The Jackal Howls at Midnight, Chapter 2 (The Phantom of the Opera, Raoul/Christine, # 9)
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Title: The Jackal Howls at Midnight; Chapter 2: The Newcomers
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme(s): 9; Figuring
Pairing/Characters: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Disclaimer/Claimer: The characters aren't mine (unless otherwise noted) and the story is.
Summary: Erik meets two strange women on the train back to Paris. Meanwhile, Raoul and Christine try to make sense of the approaching storm. The Scorpion Medallion is borrowed (with permission) from insaneladybug and her "Walk Like an Egyptian" fic. X3
Cross-posted to: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4434516/2/
Elsewhere in France, as these events were coming to light, the former Phantom of the Opera, Erik, was on a train heading into Paris, unaware of what was unfolding. He was still keeping the mask on the disfigured half of his face even after all these years. He had found that pulling the brim down of his black fedora in a certain way obscured the mask in the hat’s shadow, a trick that he utilized for ventures into the public eye such as this. The passengers on the train never gave him a second glances as they entered and exited the train carriage.
He had, when the train had paused at the station before Paris, picked up a copy of the Epoque, and had been prepared to begin reading it when he was distracted by two oddly-dressed women boarding the train and selecting to sit a few seats behind him. One, who was dressed in red, gave him a glance before deciding to ignore him. The other one, dressed in some odd white coat, didn’t even bother to look at him.
Erik pretended to read the paper, while in reality deciding to eavesdrop on these two women-they were not French; he could tell by their accents. The lady in red, he could not place, but the other seemed American, and her next words confirmed his suspicions.
“I assume there’s a reason why you wanted me to leave San Francisco so urgently?” she asked. “I was finishing up my experiment, Isabella. I haven’t yet had a chance to test it, but your letter--”
“Keep your voice down, Meyrei,” said the woman named Isabella. “I have called you here because what we have been searching for all these years-what you were also looking for, I might add, has been found.”
“The Egyptian artifacts--?”
“Quiet!” Isabella whispered. “Yes, I heard about it from Kneemoi. She has confirmed that two of them have been found. Of the seven created, four have been destroyed over time. One more remains lost. One of them, the weaker one, seems to have slipped back into the realm of the lost, as well.”
“The Scorpion has been lost again?” asked Meyrei. “Never mind. What of the other one?”
Erik was half-expecting (perhaps even half-hoping) that “the other one” to be a Grasshopper, but it was not.
“The Jackal,” Isabella said, proudly. “Has been found.”
Erik pretended to turn the page. All this talk of Egyptian medallions was reminding him of the events that had happened in Egypt-and of how he almost had not lived through the adventure. He had, by the end of it, looked into the jaws of the mythical monster Ammit and had nearly fallen down a bottomless chasm. And while he was in no hurry to experience either of those events ever again, the conversation of the women was most intriguing.
“But if the Jackal has been found, why are we going to Paris instead of Egypt?” Meyrei asked.
“Because the Jackal is coming here,” said Isabella, knowingly. “Kneemoi said she saw my hired help see to it that the Jackal is coming to Paris.”
“Why couldn’t your hired help have seen to it that the Jackal came to San Francisco…?” Meyrei asked, derisively.
“Because there was a greater chance of things going wrong if we tried to get it that way. Now stop complaining,” ordered Isabella. “You’ll have your Jackal, old friend. I hope that, at least, shall please you and make up for this inconvenience.”
“That it will, Isabella,” she said. “Once it is in my hands.”
Erik frowned. This sounded like some sort of smuggling case. This Isabella, whoever she was, and her accomplice (and did she say her name was Kneemoi…? Kneemoi? What kind of name was that!?) must be a thief, and was planning to profit from the ancient artifacts as Hoularch had done nearly eight years ago.
The Phantom snorted in derision, still pretending to read the paper. Perhaps he had best stay out of it, he decided. Let them incur the wrath of Ma’at, as he had nearly done.
Pretending to turn the page, his eyes narrowed as he found himself staring at a photograph of Carlotta Gudiccelli, the caption proclaiming her return to Paris.
Just my fortune… Erik thought. I return to Paris the same time she is… Perhaps I can arrange for her to have another frog in her throat…
He trailed off as he felt something touch his shoulder. He glanced to the side, and froze as he saw a large tarantula crawling across his shoulder. It was quite large, but he was more annoyed by its presence than disturbed.
“Begone,” he snarled, moving to strike the creature.
“Stop!” cried a voice behind him.
Erik turned to see Meyrei, the woman in white, frantically waving at him to not hurt the spider.
“I am so sorry…” she said. “She doesn’t know any better; she’s just a child…”
Erik remained deadpan as she coaxed the tarantula from his shoulder and onto her hand.
“I had to stop you; they don’t handle falls very well…” she explained. “She’s not even a year old; she’s just a little Goliath bird-eater, she meant you no harm… She’s very inquisitive; she must have crawled out of my pocket…”
Erik gave a nod of understanding as the woman began to stare at him. He was used to people staring at him, due to his face and mask, but this woman was not staring at him in the way people usually stared at him. She just looked at him with an unnerving interest as she continued to hold the spider.
Mad, he silently determined. She is utterly mad…
Isabella merely stood aside, rolling her eyes in exasperation as Meyrei returned back to her seat, petting the spider and coaxing it back into the pocket of her white coat, which had the name “Vulsor” stitched on it-her surname, no doubt.
With a frown, Erik used the newspaper to brush off the stray tarantula hairs from his shoulder, wondering what other sorts of vermin the woman had in her pocket. Though the spider might have come in handy as a “gift” to slip into Carlotta’s dressing room… He smirked at the thought of the diva’s reaction to the tarantula.
“Why did you bring that thing…?” Isabella asked.
Meyrei was about to reply when the train suddenly pulled into the Paris station. Erik sighed, glad to leave these two madwomen behind. But to his annoyance, he recalled that they were going to Paris, too, and, sure enough, they followed him out of the train.
He accidentally brushed shoulders with Isabella. She glared at him for a moment, and he at her, noticing the odd emerald brooch she wore. She glanced at her sleeve, as though checking that none of the stay tarantula hairs found their way to her.
“Miss Sandiego…?” asked a man in a garish plaid suit.
Isabella sharply turned to face the speaker.
“Quiet,” she warned the man.
“Oh, hello,” the man said, noticing Erik. “Care to buy a pocket watch, Sir?”
Erik stared at the suit the watch salesman was wearing, his expression speaking for him. He suppressed a smirk as he walked away; the fool was undoubtedly dealing in substandard or stolen goods.
Meyrei was departing the train now, probably having been delayed to see that she had let any other arachnids behind. And as Erik glanced at her and then at Isabella and the oddly-dressed man, he took comfort in the thought that there were people in the world far more mad than he had once been suspected to be.
Though it was unsettling, he decided, to realize that the three of them were staring at him as he retreated, glancing ever so casually from the corner of his eye. Isabella and her plaid-suited companion looked away after some time, but Meyrei kept staring until he was out of her sight, just as she had done so on the train.
Egyptian artifacts… thieves… mad spider-loving women… Erik was determined to have no part of it. Especially where this Meyrei was concerned.
*****************************
Raoul, of course, had more pressing matters on his mind. He had begun to pace the halls of the manor, trying to think of a way to ensure the safety of his wife and daughters.
“Raoul…” said Christine, finding him pacing at nearly two in the morning. “Raoul, please get some sleep; I fear you shall fall ill if you don’t…”
“Even if I tried to sleep, I would not be able to…” he replied, softly. He stared out the window and across the ground, as though wondering if he would be seeing Hoularch there. He did not put it past the thief to use the defenseless children as bargaining chips in whatever plan he was developing-he had, after all, done so with the Ishtar children.
“I am not sleepy, either,” said Christine, standing beside him. “I suppose if we knew what villainy he was planning, we could prepare for it. But all we know is that Carlotta is coming here with some odd medallion.”
“As much as I am sure that Hourlarch is involved, I am curious as to whether or not he is working alone,” Raoul added.
“Do you think there is somebody else?” asked Christine.
“Something tells me there is…” the viscount replied. “Hoularch claimed to be the mastermind of the operation of stealing the treasures of Sethos, but now I have a feeling that there was someone else pulling the strings.”
“And that was why it was so easy for them to give the medallion to Carlotta…” realized Christine. “Hoularch would have undoubtedly be kept under a close watch based on his previous crimes, and with his name associated as a thief, not even Carlotta would be quick to trust him, even if she is a little…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Thick-headed…?” Raoul offered, managing a smile.
Christine nodded, smiling back.
“I don’t suppose we can meet Carlotta when her train pulls in and convince her to give us the medallion…” Raoul said.
“She would never trust us…” Christine agreed. “But Erik would possibly be able to steal it from her… I normally would not condone him doing such a thing, but in a case like this, it would be deemed a necessity…”
Raoul considered this. Erik did say he was coming here. And although he was unlikely to grant him any favors, he would not be able to refuse such a task when requested by Christine.
“His train should have pulled in by this time,” he said. “I expect he might try to contact you tomorrow. You can ask him about it then.”
Christine nodded, but then a thought struck her.
“Raoul, why do you not try talking to him, too?” she asked. “You did save his life in Egypt. I think he might feel as though he is in your debt because of that.”
“If I have to have a favor of that magnitude repaid by the Opera Ghost, it would be something involving the saving of a life. And I do not wish to put myself in any sort of situation that would require it.”
“With Hoularch coming, he is certainly going to try…” she reminded him.
And Raoul had to acknowledge that it was with Erik’s help that he had triumphed over the unscrupulous thief.
“We will see what develops,” he said. Christine nodded as they headed back upstairs.
“But we mustn’t mention anything to the children-not at this time, at least. I do not want them to worry,” she said. “They deserve to live without fear.”
“And yet they must learn to be careful,” Raoul reminded her. “Hoularch will go for them first. But until Carlotta arrives, I see no reason for them to worry needlessly. But remind them that they are not to leave the house alone…”
He gently opened the door to their room, relaxing as he saw his daughters in peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the evils of the world.
It seemed so long ago that he and Christine had been that fortunate. It was sometimes difficult to remember such a time…
“If I had known that life was like this…” Christine said, echoing his thoughts. “I would not have wanted to grow up so quickly.”
Raoul placed his arm around her, responding with a silent nod.
Title: The Jackal Howls at Midnight; Chapter 2: The Newcomers
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme(s): 9; Figuring
Pairing/Characters: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Disclaimer/Claimer: The characters aren't mine (unless otherwise noted) and the story is.
Summary: Erik meets two strange women on the train back to Paris. Meanwhile, Raoul and Christine try to make sense of the approaching storm. The Scorpion Medallion is borrowed (with permission) from insaneladybug and her "Walk Like an Egyptian" fic. X3
Cross-posted to: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4434516/2/
Elsewhere in France, as these events were coming to light, the former Phantom of the Opera, Erik, was on a train heading into Paris, unaware of what was unfolding. He was still keeping the mask on the disfigured half of his face even after all these years. He had found that pulling the brim down of his black fedora in a certain way obscured the mask in the hat’s shadow, a trick that he utilized for ventures into the public eye such as this. The passengers on the train never gave him a second glances as they entered and exited the train carriage.
He had, when the train had paused at the station before Paris, picked up a copy of the Epoque, and had been prepared to begin reading it when he was distracted by two oddly-dressed women boarding the train and selecting to sit a few seats behind him. One, who was dressed in red, gave him a glance before deciding to ignore him. The other one, dressed in some odd white coat, didn’t even bother to look at him.
Erik pretended to read the paper, while in reality deciding to eavesdrop on these two women-they were not French; he could tell by their accents. The lady in red, he could not place, but the other seemed American, and her next words confirmed his suspicions.
“I assume there’s a reason why you wanted me to leave San Francisco so urgently?” she asked. “I was finishing up my experiment, Isabella. I haven’t yet had a chance to test it, but your letter--”
“Keep your voice down, Meyrei,” said the woman named Isabella. “I have called you here because what we have been searching for all these years-what you were also looking for, I might add, has been found.”
“The Egyptian artifacts--?”
“Quiet!” Isabella whispered. “Yes, I heard about it from Kneemoi. She has confirmed that two of them have been found. Of the seven created, four have been destroyed over time. One more remains lost. One of them, the weaker one, seems to have slipped back into the realm of the lost, as well.”
“The Scorpion has been lost again?” asked Meyrei. “Never mind. What of the other one?”
Erik was half-expecting (perhaps even half-hoping) that “the other one” to be a Grasshopper, but it was not.
“The Jackal,” Isabella said, proudly. “Has been found.”
Erik pretended to turn the page. All this talk of Egyptian medallions was reminding him of the events that had happened in Egypt-and of how he almost had not lived through the adventure. He had, by the end of it, looked into the jaws of the mythical monster Ammit and had nearly fallen down a bottomless chasm. And while he was in no hurry to experience either of those events ever again, the conversation of the women was most intriguing.
“But if the Jackal has been found, why are we going to Paris instead of Egypt?” Meyrei asked.
“Because the Jackal is coming here,” said Isabella, knowingly. “Kneemoi said she saw my hired help see to it that the Jackal is coming to Paris.”
“Why couldn’t your hired help have seen to it that the Jackal came to San Francisco…?” Meyrei asked, derisively.
“Because there was a greater chance of things going wrong if we tried to get it that way. Now stop complaining,” ordered Isabella. “You’ll have your Jackal, old friend. I hope that, at least, shall please you and make up for this inconvenience.”
“That it will, Isabella,” she said. “Once it is in my hands.”
Erik frowned. This sounded like some sort of smuggling case. This Isabella, whoever she was, and her accomplice (and did she say her name was Kneemoi…? Kneemoi? What kind of name was that!?) must be a thief, and was planning to profit from the ancient artifacts as Hoularch had done nearly eight years ago.
The Phantom snorted in derision, still pretending to read the paper. Perhaps he had best stay out of it, he decided. Let them incur the wrath of Ma’at, as he had nearly done.
Pretending to turn the page, his eyes narrowed as he found himself staring at a photograph of Carlotta Gudiccelli, the caption proclaiming her return to Paris.
Just my fortune… Erik thought. I return to Paris the same time she is… Perhaps I can arrange for her to have another frog in her throat…
He trailed off as he felt something touch his shoulder. He glanced to the side, and froze as he saw a large tarantula crawling across his shoulder. It was quite large, but he was more annoyed by its presence than disturbed.
“Begone,” he snarled, moving to strike the creature.
“Stop!” cried a voice behind him.
Erik turned to see Meyrei, the woman in white, frantically waving at him to not hurt the spider.
“I am so sorry…” she said. “She doesn’t know any better; she’s just a child…”
Erik remained deadpan as she coaxed the tarantula from his shoulder and onto her hand.
“I had to stop you; they don’t handle falls very well…” she explained. “She’s not even a year old; she’s just a little Goliath bird-eater, she meant you no harm… She’s very inquisitive; she must have crawled out of my pocket…”
Erik gave a nod of understanding as the woman began to stare at him. He was used to people staring at him, due to his face and mask, but this woman was not staring at him in the way people usually stared at him. She just looked at him with an unnerving interest as she continued to hold the spider.
Mad, he silently determined. She is utterly mad…
Isabella merely stood aside, rolling her eyes in exasperation as Meyrei returned back to her seat, petting the spider and coaxing it back into the pocket of her white coat, which had the name “Vulsor” stitched on it-her surname, no doubt.
With a frown, Erik used the newspaper to brush off the stray tarantula hairs from his shoulder, wondering what other sorts of vermin the woman had in her pocket. Though the spider might have come in handy as a “gift” to slip into Carlotta’s dressing room… He smirked at the thought of the diva’s reaction to the tarantula.
“Why did you bring that thing…?” Isabella asked.
Meyrei was about to reply when the train suddenly pulled into the Paris station. Erik sighed, glad to leave these two madwomen behind. But to his annoyance, he recalled that they were going to Paris, too, and, sure enough, they followed him out of the train.
He accidentally brushed shoulders with Isabella. She glared at him for a moment, and he at her, noticing the odd emerald brooch she wore. She glanced at her sleeve, as though checking that none of the stay tarantula hairs found their way to her.
“Miss Sandiego…?” asked a man in a garish plaid suit.
Isabella sharply turned to face the speaker.
“Quiet,” she warned the man.
“Oh, hello,” the man said, noticing Erik. “Care to buy a pocket watch, Sir?”
Erik stared at the suit the watch salesman was wearing, his expression speaking for him. He suppressed a smirk as he walked away; the fool was undoubtedly dealing in substandard or stolen goods.
Meyrei was departing the train now, probably having been delayed to see that she had let any other arachnids behind. And as Erik glanced at her and then at Isabella and the oddly-dressed man, he took comfort in the thought that there were people in the world far more mad than he had once been suspected to be.
Though it was unsettling, he decided, to realize that the three of them were staring at him as he retreated, glancing ever so casually from the corner of his eye. Isabella and her plaid-suited companion looked away after some time, but Meyrei kept staring until he was out of her sight, just as she had done so on the train.
Egyptian artifacts… thieves… mad spider-loving women… Erik was determined to have no part of it. Especially where this Meyrei was concerned.
*****************************
Raoul, of course, had more pressing matters on his mind. He had begun to pace the halls of the manor, trying to think of a way to ensure the safety of his wife and daughters.
“Raoul…” said Christine, finding him pacing at nearly two in the morning. “Raoul, please get some sleep; I fear you shall fall ill if you don’t…”
“Even if I tried to sleep, I would not be able to…” he replied, softly. He stared out the window and across the ground, as though wondering if he would be seeing Hoularch there. He did not put it past the thief to use the defenseless children as bargaining chips in whatever plan he was developing-he had, after all, done so with the Ishtar children.
“I am not sleepy, either,” said Christine, standing beside him. “I suppose if we knew what villainy he was planning, we could prepare for it. But all we know is that Carlotta is coming here with some odd medallion.”
“As much as I am sure that Hourlarch is involved, I am curious as to whether or not he is working alone,” Raoul added.
“Do you think there is somebody else?” asked Christine.
“Something tells me there is…” the viscount replied. “Hoularch claimed to be the mastermind of the operation of stealing the treasures of Sethos, but now I have a feeling that there was someone else pulling the strings.”
“And that was why it was so easy for them to give the medallion to Carlotta…” realized Christine. “Hoularch would have undoubtedly be kept under a close watch based on his previous crimes, and with his name associated as a thief, not even Carlotta would be quick to trust him, even if she is a little…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Thick-headed…?” Raoul offered, managing a smile.
Christine nodded, smiling back.
“I don’t suppose we can meet Carlotta when her train pulls in and convince her to give us the medallion…” Raoul said.
“She would never trust us…” Christine agreed. “But Erik would possibly be able to steal it from her… I normally would not condone him doing such a thing, but in a case like this, it would be deemed a necessity…”
Raoul considered this. Erik did say he was coming here. And although he was unlikely to grant him any favors, he would not be able to refuse such a task when requested by Christine.
“His train should have pulled in by this time,” he said. “I expect he might try to contact you tomorrow. You can ask him about it then.”
Christine nodded, but then a thought struck her.
“Raoul, why do you not try talking to him, too?” she asked. “You did save his life in Egypt. I think he might feel as though he is in your debt because of that.”
“If I have to have a favor of that magnitude repaid by the Opera Ghost, it would be something involving the saving of a life. And I do not wish to put myself in any sort of situation that would require it.”
“With Hoularch coming, he is certainly going to try…” she reminded him.
And Raoul had to acknowledge that it was with Erik’s help that he had triumphed over the unscrupulous thief.
“We will see what develops,” he said. Christine nodded as they headed back upstairs.
“But we mustn’t mention anything to the children-not at this time, at least. I do not want them to worry,” she said. “They deserve to live without fear.”
“And yet they must learn to be careful,” Raoul reminded her. “Hoularch will go for them first. But until Carlotta arrives, I see no reason for them to worry needlessly. But remind them that they are not to leave the house alone…”
He gently opened the door to their room, relaxing as he saw his daughters in peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the evils of the world.
It seemed so long ago that he and Christine had been that fortunate. It was sometimes difficult to remember such a time…
“If I had known that life was like this…” Christine said, echoing his thoughts. “I would not have wanted to grow up so quickly.”
Raoul placed his arm around her, responding with a silent nod.