Masque de la Terreur: a Gabriel Knight Mystery
Chapter 3, Part II
by Travis Lester, published on April 29, 2001
When Gabriel awoke that morning, he felt the sudden feeling of displacement. It took a few moments to remember that he had left Grace’s apartment that night after her curt farewell and went to sleep in his own. The bed was much more comfortable than her couch, and if he was going to pay for something he’d be damned if he didn't make some use of it.
Yet the elusive feeling of his dislocation did not wither, and remained in his thoughts throughout the duration of his early shower. Maybe it was just the sudden turn of events and map-hopping. Jet-lag, maybe. No, it felt deeper than that. Somewhere inside him.
Gabriel exited the shower refreshed, but the feeling was soon lost when he realized he would be forced to crawl into his dirty clothes from the night before. It wasn't such a chore, but he would have liked some fresh, clean clothing.
“It’s about time,” Mosely said, checking his watch, as Gabriel stepped out into the hallway. Grace was there, in her faithful brown trench-coat. Levanya, in her black vinyl-like rain-coat, stood at her side, and for the first time Gabriel had the opportunity to size the young lady up. She was beautiful in an elegantly proper way. Her dark, in-set eyes were mildly arousing to Gabriel, but that’s where the attraction stopped really. Something about her face put him off. Not the features, just the smug, up-tight look.
Gabriel only nodded at Mosely, still harboring bitter feelings that he felt unprepared to let surface for the time being. Gabriel turned to Grace, “So, what’s the plan?”
Grace opened her mouth, but the oncoming words did not belong to her. No, not even the voice.
Levanya spoke for her. “As you are both rather new to the situation,” she addressed both Gabriel and Mosely. “I will make this clear. I am the senior investigator, here. Grace is my second.”
“Second what?” Mosely asked dumbly.
“She is my assistant,” Levanya replied to Mosely as if he were a child.
Gabriel glanced at Grace for a moment, but something caught his eyes for a moment and locked them on her. She was staring at Levanya with an almost resentful look. Then she looked at Gabriel, perhaps feeling his staring, and in her eyes she told him what Gabriel had already decided.
“She is a b*tch.”
Gabriel grinned at Grace, but she did not return it, only looking back to Levanya as she continued to speak with Mosely.
“I see,” Mosely responded once more. “Well, what’s your plan?”
“Agent Mosely, I will require your credentials and person to enter the Opera House.”
Mosely nodded.
“Well, that’s fine and dandy,” Gabriel interrupted. “But what about Grace?”
Grace looked at Gabriel as if curious as to why he were sticking up for her all of a sudden.
“And me, naturally,” Gabriel shrugged at Grace as if his new-found compassion were a mistake. When she looked away, in a manner that said, “Yep. That’s what I thought,” Gabriel sighed.
Levanya caught his attention. “I would like to have Grace inside with me, but I fear the French officials will not be so obliging to let the four of us enter on such short notice. Especially you, Mister Knight.”
“Well, hell, don’t let me hold ya back.”
“I do not intend to,” Levanya remarked dully. “But as you are here, you and Grace can do some research, yes?” She then turned to Grace. “The information your female friend in Germany sent is not satisfactory, Grace. I will need you to investigate further today.”
Gabriel felt himself smile, and tried to hide it as Grace glared at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Yes,” she said bitterly but obedient. “I'll do my best.”
“Good. Now,” Levanya turned back to Mosely, whom was adjusting the lapels of his black trench coat to resemble a Columbo of sorts. Succeeding more-likely on the Inspector Gadget scale. “Let us see what we can do.”
Mosely and Levanya left Gabriel and Grace in the hallway, alone, and made for the elevator. Gabriel watched them leave, noticing Mosely trailing behind her like he was being lead by his...
“I know what you’re thinking, and you can just get that idea out of your thick skull right now.”
Gabriel shot his head back around to see Grace, hands on hips akimbo, and looking at him authoritively. “What’s ‘at?”
“I saw you smiling,” she nodded rapidly. “You think I'm still just a lowly research assistant, don’t you?”
Gabriel opened his mouth to speak.
“I'm not. She might think so, and you probably think so, but I'm not. We’re a team, she and I. And one thing I am sure to do is prove to Chadrel in this assignment that I am fully qualified to carry out investigations on my own.”
“Hey,” Gabriel shrugged innocently. “I never doubted you for a second.”
“Uh huh.” Grace rolled her eyes and strode past him.
Gabriel remained staring down the empty hallway, same innocent and lost look on his face as he tried to remember just why he came to Paris, France.
“Are you coming or aren't you?” Grace called from behind.
Gabriel turned to see her standing at the opposite end of the hallway in the open elevator. Foot tapping impatiently.
Gabriel laughed as he walked down the hall, joining her inside the elevator.
“Goin’ down,” he pressed the appropriate button and the doors closed.
He looked back at Grace, whom stared directly ahead like a pouting schoolgirl.
“What?” Gabriel tried. “Did you wanna push the button?”
“Gabriel...” she said in a warning tone, shaking her head.
“Alright, alright. I'm just tryin’ to ease the tension, okay?” Gabriel leaned against the hand-rail on his side. “I'm hopin’ all your anger ain’t exactly directed at me.”
“Not all, but fair degree,” she sighed, then shot him a look. “You and I are not exactly okay, and don’t you forget it.”
Gabriel nodded. He realized he’d have to put up with her attitude for a while before he could make things better. He was willing to do that much. Realizing in the past year just how much bitter-feelings he did deserve, this seemed like play-school.
“You don’t like this do you?”
“Like what? Sharing an elevator with you?” she asked, still staring ahead. The hum of the elevator seemed to soothe her almost.
Gabriel grimaced. “Your boss.”
Her eyes shot back to him.
“Superior,” Gabriel replaced quickly. “That’s what I meant.”
“No, I don’t like it. What does she know?”
“Exactly.”
“I'm the one doing all the work, and what is she doing? She’s on her way to the very heart of the mystery.”
“I hear ya.”
“It just isn't fair. To think, I basically joined Chadrel to get away from this very thing!”
“Basically?”
She only glanced at him once again, but the evil eye was taking a rest for the time being. “Still, though. I've had worse.”
Gabriel forced a smile. “Touché.”
The doors opened and Grace stepped out quickly, leaving Gabriel to jog up to her side in the foyer and match her speed. “So, where’re we going?”
“The local hall of records, I guess.” she sighed. “I don’t know.”
Gabriel groaned, as he felt a sudden slap in his side and glanced at a smiling Grace. “Oh that’s right, you hate going to those places. Well, I'll show you the ropes, mmmkay?”
“I take it this is your way of returning the torture I put you through back in N’Orleans?”
They pushed through the front doors together.
“It’s possible,” she replied. “But if I have to be there, you’re gonna be there with me. We’re partners, and don’t you forget it.”
Grace continued down the front steps, Gabriel halted on the very top and stared across the street at the towering Paris Opera House. The rain had stopped momentarily, leaving a thickness in the air, but the sky was still its deep dark gray. Cast against it, the Opera House seemed that much more foreboding.
Grace stopped at the base of the steps and looked up at him. “What?”
“Oh just thinkin’.” Gabriel kept his eyes on the edifice, slowly noticing the picket line at the base of its steps. Further up the House’s steps were the French policemen on guard and waiting for trouble. If they were anything like American police, they were probably begging for it.
“Thinking about what?” Grace asked him restlessly.
Gabriel looked down at her. “Are you that much in a hurry to bury yourself in records up to your ass?”
“Not really, but the sooner we get it over with, the sooner...” she trailed off, looking across the street at the shouting protesters.
“Exactly, Grace,” he said, slowly descending the steps and joining her. “Absolutely nothing. See, while you’re off gettin’ everything done and bein’ a nice little schoolgirl, she’s off with the Great White Hopeless havin’ fun and siftin’ through clues.”
Grace’s features did not change, but her aura altered remarkably under his notice.
“There’s no way to get in there,” she shrugged, then her face shone as if a light bulb had went bing! “Did you bring SIDney? We could make some fake ID’s.”
Gabriel felt his face contort under her hopeful gaze. Slowly his look somehow transcended into an identical replica on her face.
“You left it, didn't you?”
“Well...” he stammered. “Well, yeah. Who needs it, right? I don’t.”
“Ugh,” she turned and began walking down the sidewalk. Away from the Opera House’s direction and probably in that of the Hall of Records, weaving in and out of the other French citizens who were walking the sidewalk.
Gabriel quickly rejoined her side. “Come on, Grace. Did we have SIDney back in N’Orleans?”
No response, she kept walking. It seemed like the citizens parted for her, maybe knowing it not a wise idea to get in her way.
Gabriel continued, accidentally bumping into a young punkster with blue-pointed spikes in his hair, undoubtedly on his way to join the protesters down the street a bit. “F*cking Americans,” the punk said, Gabriel ignored him and hurried back up to Grace’s side.
“Or in Germany?” he panted. “Did we need it there?”
Still no response from her, but she slowed her pace.
“And what did it do for us in Rennes-le-Château, anyway?” he said. “Sure, it helped with the map thing. But we’re not dealin’ with maps, this is just a f*ckin’ Opera House.”
She still said nothing, but slowed even more.
“And phoney ID’s? Who needs ‘em? All you need to get by officials is a good line of B.S., right?”
Grace stopped, finally, and looked at him appraisingly. “Good thing we've got a swell supply of that, huh.”
“I'll take that as a complement.” Gabriel said and truly did.
“Of course, you would.” Grace rolled her eyes and resumed her walking.
“Aw, for Chrissakes, Gracie!” Gabriel called after her, not moving an inch. Several citizens turned to stare at Gabriel as if he were a lunatic, but he ignored them. “I'll tell ya what, Grace. If I can get us in, it’s your beat.”
She stopped. It was as if God had reached his hand down from the Heavens and stopped a runaway train in its tracks, and when Grace was mad, as she was at this moment, she was very much like one.
She turned, an ironic look on her face. “Do you mean that?”
“Boy scouts’ honor.”
“No sarcasm, Knight.”
“I do,” he nodded quickly, slowly approaching. “I promise. Just...”
She looked into up into his green eyes, dwarfed only slightly by his height. “Just...?”
“Just trust me. Please?”
Grace looked down. “All right. I'll trust you. But like you said,” she looked up. “This is my investigation... and don’t you--”
“--I won’t forget it.” he smiled at her, hoping for a reaction.
The corners of her mouth twitched, slowly moving upwards.
“See, it ain’t that hard, is it?” he asked her of her smile.
Before she could complete her smile, she looked upwards.
There came a light pitter-patter on the shoulder of Gabriel’s biker jacket, and then he felt it in his hair.
He held out his hand, but before he could speak the rain came down harder and faster.
“Great,” he sighed.
Grace pulled up her collar, “Well, let’s get to the Opera.”
Gabriel pushed back his already damp hair a bit. “You’re not gonna give me some time to think of a good line for ‘em?”
She took Gabriel by his hand. Gabriel smiled at the affection, until he realized she was only pulling him along behind her with force that seemed uncharacteristic of her. “You'll think of something. You always do.”
Gabriel groaned, passing a discouraged hotdog vendor who had retreated to a small sheltered alcove in an alley.
Upon watching the two Americans, he smiled, “L’amour.” Placing a bit of his own product into his mouth and chewing sloppily. “L'amour.”
Last update: October 25, 2007
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