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LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
Vivian stood atop the pile of rubble, still frozen in that “panic-stricken” pose.
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“That was an accident!”
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Cicero lowered his head, picking up the camera from the groundโnow transformed into a piece of abstract art.
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The lens was shattered, the bellows caved in, several springs had mischievously popped out, trembling in the air.
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“This Daguerreotype camera was a prototype personally calibrated by Mr. Carl Zeiss. It had the world’s first achromatic lens.”
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“Now, it looks more like a soda can trampled by a bad-tempered African rhino.”
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Cicero looked up, wearing a smile that begged for a punch.
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“Fifty francs. Including damages for mental anguish, sixty.”
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“How much?!” Vivian nearly jumped off the ruins. “Why don’t you just rob me?!”
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“Isn’t that exactly what I’m doing?” Cicero pulled out that damned little notebook from his pocket.
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“Adding your previous debtsโcongratulations, Miss Vivian, you are now officially a member of the negative-asset class.”
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Just as Vivian was about to risk her life over those sixty francs, a commotion of footsteps and shouts echoed from down the corridor.
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“Over there!”
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“The sound came from the dressing room!”
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“Call the gendarmes, quick!”
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Cicero closed his notebook, listening to the noise.
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“Looks like we need to find a new place to discuss your debts.”
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He took a step forward, naturally grasping Vivian’s wrist.
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“Come with me.”
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“Where to? If the supervisor finds out I left my post, my daily wage is toast!” Vivian struggled a bit.
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“Your supervisor is currently busy pinching Cรฉlestine’s philtrum.”
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Five minutes later.
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Second floor of the opera house, a certain luxurious box.
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Heavy velvet curtains blocked the view from outside, leaving only a slim gap through which the pitch-black stage and empty auditorium could be seen below.
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Vivian collapsed on the leather armchair like a deflated balloon, legs sprawled carelessly over the footstool.
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“I’m exhaustedโฆ”
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She let out a long sigh.
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“Eat.”
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A delicate paper box was tossed into her lap.
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Vivian fumbled to catch it. The box was pale green, embossed with the gold insignia of the famed patisserie “Ladurรฉe.”
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“What is this?” Vivian opened the box suspiciously.
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A sweet almond fragrance rushed out to greet her.
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Inside lay two immaculate, tempting macaronsโone raspberry red, the other pistachio green.
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“The sacrament,” Cicero said calmly. “Though feeding something that can’t tell Beethoven from Mozart is a bit of a waste, but before you starve to death, we need to talk business.”
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Vivian’s eyes instantly lit up. She shamelessly grabbed the pistachio one and stuffed it in her mouth.
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“Mmph!” Vivian took a big bite.
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The creamy filling melted on her tongue, an intense nutty aroma exploding in her mind.
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“Delicious.”
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Vivian squinted in bliss, cheeks bulging like a satisfied hamster.
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Cicero watched her in silence.
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In the dim light, the girl’s dirty little face was smudged with dust; her way of eating had not a trace of ladylike grace, yet it was not at all unpleasant.
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“If your table manners were half as precise as your aim when throwing things, food wouldn’t be flying everywhere.” Cicero handed over a handkerchief.
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“Mind your own business.” Vivian took the handkerchief, wiped her mouth haphazardly.
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“Let’s get to the point.”
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She pulled a napkin from her inner pocket.
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“What’s this?” Cicero took the crumpled sheet.
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Drawn on it in vivid red were a staff and notes, exuding a whiff of Guerlain lipstick.
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“That ghost shattered the mirror, and the cracks formed these notes. I risked my life to copy them down. Can I get medical expenses in cash?” Vivian mumbled, mouth still stuffed with half a raspberry macaron.
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Cicero ignored her banter.
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He took out his monocle, polished it lightly, and put it on.
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Through that lens, the red notes on the napkin seemed to come alive, faintly trembling in the air.
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“Interestingโฆ”
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Cicero’s voice suddenly grew low. His fingers tapped lightly on the railing, as if playing out the melody in his mind.
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“Here.” He pointed to a cluster of notes on the second-to-last line.
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“This is the second variation of the Queen of the Night’s aria from ‘The Magic Flute.’ Originally, there should be a grace note in E-flat here, but Cรฉlestine always habitually sings it as F-sharp.”
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Vivian craned her neck for a look. “So what? The ghost has perfect pitch or something?”
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“No, look here.” Cicero indicated the notes heavily smeared in lipstick.
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“As I said before, the cracks on the mirror weren’t a prank, but a correction.”
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Cicero set down the napkin, removed his monocle, his eyes taking on a hint of amusement.
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“The ghost is giving her a lesson. He’s telling that arrogant prima donna: ‘Your high notes are trashโthis is how it should be sung.'”
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Vivian was stunned. “Huh? Dead and still working as a free vocal coach?”
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“That’s exactly the problem.”
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Cicero turned, gazing down at the empty stage below. It was intermission now; the massive red curtain was drawn tight, and the orchestra pit was deserted.
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“For an entity formed from an ‘artistic obsession,’ perfection is its very life. It cannot tolerate a single flawed note.”
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“If Cรฉlestine sang flawlessly, that ghost might be just a quiet listener.”
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“But if she keeps making mistakesโฆ” Cicero sneered.
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“Then it won’t stop at shattering a mirror.”
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“You meanโฆ” Vivian felt a chill crawl up her back, “it’ll kill someone? But didn’t you sayโฆ”
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“That was a preliminary assessment. For some extreme artists, wiping out the mediocrities who defile art is practically doing God’s work.”
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Cicero’s fingers stroked the icy brass trim of the rail, his gaze seeming to pierce through the floor, into deeper darkness.
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“Vivian, do you know what’s beneath this opera house?” he suddenly asked.
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“Water?” Vivian thought of that brick-sized book. “You said before, an underground river.”
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“That’s just on the surface.”
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Cicero’s voice echoed in the empty box.
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“In 1861, when Garnier designed this building, he did build a huge artificial lake beneath the foundation to drain away groundwater. But behind the published blueprints, there was another sketch.”
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He turned to Vivian, eyes deep and unfathomable.
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“Long before the Revolution of 1789, this was the site of a monastery. Even earlierโฆ the underground structures were designed to ‘imprison something.'”
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“Imprison what?” Vivian unconsciously hugged the empty pastry box tighter.
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“Things that couldn’t bear the light of day. Things the old regime called forbidden, but couldn’t bear to destroyโฆ ‘concepts,'” Cicero said quietly.
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“The underground lake isn’t just a reservoirโit’s a barrier, a moat for a prison.”
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Vivian swallowed hard. “Boss, you’re scaring me.”
LongStringOfTextToSimulateLargeRandomDataSet123456789abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
“It might be worse than thatโhe may have made the entire opera house his cell, and weโฆ”
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At that momentโ
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“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOโ”
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A thunderous, dull roar erupted out of nowhere.
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It was the organ.
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All the lowest stops were pulled open, the sound waves shaking the air, even the chairs in the box trembling.
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Vivian covered her ears. “Who’s playing? The orchestra pit’s empty!”
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Cicero leaned out sharply.
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No one.
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The pit was deserted, but at the enormous pipe organ, the keys were hammering down by themselves, as if invisible hands were dancing wildly.
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It was Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D minor.”
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Grand, urgent, filled with a crushing sense of oppression, the music instantly flooded the entire space.
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“Looks like our friend couldn’t wait any longer.” Cicero narrowed his eyes, a thrill curling at his lips.
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“The prelude has begun, Vivian.”
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He seized Vivian’s wrist, dragging her out.
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“It’s time for the performers to take the stage.”
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Behind them, the heavy curtain billowed violently, as if swept by a gust of wind.
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The show was only just beginning.
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