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Nadir sneezed, ears ringing as that nasty drip returned to his nose. He would have sucked it back in, but he recalled what happened when he last tried- approximately ten minutes prior- and the drip became mucus in his throat. He could do well without a cough; his coughs always lasted far longer than they should, and the last time he developed an unending hack, Darius had forced him to eat steamed pears for two months straight. Quite frankly, he could live perfectly well without eating another pear again.
That is, if he lived. His nose felt as if it was stuffed with cotton of the worst sort and his head pounded like a dancer’s drum. Between the nausea and general wooziness, his shivers kept him from falling asleep. It was damnably cold and each time he pulled the covers up, the more he was tempted to curse himself.
Nadir did not fall ill easily, if ever at all. There was that cough some years prior, but that was all it had been. He’d had headaches before and slept them off with the help of tea. In Mazandaran, there were a few fevers he’d contracted from infected wounds, but those too had passed in time. He had never taken ill over something as simple as weather.
A light drizzle at that! Or perhaps it was because he had entered said drizzle still soaking wet from an impromptu dip in the Palais Garnier’s underground lake. A dip that was wholly involuntary, for a certain humbug thought it fit to pretend to be a siren and drag him down.
“You great booby,” the humbug had said when he’d come to, “how many times must I say, no one must enter the domain of Erik!”
Nadir had a retort on his tongue, but he’d been too busy sputtering water at Erik’s face to say more. Or rather, the mask upon his face.
“Had you been anyone else, the siren would have destroyed you! You ought to be thankful Erik recognized your stupid prying head and your lucky face and your fortunate nose!”
Erik’s yapping made Nadir more irate by the second.
”Ah, should I be grateful that your stupid French lake spared my stupid Persian nose, you stupid killer?” Nadir said dryly, in spite of the water still in his throat.
“You shouldn’t say such things about your blessings, daroga!” Erik fumed back, “to have a nose and a face, these beautiful things you take for granted!”
Nadir would speak of his own nose however he liked, but he was more furious at Erik trying to drown him than whatever nonsensical lectures he had about the beauty of having a nose.
“So this is what you’ve been up to?” Nadir gasped his way, “drowning hapless victims in this lake?”
“Ah, ah, it was not Erik, but the siren doing these things, Daroga. Do not confuse yourself.”
And stirred to anger, Nadir had leapt up and grabbed Erik by his wet sleeve. He’d rattled the villain back and forth until his teeth chattered, and said, “You are the siren, you murderous wretch! What of the vow you made to me? How dare you speak to me in such a way!?”
“Stop shaking me!” Erik snapped, “you chose to intrude upon my home! When I offered you no invitation!”
“I need no invitation from the likes of you! Do not forget, Erik, who was the one that saved you from the rosy hours of Mazandaran!”
Erik made a “tsk!” with his tongue, and shoved himself out of the Daroga’s grip. And shaking himself dry like a pitiful cat, said, “Yes, yes, that’s all you ever say, you great booby! Erik knows you only have one topic.”
“You-”
“Now get out and do not come back or the siren will not be so merciful next time!”
Nadir replaced his astrakhan cap and warned, “Next time, I shall not be so merciful with you.”
Then, as Erik waved him off, watching with those devilish yellow eyes, the Daroga stomped away from the faux shore and back up the cellars to the world of men. He decided he would bring a pistol next time, if only to teach Erik a lesson. And raving to himself, he marched through the rainy streets all the way back to Rue de Scribe, quite arrogantly ignoring the sopping weather.
Now he lay in his bed, too weak to move an inch, and sneezing while the rain poured against the roof of his humble flat. He had woken up this way, a cool compress on his brow and the covers up to his chin. He was in his nightgown, though he was quite sure he hadn’t had the chance to change before he collapsed some hours before (or the night before). And the worst part, the definitive worst part, was that when he called for Darius, his man did not answer.
Instead, that damned criminal of an Erik had sauntered into his room in (thankfully dry) clothes.
“Oh, Daroga, you’re awake!” he said, “how do you feel?”
“Terrible.” Then narrowing his eyes, Nadir asked, “What have you done with Darius?”
“He’s fine, he’s fine, Daroga!” Erik said matter-of-factly, coming to the edge of his bed with a pair of soft shoes. “See, I’ve brought your slippers if you ever need to move. I should imagine you will need the toilet at some point, or perhaps Erik will bring you the chamberpot-”
His voice, usually so lilting, did nothing but annoy Nadir now, exacerbating the worst of his aches. “Erik, how did you get in here? And if you’ve harmed my man in any way, I swear-”
Erik groaned. “Daroga, why must you see the worst in everything? Darius let me in, are you happy now?”
Erik produced a handkerchief and dabbed away the snot at the edge of Nadir’s nose. The Daroga swatted his hand away.
“He let you in? Elaborate!”
“I knocked. And he opened your door. So I stepped in and shut the door. It’s all very simple, you see. Now-”
“You locked him out!? Let him back in, Erik!”
“I gave him my umbrella. He’s fine, Daroga! And I had no choice. He’s even more of a bore than you- he’d never let me care for you, but it must be me, you see, it must be.”
The handkerchief gone, Erik adjusted the compress and pushed something onto Nadir’s head, the nightcap he much preferred to sleep without. “There, that will warm your chilly crown!”
If he was not so ill, Nadir would have struck him. But he could only rasp out, “Why are you here? What do you want?”
Have you not ruined my day enough? Is what he should have asked.
Erik wrung his hands, something he was wont to do when nervous. He’d been that way since he was a young man, barely twenty, not that Nadir paid any notice. Erik bowed his head.
“Err, Daroga, the siren was feeling rather… regretful over its actions. Erik has told it that you are his only- acquaintance- yes, and they agreed it was wrong to have treated you like the other miserable men in the world.”
He began fluffing Nadir’s pillows, pushing them up in such a way that was most uncomfortable.
“And Erik followed you home- and you were so angry with him, he did not want to make himself known- but you looked dreadful, truly pathetic, like a dying duck. Poor, unhappy Daroga! To have been brought so low by the siren! So as the siren’s master, I sought to make amends.”
Nadir was rather angry at himself for not noticing Erik shadowing his heels. But perhaps he’d been too busy ranting about Erik to pay attention to Erik.
“Apologize,” the Daroga said.
“Pardon?”
Nadir sniffed, involuntarily, and tried to narrow his bloodshot eyes into a glare. “If you feel so remorseful, apologize and I may consider allowing you to stay.”
He imagined Darius was trying to break the door down as they spoke, or perhaps the servant had only shaken his head and gone to shelter from the rain elsewhere.
Erik hesitated, as if the words were foreign on his tongue, but he at last muttered, “Erik is sorry, Daroga.”
And then Erik was sniffing as well. “He should not have said those ugly things to you, Daroga. He should not have made you angry.”
He buried his masked face in the covers, on top Nadir’s waist, and clutching the blankets, sobbed, “Don’t die, Daroga! I could not live knowing I killed you- oh, oh, Daroga!- You looked so unwell, I could not bear it if you died!”
Nadir’s head was splitting in half. And for a moment, while he listened to Erik’s guilty ramblings, he was slightly envious that the man’s voice still sounded like a hum even when he was a mess of incoherent sobs.
“I’m not going to die,” he sighed, “I’m not a man of such weak ilk.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but if I did, my death would be on your hands. No more death, you promised.”
“No more death! No more death! Erik promises.”
Nadir doubted he would follow through, but for the moment, he expected Erik to at least hold to his word for the rest of the day.
“And since you saw it fit to remove Darius from my home,” he said, “you may pour me a cup of tea.”
Erik hopped up. And nodding, he cried, “Of course! I’ve been brewing tea in the kitchen!”
He turned away to wipe his tears under the mask. Then Erik disappeared from the bedroom in a blur of black. And Nadir was left dozing under the sound of rain. Concern for Darius still buzzed in the back of his mind, but the chill had dulled his brain-- so long as the man was alive and unscathed, he really did not care where Darius chose to wait.
A clap of thunder woke him up.
Or perhaps it was a cup shattering on the carpet. Irritated, he shifted up and looked down. Erik was on the floor, one hand holding up a tray of teapot and saucers, and another desperately picking up broken glass from the ground.
“Nothing to worry about, Daroga!” he said, “your Erik will clean this up! And your tea- oh, it’s right here, ah!”
He’d cut his finger on a bit of smashed cup. Nadir had loved that cup.
“Are you all right?” he asked instead of scolding Erik.
Erik wiped the finger on his jacket. “Yes, it’s nothing to worry about, Daroga, nothing at all! Just a small cut, a paper cut.”
Wobbling forward, he set the tray on Nadir’s lap. He poured the tea into the remaining cup, near whistling as he said, “It’s black, just the way you like it, with a pinch of cinnamon.”
It was enticing, at the very least. But when Nadir reached for the cup, Erik stopped him. “Oh, how could Erik have forgotten? This is much too bitter!”
“It’s fine, Erik. I like it bitter.”
But Erik was not listening. He dropped what looked like five, six, cubes of sugar into the cup and handed it to Nadir. And eagerly, he waited until the Daroga took the first sip. The chill had also taken the liberty of dulling Nadir’s taste buds, so he could not comment either way.
“Do you like it, Daroga?”
“It’s acceptable.”
And Erik waited until he finished his drink, like an unwanted cat perched at the edge of its master’s bed. When Nadir placed the cup on the tray, he told Erik to return these things to the kitchen and to clean up the mess on the floor. He had no intention of stepping on those pieces himself.
Erik followed his orders, though he made a great noise sweeping up the broken pieces (and just when Nadir felt himself doze off, he’d wake up again from the sounds of Erik’s cleaning). Then Erik had left and returned with several more pillows pulled from the guest room. He’d piled them below Nadir’s stack until he was forced to sit up. And when he shivered again, Erik ran back to the guest room and thrust another coverlet upon his blankets.
“Are you still cold, Daroga?”
“Mm.”
He honestly did not know. Perhaps he was feeling hot now. He was certainly too tired to say any more to Erik, because he left the man rambling beside him (some nonsense about the weather and all the things they could do when Nadir was well) and fell asleep.
When he next awoke, it was nightfall and the rain had calmed to a light shower. And two glowing eyes were still pinned on him.
“You’re still here?” he grumbled.
“Erik will stay with you until you are better, Daroga.”
That was not reassuring. “Has Darius returned?”
Erik titled his head. “Well- I said he could come back to cook you supper but he left his message by the door.”
Erik pressed a crumpled piece of paper into his hand, no doubt wet from rain and then dried by fire. Speaking of fire, Nadir sighed again. “Erik, I cannot see in the dark. Put on a light.”
“Of course, Daroga, you poor man!”
Nadir held the paper up, trying in vain to squint in the dark. No, he did not have Erik’s uncanny ability to see in the dark. At least he had a nose, though it felt like he no longer did. Erik struck a match nearby, hissing when the flame licked his finger, perhaps the same one he’d cut in the afternoon.
Why, then Nadir wondered, did all of Erik’s grace and skill disappear when it came to playing nurse? Or perhaps he was doing it on purpose to irritate the Daroga. Nadir would not put it past him.
When Erik at last lit the lamp, Nadir checked the message to make sure Erik had not forged Darius’ handwriting. Then again, given Erik’s skills of penmanship, he could not forge anyone’s writing if he tried.
Master-- I apologize for the inconvenience. I hovered outside until I was sure he would not murder you. Now. Gone to Roksana’s. Will spend the night. I trust he can prepare dinner.
Nadir did not fail to detect his man’s sarcasm at the very end.
“Who’s Roksana?” Erik asked.
“You read this?”
Erik nodded. Nadir was unsurprised he’d read it.
“So there are still things about our lives even you do not know?” Nadir taunted. “I don’t feel up for telling you.”
Erik protested, but Nadir was content to ignore him. Roksana was, in all honesty, not someone he knew. From the bits and pieces Darius had mentioned in passing, he could only assume she was the young maid of a middle class family some flats away. He hadn’t cared enough to investigate, for he’d been too occupied with keeping an eye on Erik. All Nadir knew was that she hailed west of Persia, east of France, and her employers were frequently elsewhere. And Nadir surmised that Darius was rather charmed by her.
“Are you hungry, Daroga?” Erik asked then, as if remembering that humans needed to eat.
“Not particularly.”
“While you slept, I saw to your kitchen. It’s a bit of a mess now, but it is nothing to worry about, nothing at all-”
Nadir did not like the sound of that, but he did not know what else he could do. He shuddered, imagining sauce on the ceiling, ruined pots, and whatever else Erik had managed to defile.
“Consider yourself special, Daroga- Erik does not cook for just anyone! His talents will surely delight you. This recipe, I heard from Madame Giry- she’s really a very decent cook-”
He wondered why Madame Giry never found it odd that the Opera Ghost was asking her for dinner recipes, but given what Nadir had observed of the boxkeeper, that sounded perfectly in keeping with her character. How I would love to cook for you, M. Ghost, he could hear her say, nevermind that ghosts cannot eat! I will bake you biscuits while I’m at it!
“Oh, here I am still, how very inconsiderate,” Erik said, “you must be starving, Daroga! I’ll warm it up for you and bring it in!”
“I said I haven’t much appetite.”
But Erik was gone by then, having glided out the doorway and not heard a single word from Nadir’s lips, or rather, pretended not to hear. He shut his eyes, trying to ignore the sound of cluttering bowls from down the hall. Then- for the first time in what felt like fifty years- he smelled the aroma of soup, however faint. Which either meant his sinus was clearing up or Erik had added too much flavor to whatever thing he’d made.
The humbug himself stumbled back in, a bowl on the tray he held, its contents sloshing left and right as he came to Nadir’s bedside. A bit of soup slipped out- the bowl holding too much as it was- and fell on the carpet with a piece of chopped carrot. Nadir loved that carpet as well. He hoped it would not stain.
“It’s very delicious, Daroga,” Erik said eagerly, “and good for the spirits. Once you have a few bowls, I’m sure this illness will pass in the morning!”
Nadir highly doubted that, but he would eat Erik’s damned supper if it meant shutting him up.
“I made you chicken lemon stew,” Erik told him proudly, setting the tray in Nadir’s reach.
The Daroga stared down, the stew’s aroma enough to open up the cotton in his nose. Steam still rose from his bowl in light furls, the soup an earthy yellow tinged with brown. Chopped celery and carrot floated amongst larger pieces of chicken and potato, slices of onion at the bowl’s edge. He spotted bits of thyme and rosemary atop it all, realizing upon further inspection, that Erik had filled the bowl with more food than soup and had taken the liberty of cutting its ingredients into babe-sized bites.
Erik spooned a bit of stew and said, “I used some Herbes de Province. Fortunately, you had some in jars or I’d have to contend with cooking plain chicken.”
Then he glanced at the steam, and bringing the spoon to Nadir’s mouth, asked, “Would you like me to blow it for you, Daroga? It’s very hot.”
For his part, Nadir was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Erik intended to feed him. He scowled. “No, I would not.”
Holding his hand out, he said, “Give me the spoon. I’m not dying, Erik. I can feed myself.”
“Fine, fine,” Erik said, some bizarre hurt in his tone, “do what you will, Daroga.”
Nadir took the spoon and blew. Then promptly spilled it on his lap when Erik spoke again.
“You must be wondering where the lemon is, Daroga! It’s a clever method, you see. I sprinkled some lemon peels into it so it would have the zest but not overpower the herbs.”
“Fascinating,” the Daroga said dryly.
When he saw the spill, Erik cast him a look of pity (which irritated Nadir beyond words) and wiped it up with what appeared to be the same cloth he’d used to wipe Nadir’s nasal drip. And then Erik sat back again, watching with anticipation as Nadir swallowed the first bite of stew.
Nadir was simply glad Erik hadn’t poisoned his food. And, to his surprise, the taste was not terrible. It was rather savory, with a pinch of the zest Erik had just mentioned. He took another bite, and said nothing until he’d consumed the whole bowl. Erik asked if he’d like another, for he’d cooked a whole pot, but Nadir shook his head. He hadn’t the stomach and he was sure Darius would appreciate something to eat when he returned.
“Well?” Erik said.
“Well what?”
“What did you think, Daroga?”
Nadir set the spoon down. Then slowly, he edged back into the pillows’ grip. He licked his lips. “It was acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” Erik fumed, “acceptable? It was delicious, you great booby! It is the best stew you’ve had in years!”
That was, frankly, not true. “Say what you will, Erik. I’m very tired. You said this stew will restore my spirits in the morning?”
“Oh yes. You will feel much invigorated after a nice rest.”
Erik took the tray away, having dropped his tantrum, and asked, “Daroga?”
“What?”
“Are you sure you’ll live? Should I summon a doctor?”
Nadir sighed, wiggling into the blankets. “I’ll live, Erik. Now, please- please- let me rest.”
He was tempted to add, Go terrorize your Opera house, so long as you leave me be, but he was sure he’d regret saying such a thing should Erik actually return to his reign of terror. To his pleasant surprise, Erik hadn’t responded. He’d merely taken the tray in his arms and left the room in relative silence.
And sooner or later, Nadir fell into a dreamless slumber, lulled to sleep by the glow of his lamp. Perhaps Erik returned after some hours to put the light out. And he’d stayed to hum beside Nadir’s ear, a low honeyed song that relaxed his entire being. In the morning, Darius came in to check on his fever.
And Nadir almost- very nearly, perhaps- felt a twinge disappointed that Darius was not Erik. But he purged that thought as soon as it passed.