"Yes," Erik said simply, the word breathed with little emotion. The remembrance came, then, that Hannibal had never known what Erik truly looked like. He wondered if it would have made a difference to the man, had he known that nature saw fit to bless Erik with a face that would turn the stomach of the staunchest doctor. It was both a blessing and a curse not to know. And Erik -- Erik would never ask.
"Perhaps you do," Erik finally said. "But I hope that you do not."
They'd reached the top of the first chord. He stopped, then turned carefully and laid down the burden he carried - a signal for Hannibal to do the same. The young man was two steps behind him, so for him, the chord was not complete. It would be an imperfect experience for him.
"Put your hand against the wall to your left," he said. "And then slide it until you encounter mine." Erik had kept his gloves stashed in his pocket, for this very reason -- the disarming of his traps was easily done when one knew what to find, but the first time, for Hannibal, should be delicate work. When he felt the doctor's hand on his, he lifted his palm and set the young man's hand where his had been. The stone there was different - slivers the size and shape of a keyboard, complete with raised, higher shapes that would've coordinated with black keys.
"Think of the first chord we just walked through -- e-flat seven, beginning at middle C. Put your fingers there, as if to play it, but do not press yet."
One wrong move, and the trap would spring. The pressure keys beneath the stone were far less sensitive than that of a piano, so there was some safety there.