Mark of Cain: A Les Mis story
So, this one-shot is inspired by the song "On Parole" from the musical. The first in an ultimate challenge: write a one-shot for every song from the musical. "Look Down (The Convicts)" isn't here because that one can be found on the profile of the amazing ImDreamingTheDream. She asked me to continue this challenge for her.
November 1815
The man arrived in the early hours of the morning. Nobody knew where he came from, but he was a strange man. He was large, frightening and more than a little intimidating. The man wore a weather beaten overcoat and wooden clogs on his feet. They looked like he had crafted them himself. On his head sat a rugged looking cap and he carried a plain brown satchel. It looked empty.
The man had a very rugged looking beard, one that hadn't been shaved or even trimmed in a long time. However, underneath his cap she could see that his head was shaved almost bald. His coat was too small for him and she could see the ugly scars on his wrists. The most frightening part, however, was how large and looming he was. Such strength for such a sallow-looking man!
That day she watched him. She and her brother followed him through town.
"Who is he?" the girl asked her brother. She always had to ask him things. At five, she knew nothing, and at ten, he knew all there was to know.
"He's a vagabond. I hope he doesn't stop in our town."
The girl didn't know what a vagabond was, nor did she know how he knew this, but she was pleased with his answer. The way he'd said it made her think that being a vagabond was a bad thing.
They followed him through the town all afternoon, until it was time for dinner. At one point, the boy grabbed his sister's hand and yanked her behind a house.
"Where are we going?"
"Sh! I'm gathering rocks, you ninny."
"Oh. Why are we gathering rocks?"
"To throw at him. He's a vagabond, I've told you. And he shouldn't be here."
The girl still had no idea what a vagabond was, but she liked the idea of throwing rocks at the man. She was almost certain at this point that a vagabond was a bad thing, and she was sure that they were throwing rocks at him so he would go away.
The girl and her brother gathered rocks. She collected them in the skirt of her dress, and the two ran back out from behind the house. They threw the rocks. To their childish shocked delight, the vagabond turned and shook his fist at them. He made savage noises and shouted, "Clear off, little rats!"
Thrilled, the girl and her brother turned and ran. The rocks fell as soon as the girl dropped her skirts, and there they fell, scattering along the cobblestones as she ran. Oh, this really was one of the most exciting days of her life! Neither of them knew who the stranger was, but who cared?
Over dinner, the girl and her brother discussed the vagabond. How he fascinated them! Neither sister nor brother could get enough of him.
"He has bad teeth, did you see them?" the boy asked of his sister in excitement.
"I did not. Did he?"
"Yes, isn't it appalling?"
She nodded in agreement, even though she wasn't quite sure what appalling meant.
A knock at the door made both of them jump. A squeal came from the girl. "Perhaps it's him!"
"The vagabond?"
"Yes, yes! Perhaps he's come to eat us up after we threw rocks at him!"
Both children waited with bated breath as their father, who ran their inn, went to answer the door. Their mother was at his heels.
The door opened.
It was the vagabond.
The girl almost shreiked again.
The man asked for a room to spend the night. "Please, I'm hungry. A glass of water."
"Papers?" their father asked.
The vagabond produced his papers. Yellow. Their father read it over, then thrust it back at the vagabond. "Our rooms are full, m'sieur. We've no supper to spare. On your way, now!"
"I'll sleep in the stable."
"Get out."