The Quest - *Phantom of the Opera* (a fantasy romance)

Chapter VII

Nocturnal Interlude

VII

Shadows crowded around them, ominous veils devoid of substance that had no beginning or end. Nightfall began to breathe over the earth, choking what remained of daylight. A nocturnal screech from high above ripped apart the night, and Christine started in shock at a bird's raucous cry.

Erik slid his arm up to encircle her waist and hold her more securely. She melted against him, thankful for his touch, having missed it so. Despite that they often rode close, (when he didn't lead Orion and choose to walk while she rode), she had felt the thick, invasive distance between them more strongly than when they lived on different levels at the opera house.

They had been riding for three days. By now she believed the danger lay far behind. Yet Erik kept up his frenzied pace, barely allowing them opportunity to rest, as though a dark spirit from the opera house chased them. Once, he backtracked to confuse possible mortal pursuers, also utilizing other methods to lure anyone who might attempt to follow into the wrong direction. Regardless of what Meg told them, Christine could not believe Raoul would endanger their lives, but she sensed Erik put credence in Meg's words. The time to discuss the matter of Raoul had arrived. Still she resisted, uncertain of Erik's reaction to what she would say.

In the distance, Christine noticed the flickering light of a campfire through the trees. She felt Erik tense against her back. A branch snapped. Pulling on the reins, Erik brought Orion to a halt.

The unmistakable click of a pistol broke through the eerie stillness.

"Move and you are a dead man, monsieur."

Christine felt shock ripple through Erik that matched her own. The voice that addressed them from the shadowed bushes was a child's. Orion gave a nervous whinny as the rustling of the young menace's approach grew louder.

A girl appeared, no more than twelve, if that. In both hands, she held a pistol aimed at Erik's head. Her face smudged with dirt, her long hair in snarls, she looked as if she had not bathed in weeks. Her smock dress appeared just as filthy.

"Why are you on this trail, so far from the road?" she asked, drawing nearer. "And why are you dressed as a bandit?" The pistol wavered. "If you've come to rob me and my papa, we have naught to give." The girl may be young in appearance, but she spoke as one older.

"We have come neither to rob nor to harm." Erik's reassurance came quiet. "We ask only to share your fire, and perhaps a meal. My ..." he paused, "... ward has had no sustenance since midday."

The girl's face scrunched in confusion.

"Food," Erik explained.

"We have naught but stale bread and leeks dug from the ground. The uprising in Paris caused Papa to fear when the troops tried to capture the cannon. We escaped, leaving all we had behind."

"An uprising? In Paris?" Erik repeated in shock.

Christine blinked, also stunned. She prayed that Madame Giry and Meg were unharmed.

"How could you not know this? The entire country must know by now. Or maybe you do know..." The girl squinted suspiciously and took in his attire, from his soft woolen cloak to his tall leather boots, then did the same with Christine's, the threads of her dark blue cloak as fine. "Be you Marxist or Bonapartist?"

Wishing she had listened more closely when she'd stood at Raoul's elbow as he and his peers discussed politics during the three months she attended social functions with him, Christine worried Erik might give the wrong reply and a lead ball would be their fate yet.