Sorry folks; the first version of this chapter that I tried to post was a mess. This should be a better one.

Chapter 38. July 1887.

Eventually, they came through a particularly thick section of trees, and emerged before a lovely little pool with a small waterfall, its surface glimmering in the early dawn. White birches grew in a ring around it, with moss-covered stones in between them, and there were soft patches of emerald green grass, and flowers of many colours. Here Erik reined up Cesar, and said quietly, "Well? What do you think?"

"Oh," breathed Christine. "It's lovely! Why, it's just like a fairies' pool! Oh, how pretty. Thank you!"

He seemed quite gratified, and his mood had improved immensely as the morning went on. Christine was thankful that they had not gone on quarrelling for all that long; if they had, they might each have been so angry with the other that the entire day would have been ruined, and she very much did not want that to happen, now that she had seen the wonderful present he was trying to give her. He swung down out of the saddle, and she stretched out her arms to him happily. When her feet hit the ground, she tilted her head back and gazed up at the canopy of green leaves above her, wishing her boots and stockings were off so that she could dig her toes into the grass. Then she realised how ridiculous it was for a married woman to want to do such a childish thing – but she still wanted to.

Erik took off the horse's bridle and saddles, put a halter and a long lead on him, and then led him down to the pool to drink. Cesar lowered his nose to the water, blew out a breath, and drank gladly. When he was finished, his white muzzle dripping as he raised it from the pool, Erik pounded a stake into the ground, and tied Cesar to it. He finished securing the lead rope, gave it an experimental tug to see if it would hold, and then came back up the little rise of ground to unpack the saddle bags. The roll behind the saddles proved to be an old quilt, and the bags to contain a Jules Verne novel called "Salvage from the Cynthia" – there was a character who was an exceptionally bright boy named Erik; the amusement which Christine gained from this was felt by her husband, who was very fond of Verne's works, to be far more than it merited – the copy of "The Affair of the Necklace" which Christine was reading; some clean napkins, dishes and cutlery; a bottle of wine; and an assortment of leftovers, tidily packaged. It appeared that Erik had gone through their larder while she was asleep and scrounged whatever he could find. And he'd gone and gotten Cesar, and saddled and bridled the horse and put on the packbags, and dressed and woken her up, all by three o'clock in the morning.

"Did you sleep at all?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"On the couch."

"Oh, Erik."

"Do not 'oh, Erik' me, wife," he said as he spread out the quilt where there was room. "I was not about to disturb your sleep for a second night in a row." He helped her to sit down, and then shrugged out of his coat and laid it out carefully along one edge of the blanket, after which he joined her on it as well and began to unwrap some of the bundles.

"How long did you sleep?" Christine asked suspiciously.

"Long enough."

"How long is 'enough'?"

"Less than you, but longer than I would have when I was a free man, before I became required to answer to you as to my eating and sleeping habits – and, no doubt, how often I clean my teeth and change my linen. There. Satisfied?"

"No. You are so much healthier and happier when you get enough sleep."

There was a quick flash of puzzlement in the golden eyes, and then he lowered them again. He took out his cufflinks, slipping them into a waistcoat pocket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves to above his elbows, exposing his wiry forearms. There was a long curving scar across the top of the right one, which he had told her was the souvenir of a long-ago knife fight in Turkey. He began peeling a rather dusty orange, and Christine watched the swift movements of the long thin fingers, and wondered how they could make even such a simple act look elegant. She considered telling him so, but did not; she had noticed of late that it tended to unsettle him when she focused on his hands, though he would not explain why.

Instead she took off her hat and gloves, and then gazed around and asked, "When did you find this place?"

"A long time ago," he answered, and gave her some segments of orange. "I have been 'borrowing' Cesar from time to time for years."

She blinked at him, her mouth full of orange juice, swallowed, and said, "You have?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I like to go for a ride from time to time, to get out of the city and have a chance to be in the sunlight where no one is likely to come upon me. I would leave very early in the morning, as we did today, and not go back until after dark. But of course, that requires travelling some distance, and that requires a horse. It would have been inconvenient for me to have acquired and stabled one somewhere, and so I watched the Opera's stable master for a time to see if he were the sort of fellow who might be amenable to my methods of... bargaining. He was, and so we have a mutually beneficial relationship. Monsieur Lachenal is paid handsomely to look the other way when Cesar disappears for a day, and to tell his underlings not to ask questions about it. And I, for my part, pay attention to when the beast is actually needed and refrain from absconding with him at those times."

"But... the new managers acted as though he had never been taken before?" wondered Christine.

"The new managers are interfering fools, and do not understand that when you take over the management of some place, it is wise to wait a bit till you comprehend how things operate before you begin passing judgements upon them. They insisted upon sticking their noses into parts of the Opera House which were not their concern, and so when they found things which were, naturally enough, incomprehensible to them, they raised a hue and cry."

His tone was smooth and persuasive. Christine digested his words slowly as she finished her orange. His words always seemed to make so much sense when he was saying them; but later, when she was away from him and his voice, sometimes they no longer did. He was quiet now, and she was feeling a tiny, niggling doubt. Of course, from Erik's point of view, the desire of the new managers to examine the workings of the Opera House would seem like unwelcome interference. But on the other hand... what right had he had to take whatever he wanted from it, and pay people to let him... with stolen money?

He was speaking again, and her doubts slid away before she could seize hold of them.

"I wandered a good bit during my early rides on Cesar, and still do from time to time. But when I discovered this little place, I liked it very much, and I found myself returning to it again. It is far away from the paths that the tourists take, and no one ever comes here. It is quiet, and shady, but I could also lie in the sun and take my mask off for a little while, without risking anyone seeing me."

"It is so strange to think of you doing anything like that," said Christine quietly. "The others at the Opera House would never believe that the ghost likes to sit in the sun as they do."

"I will admit that I do not need it as much as most people seem to," he answered. "I do not go out in the city in daylight now if I can help it. But I expect that Erik will be spending a great deal more time in the sun now that he has taken a wife who can not do without it."

She smiled at him. "Thank you. I know it is hard for you to do so."

"I did, though, years ago, when I had no choice. When I was in the Orient, and then later when I came back to France and worked as a contractor, I had to work during the day like everyone else. My teams of men at the sites of the Opera and the palaces of monarchs would not have been willing to be there in the middle of the night. They expected to come to work in the morning and leave in time for dinner as normal – nor could work be done in the dark. Most people can not see as well in the dark as I can."

"But you eventually abandoned any efforts at a normal life," Christine commented.

"I was weary, Christine. Weary of the stares, the whispered comments, the overt cruelties, the need to keep everyone I encountered too frightened of me to cause me any trouble. I was thirty by then; not a young man anymore, and I could feel my energies ebbing."

Christine thought privately that Erik's idea of ebbing energies was probably not the same as anyone else's.

"I could not bear up under the strain of people's reactions to me as I had been able to in my youth," he continued. "I had begun to think wistfully of having someplace to retire to where I would be alone. I could have done it for a time, even then. I had money saved from my previous... work. But not enough to last for the rest of my life, by any stretch, and besides I could not think of a way to be thus isolated and still have the music which I wished to listen to. I could make my own, of course, and always had, but that is not the same as a full orchestra. So…I chose to make a home in the National Academy of Music."

Christine leaned back on her elbows and said longingly, "Won't you tell me more about it? You haven't yet, and I keep meaning to ask you about it. But you always distract me so that I don't remember to. You can be very distracting, you know."

"Are you sure? It's a long tale."

"Yes, please. We have all day, don't we?"

"Well, then. I put in a bid for work on the new Opera House more because of my love of music than for any other reason. I wished to see what they were going to do with it, and I thought that perhaps I could have some small influence on it. It was shortly after I began working there that I started to see the possibilities. I was living in a rented room at the time, braving the stares of the landlord and waiting until he made me leave, as the others had done. We were working on the foundations of the Opera House at that time, and the sub-cellars were already partly constructed. I found myself wandering there late at night, after everyone else had gone home, spinning fantasies in my head of what they could be made to be. I recalled the tricks and marvels which I had built for sultans and shahs in the East, and I imagined similar things which could be done here. It was very soon after that when it occurred to me that I could build myself a little home down there and live in it in peace. I had seen the blueprints; it was the work of a moment to realise that there was plenty of room for such an apartment in that space, and that no one would ever know I was there or even imagine that anyone might be. I thought over how I might be able to come up into the upper reaches of the Opera House to hear music; and then it came to me that if I remained working there, I would be in an excellent position to continue staying on the site late at night and build my trapdoors and secret passageways into it. I would be able to create a system wherein I could move about the building at will, and no one would be the wiser. It was thrilling. I began work on my house as soon as the sub-basements were sufficiently completed as not to allow anyone to see what I was doing there. It was not a hard thing to do."

"You worked all day at your official job, and then you worked for hours more on your house, and you don't think that was hard work?"

He smiled briefly, and explained, "Well, during the war I was out of a job, as were all the other workers, but by then I had enough money put aside that it was not a problem. And I was able to work as many hours as I liked during that period, so long as I stayed out of sight. I accomplished a great deal then. Also, it helped that I had moved onto the site as soon as possible. The very first things I had done had been to put up walls against the dirt and the cement, and a floor and a ceiling, and a concealed way of coming and going. Then I went to my landlord and gave up my room, and moved my things in. I did not own very much at the time. I had been moving from place to place for years, and it does not do to acquire too many possessions under those circumstances. So it was little trouble to bring in my spare clothing and some bedding, and what few books and other oddments I did have. I knocked up some shelves to put them on, and set about putting up interior walls and the other elements I needed to make a comfortable home for myself. I found ways to create ventilation, and put in plumbing so I might have hot and cold running water, and pipes for gas to light my stove and heat the house. I had nearly finished all this when I…acquired my mother's furniture."

Christine sat back up. "Why? Did she die just then?"

"No," he said, quite shortly, and she wondered why. "She had died two decades earlier. It was my father who died while I was working at the Opera, and as I had no siblings, I ended up with the furniture."

He was looking angry now, and she reached out and put her hand on his. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said gently. She wanted very much to know what it was about Erik's parents that was upsetting him so, this many years later, but she thought it was best if she allowed him to tell her about it in his own time.

He squeezed her hand, and said, "Thank you." He turned away and sliced a piece of bread, buttered it and handed it to her. She thanked him and took it, and ate it silently as she watched him. He had stretched out full-length on the quilt, supporting himself on one elbow, and was gazing out at the still water of the pool. His expression – well, what could be seen of it – had smoothed out, and was now merely neutral; but all of a sudden concern sprang into his golden eyes and he sat up swiftly.

"Here," he said, staring off in a different direction, and there was a quiet displeasure in his voice. Christine turned her head in the direction he was looking in, startled, and saw three rough-looking horses making their way through the trees toward Cesar. One called a challenge, high and shrill, and Cesar answered it, and then began to run around on his lead rope anxiously.

"Not people, just some farm colts, left loose to graze. I saw their tracks when I watered Cesar. Unshod. Too young to work, old enough to make trouble." He watched for a moment longer. The loose horses continued to approach. "We can not have this," said Erik, still in that soft, dangerous tone, and he bounded up abruptly and ran toward the horses. With a quick jerk he released Cesar's rope from the stake, then leapt onto Cesar's back and sent him at a gallop around the colts, without benefit of either saddle or bridle, staying astride with no apparent trouble.

Christine rolled to one side, got her feet awkwardly under her, and rose to her knees, shading her eyes with her hand to see what was happening. Cesar was now racing through trees, zigzagging back and forth to avoid them, as his rider held the lead rope in one hand to steer and swung the end of it at the intruding horses. A low branch was dead ahead of him now, and Christine reached out her hand impotently toward her husband. Erik ducked low to one side of Cesar's neck to go under the branch, and swerved the horse around the parent tree.

Christine tried to stand, but a fold of her dress was under one knee, and she heard it rip but ignored it. When she was on her feet, she picked up her tattered skirts to run, but then dropped them. Erik did not need to worry about her safety, while he was performing this mad feat; that would only make it more dangerous for him. She must stay out of the way. But it was difficult to stand there helpless, unable to do anything, waiting for him to fall or get swept off Cesar's back.

But he did neither of those. He clung to the horse's back with his long thin legs, his black trousers stark against Cesar's coat, controlling his mount with his knees, shifting his weight smoothly as needed and taking Cesar around the obstacles in their way without either of them being hit by any of them. The lean muscles of his arms were taut with power under the thin fabric of his shirt, the slender competent fingers of his right hand gripping the lead rope and his left hand manipulating the end of it to drive the horses before him. The colts scattered. Without hesitation Erik sent Cesar after the biggest one, and for a few heart-stopping moments they were lost to Christine's view among the trees. Then with a crashing of undergrowth they reappeared, the loose horse bolting back to its companions, Cesar in pursuit. Together again, the three whirled to face Cesar, looking ready to repeat their challenge to this intruding stranger.

Erik checked Cesar to a canter and turned to one side. Emboldened, the colts followed, but as the white horse led them around some bushes, the way was blocked by a fallen tree. Erik leapt Cesar easily over the obstacle, but the untrained colts stopped, confused. Circling to come round behind them, taking advantage of their uncertainty, Erik slashed the end of his rope across their rumps with a crack and gave a forceful cry which rang off the trees like thunder. The colts had had enough. Wheeling to the side past the fallen tree, they raced away.

Cesar pounded to a halt, his sides heaving, and Erik slid off him, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He patted the horse soothingly, and Cesar turned his elegant head and pushed it against Erik's chest. Christine watched her husband rub the horse's neck under his mane, and Cesar quivered and whinnied softly. Even a horse, it seemed, was not immune to Erik's hands. After a few moments of stroking, Erik led Cesar back to where he had originally staked him out, and did it again, and the horse breathed a great sigh and began to crop the grass once more.

Christine felt she had not breathed herself since this all started. When Erik started to walk back up the slope to her, she ran down to meet him instead, nearly tripping as she reached him and fell into his arms. He grabbed her, surprised.

"Erik – how did you do that?"

"Do what?" he said blankly, as she put her arms around his neck, tingling all over as she pressed the lengths of their bodies together.

"That! Ride Cesar like that!"

"I was…only getting rid of those other horses," Erik explained in bemusement. "Cesar needs a rest; I couldn't let them…" He trailed off, staring down into her widened eyes. "You were…impressed by that?"

"Why, yes! Why wouldn't I have been? Where did you learn to ride like that?" she exclaimed.

"I've…always been able to manage horses easily," he replied, looking down at her with a faint satisfaction beginning to show in his eyes. "Riding bareback on a horse with a prominent backbone can be, shall we say, rather painful. But Cesar is well-fed, and therefore comfortable enough. It was not difficult. Why is that so extraordinary?"

"Everything about you is extraordinary," Christine said throatily. She snatched off his wig and mask, pulled his head down and kissed him hard. He responded with surprise, but then with growing enthusiasm, and when they drew apart she whispered, "Come lie down on the blanket with me."

O-O-O O-O-O