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The guard tossed the man clear over the heads of some of the movers and into the center of the road. The man bounced a few times like a skipped stone before he crashed into the hard wall of the building opposite us. The stranger lay in a heap with a stupid look on his frazzled face.
The bouncer returned his attention to us. “I’ll go ask Wexelman about you.”
“Why do you believe us now?” I asked him as he turned away from us.
The man paused and looked back at us where he nodded. “Yep. The fanatics can spot the real deal and latch onto them like leeches. Wait here.” He lumbered down the hall and turned into Wexelman’s office.
I cast a bemused look up at Ben. “Wexelman knows the nicest people.”
Ben chuckled. “He certainly does.”
The bouncer soon came back, and a slight figure came behind him in a rather unwilling fashion. Wexelman tried to slip around the wide girth of a man, but he was forced to give up halfway down the hall and wait until the end where the guard stepped to one side.
“About time,” Wexelman scolded us as he jerked his head down the dark corridor. “Come on.”
We followed him back down the hall, but he didn’t stop at his office. Rather, we rounded that corner I’d seen earlier and found ourselves in a wider hall with fancier doors. There were nameplates on the doors and piles of bouquets and boxes of chocolates were scattered in front of the entrances. Several mail delivery men passed us by, all with their arms empty. This, then, was where the performers were housed.
“It was kind of your client to give us an audience so quickly,” Ben commented.
“Don’t count me out just yet,” he scolded Ben with a frown. “I pulled a string or two for you by telling him you were rich enough to buy an island. Getting hold of a precious flute wouldn’t be that hard for you.”
I cocked my head to one side and cast a feigned look of surprise at my wealthy host. “So we’ve found someone who doesn’t know about Count Benjamin Castle?”
“He’s not from around these parts,” Wexelman told me.
My eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that some personal info?”
He shrugged. “Everybody knows Phantom came from somewhere else.”
I blinked at him. “Phantom? Like the whole band?”
“No, the guy,” Wexelman explained as we neared the center of the long hall. There was a particularly large pile of flowers outside one door. “He goes by the same name as the band. Yeah, I know, confusing.” He stepped over the mountain of gifts and grabbed a hold of the doorknob before turning to us. “Now don’t get too curious with your questions. He doesn’t like that and he won’t answer them, anyway. Don’t go asking about any new songs, either, and don’t suggest any to him.”
Ben smiled. “Then we shouldn’t assume he’ll accept our offer of a theatrical script, either?”
A crooked grin slipped onto Wexelman’s lips. “Sorry about that. It’s a habit, but don’t go annoying him, alright? He’s got a show tonight.”
And with that Wexelman opened the door and revealed a large dressing room. The tables on the left were packed with more gifts, including plants and even a free-standing lamp with the band’s logo on the shade. On the right-hand wall was another slightly ajar door that led into a bathroom.
Across from where we entered was a long makeup table with a high-backed chair decked out in black leather. The back was turned toward us, but I still had the feeling we were being watched as we noiselessly entered. I jumped a little when Wexelman shut the door behind us, leaving himself in the hallway.
“So you’re Count Castle.”
I started back. The deep, slightly accented voice hadn’t come from the air, but rather had echoed inside my head. It was the same trick Ben used when in his Thief disguise.
Ben himself didn’t look shocked, but instead stopped in the middle of the room and bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard good things about your songs.”
“But you haven’t heard them?” There wasn’t anger or surprise in that voice, merely curiosity.
“A few parts here and there,” Ben admitted as he cast a bemused look at the burdened tables. “It appears I am in the minority.”
“Someone always has to be,” the voice mused as the chair turned around to reveal our host.
I started back at the strange figure. Their attire was usual enough, with a simple black jacket with frilly lace on the cuffs. The man wore black dress pants and equally dark pointed-toe boots, and his undershirt was shown to be an off-white color. It was the head, however, that had so startled me.
The overall features were male, with a wide head and jet-black hair brushed backward. The flesh, however, was of such a white color that it resembled makeup, but the pale skin disappeared underneath the natural hair with no sign of a border anywhere. His hair, too, was a shocking white, so much so that had the strands not been so thick I could have seen his scalp. The nose grotesquely protruded from the face and looked more like a plague doctor’s getup than a real appendage. The man’s lips, too, were colored black and didn’t open when he ‘spoke.’
Our host’s pupils were completely devoid of any color other than black they disconcertingly fell on me. “You are the pupil he wishes me to teach?”
