In the name of our love

17: Little Lotte's Red Scarf

        Erik pushed aside a cobblestone as he climbed up, onto the streets from his hiding place in the sewars. He had to find the de Chagneys. Now. He ran, his shoes clicking on the pavement, much to his annoyance. It gave away where he was. The police would find him in an instant but he dared not take them off, for Faust only knew what was on the cobblestones under his shoes. Not to mention the fact that he didn't know how long he would be running for. It was much more comfortable to be running in shoes than barefoot during such long distances. Erik had learned that lesson quickly as a child of the Gypsy fair.

        Erik made it to the mansion quickly, but slowed his pace when he saw the empty look of the house. The rooms were lit, but no shadows could be seen behind the curtained windows. Erik started to run once again. He did not care to knock or be polite. Not when the love of his life was in danger. Not when he had precious little time to lose in such a pursuit as this.

        The trap-door lover saw not a soul in the house. It was devoid of servants, aristocratic brats and Christine alike. He cursed quickly and quietly in French as he looked around the empty house, his eyes quickly scanning for any signs of life. Upstairs he found only one person: a small, injured servant.

        Erik grabbed the servant's collar and jerked him into a standing position. He growled through his teeth, "Where did they go?"  

        The servant was silent for a moment, obviously frightened. Erik jerked his collar, choking the man for just a moment. This scare was enough for the servant to splutter, "T-they were ki-kidnapped by a man. A man with dark skin." The man squeezed his eyes shut as though expecting violence from Erik. Instead Erik dropped the man back on to the floor. He bolted out of the room, leaving the servant confused and scared, sitting on the floor. Erik raced out the door, not caring to close the fancy door, knowing that it didn't really matter. Not small details like that. Not when Aref was concerned.

        "To ahesasata kema..." Erik's eyes narrowed. (You pathetic little...) He couldn't even finish the thought. That man had not only managed to get past the de Chagney household, but had managed to kidnap some of the most wellknown people of France without so much as a blinked eye by the police. He was quick to dig out his change purse upon seeing a stable.

        "How can I help you?" the seller asked.

        "Your fastest horse." Erik said urgently.

        "Sir, it is quite expensive, I will have you know. It is a pure-bred sta--"

        "I do not care what price the horse comes at. I will buy it whatever the cost. I care not what breed it is. As long as it is fast. Now, take me to the horse!" Erik hissed.

        "It is 100 francs, monsieur. That is not to be taken lightly." he exclaimed. Erik gave the man 150 francs and was quick to mount the horse which the man had just gestured to.

        "This is--"

        "Keep it. Consider it the cost of my patience." Erik shouted as the horse jumped the stable wall and galloped in the direction that it's rider prodded it. A man stood in the middle of the street, his arms outstretched and Erik very nearly ran him down before the dark skinned man shouted something in Persian:

        "M'eshewq derb dam, tewqef! Man bah shoma kemeke!"  (Trap door lover, stop! I can help you!)

        "Daroga!" Erik whispered, his voice hinting at something between annoyance and relief.

        "Man ma danem keh der an az aw penhan shedh aset." the daroga told the masked man who still sat atop his newly purchased black stallion. (I know where he is hiding)