Phantom (37 page)

We rode away from the palace in the light of the rising sun, I leading Erik's horse, and my deliberately depleted escort riding on ahead to inform the prison of our imminent arrival. When the last horse was out of sight, I leaned over, cut the ropes that bound him, and handed him the two leather bags that I had secreted on my person.

"Go," I said simply. "Follow the coastal road and get out of Persia while you still can. All I can give you is a few hours' start before the shah's men begin to search for you."

He sat very still on the horse, staring at me.

"How will you explain this?"

I shrugged. "I shall say that you used your magical skills to free yourself and attacked me when I was unprepared."

"You will be punished," he persisted gravely, "even if the shah believes your tale. And if he does not believe it—"

"That is my concern"

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded suddenly.

I looked away down the empty road.

"My son would have wished you to live… All that I do tonight, I do in memory of him."

"Oh, God," he whispered brokenly. "You will never be reconciled, will you? You will never forgive."

I turned in the saddle and looked at him squarely.

"There is nothing to forgive," I said. "You gave him a beautiful, painless death… I am reconciled and my soul is at peace. It is time to consider your soul now, Erik."

He made an impatient gesture. "Your faith teaches that infidels have no souls, no appointed place in paradise."

"Your conscience, then," I countered. "I think you have a conscience, whatever you may like to believe—and tonight I appoint myself as its keeper. Wherever you go and whatever you do in the future, you may consider yourself answerable to me. That is the price you must pay in return for your life. There must be no more wanton murders."

"Oh, really," he scoffed, "and what is to stop me breaking this ridiculous bargain of yours whenever I choose?"

"I do not believe you would break your word to me, Erik."

"What makes you think I'm going to
give
my word, let alone keep it? Killing is like opium, Nadir… a bad habit… an addiction."

"Any addiction can be overcome when there is a will for conquest," I said steadily. "Besides, I'm not offering you a choice—this is an ultimatum. If I don't hear from you now what I wish to hear, I shall simply deliver you for execution after all, you have
my
word on that! And remember, my men are not yet too far away to hear a pistol shot."

"What exactly are you asking me to swear!" he asked warily.

"I'm not a sentimental fool." I sighed. "I know what your life has been—and I know there will inevitably be occasions when you have no alternative but to strike first to save yourself. But there is a world of difference between killing in self-defense and killing for perverted pleasure. All I am asking is that you acknowledge that difference and abide by my request. Now—will you give me your word?"

He did not speak, but after a moment's hesitation he held out his hand to me and I met it unhesitatingly with my own. His grip was cool and strong and I had no desire to shy away from it with revulsion and dread. I let my hand lie in his until he chose to break that moment of contact, the symbol of our simple, sterile friendship.

"Follow the coastline and keep to the undergrowth. It's a dangerous path—you must beware of quicksand and countless other hazards—but you dare not take an inland road. By tomorrow the shah's men will be searching all known routes that lead out of the country."

He sighed. "And you, my poor fool, will be in prison awaiting execution in my stead. Do you honestly think me so devoid of human feeling that I will simply leave you to that fate?"

"You need have no fear for my life," I said. "I'm not quite the innocent at intrigue, you know, I have made my plans. The body of a Babi dissident will be left upon the Caspian shore, dressed in your cloak and mask. By the time it is found, scavengers will have rendered it identifiable by no other means. I am convinced the shah will be sufficiently satisfied to spare my life. And should my estate be forfeited for negligence—well, you have taught me to grow weary of Persian ways. Perhaps I shall go to Europe and settle in a country where queens no longer amuse themselves with torture chambers."

"Even in Europe you will need to eat," he said grimly.

From within his bag of treasures he produced a handful of precious gems and held them out to me, pausing for a moment, on reflection, to remove the huge diamond from his palm.

"I suppose I should not burden your squeamish conscience with that," he sighed. "I can't pretend it was very honestly acquired. But the rest you may quite safely take— there is nothing there that need cost you any sleep."

"Erik," I protested, "this is not—"

"Take them!" he said sharply. "I have already agreed to your damned eccentric terms, have I not? At least permit me to make one gesture of myself toward my keeper… and my friend."

We were both silent then, stunned by the harsh simplicity of those last two words. I knew that friendship was an alien emotion to him, as frightening, perhaps, as it was unfamiliar. Friendship intruded uneasily on his existence, demanding responsibility, accountability, and loyalty. But I did not believe he would lightly cast aside the pledge he had made to me.

Removing the mask and cloak, he handed them to me and 1 suddenly saw that there were tears glistening unshed in his mismatched eyes.

"Take care of yourself, Nadir," he said softly. "Take very great care… Your tiresome health has become very dear to me."

I think I smiled; it was suddenly impossible to speak.

I sat and watched him ride away until he was only a dim shadow. And then I spoke to the empty expanse that lay between us, in the faultless French he had so painstakingly taught me over the years of our association.

"
Au revoir, mon ami
," I said sadly.

And tucking the mask and cloak safely out of sight in a saddlebag, I turned my horse's head toward Sari and rode on alone.

My mind has touched the farthest horizons of mortal imagination and reaches ever outward to embrace infinity. There is no knowledge beyond my comprehension, no art or skill upon this entire planet that lies beyond the mastery of my hand. And yet, like Faust, I look in vain, I learn in vain… For as long as I live, no woman will ever look on me in love.

Now at last I have found the courage to turn away from the foolish echoes of human gladness. Optimism, blind hope, pathetic yearnings… I have let them all go, one by one, and I am as content as I shall ever be on this earth, in my peaceful solitude.

My kingdom lies in eternal darkness, many feet below the level of the Parisian streets outside, shrouded in the chill silence of the grave. Darkness and silence have been my companions since the day I chose to turn my back upon the world of men and create an empire that was solely mine.

From the moment of my birth my destiny was to be alone.

But it took me more than forty years to accept that harsh and unrelenting fact—to understand where peace and resignation lay…

*

I was not at peace when I arrived in Belgium in the spring of 1856.

For three years I had traveled aimlessly once more through Europe, retracing old steps and old haunts like some curious pilgrim, seeking out whatever architectural monuments I had missed as a wandering boy. I would sketch at dawn in the deserted streets and return to my lodgings before the early-morning vendors began to sell their wares. And there I would stay, shunning the light of day, until the sun sank beyond the horizon and it was once more possible to step out into the poorly lit thoroughfares without exciting instant attention.

I was no longer obliged to prostitute my talents in order to eat. The years in Persia had made me wealthy, rich enough to indulge my interests and my increasing aversion to the human race; there was no longer any grim necessity to entertain gawking crowds with the skill of my fingers and the horror of my face.

My taste for death, already severely jaded by those grievous excesses in Persia, had been abruptly curtailed by an oath which I could not ignore. Nadir's voice haunted me all across Asia, making me restless and uneasy in the Orient, where the political assassin is much in demand and the ending of a life all too easily accomplished, with no questions asked.

I had learned to control my black and violent moods, first with opium and later, in Belgium, with morphine. I abandoned an opium pipe for fear of damaging my voice, and in that surge of star-spangled euphoria, the result of my first experiment with a needle, I began work upon the opera that I conceived as my maximum opus.

I called it:
Don Juan Triumphant
.

I was beginning to grow very cynical…
*

For months I drifted through Belgium, just as I had drifted through the rest of Europe, never staying anywhere long for fear of hostility and reprisal. Antwerp, Ghent, Brussels… and finally—lured by the soft, familiar lilt of my native language—to
Mons.
How good it was to hear French spoken everywhere. I had learned many tongues, but nothing compared in my ears with the seductive vowels and lovely, rolling consonants of the most beautiful language in the world. I felt a sudden longing to settle in this eminently civilized land and build myself a house.

The back streets of Mons revealed a man entirely suited to my rather singular needs; susceptible to my voice and willing to do my bidding without asking tiresome questions —a man I could control entirely, simply by exercising my larynx. I had learned by now that such men were to be found in most crowds—men who turned at my first words to stare with an odd, glazed intensity that appeared to exclude the mask. I have no idea what freak arrangement of my vocal cords enabled me to reduce certain people to a state of trancelike obedience—regrettably, it is not possible to perform dissections upon oneself! But I regarded my voice as a weapon, as lethal, in its way, as the Punjab lasso, and I never scrupled to use it whenever the opportunity was offered.

Jules Bernard had completed his apprenticeship as a rough-mason, and as soon as I was certain that he would be of use to me, he became my well-paid slave, handling transactions that had become distasteful to me as I increasingly embraced reclusive habits.