Wheeeeeee... Chapter Five! Yay!

By the way, I dearly love reviews.

And thank you to those that have already reviewed! I really appreciated it. :)

For a long moment we all remained still.

Then I pulled the syringe from my sleeve, Erik lunged, and Christophe got to his feet in a swift, graceful motion, gripping the dart in one hand.

I found that Erik was blocking my path to Christophe – he had gotten between the two of us without me even seeing him move. I blinked and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I believe I was closest," I said to his back.

"The lady has a point," Christophe said, but he didn't lower the dart. "And I believe I stated I did not plan to hurt either of you."

"Hand over the dart, then," Erik said.

Christophe thought for a second. "Perhaps not. And I wouldn't call it a dart, precisely."

"Would you rather I take it from you?"

I didn't see how Christophe was remaining so calm with Erik half an inch from his face, but he was. The undercover detective shook his head.

"I don't think you want to do that," he said. "You are still in the middle of Paris, and there are policemen patrolling the streets. They know you are in this carriage, and the driver has orders to head back to the station if there's trouble."

Erik considered the man in front of him. "You could be bluffing."

"I could be," Christophe said.

"And there's two of us," I said. "Only one of you, Christophe."

"Which is why I'd rather not hand over my weapon, Mademoiselle," he said. He took a long breath. "Why don't you both sit down? I really have no intention of harming you."

"Why did you take it out, then?" Erik said.

"It contains a fast-acting sedative, Monsieur," Christophe said. "Entirely necessary to the plan, I'm afraid."

He turned the dart, pressing the top of it in, and a slow cloud of pale white gas formed in the air around it, billowing up towards the ceiling. I slipped my syringe back into my sleeve, hoping Erik's form hid this action from Christophe, and turned to the window.

The latch resisted me, and the panes of glass were sealed with paint. I pulled my shoe off, ignoring the sounds of combat behind me, and rammed the heel into one of the panes. The glass held.

I tore a piece of fabric off my skirt, pressed it over my mouth and nose, and smacked the shoe against the glass again.

Nothing happened. The glass seemed impenetrable. The gas was seeping up around my shoulders; I could taste something bittersweet and noxious. It smelled like rotting vanilla.

"Put down the shoe, Mademoiselle," commanded a muffled voice in the distance. "Stop trying – oof-"

He was cut off. I assumed Erik had gotten ahold of him. I turned my attention back to the window, whacking my shoe against it in repeated blows. The makeshift weapon seemed heavy in my hand. Perhaps I needed more room.

I stepped backward, and the white gas instantly engulfed me.

I am an idiot, I thought, as the sedative-laced air sank into my lungs and the world went black. Hopefully Erik came up with a better plan than I did.

Unfortunately, Erik had not.

I woke in a hotel room, lying across a sofa, my feet propped up on a pillow. Christophe stood above me, looking down.

"Good morning," he said.

I sat up, and immediately winced. The inside of my head was filled with white-hot knives. "Where's Erik?"

"Asleep," Christophe said. He indicated the other side of the room.

Erik was draped across another sofa, breathing lightly. I put my hand down on the arm of the sofa and tried to get to my feet, but the whole world lurched in an awful manner and I had to sit down.

Christophe picked up a jug of water and poured me a glass. "Here, drink this."

I reached for the glass with my left hand, drank, and set it down on the side table before I realized what was missing.

Christophe backed away from me when I sprang to my feet.

"You stole my ring!" I said, snatching for the back of a chair before I fell. "How could you – give it back!"

The undercover detective, recovering from his surprise, came towards me. "I told you, it would be better if the Inspector didn't know you were engaged, Mademoiselle."

"Give it back!"

"Stop shouting," Christophe said, lowering his voice to a sibilant whisper, "or I'll be forced to silence you. Go sit down before you fall."

He'd taken off his jacket and was only wearing a linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I saw that his milk-colored hands and forearms were corded with muscle. I took a few steps back and sat down on the sofa. My head felt like it might fall off my shoulders.

Erik stirred from across the room, and something – no, several somethings – clinked together as he moved.

I got to my feet again.

Christophe shook his head at me. "Sit back down. Yes, he's handcuffed. I'm not taking any more chances with him."

He turned away as I sat back down (yes, my head was going to fall off), crossing the room to Erik. He drew something from his pocket as he stopped next to the sofa.

I stood up again, and Christophe glanced over his shoulder at me with a modicum of exasperation in his eyes.

"It's only smelling salts," he said. "Your fiancé's been asleep a little too long."

"Leave him alone," I said, as sharply as I could. "You've done enough."

Christophe turned completely around to look at me. "You seem to think you are in charge."

I set my jaw. "I'm his fiancée. And I am not here of my own free will, Christophe, so if you know anything at all, you know I'm being blackmailed into doing this assignment. Leave him alone."

"You think I'd disapprove of blackmail?" the detective asked.

"Most honorable men do," I said. I had the feeling that he was amused.

He was. He laughed a little, but he left Erik's side. "I see you have very clear ideas of right and wrong, Mademoiselle. Some men don't have the luxury of that. Please take a seat; your face is nearly green. I'll leave your fiancé alone for now."

I went back to the sofa. I was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. "What did you gas us with?"

"None of your business," Christophe said. "But nothing that will cause long-lasting effects. You may feel sick for a few hours. The headaches will cease after a week or two."

I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the sofa, hoping to ease the pain in my skull. It felt like the knives were slitted evenly through my brain.

Then Erik coughed from the other side of the room, and I sat up.

"I would think," he said, between coughs, "that a sedative in gaseous form may not be the best solution. Different people require different doses."

"I realized that," Christophe said, glancing over at him. "I opened Irene's window after she collapsed. You, on the other hand, may have been under a little longer than you should."

Erik's handcuffs clinked together as he sat up, blinking several times as he glanced around the room. I looked at him, deciphering the mass of metal links crisscrossing his body – the handcuffs were connected to a long chain, which was connected to cuffs around the legs of the couch.

"Don't even think about lifting the sofa," the detective said, sitting down on the single bed in the middle of the room. "I still have this, and I'd hear you get up." He held up his cylinder of sedative.

I noticed that on the bed beside him lay a full-face mask, fitted with a long plastic tube. He must have put it on when he'd released the sedative in the carriage. On the floor besides the bed was a black suitcase, clean but obviously worn. What other surprises did Christophe have in store for us?

I gave Erik a look that said, "This is entirely stupid."

He sent me a look back that said, "I agree."

"So," Christophe said, rather too brightly, "why don't we go over the specifics of your assignment, Irene? You'll be masquerading as a French tourist on her honeymoon."

"So why am I missing my ring?" I asked the air. "It seems rather important."

"Ah, well, that's the catch," Christophe said. "You will be a lost French tourist on her honeymoon. A lost, ring-less, recently mugged Frenchwoman, who is also missing her husband."

"And that makes more sense how?" Erik demanded, trying to reach up to scratch his head, and failing, because the chain connected to the sofa wasn't long enough. He dropped his hand disgustedly back into his lap. "You're making her look entirely vulnerable. Anyone could approach her. She'll be in constant danger."

Christophe smiled a bored smile. "I'll be only yards behind her. Anyone unrelated to the Inspector who approaches her will find themselves quickly distracted. And it will only be for a single day. If this one fails, I have other plans."

I shuddered inwardly to think of his other plans. This one sounded bad enough. "Where am I going to be stationed?"

"It had better be somewhere public," Erik said, before Christophe could answer. "You can't station her in a dark alleyway somewhere."

"I'm putting her in Piazza San Marco," Christophe said loudly. "Thank you for your advice. Mademoiselle, how good are you at pretending to be someone you're not?"

Erik managed to look away before he smiled. I stared at my feet. "I think I'm all right at that sort of thing."

Christophe frowned. "Am I missing something?"

"No," Erik said. "Must I wear these?" He held up his chains.

"Yes," I said, "must he? It's ludicrous. As if he's going to fling himself at you and…"

I had trailed off because the idea wasn't so far-fetched, and I thought that if I continued, Christophe would probably end up agreeing with my make-believe scenario. The detective, who wasn't paying attention to our complaints, yawned behind his hand.

"I'll take them off when I get back," he said. He stood up. "If you continue feeling ill, Mademoiselle, drink more water. And bring some to your fiancé, I'd rather not have him die. Fabre kept going on and on about how the Phantom's the only thing that's possibly holding Mademoiselle Dubois here, and how you'd throw yourself off a balcony if he was injured or killed, and bleh, bleh, bleh."

"Where are you going?" I said, pointedly staying where I was. I wasn't going to leap to my feet whenever he told me to do something.

"Out," Christophe said, slipping his jacket on. "Don't think of escaping, either. I'll only be downstairs."

He opened his suitcase and laid the mask inside. Then he crossed to the door, unlocked it, threw the key to me (I caught it before it smacked me in the cheekbone), and went out, closing the door behind him.

I promptly got up and locked the door. I had no idea why he'd thrown the key to me - didn't he realize I'd lock the door?

"He must have another key," Erik observed, as I jiggled the handle to make sure it was locked.

"I know," I said. I lowered my voice. "But it will slow him down a little. Do you still have your lockpick?"

"No," Erik said, in a whisper. "Do you?"

I blushed. "Yes." I headed towards the bathroom, and Erik broke into quiet laughter.

"You hid it rather well, I presume," he said, his voice low with amusement.

I didn't turn to look at him; I was sure my face was very red. "Yes. Stop laughing. It's not that funny. And you don't want Christophe to return, so be quiet. I'll be right back."

The face that greeted me in the mirror was, unfortunately, my own. The eyes were caked with runny makeup; the pallid skin was dry, rough with dirt, and a little bloody. I turned on the water and splashed it on my face, hoping to erase some signs of my sad situation. How come people always looked so drawn and dirty when they were kidnapped?

"I know so much more about this sort of thing than I should," I told my reflection.

The floor creaked as I stepped away from the mirror and began undoing the buttons on the back of my dress. This was going to take a little while.

Erik was lying prone on the sofa when I came back out, his head on the flowery fabric of the sofa arm. The yellow sunflowers contrasted nicely with his dark hair.

"I fell asleep from boredom," he informed me, clearly awake.

I sat down next to the sofa, laid my head against his shoulder, and dropped the lockpick casually onto his chest. "That's likely. And here you go."

Erik sat up, dislodging me. "Where was it?"

"Be quiet, dear," I said. "Do you need help?"

"No," he said. "But I wouldn't mind it if you went to see if the back window opens. I don't think Christophe checked it, unless he did so while we were both asleep."

"I'm sure he did, but I'll go look," I said. I climbed to my feet and crossed the room, wincing as the floor groaned loudly under my feet. "Christophe must be deaf if he can't hear us tramping up and down in here."

"He has no faith in our abilities to outwit him," Erik observed. "There."

He had been tinkering with his chains, but now he stood, and they dropped onto the sofa like so many useless pieces of metal. I blinked at him.

"Goodness, that was fast."

Erik half-smiled. "We had better hurry."

He looked around the room, and I turned my attention back to the window, opened the latch, and flipped the window up. It was wide enough for someone to slide through, if they didn't mind turning sideways and holding their breath.

A small side street ran between our hotel and the large building across the street, empty except for a produce cart, its owner, and a donkey. The sunlight fell broadly across the alleyway, glimmering off the hotel windows below, and my heart sank. Anyone on this side of the hotel would be able to see us leave.

"He's probably told the innkeeper we're criminals," Erik said, as he shoved a massive dresser across the floor to block the door. "I doubt we can leave the proper way looking like this."

"Which is why he hasn't gotten us disguises yet," I noted. "Do you have any of your things still?"

"I have the clothing on my back," Erik said. "You?"

"I have my lockpick, my knife, and a change of underwear," I said, shutting the window, but leaving it unlatched. "Now what?"

Erik strode to the bed and began rifling through the covers. "We need something to trade for money."

"I don't think he left his valuables here with us."

"Well, it's worth a look."

Sadly, Erik's search did not produce any stashes of money, jewels, or precious artifacts. And after we had opened every drawer, cabinet, and pried up a loose floorboard in the corner – and found that there was nothing there either, we gave up. Erik went to the window and stood looking down at the fruit peddler, his face pensive.

"We're going to have to attack Christophe," he said. "We'll take his money after we knock him out."

"You get to strike the first blow," I said, remembering Christophe's muscular arms. "I'll finish him off."

"I said we," Erik said, but he was smiling, though faintly. He crossed to the door and crouched down next to the bookshelf.

"Go sit on the couch," he whispered.

I went to the bed, yanked the coverlet off, and threw it over the sofa where Erik had been lying. Christophe would be distracted for a moment if he thought someone was still there. The chains clinked pathetically as the fabric settled onto them. Had Christophe truly thought that they would hold Erik for long?

Then I went to my sofa and sat down, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the cushions to give the scene some semblance of normality. I really didn't think this was going to work, but perhaps it would.

Besides, I didn't want to think about what would happen if it didn't.