Consider… The Composition Of This France (p.53)
A/N: We recommend first reading 'Into the Fire We Fly' as this is a direct continuation of that story and while certainly enjoyable in its own right... will make much more sense once the first part has been read. For the illustrations of the story, visit technicolor-werewolf at deviantart. All the titles for this part of the series are quotes from Raphael Sabatini's novel 'Scaramouche' which is one of the inspirations for the series. Please review the story if you like it - and if you don't. We love getting reviews.
We do not own Les Miserables.
Today they would study the chambers of the heart, a very interesting subject indeed and one that lent itself - at least in Eugene Combeferre's mind - to certain philosophical debates. Could one not collect the many and myriad literary references to the size and uses of that particular organ and compare it first to medical theory and then to philosophical theory, finally cross-referencing to great literature both in the original Latin or Greek and the more modern French - and theology for anything that had been missed out?
He walked quickly towards the university, a little later than he preferred because he had been collecting the laundry which he had informed Enjolras was waiting for collection the previous day. Unfortunately, their Leader appeared to have been distracted by the Greatness of the Cause again. This tended to happen whenever something as pragmatically dull and human as laundry, cleaning, paying the bills, sleeping or - and here we utter a prayer to those sainted angels who watch over philosophers - eating. The day was crisp and the path relatively unlittered by those distractions that life liked to throw in the way of devoted students. Eugene pushed his glasses up and hitched his satchel higher up his shoulder, glad he'd thought to drop the laundry at home on his way to class. his satchel was already rather too heavy thanks to the extra tomes on law and philosophy he had taken to carrying around Just In Case he needed to cover one of Enjolras' lectures for him.
It was at this moment that he noticed Bahorel and Courfeyrac standing in his path, jostling each other in a rather infantile pantomime about what appeared to be the myriad diseases which could be caught from being so close to a place of learning. Despite the sun, Bahorel had even taken the precaution of buttoning his coat up against the evils of study, and Combeferre wondered rather dryly if at some point he were going to present a vial of holy water to the buildings and say his Pater Noster.
"Dominic..." he frowned a little to show he disapproved by principle, and was relatively certain he was twinkling anyway. "Lucien. Hello."
"Allo!" Bahorel gave him a grin not without its pointy little subtleties. The man was solid for the cause, and a pleasant enough character, but did not seem to be able to honestly abide anything that even smelled as if it had been near a school book.
Lucien, more polite and diplomatic - not, granted Eugene honestly, that this would be hard - settled for a cheerful wave. "Beware university, my good Eugene... the university will make you sick!"
"Just look at what it's done to poor Joly, eh?" Bahorel chimed in, grinning rather cheekily and rubbing his nose in the way their favorite nervous medicine in training always did when he was feeling particularly concerned about the state of his health.
Thank you, Joly. Thank you for giving off the idea that all medical students believe in invisible humours which will seep into your blood and make you ill with the plague. Of all the ridiculous notions... He huffed irritably. "How can I help you this morning, gentlemen?" It was clear to anyone with eyes that they had positioned themselves at exactly this spot in the hopes of bumping into him. After all, dragging Bahorel anywhere near a university was a feat in and of itself, but to get him close to one which didn't even have the slightest relevance to his own - rather loosely termed, naturally - 'studies' would require an extremely special motivation. Eugene stopped and waited for them to say whatever it was that they had come here to say. It would probably be about the third in the trio of Men Who Do Not Like School - their missing third. Grantaire.
"We wanted to talk to you." Bahorel said quite seriously.
Lucien nodded. "Can you spare a moment or two?"
Eugene preferred to be twenty minutes early to his class. He was down to being fifteen minutes early thanks to a large bundle of Enjolras' socks and trousers. It was quite odd to see socks which belonged to Enjolras, as the man perpetually gave off that 'Angelic' aura which indicated he didn't really wear such things as socks and would never ever need to use a handkerchief. Still. Better to get this issue before it could fester. He checked his watch out of habit, and nodded. "mm. Yes. A few minutes."
"Good. It won't be long." Bahorel took the lead over to one of the benches in the greenery just next to the university, and Lucien helpfully - obviously convinced a stuffy bespectacled specimen like Eugene would have difficulty finding the way on his own - took his arm and guided him in the same general direction.
"Here. Sit down."
Obediently, Eugene sat and waited. Sometimes it felt like he spent a great deal of his life patiently waiting for the rest of the world to catch up and tell him what he already knew so he wouldn't have to pretend not to already know it.
Bahorel leaned forwards, blunt as ever. "It's about the meeting yesterday."
"I'm listening." He nodded to punctuate the fact, and resettled his spectacles. Hopefully this wouldn't cut into his class time. He'd lost significant hours of study through the enforced stay at - ironically - the abandoned school. Irony. Life's way of telling him that really we don't have to take things quite that seriously, do we? If only he could get Augustin to appreciate the beauties of it.
"It's about Grantaire." Lucien took them one step closer to whatever point it was they were going to make about their drinking companion and fellow layabout.
And then Bahorel made the point with about as much subtlety as a man killing a fly with a hammer. "We talked about it and we don't think he did any such thing."
Really? Now wasn't that a surprise. He looked unsurprised, as this always seemed to disconcert people.
"Can you think of anyone else who might have been responsible?" It wasn't an answer, and Eugene was quite aware that it was considered technically improper form to answer a question with another question, but it gave him some time to think - as well as allowing him a chance to root right down to the cause of Courfeyrac and Bahorel's concerns. The sun was getting in his eyes, and he squinted a little, using a hand to hade against the bright light. Surrounded in the blazing aura of blinding sunlight - please, if that wasn't a euphemism of some sort for Enjolras then he didn't know what was - the two good friends were exchanging a look which showed that they were trying very hard to come up with names from some sort of communal list.
It was unlikely. Eugene had already tried for some time to formulate such a list. Common decency demanded they investigate every avenue before allowing Perceval Grantaire to take the responsibility on his rather cowed and drunken shoulders. However, the list was nonexistant. They were all exceptionally careful about their doings. It had to be one of the group, and if coming down to Joly or Grantaire... Well, really. Even should one hypothetically presume Joly would go anywhere near a police station without being consumed with fear of catching whatever it was that made criminals criminal - then to imagine him capable of turning in his own twin?
"I agree I find it a hard thing to believe of anyone," he said aloud. "but Augustin is right in that there is a limited number of people who know where we meet and all the others were arrested."
"Any one of us could have been followed if we weren't paying attention." Bahorel said stubbornly.
"Hell -" Lucien made a gesture, half Spanish affectation. "...it wouldn't have been that hard to pick up by a casual visitor to the cafe either." Really now. Eugene hid a snort carefully. Did they really think Enjolras and he would let their group sit around and talk treason where just anyone could hear them? A lot of thought had gone into the cafe, where it was, who frequented it, and whether or not they might be overheard. The backrooms were practically inaudible in the busy hustle and bustle of the Cafe, and Enjolras always carefully scheduled the more important meetings for off-peak times where the Cafe was all but empty and all but closed, and Louisson could inform them whenever someone who looked suspicious came through the doors.
"And anyway, Combeferre," Bahorel again, impatient now. Obviously they had not been looking for healthy debate, then. "he doesn't have any motive and probably not the means either."
"...actually, Bahorel, I can think of at least one motive." Eugene looked at them over the top of his glasses, raising both eyebrows in a 'please stop presuming you're all talking about things I haven't already thought of' sort of way. People tended to do this with frequency. It got annoying.
Courfeyrac blinked a little."Really? Dieu. What?"
"And what's that?" Where Courfeyrac had looked mildly impressed, Bahorel merely looked agravated, his eyes narrowing a little as he drummed his fingers against the wood of the bench.
"It's probably the oldest reason. Money." The only reason that made any sense in his mind. After all, any fool could see how tatty GrandR's clothes could get. His shoes were full of holes, his shirts worn thin and shining and patched on the elbows until the elbow patches had patches. With all that booze and no money, the man must owe debts from Notre Dame to Montparnasse and back.
Another look passed between the two men, and Lucien summed it up with an exceedingly skeptical, "Money." It was perhaps typical that someone as straight as Courfeyrac couldn't imagine anyone selling out his amis for something as ridiculous as money. Of course... Courfeyrac had never really wanted for money.
"I'm sure there are other reasons." I just couldn't think of any. "That is one of the more charitable, really. After all - if he found himself in need... who are we to judge?" It really wouldn't have bothered him if that was why Grantaire had done it. Choosing between a handful of acquaintances and debtors jail could get the better of any man. Well... he baulked a little at that... almost any man. ...any very weak willed and morally ... deficiant man.
"I never thought I'd say this about an ami of mine," Bahorel said slowly, his skepticism almost as palpable as the unwillingness to say whatever he was going to say about the maligned Grantaire, "but I really don't think he's got the guts to do something like this."
Whatever Eugene had expected, this wasn't it. "The guts?"
"...or... really Combeferre..." Courfeyrac ran an elegant hand through his hair, displacing it into a mop that almost rivalled Bahorel's. "Can you see him being motivated enough to?"
" ...or...well, convincing anyone that he had a point." his friend chimed in.
Lucien nodded. "Lucidly, you know."
"Now that, is a very good point." And it was. Eugene turned their ideas over in his head and had to admit that they were quite right. Even with the offering of money, it was extraordinarily difficult to imagine Grantaire stumbling into the Prefecture Du Police and leaning over the desk to declaim Apollo and All His Bright Shining Minions, for they will rain the Fires of Olympia down on your Cursed Heads. He'd said that once to a young man who'd been visiting. Poor fellow had never returned. They really would have to start warning people about GrandR... if the sot was ever allowed back, of course.
"It is, isn't it?" Courfeyrac looked inordinately pleased for a man who had just managed to convince someone that his mate was neither brave enough nor clever enough to turn a bunch of revolutionaries in to the guards. This seemed rather ironic, and Eugene had to fight a smile. If only Augustin admired irony. Ah, now Bahorel was giving him a look. It was the look of a child who had seen the sweet and heard the parent tell them they would get the sweet and now wanted the sweet.
"Fine." He sighed. "I suppose I agree with you. You want me to talk to Augustin about it, don't you."
"That would be incredibly helpful and nice of you, yes," Bahorel said in a voice that had a little too much sugar in it. As though to say, 'yes, Combeferre, go do your amazing deed for the day. Talk to Enjolras, oh the Heroism.' Look, Bahorel, you really want to try telling Enjolras that you think he misjudged Grantaire? Be my guest.
Still. Now they'd convinced him. Someone had to do it.
"..After class." he said firmly, giving Bahorel a look.
"Oh, naturally."
Tactfully, Courfeyrac grabbed his friend by the arm and started hauling him off. It seemed he was in a tug-by-the-arm mood today."Right. Thanks 'Ferre. See you later."
If I survive, Eugene thought rather dryly and picked up his books. Now he was exactly two minutes early, and would probably be 'On Time' instead. Bother.
