A/N: This was written as a response to a challenge for drabbleaday, a small writing community on LiveJournal. In case you're wondering where this particular characterization of Claquesous came from, check out Volume IV, Book Two, Chapter II and Volume IV, Book Twelve, Chapter VIII of Les Mis. If there's something that's in desperate need of fixing, please tell me, and I'll see to it right away. :D
The fiacre is small, rickety, and very dark; it is bearing its passengers swiftly to La Force prison. The only sources of light are the small beams of moonlight piercing through the various holes and cracks in the carriage. Claquesous's eyes are well-adjusted enough to the dimness for him to see that his partner in crime, Gueulemer, is sitting very still and staring at his manacled hands dumbly. It's as though he's trying to forget where he is and that the police had actually caught him. That's a hard thing to do, Claquesous thinks. To forget. If you manage to stay in one position long enough, you won't really feel the handcuffs on your wrists, but if you move, the cuffs pinch you and rudely shove you back into reality. Claquesous notices a rather wide crevice in the rear of the fiacre. At least it's far from the the driver. He inches toward it so quietly that even Gueulemer, with that heightened sense of hearing that bandits seem to have, doesn't look up.
He could probably fit through the crevice if he crouched down. He looks down at his hands, then at Gueulemer. The colossus appears to be asleep. It's best to seize the opportunity, now that it's arrived so conveniently. Due to much practice, he knows precisely what to do. He thanks the ignorant young gendarme who had arrested him. The lad had placed the cuffs on him so that the keyholes were facing away from him. He leans down, reaches into his left shoe, and pulls out a small key. He has to twist his wrists a bit, but he manages to slip the key into one of the locks and turn it. With his left hand free, he unlocks the right cuff. The click was louder than he had hoped it would be, and for a moment, he fears Gueulemer will wake and ask to be freed as well. He watches Gueulemer for any movement, heart pounding rapidly. Gueulemer stirs, but doesn't wake.
Claquesous sets the handcuffs down carefully. The fiacre comes to a halt, presumably to let someone cross. He gets down on his hands and knees and crawls through the crevice.
The night air is refreshing and crisp. Tiny snowflakes drift gently to the ground. He takes a moment to simply breathe in and savor his freedom, but then remembers his duty. He cuts through several alleyways, moving swiftly and silently. At one point, he sees Montparnasse walking with that Thénardier girl. He holds his breath and flattens himself against a wall. They pass without seeing him.
After a few minutes of walking, Claquesous arrives at a police station.
There is an officer sitting at a desk, filing papers. He looks up when Claquesous walks in, and Claquesous recognizes him as the young gendarme who had arrested him in the Gorbeau tenement.
"Ah!" he says, surprised. "You got out?"
"It was not so difficult, Inspector Paquet," says Claquesous.
"The chief's in his office," says Paquet, and continues his work.
In his office, the chief is gazing out a window, but once Claquesous enters, he turns around. "They're all...?"
"Almost," says Claquesous. "Montparnasse wasn't there, but the other two leaders were. Inspector Javert has impeccable timing."
The chief grins and strokes his chin. "Javert? Then I suppose that's not bad--for a regular officer." He gestures to a tray on his desk upon which were a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Care for a drink?"
Claquesous shakes his head and approaches the desk. His tone is serious. "Monsieur, if you don't mind, I would like to know my next assignment."