Chapter 8: Bittersweet Medicine

Erik's skin was warm to the touch and even a little damp with sweat as he faced off with his last opponent for the day, the wild, feisty girl called Eter. He had fought those who had experience: Anna (with a broken bottle) and Artur (who had attacked with great whooshing arcs of a huge, heavy sword). The practice was as much for exercise as it was for staged fights, which would be needed later in the season.

Eter was crouched low in the grass and scrub just a few feet from Erik, outside the opera. She knows how to use that knife. I wonder where she learned such a skill…girls are not warriors in the Ottoman Empire.

The girl narrowed her eyes and kept her arms close to her body, instinctively protecting herself. She could hear- no, sense Artur just a few yards away, still as a statue and with plumes of fog blooming from his mouth as he watched her. He had not been averse to the idea of her fighting, only concerned- after all, M. Erik had beaten him soundly with only a rope against his own large hand-and-a-half sword. But if the maestro had shown anything with his combat, it was absolute precision; no one was even slightly bruised from their sessions.

She knew that Erik never made the first move. That was good planning on his part, for then she would be vulnerable as soon as he knew what she was doing. He held a longer weapon than hers, tossing it from hand to hand every now and then. Where did he learn to use a yataghan sabre? Did he learn that as well as the language when he was in my country? She herself kept an easy grip on her straight kard, with the etched sheath tucked away at her waist.

Erik nodded at her from across the makeshift arena. "You can move, as I'm sure you know," he said, cocking his head to the side in a sarcastic smile. "Fighting is not passive aggression, it is aggression." At the end of his sentence, Eter lost her patience and leapt forward.

The man ran at her fast, blade held to the side. Christine, watching from her seat on the icy ground, was sure the two would collide. But they did not. Her jaw dropped as the people seemed to sprout wings and fly.

Eter hissed as her opponent leapt up and used her shoulders as a springboard to fly not around her, but over her. He landed on his feet just behind her. Ah, you think you know the Turk way of fighting…but I was trained by the best. For once in her life, she was grateful for the rough treatment Hayvan had given her. That, and the trousers she'd bartered from a stagehand.

She cut out to her side, but was blocked by the sabre. Metal range on metal, and the almost ceremonial solemnity of the first blow made them still for a moment. The wind blew through the onlookers' clothes, but they were too transfixed by the scene before them to notice the chill. Christine, specifically, watched as Erik's form moved so fluidly that he seemed to glide rather than pace.

Then all became flashing steel and sharp, sliding sound. The smaller fighter, Eter, resorted to ducking the quick slashes and dove lower, lower… Time to 'cheat,' but all is fair in any kind of war. As the sword came down at her head again, she dove between her adversary's legs and skidded forward, rolled, and kicked Erik in the behind just as he was about to turn.

The result was spectacular. Somewhere in the back of his head, Erik heard Anna laughing as he stumbled forward, landing over his weapon. Christine had yelped, and immediately galvanized, he formed a new plan of attack. Ah, well, I can play that game better than you can… Christine, there is no need to be frightened. None at all. He righted himself quickly, returning with quick cuts and several dizzying feints. If his opponent had been anyone other than the mezzo, they would have been skewered. He let his mind go blank, concentrating only on the threat and his objective: detain.

At last, after a long minute of advancing over no ground, he cut at Eter's legs, now almost desperate to gain the upper hand. She did not leap back or up as he had expected, but forward.

An image flashed through his mind, making him pause for a split second. He knew that move. It was one he had taught to his team of elite assassins. And so, I know what comes next. But how does she know that? I never taught a girl. I would've remembered if I had. With perfect timing, the ink-haired girl came out of her leap and aimed a straight kick at his chest. It did not make contact at all.

He sidestepped with ease. Eter landed on her feet, jarring her legs slightly. How did he sense me coming? He can't have learned that from any ordinary Janissary. Perhaps it is time for a change in tactics… Pretending to stand and brush herself off, she drew another knife from a sheath on her upper left arm. Now feeling much more balanced without the extra weight, she waited, listening for the telltale crunch of icy lawn. It never came.

She turned to investigate- and found the strange, mysteriously adept man an inch from her face. No one has ever managed to approach me without my knowing…even Hayvan was noisy to my ears. This man is…a ghost. She gulped back a gasp of fright as the sabre was whipped up to touch her dark-skinned throat.

Erik smirked, a victorious glint in his metallic eyes. "Dead."

Eter smiled sweetly in return. "Are you sure?" He looked down a saw her kard pointed at his gut. He looked up again, and her other blade was at his jugular. "Dead. Twice."

She is quite skilled… But I am better, Erik said to himself. And it would not look good to lose in front of- He straightened his thoughts as the steel at his neck brought an extra chill to his skin. –in front of my students.

Almost faster than the eye and most definitely faster than the hand, his lasso was looped thrice about Eter's body, pinning her arms to her sides and preventing her from taking even a step. The uppermost coil squeezed with threatening gentility at the tops of her shoulders. A jerk of his hand, and he could snap her neck. "As you say, Mlle. Candan…'Dead. Twice.'"

Christine pressed her hand to her mouth as she took in the sight. Eter, who she knew to be a ferocious wildcat of a woman, was now at the mercy of M. Erik. She shivered not in the cold, but under the intensity of his eyes, even though she was not their focus. The raw power in him… He could rule the world if he so wished. The notion weakened her knees, but she forced herself to remain standing and suddenly wished she had a cloak to cover herself more fully.

Then Anna piped up, looking slightly unsatisfied, and said, "Alright, th'fight's over, you cn'all let go of your weaponry now." She glanced at Christine and teased, "An' you can let go'f your jaw, now, it's no' goin' t'drop." Damn. I wanted t'see 'im beat.

Artur finally broke out of his tense, statuesque stance and walked to lay a hand on Eter's shoulder. Her head barely reached his chest. "Now I understand why Marcus chose to stay inside and help the cook with our noon meal." He placed his arm around Eter's shoulders, as if he could protect her from the cord still entangling her body. She wriggled in her bonds.

"Artur, help me with this thing…I cannot move." He knelt and picked at the lasso with large, rough hands, and lifted the bonds away, but kept his arm around her shoulders. Erik noted that she didn't seem to mind at all and coiled his weapon. I can only hope they do not share a bed for several years. Unlike me, they seem to have no objections to such an arrangement…

He looked at Christine, who was still tense from the thrill of the battle…or was she stiff with fear? He had to do something for her. A tense back will ruin her breathing… It has nothing to do with my dislike of her fear, nothing at all.

Before the other three out on the opera's lawn, Christine beheld the strange, sinewy fighter as he approached her. Then he cracked a roguish grin and winked at her behind the white mask- and just as quickly as smoke dissolves into the atmosphere, he was familiar, charming M. Erik again.

"Shall we return to the warmth of the indoors, Mlle. Christine? I will not have you ruining your throat over a circus like the one you have just seen." He offered his arm, an expectant expression clouding his visible face over. The brunette relaxed and took his arm, silently noting the hard, graceful strength with which he carried himself.

"I think we shall, M. Erik. I must care for my voice on your instruction, mustn't I?" They set off for the opera's doors, thoroughly warmed by simple contact with the other and only pretending concern over the weather.

…

Mme. Giry looked through the season's master schedule and frowned. The way everything ran, she would not be able to investigate her daughter's until after the multiple performances of Il Guarany, nearly a two months from the immediate date. Ah, Meg, where have you gone? Who has taken you, and why? They must pay for all my grief and all you are suffering…

Enclosed in the warm office, with a fire crackling and murmuring quietly, she was soothed temporarily. Erik would search for her kin, and would find the girl for sure. And he would bring her back. Nothing was impossible for him, as far as this woman was concerned. She had seen him produce cobras from the mouths of children and make them dissolve into shimmering ribbons of light. No indeed, nothing was impossible for her friend and ally Erik.

Many mothers in her place would be in mourning, even on the edge of breakdown, but no, not this hard old woman. She had work to do, work that her beloved daughter would be proud of whether she yet lived or had died… But she wouldn't want her death to go unknown, or her abduction, if the police can do nothing. A log in the fireplace split, the coals around it sending up a myriad of bright, hot sparks. I must announce it somehow…but not to my dancers. To someone capable.

"Mme. Giry, I have written to a…friend of mine about your plight. He can help you, and he will be here in several days' time." She did not look up, for she had long since become accustomed to Erik's silent entrances.

"Don't you have five amateur singers to prepare, and a score to rewrite for their voice types?" The lady, standing tall in the middle of the room, glared at the fire as if it had stolen her Meg away. "I cannot wait for several days while a letter is delivered and this 'friend' travels to Paris from however far away, Erik."

"Meg is not in any danger. Of that I am sure."

"Right. And swine may sprout bat wings and elephants' tusks." She turned her vengeful gaze upon Erik. He did not flinch, but stepped to the side cabinet to pour the two of them drinks. "Erik, are you listening?"

"I am. But so long as she is locked up in that prison, I cannot reach her or communicate with her, much less rescue her." He handed his friend a fall spice cordial and took a gulp of his own. "Here; I know you dislike alcohol, but this will taste better than straight vodka." The masked man watched, unsurprised, as Mme. Giry tossed the liquid over the fire and set the glass back on the table.

"You were saying?"

…

Anna walked with Christine back to their shared room when dinner was over. It had been a long and rather distracting day, but a peculiar expression has washed over the redhead's face and had yet to wash out (much like the violet coloring in her hair, which she had thought was soap and now thought was a nuisance). "You're thinkin' 'bout somethin'. I can tell s'don' lie t'me.

"And you're going to have a hard time washing that dye out of your hair. Although I must admit that it looks rather charming on you." She giggled as her roommate slapped at her arm.

"Stop avoidin' th'question!" The wooden floor creaked as the two dodged about and swatted at each other in play. "I know: you're in love with someone!"

"I am not and you know it, Anna Iseal!" Christine danced through the door of her room and flopped onto the springy, generously covered bed. "I only keep my head on when I find something interesting!" The older girl tossed her large down pillow at her roommate's head, emphasizing her point.

"Someone, you mean!" The thin soprano sprang up in mock indignation, and launched her cushion at Anna.

"Don't tell me you're not denying something as well! You keep telling everyone that the dye was on purpose, and we both know you just didn't look at the labels!" The Irishwoman sat back on her bunk and pouted.

"You're in love with M. Erik." The playful mood in the room dissipated.

"Excuse me?" Christine almost flinched. "He flirts with me. I don't flirt back."

"Liar." Anna's mouth turned up at its left corner.

"I don't lie. And besides, what could I possibly see in him? He's our teacher, for heaven's sake!" She sat up and smoothed back her curls. "I simply don't think it's possible to fall in love in just a week or so. It's too much like a fairytale, and I know fairytales are not real." The conviction in her voice alerted Anna that she should drop the subject.

"If you insist, but I think you're goin' to find yourself thinkin' those wild tales are true very soon."

Just outside, Erik leaned against the door and let his gaze wander as he considered what he'd just heard. In their little mock spat, they hadn't noticed or heard the door close. Is she in love with me? The notion was almost terrifying. Love was not something he had been subjected to, even though all the most horrendous ordeals had been given him in his time as the head assassin in the Ottoman Empire. She denies it.

The Irish girl had seen it, and now he saw it too. He had glimpsed Christine's eyes just after he had finished the sparring session with Eter, filled with fascination and something akin to awe and almost…attraction. It would be foolish of her to love me. And it is foolish of me to imagine she loves me. He did his best to push the hope from his heart. I will not be captured by nonexistent feelings.

…

Salim Castelot-Barbezac paced in his room, though his feet were sore and he was cold. He had recovered from his fever, but now he was plagued with insomnia. If anyone has had more illnesses than I, I would like to hear from them…although someone as sickly as I am would probably have died by now. He had closed his sliding door tonight, for the frost had become more severe in the last few days, and the maids had yet again completely sterilized his room to protect him from any germs.

A knock startled him from his reverie. The dark shape was standing on his balcony. Should I open it to him? What if I am going mad and he is just one of my fevered imaginings? He remembered the payment for his information, and his chest swelled with hope and doubt. Will he give me something to make me well again?

"Little Castelot, stop your worrying and come outside!" the voice commanded. "Debts need paying." That cannot be imaginary. He must have a cure. He must! The boy slid the glass door open and shivered, but took the needed step and felt the cold stone under his feet.

"You came back. I didn't expect you. Most people just want to take advantage of the desperate bastard child…but you came back." His eyes shone with thankfulness, and Erik found himself extremely uncomfortable with the expression. People didn't usually thank him for arriving at their houses in the middle of the night.

Erik retrieved the vial from within his cloak and placed it in Salim's hand. "I am simply returning a favor." The youth peeked at the black, sticky-looking contents and almost turned paler than he already was.

"What is it?" Is he dense as well as weak?

"Your medication."

"It looks toxic."

"It is toxic." The boy almost dropped the delicate container.

"What?!" The shadowy form seemed to bend slightly under the weight of an exasperated sigh.

"Science, boy. Medicine is always toxic in some way. This one is toxic to the particular kind of germ you have, and it will bolster your immunity as well. There's also a strengthening agent mixed in, so you should be able to ride horseback without falling in a few weeks." The cool, slightly impatient tone of his voice at last proved to Salim that this individual was fully human.

"Are you a doctor?" Erik allowed himself a grimly amused smile behind his mask.

"Hardly," he replied, but furthered the boy's suspicions with his next sentence. "Take it orally, diluted in a cup of water and get to bed immediately. The sedative should take effect immediately and numb the pain. It would be better to be asleep when your body repairs itself."

"So you are a doctor!" The figure only shook his head and Salim could have sworn he'd seen the strange, shining eyes roll exaggeratedly.

"I am not a doctor. Now, good evening, little baron, and remember to take your medicine as soon as possible." He lifted himself up onto the railing and to the noble's alarm, stepped off and appeared to fall. Just seconds later, a black shape glided down to the hard ground and stood again, cape falling back to its original limp, cloth state. He can fly!

On the pavement, the genius paused to look back. The boy at last attained an expression of joy on befitting of his age, and waved. Another first…I have given someone a gift. What the hell is wrong with me?