Chapter 4 - the mysterious Faberge

It’s 5 in the bloody morin’! But work calls… I still need to finish building the wall. It’s like a whole lot of wood planks stickin’ together, but then we going to make it real pretty-like. I pick up my tools and start to pound the little nails into the splintery wood.

“Hey Henri! Heard your girlfriend got herself another man!”

“Ah, shut it Luc!” I yell waving the ‘ammer into his face, “I swear if you mention that one more time…” Leave to old Luc to make me miserable about that bloody night…

“Sorry! Sorry!” he laughs, backin’ up.

“Yeah, you better be…” I mutter, continuin’ to strike the nail into place with the ‘eavy ‘ammer.

“No hard feelings, Henri! Here let me help you out,” ‘e says grabbin’ another ‘ammer and pounds in some more nails.

“Yeah whatever,” I grumble, patting the wood dust off my pants. Boy I look sloppy with my greased up hair and grubby clothes.

“So what was the guy dressed as? Maybe it was that new manager. He’s a curious character,”

“Dahm it Luc! I don’t want to talk ‘bout it!” I shout, throwin’ the ‘ammer to the ground.

“Don’t get all worked up!” he says, ‘ands up.

“I’m real fragile right now, don’t go ‘round ‘urtin’ my feelings,” I sniff.

“Ah, suck it up Henri, that’s girl’s not that good looking. How about Suzette? She’s a real looker,” he winks.

“Like I’d even dream ‘bout Suzette! She’s a bloody goddess!” But an evil goddess. I don’t even like to even think ‘bout Suzette. She might be the beauty of this place, but she sure as ‘ell frightens me!

“Ha yeah. Heard she slapped Mitch at the Ball,”

“Why?”

“Kept bothering her to dance, I guess,” he laughs. I stand up, dropping the ‘ammer to the floor, dusting off my trousers.

“Need more nails,” I sigh. You got to take the stairs to get the tool room. There are no lights there. Gives me the creeps.

“Heh… Be careful the Phantom doesn’t get you,”

“What the bloody ‘ell is that supposed to mean?”

“Ah come on Henri, you know the stories,” he laughs, “Hurry back, this little pile of nails isn’t going to last long,”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes and walk away. My neck tenses as ‘urry up the steps. I practically trip over my own feet in this bloody dimness.

This part of the backstage is a real mess. No one bothers to clean to up or make it nice. Just a whole lot of tools and stuff scatted about. You have to search ‘round to find what you want. There’s some spare ‘ammers resting on the cutting table. A couple planks leaning on the wall. Crooked screws busting from them. Buckets of overflowing paint sit in the corners. Got to be careful ‘round here. Never know what you might step in or on.

Nails… Come on where are the blasted nails? I lift some sheets of spread out papers. Sometimes you’ll find the smaller things under the documents.

…What’s this? News paper clippings?

The Faberge manquant clé featured in the Louvre. Most beautiful decorated egg in the entire world and perhaps the most mysterious. 14 karat gold, with rubies and emerald rooted in the outer shell. Apparently inside lies real pirate treasure according to its finder Pierre Lombard. Before he would open it to the eager crowds, he was tragically murdered by an unknown source. The key that unlocks whatever precious treasures was never recovered. The mystery of what this egg contains will perhaps always remain a mystery, but its beauty shall forever attract audiences.

I leaf through the parchments of paper. It’s all on this Faberge manquant clé and Pierre Lombard. What on earth would this be doin’ ‘ere? I find sketches of keys in the back of the paper stack. They all have a very precise shape, like whoever drew it knew what the lock looked like.
Suddenly I hear ‘eavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I throw down the papers and quickly look for some nails. Come on… Ah, there are some! I take a couple ‘andfuls and shove it down my back pocket.

A man clad in fancy clothes smiles smugly at me. It’s that weird new manager. Bellamount or something like that.

“Good morning, Sir,” I say. He nods. I hurry past him and fly down the staircase.

“Hey Henri what took you so long…” Luc asks pointing at the empty space where the last few nails had been.

“Sorry, just saw something funny,”

“The ghost?” he laughs.

“Alright what’s with you and this whole ghost nonsense?” I ask hotly, spilling the nails from my pocket. We began to ‘ammer in the last few spots.

“You’re kidding me, right? You don’t know the whole Phantom thing?”

“No, I’m not a loony like you Luc,”

“You crack me up, kid!” he chuckles, patting my shoulder, “Well he isn’t really a ghost… Or according to the newspapers at least. He’s just some madman who pretended to be a ghost and he kidnaps this really pretty singer, right? Now get this…he cuts down the chandler during a performance! That’s how this place got wrecked in the first place,”

“Wait a tick. Everyone knows ‘bout the fire and all, but I ‘eard it was all just an accident,”
“Nah, that’s what they want you to think. He was a genius though, he tricked the managers into doing what he wanted,”

“How do you know?”

“Old friend of mine used to work here. Told me everything,”
“Weird,” I say, inhaling the new information. Strange how I’ve been ‘ere maybe for five months, but I’m still not sure I know much about this place. It’s like one big secret that everyone seems to know. ‘Cept me of course.

“That new manager seems really desperate to give this place a good reputation,”

“I’ve noticed. Mr. Prim and Proper. Big snob if you ask me,”

“Ahem,”

Both of us turn our heads around to meet the hard gaze of Monsieur Bellamount.

Dahm…Dahm…Dahm…

“Now I’d really appreciate if you boys wouldn’t spread such rumors,” ‘e says in an ice-cold voice with arms crossed ‘round ‘is chest. Wonder ‘ow long ‘e’s been standin there!

“Yes, Sir,” Luc and I say in unison. He gives us a solemn nod and walks away.

Luc and I sit in silence for a few awkward seconds before going back to work. Creepy.

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