The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter 38

*****Chapter XXXVIII*****

Music is an outburst of the soul.
~Frederick Delius

The mandrakes send out their fragrance,
and at our door is every delicacy,
both new and old,
that I have stored up for you, my lover.
~Song of Solomon

x

Within moments of taking cover behind the mirror, Raoul tersely whispered that they could not linger and must proceed. Madame Giry balked, but the sudden clatter of rapid footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond the dressing room changed her mind. She quickly moved down the damp passage, anxiety pulling her mouth into a tight frown as she carried the torch high to light the way.

Raoul had only been down this godforsaken path of tunnels once, too narrow for him to continue carrying Meg, and his muscles burned in agony from the constant strain. Between him and the boy, surprisingly strong for his puny size, they supported her in a staggered manner, due to lack of space, as she wrapped her arms tightly around both sets of shoulders and managed on one foot while they partially dragged and lifted her.

Soon they came to the mouth of unprotected steps of stone that circled far down into the cellars. Meg took one horrified look at the seemingly endless twist of treacherous stairs, her damp face going pale. She pressed her back against the wall.

"I cannot do this!" She looked first at her mother, then at Raoul. "I cannot go down there! There is no guardrail, nothing to prevent a plummet to certain death! And I'm already so clumsy."

"I'll help you," he assured. "Lean on the boy and me, let us carry your weight. Close your eyes if that helps. We cannot stay here indefinitely."

Her wide brown eyes were so childlike, pleading with him to admit that he was mistaken and there existed another escape route. When he offered no such consolation, she took in a shuddering breath and gave a frightened little nod. Tears coated her lashes, and he knew that her cast had been knocked about awkwardly in their escape.

"Are you in pain?"

"Not so much. The rum helped." Once she had dressed the wound on his hand, he insisted she drink a glass with him, to dull her own pain.

Madame glanced from Raoul to Meg then back to Raoul, a stern look of disapproval in the tightening of her lips. But she said nothing, turning again with the torch to guide them. Raoul clutched Meg's hand draped over his shoulder, giving them both a better hold. Aiding Meg down five flights of precarious stairs, while keeping his own balance at the edge of nothingness took every bit of his concentration.

Halfway down, Madame abruptly halted, nearly causing an accident as Raoul almost walked into her.

"What is it?" he rasped impatiently. "Why did you stop?"

"There's a trapdoor on the next stair," she quietly stated. "You know of it, Monsieur. It is the same trap through which you told me you fell."

Raoul scowled at the vivid recollection of icy water chilling him to the bone and his struggle to break free from the lowering gate that would have brought certain death.

"You must put your back to the wall and step, like so," Madame demonstrated as she slid her feet so that her heels brushed the edge of upright stone, "and you will not trigger the mechanism."

Awkwardly, cautiously, she and the boy maneuvered the perilous stair. Madame held Meg's arm from the step below while Raoul gripped her arm from above. Regardless, her bulky cast thumped hard, sending tremors against the dangerous stone in front of where she now stood. Doors before her swept open and downward, her toes at the very edge of peril as both Madame and Raoul struggled to keep her from losing balance and falling into a watery grave. Meg's eyes flew wide in shocked horror, her sallow face reflecting the eerie green water glowing from below.