The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Trading Favors

Erik

"This part is laughable, I would redo it completely. This staircase is not quite as unforgivable, but it would be much better to place it in the south wing. The entire ballroom area looks mediocre. No appeal, no magic. Dull. You'd do better to move it to the other side, and keep the living quarters more private and isolated. East wing bedrooms would then be perfect for any staying guests you might have."

The Persian listened to me in silence, stoically taking my criticism.

"I still think that the existing plans for Rosier Castle would be quite sufficient. However, I admit that your changes would be a remarkable improvement. So, what do you propose? I am reluctant to wait any longer in Venice, and I would need you to draw these changes."

"I can do that, but I am self-taught. My pencil work might be unconventional," I warned him.

He frowned and rolled up the blueprints.

"They will do, as long as they can be understood. You will have to be quick, however. The workmen will be arriving to Rosier by the end of the week, and I don't want to waste any more time."

"I can mark the parts of the plans that can remain as they are. The renovations on the north wing can begin right away, and during that time I can prepare the other floor plans."

"Good. I see now that I made a mistake by commissioning an architect who refused to travel and oversee the work. He said he usually avoids 'dabbling with mere renovations'. Doubtlessly that was the sign of his lack of passion for the project."

"Perhaps it was just that his vision lacked brilliance," I offered.

"Perhaps," the other man rubbed his beard. "So, let me confirm this: you will remove the flaws in his design if I help you reach Lyon."

"Yes. You must help me get to Lyon first, but I will return to your estate once I settle my business."

"Let me think on this for a moment," he said and left the room.

I sat down on one of the covered chairs, hoping that I wasn't making a mistake. Traveling alone, I needed to take a lot of care. Despite having made myself a set of false documents when I traveled two years ago, I had avoided border controls and trains. I could board a freight car as a blind passenger, but there would still be likely complications, and at the moment, my priority was speed.

There was also a part of my plan which I kept secret from the Persian -- or Nadir, as I should probably start calling him, given that he failed to inform me of his last name. Still, Nadir felt wrong, too friendly, too relaxed. For all I knew, the man could easily turn against me, as so many men in the past have done.

The castle he had bought was located in the lower regions of the Swiss Alps, near the eastern bank of Lake Geneva. Nadir said that Rosier Castle was in the hills, fairly isolated, but well-connected to the nearby town and the lake below. The French border was nearby as well.

I found the description of the location appealing, and I was also intrigued by the blueprints of the old castle. Working on it would provide me with a suitable home for the next year or two, once I say goodbye to Christine. It was a good plan -- I only needed to convince the Persian to agree to it, and it seemed that he was willing to do so without much ceremony.