'Erik has something he needs to apologise for,' said Hephaestus, as Cheiron opened the door to let the visitors in.

'Scrap that!' interrupted Spark. 'What happened to Wonder?'

'I did,' said Anakin. 'It was – an overreaction. But Erik should not have been using them to spy on us.'

'That was our idea – Wonder's and mine,' Spark said. 'We decided – his brain might have human hardware, but it never got the normal human programming, so he doesn't understand most things about how being a human works, like relationships. He knows about love plots in operas, and he knows about Raoul and Christine, but they'd been best friends since they were about five years old, so that's different. And he knows about stalking Christine and blackmailing and kidnapping her, and convincing himself that that was love. But he doesn't know about humans just meeting each other and deciding they like each other and falling in love. So we decided we needed to show him these memories about Aral and Cordelia. We're networked together anyway, so if I was here watching a memory, Erik could watch it through Wonder, and if Wonder was here, Erik could watch it through me.'

Anakin wasn't sure he believed this. Metal had a Force-signature – everything in the universe did – but not in a way that made it easy to know whether a droid is lying. Not all droids are programmed to tell the truth, and for some, the instinct to protect people overrides everything else. 'Is this true?' he asked, swivelling his hover-chair to face Erik, who was still standing outside the doorway in the darkness.

'Yes,' said Erik, truth shining a bright gold in his Force presence. He was wearing his mask, but it didn't make any difference. 'Wonder told me about these memories yesterday and asked if I was interested.'

'How much did you see?'

'All of it – from the trek across the planet with the turquoise sky. Wonder replayed the first few episodes that they'd seen for me, before Spark started broadcasting the next instalment. Only – I never expected it to stick me in the heart like this.'

'You felt a resonance,' said Anakin. Erik nodded. 'You are another one like us. Another monster who finally rebelled against his Master and killed him, to protect an innocent prisoner.'

Severus miaowed mournfully.

'It's all right, Severus,' said Cheiron. 'It wasn't your fault you couldn't save Lily's life. You worked to defeat Voldemort because it was the right thing to do, even though it couldn't bring Lily back. And you did protect Harry.'

Severus yowled still more wretchedly.

'You did, I promise,' said Cheiron. 'I'll show you proof, if you like, when you feel up to watching Harry's memories. But do you think it would be best to wait until you're human again, for that?'

Severus said nothing.

'No,' said Erik to Anakin. 'I was not like you. I have no master. I left my masters behind, when they condemned me to death and I faked my death and escaped. By the time I saw Christine, I – I was more like that admiral in the memory. Only not as good-looking, of course.'

'Who was Christine?' Anakin asked.

'A chorus girl at the Paris Opera House. Which I had built, by the way, when I tired of being court torturer, spymaster and assassin for assorted despots and decided to find a normal job. Then, when my job was done, I had retired to the secret lair that I had built myself in the deepest bowels of the basements, and settled down to a life as the resident ghost, extorting money and a private box from the management so I could watch all performances in comfort and privacy.

'But then – I saw Christine. She was a chorus girl, with a charming voice but no idea how to use it. I had taken an interest in a number of talented youngsters over the years – it's amazing how much a ghost can do to bring a good actor or dancer or singer to the notice of the managers, get them the chance to show their ability in a good role, and see them rise to fame, wealth, and noble rank. But Christine was the first singer I had heard sing badly and resolved to teach, instead of ordering the managers to fire her at once.

'I arranged to speak to her without her seeing me, or even knowing that I was a man and not an ethereal voice. I offered to give her lessons, and she said, "Oh! Are you Papa's angel? I thought you'd left me because I couldn't bear to sing any more, after Papa died."

'I thought that she couldn't know how lucky she had been to have had a Papa who loved her in the first place. But nevertheless, I humoured her, and said, "Yes, my child, I was angry with you for neglecting your gift, but I will forgive you if you will study hard now."

'Well, she did work hard, and she certainly did have talent for music. She wasn't very bright, as you can imagine, but she had such a sweet, trusting personality that the more she confided in her 'angel' about how much she missed Papa, and how her foster-mother was getting on, and how funny and lovable the children in the company were, and so on, the more I wanted her to know and love me as a human being. I thought that I could learn to be a good man, if I only had her love.

'I resolved to admit the truth to her after the night of her first solo performance, which she did quite magnificently. Only that night – the boy turned up. A young sailor, on leave for a few months and staying with his older brother. And, as Spark was good enough to inform you, he and Christine had been best friends when they were children, when they used to go door-to-door begging householders to tell them fairy-tales, and tried to spot kobolds dancing in the moonlight.

'So, inevitably, we became rivals for Christine's love. I was arrogant, selfish, possessive and unkind, but then, so was the boy Raoul. Poor Christine didn't know what to do. She loved Raoul – anyone with any sense could see that, though I tried not to – and she feared me because she knew that I would have no hesitation in murdering Raoul if she dared to get too close to him. And yet – she did continue to return to me after I kidnapped her the first time and let her go, and I told myself that she returned of her own will because she was coming to love me, gradually at least. Of course, it wasn't true. Mainly, she was trying to appease me because she was afraid. But also, she felt sorry for me, because she knew how lonely I was. Christine was one of only two unselfish people I have ever known.'

'Who was the other?' asked Anakin.

'A retired police chief named Nadir Khan. He was – well, the best way that I can put it is that he was the opposite of Inspector Javert in Victor Hugo's novel, if anyone here has read that?' (Spark, Severus and Cheiron nodded.) 'If they made an opera about a policeman who dedicates his life to following an escaped criminal, he would be like Inspector Javert, merciless and ruthlessly judgemental. Who knows, perhaps they will make an opera of Hugo's novel! But Khan gave up his career – and risked his own life – to help me escape when I was condemned to die, and followed me from Persia to France, not to hunt me down, but simply to keep an eye on me, try to dissuade me from committing too many murders, and warn the people I planned to strangle of how best to evade me. He was the nearest that I had ever had to a friend. If they made an opera of my life, I suppose they would omit Khan altogether, to make me more romantically alone and mysterious.

'At any rate, I laid my plans. I kidnapped Christine again, to explain the choices before her. She could marry me, and I would wear a mask that made me look like a normal, unremarkable person, and we would get a flat and go for walks in the park on Sundays and sing together and be a normal, happy, married couple. Or, if she preferred, she could refuse, and I would kill her and myself and everyone else in the opera house – including Raoul and Inspector Khan, who had come to try to rescue her and were trapped in my torture-chamber behind my den in the basement. I had already written her both a wedding march and a requiem mass, I explained, so as to be prepared for whatever choice she might make.

'Of course, she agreed to marry me – she might have preferred to be dead than married to me, but a good, sane girl like Christine couldn't wish the deaths of hundreds of innocent bystanders. But – it wasn't just that – she let me kiss her on the forehead! And she was so soft and warm and alive that it made me realise I'd never really imagined what it would be like, to have a real live wife. And that made me cry, and I had to take off my mask because I was choking, and – she didn't scream or run away! She just stayed with me and cried with me. I threw myself at her feet like a dog and kissed her feet, and she said, "Poor unhappy Erik!" and held my hand.

'And that was when I truly loved her, and when I knew that marriage between us would never work, and that she loved Raoul and I loved her enough to want her to be happy with Raoul. And I knew that it was time to die. Not because I wanted to kill myself in a grand dramatic gesture any more, but just because Christine had let me kiss her, and there was nothing more that life could have to offer me.'

'I wish it had,' said Cheiron gently. 'I hope the afterlife does, anyway.'

'Maybe,' said Erik. 'I never expected the afterlife to give me Hephaestus and Charis – I mean, not just because when I used to see statues of Greek gods in the theatre I never expected to meet them in the flesh, but because they're like parents to me. It's not as if my real parents ever showed me any love, after all. They wouldn't even look at me, because I was so ugly.'

'Ah, but you see, my mother rejected me for being ugly, too,' said Hephaestus. 'I was lucky enough to find a good foster-family, so why wouldn't I foster someone else, in turn? And Charis is used to ugly men, or she wouldn't have married me.'

'Do you have any children?'

'Four daughters with Charis: Eucleia, Euthenia, Eupheme and Philophrosyne. And assorted other offspring here and there, over the millennia.'

'If you've become my parents, does that mean you have to punish me?' Erik asked.

'What sort of punishment do you think would be appropriate?' Hephaestus countered.

'You could blind me, to stop me spying on anyone again. That's what the Shah was planning to do, to stop me building anything better for anyone else than I had for him, until he realised it would be a lot simpler just to hang me. Or you could lock me in my cage with no food. That's what they used to do at the circus, when I was a boy.'

'How about this?' suggested Hephaestus. 'You've shown that you can't be trusted when left to your own devices, so for the next six months, there has to be a responsible adult keeping an eye on you at all times: myself, or Charis, or Cheiron. Obviously you're allowed privacy in the bathroom and so on, but no just sitting in your room with only a robot for company until we can trust you not to suborn them. And we'll warn Spark and Wonder that next time they have a bright idea that they think could help you, they're to discuss it with us first. Does that sound fair?'

'Am I still allowed to go out with Professor Higgins and Svengali?'

'If you were a typical teenager, I probably ought to ground you,' said Hephaestus. 'But I'm not sure it would do much good here. As Spark says, the problem is that you don't have enough social life as it is. However, Svengali isn't exactly a good influence, so – yes, you can spend time with him, but I'll be there to supervise.'

'Why are we just talking about Erik?' interrupted Spark. 'What about Anakin's punishment? He strangled Wonder!'

'What do you think would be fair?' asked Hephaestus.

'Well, for a start, we don't do any more work on his new limbs until we've finished fixing Wonder. Then, when Wonder's back online, they can decide what else should happen.'

'That seems fair,' said Hephaestus. 'But I'll veto any suggestions that are too vindictive. Now – in view of what's happened, would you rather not stay over here to help take care of Anakin tonight?'

'Nah, I'm not scared,' said Spark. 'He's not stupid enough to damage both of us. Not if he wants there to be anyone to lift him into his chair in the morning.'

Anakin stifled a yawn. It had been a long, emotionally intense evening.

'Are you about ready for bed now?' Cheiron asked.

'Nearly. But I have a recommendation.'

'Yes?'

'Erik should be allowed to come here in the evenings to watch these memories with us. He is – another one like us.' Except that Erik was a slave who had escaped his evil master without finding redemption. He wasn't so different from what Darth Vader would have been like if he had first killed Palpatine and made himself Emperor, and then captured Luke and set about trying to force him, by whatever means necessary, to become Vader's Apprentice. And Erik hadn't had the advantage either of having a good mother like Shmi when he was young, or finding good mentors like Aral Vorkosigan and Cordelia Naismith as an adult. He clearly had a lot of respect for Nadir Khan, but it didn't sound as if they had been particularly close. So how was he supposed to know how to be good? And yet, somehow, he still did want to learn. So he needed all the help he could get.

'Konstantine, what do you think?' asked Cheiron. 'After all, these memories relate to your world and your life, so it's up to you.'

Konstantine considered. 'I agree,' he said in the end.

'Are you sure?'

'He'll spy on us anyway. This way, we know where he is and what he's watching.'

Severus, curled up in Konstantine's lap, looked sharply up at him, considering the logic of this. After a few moments, he, too, nodded his head in assent.

'Will you be able to manage?' Hephaestus asked Cheiron. 'You're acquiring quite a Reformed Villains' Support Group here.'

'I think so,' said Cheiron. 'Let's try it and see how it goes.'