank you for retrieving me from the waters, surely I'd thought myself drowned and lost forevermore."
Raoul turned his head though he could not see. "That is thrice now you've thanked me for that which I know nothing of, rescued you from what…from where? I myself have been laying on this cold stone for some time now, not having moved until just when you came in."
The propsmaster flinched, then he had not imagined it. "Did you see him…is that what brought you here Vicomte?"
Raoul's eyes grew wide, "to whom do you refer?" Raoul wanted only to know what or whom the man sought before he'd answer.
"The Phantom Vicomte…if it were not you…then it was he that plucked me from certain death in the causeway just outside." Suddenly, against his good thought, he began. "You see Sir, I'd felt vibrations….vibrations on the wall in my room. Whilst I thought myself to be quite mad, my memory tugged at me, for the only other times I'd felt it before was when the Phantom was about to appear, or when his presence was to be made known in some way. It oft seemed that it was most frequent when we were working on some production or another, and most often in the wee hours of the morning. Though I feared it, I came to expect it as surely as the rising of the sun. Tonight, as I reclined to read before retiring, I felt it….the vibration. Surely I knew the Phantom had left that many months ago, and I'd not felt it since the night he departed…" his voice suddenly quieting. He remembered with great sadness that the Phantom had taken the Vicomte's betrothed.
Raoul's eyes were filled with a mixture of tears of pain, and those of rage…oh how few were the degrees that separated those two emotions. "Go on man," he said in a controlled and steady-sure voice.
"I am sorry Vicomte, sorry for what has happened to you, I can imagine only how you've suffered since.."
"Silence!" Raoul's rage began to overflow causing the gash at the back of his head to throb as he bellowed.
Claude recoiled in fear, he'd never know of the Vicomte to be anything but cordial and proper…but then these were not the most usual of circumstances.
"Go on," Raoul said in a more suitable tone. He wanted to know.
"I wanted only to know if it were true, if this place existed as rumor had been told of its whereabouts. And now, if the Phantom returned once more to the Opera Populaire, just as it was about to reopen its' doors…I shuddered to think of it." Claude quieted, he'd answered the question.
"I see." Raoul said, now gathering his wits. "And what was that you spoke of, the other night in the courtyard…what had you seen?" Raoul was intent on finding out what the man had seen, and what night it had been, for surely, his own fears would be founded if the man had also seen that which they'd both believed, to be dead.
"Vicomte, was it you that I heard…are you injured?" The propsmaster feeling himself a bit weary, but he worried for the Vicomte. His mind whirling in wonder if he'd accidentally happened upon a near murder scene, only to nearly fall prey himself, his mind still wondering at his own rescue.
"Yes, quite injured I'm afraid," Raoul replied reaching his hand to the back of his head. "Come, let us sit. Where is it that you find yourself?" Raoul was certain the man was several dozen meters from him.
The propsmaster could not say precisely where he was, for he knew only what lay behind him, not before him.
Raoul, feeling a bit impatient said it again, "where is that you find yourself…have you crossed into the lagoon, or are you yet outside of the cave?" He'd no idea if he could push himself on the make-shift raft to the outer waters.
Claude surmised he was at the entrance for the echo of the Vicomte's voice was distant. "Yes, though I've not traveled here before, I believe that I am just outside of the cave of which you speak. I do not know if I dare venture further, having found myself just moments ago in a snare."
Raoul flinched, he'd been in the waters of that lagoon, nearly every inch of it during the intense moments of a confrontation long passed now, he knew there to be no impediments there, save his own fears of course. "You sir, if you are able, make your way into the waters. Though they be frigid, they should contain for you no other traps." Raoul knew he himself could not go back into the waters, he was feeling all but nearly unconscious once more. Perhaps the blackness had altered his perception of what conscious was to be.
Claude hesitated, "Vicomte, I shall try," he said with distinct trepidation in his voice, "but are you well enough to pluck me once more from the waters should I find another snare?" His words escaping him as he lowered his body into the cold water once more, sending an immediate shiver up his spine.
Raoul became agitated. "I did not pluck you from the waters, why must you persist in that thought. I've done nothing of the sort!"
The man was wearily making his way, slow step by slow step through the opening to the cave. Once inside he could hear the echo from the water that sloshed about him. "Vicomte, you and I are the only two here…but moments before I found myself quite ensnared, thinking myself to be dead, and you…you had to have plucked me from the waters, for I felt the grip of your hands at my cloak, the sudden rush of the release of the jaw that held me fast at the ankle, and then you deposited me on the shore, a thrust against my back to dislodge the water….do you not remember it sir?" The man was slowly making his way into water that was deep as his chest.
"I can assure you sir, that it was not I, but perhaps it was your imagination." Raoul said tenderly rubbing at his head. He'd want to ask the man why he'd built a fire in the stove if he'd only come down to check.
"Vicomte, I swear on my life that I'd been plucked from the waters and the sure grip of death, for I could not have been my own savior!"
Raoul's blood ran cold, a shivery draft wafted into the cavern. "It was not me!" He said emphatically, then his voice fell to the ground. If it had not been him, and the man was not imagining it…could it have been? He shivered, perhaps they were not as alone as he'd thought. "Move quickly to the shore man! I've reason to believe we are not alone!"
The propsmaster not at all certain how he'd kept from screaming given Raoul's revelations, made his way swiftly to the shore next to Raoul. "Vicomte?"
Raoul had seldom trusted anyone, especially not a man with whom he'd just made an acquaintance, but the situation necessitated it. "Come hither, toward my voice." Raoul called out to him, now more in a forced whisper.
Claude moved closer and closer to where he could hear the heavy breathing. "Have you no light sir?" He said, feeling out in front of him to find something to lay his hands upon.
"No light, but I've something to show you." Raoul's hand was once more on the small cast-iron door of the Franklin Stove…it was still more than warm to the touch. "Here, give me your hand." He nearly commanded as the man got close enough that Raoul could smell the onion on his breath, surely the remnants of what the man had for supper, and it nearly repulsed him. His stomach quivering, he said no more as he grasped the man's hand shoving it on the side of the warm iron. "Tell me you built this on your visit good man." Raoul was nearly imploring the man to speak that it was so, though his doubts about the veracity of the Phantom's reappearance were rapidly disappearing.
Claude's eyes were wide with terror. "I'd not built it sir, though it is now just hours old!" The man reached inside his pocket, and though it was entirely sodden, the handkerchief made a sure guard against the piping hot handle of the stove. He pulled the door open, the orange embers that had been covered by ash swirled around inside the stove, casting a temporary eerie glow over both of them. "Have you a torch Vicomte, a candle, anything?"
Raoul dejectedly said "no." His mind quickly wandering to where he'd seen candles and a box of tinder when last he was here. He tried to focus, but his mind was simply too fogged from the pain, and now no doubt, loss of blood. The doctor had tried to warn him not to move, that the stitches were vulnerable to tearing and stretching what precious hold they had on his skin. He flinched…he had to think before he gave in to the fatigue that threatened to claim him.
"There's a box….a tall box behind the stove, you should find something of use there." Raoul said, now reclining once more as he felt his head start to swim. He closed his eyes, listening as Claude scuffled around the stove, reaching in and out of the container he'd found several times before he was once more in front of the stove, using the hand wrapped in the damp cloth to open the door. It took several minutes of coaxing, but soon the fire grew large enough to cast shadows.
Raoul's mind began to wander as he listened to Claude tend the small fire within the stove. Soon the room would warm, and they'd have a proper introduction. Raoul had resigned himself to the fact that if the Phantom indeed did tarry there, they'd no hope of escaping unscathed. As long as there was peace, he would seize the opportunity to rest.
His mind took flight back to DeChagny Manor. The doctor no doubt would be waking soon. He felt rather guilty, having put the drugs he'd been instructed to take in the doctor's tea when he'd gone to retrieve the cream, but Raoul had simply had enough of the friendly banter when he'd risen some hours before. He'd somehow wheedled a confession out of the doctor Meg had gone with Nadir and Madame Giry into Paris to the Opera Populaire whilst he slept. Raoul had been infuriated that the doctor had insisted Meg go when she had all but begged to stay at his side. Not that he'd wanted nor needed the attention, but Raoul would have been grateful to have woken to her smiling presence than to know that she was out there…had been out there on the road between the City where she would have been easily fallen upon and none would have been the wiser! Though Raoul knew that Nadir would have fought to the death for either of the women.
He sighed heavily, a resigned relaxed state. Now he'd committed an egregious crime against the doctor whom he trusted and was trusted by implicitly. Had the circumstances been any different, he'd have thought nothing of staying in bed the several more days that the doctor had suggested…but in good conscience, he could not wait, nor tell what he had seen, for none would have believed him…he scarcely believed himself! To the good doctor he'd owe an apology when they returned.
Raoul opened his eyes to see Claude, arms clasped tightly around his knees, seated on the floor, rocking back and forth as if a babe crying for its mother. Raoul simply watched, surely the man had mistakenly thought him to be sleeping. He looked at him with such wonder. What was it that caused him to behave so? He watched as Claude's eyes glanced several times more at the stone surface that formed a roof at the top of the room they were in. Something about that frightened him. Raoul rolled his head slightly, hoping to glimpse it, whatever it was. His eyes were bleary, and he strained to focus, and then he saw it. Words scrawled starkly on the surface in an ink as black as midnight.
"Fear Yea All Who Pass Here Unescorted, For No Man Knows The Day Or The Hour Of His Death, Fear Is One's Mind Embracing The Horrors Of The Unknown, And The Eventualities That Are Due Him."
Raoul shuddered. It was a warning, and both he and the man now rocking as a babe were transgressors…and trespassers.
XXXXXXX
The doctor woke with a jerk, the saucer still gripped in his hand, the teacup lay broken in two on the floor. He sat up, stiff and tense as he glanced over at the bed. It was empty! His heart began to pound as his eyes searched the room. The door to the water closet was open, the seat by the window was unoccupied, the doors to the closet closed tightly. He sighed, perhaps Raoul had felt well enough to go down to retrieve a fresh pot of tea. He'd have to remember to scold Raoul for his disobedience. The stitches were as straight and true as he could make them, but it was so very necessary for Raoul to be as still as possible for the next few days, letting his body heal and recover. Blows to one's head were never good.
The doctor, still in his garb from the day before, rubbed at his eyes. Oh how good a hot bath and a good meal would be for him. Perhaps he could have Raoul's father sit with Raoul while he tended to a few things, and most decidedly a hot bath was in order!
He flinched heavily when the door to the outer hallway flew open with a sudden jerk. In came Madeline, bleary-eyed and half frightened, a small boy in her hand, grasped by his shirt collar. "Tell doctor…tell him!" She demanded The small boy trembled. "TELL HIM!"
The doctor's eyes were wide as the saucer in his hand. He'd never heard Madeline take that tone with anyone.
The small boy began to whimper, but realizing he'd no way out, he spoke faintly, "I'd saddled his horse, he'd instructed me not to report his leaving, I do not know where he is going, but he took no rations for he or his horse." The boy's head hung as if he was certain he was destined to be whipped to within an inch of his life.
"Whose gone Madeline?" The doctor said, and as soon as his words left him, he knew the answer. "No! Do not tell me…when?" He stood, his heart pounding, he was already readjusting his clothing in preparation of donning his cloak.
"Before sunrise sir, I would say nearly four o'clock sir." The boy glanced back and forth between the look of disbelief that played across the doctor's face, and the stern glare that Madeline was giving him.
Madeline was panting now looking at the doctor, knowing just what he needed. She turned back to the boy, finally releasing his lapel. "You go, have horse ready, doctor go now."
The boy scampered away to do as instructed, exceedingly thankful that this was all he'd been subjected to, for he had feared far worse.
Madeline stood looking at the doctor. "Vicomte not well, bed should stay."
The doctor nodded to her. "Indeed Madeline, indeed." He reached out grasping her shoulder firmly as he walked passed her and out the door.