Beneath the Porcelain Mask

24. The Untimely Death of Vladimir de La Chance.

The account of Monsieur Erik, concerning the premature death of one Vladimir de La Chance.

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Vladimir, she'd said, when I'd reached for my lasso. Save it for Vladimir de La Chance.

I'd made to fetch the weapon to frighten her off. Killing Desrosiers would do nothing for me, bring no satisfaction, and would only make my few allies turn their backs.

But that name. The way she'd screamed when she said it and ran off...

I'd frozen in my seat as she rushed out and sat there for a number of minutes, coming to terms with it.

Why was he here? He must have tracked us down, and if he'd already cornered Nikki, it wouldn't be long before he showed up at the lake.

Of course, I supposed I could simply siren him into the water, rid myself of the problem there and then. But where was the fun in that? Where was the joy in seeing my revenge play out for the years of torment he put me through when I had to make sure I could breathe in the water and he couldn't?

Murder had not been on the agenda tonight, not on my to-do list unless absolutely necessary. But I grabbed the lasso, fetched my cloak and felt hat and left Monkey Nadir and Ayesha to fight over the warmth before the fire.

He will pay. He will pay. I will have my revenge. He will pay.

I pulled my felt hat down a bit as I made my way up through the cellars, testing the lasso between my hands.

He will pay. And what a debt he owes!

I carried on, up and up towards the surface, checking to see if my black Volto mask was sitting correctly; one must not look slapdash when committing murder, after all.

I found the man - if one could call him such - wandering the halls near the servants' quarters with a lit lantern to hand. He was testing each door, peering in the ones that would open and then carrying on. Looking for one of us, no doubt. To find Nikki is to find Erik, after all, and to find Erik is to find Nikki. Though as far as I was concerned, she was in the Bois with the bastard child of Luc Desrosiers, and perhaps dead, although I didn't find that entirely likely; Nikki was no stranger to ferrying people to their graves.

I pulled the lasso through my hands and followed, keeping to the shadows, waiting until he'd turned each corner to catch up. I watched and followed like that for a few minutes, just observing, noting things about his character and pace. Quick and tense. I knew the walk all too well; I'd done the exact same thing in my younger days. Clearly, he was untrained. Whoever he was searching for, he wanted to find them as soon as possible but had no experience of hunting.

Five minutes in, I grew bored of my little game and drew the lasso through my hands with a soft crack. Vladimir's head snapped up and he froze. I pressed myself back against the wall.

"Who's there?" His voice cracked as it echoed through the corridors. The light of his lantern swept towards me, gliding along the floor like an Arabian sunrise. I pulled my cloak around myself and chuckled. "Show yourself, man! Why are you hiding back there?"

I heard him take a cautious step in my direction, followed by another, then another, the floorboards creaking as he made his slow advancements. I pulled my felt hat over my face a little more and stepped out into the candlelight.

The lantern lowered as he breathed a sigh. "Monsieur! You gave me quite the fright! Why, I was almost tempted to believe in the Opera G-"

I lifted my head, inches at a time, and caught his eye. He sucked in a breath, eyes wide. The lantern fell to the ground. The glass cracked.