Clockwork Song Excerpt (The Phantom of the Opera)

Hi, below is an excerpt from my current The Phantom of the Opera work in progress: Clockwork Song. It will be a steampunk reimagining of the original Gaston Leroux story. This scene introduces one of the original characters a little differently. The Persian is a character I feel is utilised so little in Phantom adaptations. I find he’s perfect to warn about what may soon come to pass. I always enjoy seeing him make an appearance in other Phantom works. Please enjoy!



Amongst stalls selling popcorn and coconut shies is the fortune teller automaton. He is inside a glass cabinet with irises and zinnia carved into the frame. A monkey rattles a small cup for coins, foot scraping over the weakly glistening word Daroga.

Over the years, the colour has faded to reveal metal. Some accident while moving him has caused cogs and springs to poke out from the side of his head. Poor old forgotten thing.

The fortune teller emerges from a pile of tasselled pillows and hanging silks. He has been dressed finely in a costume that could have come from a British novel of intrigue. A green jewel rests in the centre of his turban. His black beard and moustache have been styled into sharp points. From out of his red robes his hands emerge, each finger bedecked in a cracked ring, and they waver over the tarot cards spread before him.

“Christine...?” Meg appears at my side, holding a glass spilling with something faintly red and frothing. “You promised!”

“I was only looking.”

“Come away now. I… I do not like him.”

“What’s this, then?” Raoul has arrived, sipping at a cream brandy. He kneels to read the rest of the plaque: “This was once a present for the now dead child empress of Raspina. The Persian will offer wisdom to those willing to listen.”

“Who designed him?” I ask.

“It does not say.” Raoul puts three coins in. “Let’s hope for luck!”

The monkey stills. We wait. Another bird swoops past, clutching in its beak a popped, torn balloon. The Persian does not move.

“Must be broken,” Meg sighs in relief. We make to leave.

“Please, do not go,” the Persian says in a soft voice, ruined by the grinding of gears at the end of each word.

Meg clutches my arm, eyes wide, probably expecting the automaton to clamber out of his box, though I doubt he has legs under there.

“Shall I know what you desire?” he continues. “Or will I warn you to be careful? Tell me your names.”

I open my mouth.

“No, don’t,” Meg hisses in my ear. “He’ll put a spell on us.”

“I am Lisbeth and this is Madeline.”

Raoul joins in, grinning, thinking we are playing a game, “James de Lace. Lion tamer.”

“And what do you two do?”

“Well…” Meg looks sharply at me again. “I sing, and my friend dances.”

“And a fine pair you are! A nightingale’s voice and a lamb’s legs.” His smile falters. “But a knee can bend and never lift again—”

“Christine, I want to go! He speaks like the masked man at the Opera did.”

“They are only borrowed words, child,” he tells her, head bowing slightly. “Every automaton must use what their creators give them to make sense of your world. Never can something new be born. We might as well be ghosts.”

“Christine—”

“Do not be frightened. You must listen. You have a lovely voice, dear child, but it can also be a deadly thing. Especially when others crave it for the wrong reasons.”

A shiver goes down my back as well. Raoul does not notice. He laughs and thinks it an interesting mechanical device. Meg pulls us away before we can hear the rest of the Persian’s prediction.

“Spiteful thing,” I hear her hiss. “How could it know? That thing was cursed. It spoke too… It was too human.” She purses her lips and throws herself into a game of ring toss, nearly decapitating a doll.

I glance back at the fortune box. The Persian smiles sadly, then lifts his hand and pulls across the silk curtain. It had only been a game, yet there are times I wonder just how human an automaton can pretend to be.