In the name of our love

12: Riddle

     Erik sheltered the papers and the envelope from the rain as he ran from the carriage to his house. He lit the candles within the living room and sat on a couth, taking out the note. A code that could only be cracked by someone who knew the writer. How did the writer know that the de Chagneys would have a way to understand Persian? Someone that was close to them--close to him. 

     The Living Corpse stared at the clue that was supposedly written on the paper. He read it again. Then his eyes caught something that he hadn't noticed before.They weren't just words on a page. They were a riddle. Why would he use a riddle as a clue? It was one he had heard before but not solved. He shook his head. 

     Erik looked back at the paper. Why would the writer use a common riddle as his clue? Why not make up his own? Would that not be harder to solve? Erik studied the riddle, trying to think. There were too many questions with no answers. Who was A? How did he know that the de Chagneys would know someone that spoke Persian? Where was he hiding Melody? 

      Erik continued to study the encoded message. 

 "Words written all over (wajeh bash az hemh newsheth shedh aset)

Two surfaces pressing them together (dew seth ba feshar daden anha ra ba hem)

I enjoy observing its beauty (meshahedh zabaaa an ledt bebrad

and fascinating facts (w heqaaq jedab)

I store them in my memory (men anha ra der hafezh men)

And give advice to anyone who needs it (w daden meshawerh bh her kesa keh bh an naaz dared)

I also observe on my own (men hem der khewd men meshahedh)

and tell people what's on my mind (w merdem beguwaad keh cheh cheaza der dhen men)

They fall to my knowledge (Anha bh danesh men seqwet.)

Who am I?" he read the note aloud. (Men kea hestem?)

     His immediate thought was the Daroga. The Persian detective that had followed him throughout his life. That man had been his conscience. But he wouldn't do that. Daroga meant chief of police in Farsi. He wouldn't betray the oaths that he had taken in Mazenderan. Not like this. The Daroga was knowledgable enough to do this kind of thing, though.

     Erik had many other ideas of who it might be, but most of those pieces didn't fit the puzzle. The note was written in Persian. No one would go to the lengths needed to write a letter in a foreign language. The Living Corpse shook his head, putting the note back on the wooden surface of the side table.

      "Erik must find who did this to Melody. He is the only one that can kidnap her like this. He is the only one who is allowed to do such a thing. For Erik never meant to harm Melody. He never meant to harm Christine. He only meant to get back at the Count. The Count was the one that stole Christine away from him. The de Chagney was the one that stole her away from the sanctuary of peaceful darkness and glorious music. She would have had all that she had wanted down there, Erik would have made sure of it. But the de Chagney brat had to change it! He had to ruin it all!" Erik fumed at the memory as though he were just an observer, and had not been a participant in the horrible event in which his Christine--his bride--had been stolen away from his grasp--right under his nose.

      Erik stood up, pacing as he considered the contents of the riddle.

      He repeated, "Anha bh danesh men seqwet. Men kea hestem?" he repeated the last two lines of the riddle. (They fall to my knowledge. Who am I?). He sighed, cradling his masked face in his hands, "Men kea hestem?" he repeated, his voice muffled by his palms. (Who am I?)