Chapter Five - Beware the Trapdoors
Angelique watch the men spin around to face her, their eyes enlarging upon seeing her at the door.
"Mademoiselle Archambault!" Philippe exclaimed, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.
"Mademoiselle! Tell me you've seen her! I beg of you, please tell me you know where Christine is!" Raoul de Chagny begged, lunging for her and grasping her arms.
"I would if I knew, Monsieur. Please unhand me," she said calmly, watching his face as he realized what he had done and immediately released her.
"Forgive me," he said, his face flushed bright red. "But I am extremely anxious to know of her whereabouts."
"She was nothing but trouble, Raoul, I warned you!" Philippe scolded him, his brows furrowed in frustration. "That girl-!"
"That girl is my friend, and I intend to find out just what happened," Angelique interrupted, sending him a cold look.
"But the police-" Raoul began.
"At this moment, I doubt the police will be looking for Christine Daae, monsieur. That chandelier has most likely killed someone-"
"The concierge," Philippe informed them. "He was supposed to have replaced Madame Giry, but the chandelier hit him and he died instantly, according to the managers."
"That poor man, and poor Madame!" Angelique thought, placing her hand upon her cheek as she struggled to think. "Where could Christine have be taken to? This Opera Ghost must be the culprit, therefore I must find him. But where can one find a phantom…?"
"Stay away from any trapdoors you may find," Meg Giry's voice echoed in her mind.
The idea struck her so suddenly that she almost exclaimed a cry of delight, but she held her tongue, glancing at the two men as they bantered on what to do next. The last thing she needed was someone hovering over her shoulder or telling her what to do.
"I'm going to find the police," Raoul said stubbornly, his blue eyes hard and cold as he glared at his brother. "I shall find Christine!"
Both Philippe and Angelique watched him storm out of the dressing room, silent and pensive. "I'm sorry for my brother's behavior," the elder said politely, turning to the seamstress. "And I'm sorry if I offended you."
"Of course not," she answered lightly, ready to leave and search as soon as possible. "Do excuse me, I shouldn't be here anyways."
"Mademoiselle, won't you come back with us?" he said suddenly, startling her so much that she looked over her shoulder to stare at him.
"Pardon?" she asked, one eyebrow arched at him.
Holding his hands up in defense, he looked her in the eye and explained, "Do not misunderstand me, Mademoiselle Archambault. I realize it must be difficult to be in your situation, and now with this madness, the opera house is not a safe place to be. Raoul and I live not too far from here, and we have several spare rooms. I've already sent a letter to your uncle, mademoiselle, and I should feel rather guilty to not at least offer you a home until we get a response from him."
She blinked, stunned by his answer. Biting her bottom lip, she turned to face him and bowed her head. "I thank you for your generosity, Monsieur le Comte, but I must refuse. I could not take advantage of your kindness-"
"But you wouldn't!" he insisted, stopping himself as he realized he was beginning to sound as impulsive as his little brother. "Please, Miss Angelique-"
"I have been in worse situations than this, Comte de Chagny, I can assure you," she said with a smile though her eyes were grim. "I have survived, and I will not be intimidated by some 'ghost'. Thank you, though, for your concern." Curtsying, she turned and stepped out of the room, quickening her step as she made her way for the halls once more.
"Mademoiselle, wait! Please-!" Philippe cried, stretching his arm after her as he exited the room and started to chase her.
"Philippe!"
He stopped in his tracks as the new voice assaulted him, turning his head to the left to see La Sorelli running towards him. She was still dressed in her scarlet ballet gown, her hair curled and placed atop her head so that the ringlets surrounded her frightened face. "Oh, Philippe! Thank goodness I found you! Did you find anything out?"
"No," he shook his head, gentlemanly offering his arm to her, which she instantly accepted and curled at his side. "No, nothing yet…" His eyes drifted towards the direction in which Angelique had vanished, his stomach twisting in a knot. "But I'm sure I shall soon."
~OG~
With a spool of thick thread from the workroom and a lit candle in her hands, Angelique stepped cautiously into the darkness of the back of the theater. She could make out a faint scent of horses and manure, signaling that she was close to the stalls. While it would have been easier to find a trapdoor at the front of the theater where the stage was located, it was swarming with police and onlookers – she wanted to be alone. Coming upon a wall lined with dimly lit torches, she inspected the area, her fingers caressing the walls' surface.
Suddenly, her fingers felt the slight, unnatural crack that could be associated with a door. It was nearly seamless, but there it was, even more inconspicuous in the shadows. These halls were barely used or visited, cobwebs forming in the corners of the corridors. Her brows knit together as she brought the candle, placed firmly in its rusted holder, up to the wall, allowing her to inspect any marks and bumps that might appear. Releasing a sigh, she raised her arm and grasped the torch placed in the wall, hoping to strengthen its light by placing her candle on its stem. It jerked suddenly with her weight, causing her to jump back in surprise, a squeak escaping her lips despite her efforts to remain calm. As the torch dropped, a door slid open before her, showing the entrance to a dark labyrinth within the massive building.
"…well, let's get a move on," she whispered to herself, stepping into the doorway. Setting the candle down, she took a moment and swiftly tied the beginning of the thread onto the torch's handle before entering once more, the spool tactfully held in one hand whilst the candle was held aloft in the other. She had made it in just a few steps when the secret door shut on her, encasing her in darkness. She remained perfectly still, with only the light of the candle illuminating the passageway. Inhaling silently, she held her breath and moved onward, her eyes scanning the perimeter constantly, her ears alert to any and every sound.
For what felt like eons, she moved on, always allowing the thread to unfurl, the candlelight gently lighting the way for her. Several times she stopped, hearing rats scurry by or water drip onto the cobblestone floors, half expecting something to jump out at her. "Get a hold of yourself," she scolded herself, as she reached a set of winding stairs. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone in the passages, which she now assumed to be catacombs from the distinct smell that the halls and stones gave off. "I just hope I don't get lost-"
No sooner had she stepped off the stairway and into the new passage, a looming figure appeared to pop out of the shadows. A scream escaped her as she jumped back, dropping the thread in her fright as a hand reached out and covered her mouth. Twisting her body, she began to fight back when the stranger held up his torch and stepped towards her, showing his swarthy face.
"Shh!" His eyes darted to and fro, listening for any sound other than the dying echo of her scream. Satisfied, he removed his hand from her face and knelt down, grasping the spool with his long fingers. "I apologize for frightening you," he said humbly, his voice tinted with a thick, Persian accent. He stood once again, offering her the thread when she did not move. "However, you should not be here, mademoiselle. It is quite dangerous."
She remain silent and still, accepting the spool from him while taking in his countenance. She had only seen him once before – early that evening, just before the show started, she found him wandering behind the stage, tall and imposing in his foreign apparel. He had a dark complexion, narrow jade eyes, and a short black beard growing from his chin, the look completed with an astrakhan cap upon his head. "You… you're the one they call 'The Persian', aren't you?"
A small smile grew on his lips as he bowed to her. "I am he, however, you may call me 'Daroga', Mademoiselle Archambault."
She gaped at him, shyly tucking her hair out of her face. "How did you-?"
"You are the subject of the ballerinas' chatter lately, I'm afraid," he chuckled. "And it is difficult to ignore them, especially when in a cluster. They greatly admire your work and are extremely curious about you."
"Oh," she said quietly. Pursing her lips in thought, she asked, "Monsieur, you tell me it is not safe here, and yet, you are also wandering the catacombs… why?"
"The same reason you have – to find Christine Daae." He held up his hand when she opened her mouth, motioning for her to wait. "Walk with me, mademoiselle, and I shall explain. However, you shall have to leave either your thread or candle behind. It is important when down here that you keep your hand at the level of your eyes, lest you wish to lose your life."
She frowned at this, unable to comprehend what he meant. However, she was extremely curious, so she blew out her candle and set it on the floor, abandoning it as she joined the man's side and continued to unwind the thread, the torch now their only source of light.
"I was the head of police in my country, thus the title 'Daroga' was given to me," he explained. "It was there that I first met Erik."
"Erik?" she repeated, the name sending shivers down her spine.
"He is the Opera Ghost," Daroga informed her. "He is a genius, Miss. He is a ventriloquist, a singer, a musician, an architect, a composer, a magician, an artist, an assassin… he can accomplish just about anything he sets his mind to… unfortunately, he is hideously deformed."
"Deformed?" she echoed. "How?"
"His entire being, but mostly his face," the man answered with a stern face. He continued to guide her, already very familiar with some of the underground passages. "He looks like Death himself… those that see his face want to forget it, and many have died after seeing it."
She said nothing, absorbing all that he said, her imagination spinning with ideas and the words the Persian now spoke. "How did you meet him?"
"He has traveled all over the world. For a time, he stopped in Persia and worked for the Shah and his daughter, the little Sultana. Once he outlived his usefulness, however, the Shah ordered me to kill him."
"But you didn't," she cut in.
He shook his head. "No… we had a mutual understanding…I had seen his face before and accepted him nonetheless. We had done small favors for one another, and when I was told he was to be executed, I simply could not do it. So I helped him escape, and for a time, all was quiet until I was allowed to retire and given my pension… and then I heard about strange happenings here in the opera. I came to investigate and knew at once that it was Erik who was up to no good. It is the new managers that are giving him so much trouble that he feels the need to strike out in such an alarming manner. Also, he is infatuated with Miss Daae. He is her instructor."
"The Angel of Music," she whispered, making the connection at once.
"Yes. Now he has taken her, and I fear that it will be their undoing. That is why it is not safe for you to be here. If he should find us wandering these corridors, he may not be so merciful. He has a lasso and can strike with deadly precision. It would be too late when you finally notice that you are in his clutches."
"How did you know I was looking for Christine and not the Phantom?" she asked, avoiding a large puddle as she allowed him to guide her even deeper into the catacombs, the air becoming cooler as they moved onward.
"I heard you and Miss Daae speaking in her dressing room this afternoon," he confessed. "I was looking for Erik and happened to pass by. Again, I apologize."
"Well, I'm just grateful it was you who found me, Monsieur Daroga," she smiled.
He smiled back before looking up, stopping in his tracks. "Look."
She followed his gaze, her eyes widening at the sight of a handsome white horse tethered to a post as a torch placed into the wall lit up the area, showing them that he was chewing on a mouthful of hay. A bucket of water and a pile of hay lay on the floor for the magnificent animal, and he blinked calmly at them as they approached.
"It appears Erik is the culprit of the missing Profeta horse," the Persian noted.
Angelique reached out and caressed the creature's face, letting the horse sniff her. "Why would he take a horse?"
"Most likely to assist him in bringing down Mademoiselle Daae," Daroga answered, motioning for her to follow. "Come…and remember, keep your hand by your eyes."
She did as she was told, even if she felt it looked a bit ridiculous, and walked down the path until she saw a vast expanse of water before them. "A lake…!"
"On the other side is Erik's home," the Persian informed her. "Please, Miss, stay close." His eyes rested on a lone boat tied to the steps. "If we are to find Miss Daae, we must hurry. Erik cannot see us-"
"I'm afraid, Daroga, it is too late."
The sound of the menacing, velvet-like voice seemed to swirl around them, like the mist rolling off of the murky waters. Angelique felt her body stiffen as she heard the voice, wanting to step closer to the Persian, and yet, not daring to make a move for fear that the Phantom would attack.
"Erik," said the Daroga, slowly turning around and looking for the man. "We have come for Miss Daae – you must release her!"
"I beg to differ," sneered the voice, a shadow sneaking up behind the other man.
"Monsieur, look out!" cried Angelique, dropping the thread once more that evening as she pointed at the oncoming figure.
The Persian spun around quickly, raising his arms as his opponent attacked. He grunted as they struggled, planting his feet firmly to the ground. "You cannot keep her here!"
"You cannot tell me what to do!" the masked figure snapped back.
Angelique watched in awe as the two men battled – one from the East, the other a man of darkness and shades, his head and body covered with a midnight cloak, an expressionless mask covering the face, with two slots for the eyes. She gasped as she noted how brilliantly his eyes glowed, appearing to be golden coals set in dark, black sockets. As the men continued to fight, her eyes were instantly drawn to the edge of the steps that led to the boat and water. If they continued to struggle with one another, surely they would fall in and get injured, possibly even drown!
"Stop!" she cried out, running to them. With her arms outstretched, she gave a mighty shove at the two, stunning them long enough to pause and see what had caused her to do so. No sooner had she roughly shoved them, her ankle gave out from under her, sending her off balance and tripping. With a scream, she felt herself slip off of the edge and plunge into the icy waters, sinking with each passing second.