'Do you know where I am going?' inquired Montparnasse.
'To the Abbey of Monte á Regret,' said Gavroche.
Paris, 1835
They bring him in, slim in his ill-fitting red, blinking in the morning sun. His pallid skin suggests a long acquaintance with darkness. They point him to the bowl, the razor sparkling in the light. There are too many of them to overcome should he try it, so he obeys.
Hands move shakily towards the blade, an unfamiliar and hostile instrument after so long. It flashes in the light as he raises it, glances at his guards. No chance; and after all, it would not suit to go unshaven.
The guards are impatient; he is not. He wields the blade with exquisite care, thinking that to cut himself now would be a worse omen than the rising of this morning's sun. The razor slowly reveals the face of a youth, still handsome, pale as death under the months-old beard. There is time, and they must wait. He is in no hurry to exchange his irons for hemp.
Why should he? For now, he is a free man. The first time in months, since the job went bad. Youngest and the last after all, but he would not survive them long. Gueulemer by merely a week. No one to come for him now, no thief left to do the honors.
The hands are steady now, remembering the feel of a knife and his old skill. Practiced, elegant. And finished. Now he is fit to march into the blinding sun, fit to be hung. His vanity prefers a clean aristo's death on the guillotine, but he will see no more blades this day.
Which merely makes this his last chance. He raises the blade again and flashes an insolent smile. It'll be just like old times and damn the rest of them anyway. Décarrons. Let's go. Throws the bowl, water arcing. Table overturned and that's two.
Chains hinder flight, that's why they're there. He stumbles into the third and opens his throat. A fourth somewhere behind who won't make that mistake. Lunges towards the door, too far to make it. A shot. Too near to have missed.
He falls, gropes clumsily for his knife as it spins into the shadows.
Wonders last if robbing the gallows was really worth ruining his good coat.