"You are one of them, aren't you?"
Javert gritted his teeth. He did not even need to ask what it referred to. Out of the gang ambushed last night - a case that he was just handing his report for - the only member unlucky enough not to avoid arrest was a Romani woman. This is why he tried to finish the case as quickly as possible - every time a Roma was even briefly involved in any of his cases, there was simply no avoiding comments. No one said to his face, most of the time - just whispers and rumors that he could overhear for a few days, that continued to make him furious until everyone has moved on to another case. This time it was way more open - he was being asked this by his superior, and he could not brush him off.
"No, monsieur, I am not," he replied a bit coldly. He was not. It was nothing more than a matter of heritage. He did not consider himself to be, and no sane Romani would not consider him to be of their kin, not with the life that he led. Still, his skin tone and some old rumors were enough for half of the police force of Paris to consider him to be one, as much as he hated it.
Gisquet seemed to notice his attitude toward the question and waved it off. "Oh, you know what I mean. You do speak their language, right?"
"Yes," he replied shortly. Though not used by him for decades, Romani was the first language that he had learnt. He had never forgotten it completely. Given that the woman was arrested in Paris, chances were that they spoke in the same variety of it - if he had to be honest, he had no idea how the variety that he knew was called. Still, he failed to see why was he being asked that - to the best of his knowledge, she only spoke French since she was arrested.
"They are still having problems obtaining the information, you see," the prefect continued.
"Monsieur, if you want to suggest that, I doubt that asking in a different language will make any difference," Javert replied carefully.
"Not the woman, no. The other arrestee, perhaps," Gisquet pointed out.
Javert needed a moment to realize what he has been talking about. There was another arrested person, though he did not consider it - the woman's child was caught as well. She did not seem like a worthwhile source of information; a small girl, no older than five or six years old, judging from appearance, was less than likely to know much about the gang's plans, even if she was involved in some of its work.
"See, the child is still being kept at the station house," the perfect carried on. "They are trying to find out what she knows. She hasn't spoken a single word in French, though. She might not even speak it," he shrugged.
Javert nodded, holding back an exasperated sigh. "Understood, monsieur. I will speak to the child."
His demand to speak face to face with the child was met with a couple of amused glances. They would not dare mock him openly, but obviously they enjoyed being reminded of the inspector's heritage. Javert ignored it, just glaring at anyone who would smirk at him. Better to be over this case as soon as possible.
He sent everyone away from the immediate surroundings of the cell before he entered it - he needed no additional witnesses, and the child did not need to associate him with the police. That would just make it harder.
The child was sitting in a regular cell, but at least it was a rather secluded part of the station. There were prisoners in the cells nearby, but none of them expressed any sort of interest in interacting with the child, and the walls provided enough privacy.
Javert entered the cell and closed the door behind him; at least in this case he did not have to worry about a potentially dangerous prisoner attacking him. The figure hunched on a plank bed in the corner could hardly pose a threat - she was tiny and frail-looking and clad in torn cloth, just like most gamins that he had seen on the streets. Her tangled brown hair rested on her back, and her slightly lighter eyes followed Javert curiously as he entered the cell.
Javert pulled a wooden chair from another corner of the room toward the bed and sat on it, facing the girl.
He did not often interview children, nor did he enjoy it in the slightest. They tended to be unpredictable. In some cases it was harder to get information from them than from adults. Not to mention that nearly all of them were horribly unbearable and either loud or hysterical.
How should he approach this one, then? He could not tell from her behaviour which kind was she. He decided that it would be safer not to scare her.
With some displeasure he forced himself to switch to his old language. "What's your name?" he asked.
The girl's head jerked up at the sound of his words. A grin shone over her face. "So you are-!"
Javert nearly winced. He would not confirm anything - he wanted to avoid lying - but it was better not to deny either. Let the child think whatever she wants, as long as it makes her talk. "Well, what are you called?" he asked again.
The girl beamed. "It's Shofranka! And who are you?"
Javert narrowed his eyes. He would rather avoid giving his name, but it might make the child suspicious if he avoided telling it now, if she were to notice it. "Javert."
She tilted her head. "Oh, it's not a first name, is it?"
"It's not. Doesn't matter," he brushed her off. "Have you been here for long? It's not a very comfortable place, is it?" he asked. He suspected that making some small talk with the child might make her less reluctant to reveal the more important information. Perhaps she will not notice him switching to the topics that interest him.
"Oh, the place is not that bad - I have my own bed and they even gave me food!" Shofranka chirped. "I wish they would let me out, though. I mean, how long can I sit here? I did nothing bad, I shouldn't be in prison," she huffed, crossing her arms.
Javert rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure of it. What did you even get here for?"
"It's something that mom did again," the girl shrugged. "I told her that it's a bad idea, hanging out with these suspicious people, that we were doing just fine without them, but no!" she threw her arms up. "And now what? I don't even know where she is now! Should have listened to me, silly mum. Do you know if she's here? I want to see her."
"She's not. But yes, that was rather... silly of her. Where did she even find such despicable people? That's just nonsense."
"By accident, really! That was a while ago, when it was still cold. We were walking around some bars and mum was looking for a job and in one of them - uh, I forgot its name, but they had a whale on their sign. And that one big bulky man talked to us, said that he has a nice job to offer for both of us. He looked really mean and had a nasty scar, too, right here!" she traced her finger on her cheek. "So of course I didn't like him, not one bit! And I didn't want his job at all, but mum said that it would help us and that we should go and meet his friends like he told us to. So we went there!"
"Oh? You went where?" Javert leaned forward a bit.
"To that storehouse where he told us they would meet! It looked really, really sketchy, it did! I mean, why would they meet in an abandoned storehouse?"
"A storehouse, you say? One of these in the north of the city?"
"Nope, not at all! This one was just on the edge of the river. There was once grain or whatever there but it's all empty now. He told us how to find it, that there would be a blacksmith just across the road from it and that it would have the door painted red, but only the door. And he told us to come there at night! Who meets at such times?!"
"Oh, that is horrible," Javert said flatly. "But you went anyway?"
"Yes, yes, mum said that it was a good deal. But when we came there, they were all hidden! And when they noticed that there were just the two of us, they came out - with weapons! All of them carried some blades or guns or even worse things, can you imagine? They were scary!"
"I'm sure they were. So did they threaten you?"
"Not really! Said that they just wanted to make sure we didn't come with the police. And we didn't so they stopped pointing these at us. Didn't make them any less scary, I'd say. So they talked to mum about something and mum said that we will work with them."
"And you did?"
"We did!" she nodded. "Mum started leaving for the whole days and I was delivering letters sometimes."
"Oh, letters? Where to?"
"A lot of places, all around Paris! There was one on a ground floor of that huge yellow house at Rue Sainte-Avoie, and a bakery on Rue de Fils, except the letter was to the apprentice and not the baker, and a red-haired man in a pub on Rue de Varenne, who even gave me a coin for that..."
Javert discreetly took out his notepad and jotted down the details while the child was distracted with babbling about the letters. It was... way easier than he thought it would be. The girl was nearly eager to share everything, though she has not spoken a single word to the policemen. He guessed that she could speak French, considering how she was in contact with the criminals, so perhaps she just refused to speak to the police. She probably did not think him one - he was not wearing an uniform and there were no other officers who spoke this language, as far as he knew. Still, it was a good thing that children tended to be so foolish. This saved the police a long struggle with extracting the information from the girl's mother.
In such case, he would need to avoid anything that might suggest her that he is an inspector, at least until the case closes. He glanced up at her, but she did not seem to be bothered by him noting her words down.
He continued asking her about the details - addresses, names, appearances of the members of the gang. He could barely believe that they allowed a child to learn so much, though he had to admit that she told none of that to anyone whom she knew to be a policeman.
Within half an hour he had enough information to find, as he suspected, majority of the gang, if not all of them. As well as a lot of rather useless stories about how one of them got her an orange once or about how her mum told her that she's proud of her working so hard and how now they could afford to live in one place and have dinner every day. He ignored most of those, just nodding absently.
At the end of one of these stories, he decided that it was no point questioning the child further. He had enough information for his liking, and now what he was getting was mostly trivia about Shofranka's life and a headache.
He got up from his chair. "It's time for me to go," he announced as he turned towards the door.
"Wait, what about me?" he heard the child's voice behind him.
He rose his eyebrow, turning over his shoulder. "What about you?"
"Well, I don't want to be sitting here forever," she pouted. "If you're going, take me as well!"
Javert sighed. "I can't do that," he explained.
"And why not?" Shofranka protested.
"You've been arrested. You have to stay here," he shrugged.
"That's stupid. My mum has been arrested too and she's not here. I want to be arrested where she is."
Javert rolled his eyes as he left the cell, closing the door behind him. "We'll see about that."
Shofranka slid down from the bed and trotted towards the bars. "But you will come again soon, won't you?"
"Perhaps." If he will need more information.
The child's face beamed at him from behind the bars. "See you, then!"
Questioning Shofranka further did not prove to be necessary, much to his relief. He got back to the case immediately, sending officers to all of the places she mentioned and looking for the men described. A few of them have already managed to escape, but their tracks were still fresh enough to follow, and many of the suspects were found in the given addresses. He had only hoped that there will be enough proof to get all of them proper sentences.
After a few days, when the majority of the gang has already been imprisoned and others were likely going to be arrested soon, the prefect asked to see him.
"Inspector, I would like to assign you to another case," Gisquet started as soon as Javert walked into his office. "We are grateful for your contribution, and I believe that you might be of more use elsewhere from now on. The unrest on the streets can no longer be ignored. I need skilled people to investigate the possibility of upcoming revolution. I will send the details to your office soon," he said quickly, without tearing his eyes off the papers on his desk.
"Understood, monsieur," Javert bowed his head. "Is there something else?" he added after a brief pause. There had to be. He would not be called here only for this announcement.
"Well," Gisquet started, folding his hands together and looking at Javert. "You know about the increased amount of arrests in the recent times. We've been finding people involved in planning the revolution for a while, and now we have added a fairly big criminal gang to them. Many of these people have not yet had their trials, so they still reside in prisons within the city. Shortly, it's getting crowded."
"I am aware of the problem, monsieur."
"Even worse, many of these arrested had children. Children who were often not involved in their crimes, and who with a proper guidance could still become decent citizens."
Javert suddenly felt some undefined sense of dread. "What does it have to do with my job, monsieur?"
"See, we're all out of space. With this rate of arresting, we cannot waste space in prison on so many children. So they have been placed in orphanages, monasteries, even families who agreed to take them in for the time being. But now we really are out of space. Beside," Gisquet looked away toward the window, "nobody wants to take in a Gypsy child."
Javert stared at him in disbelief. "Monsieur, you cannot possibly be implying-"
"You are the only one who even managed to communicate with that girl," Gisquet interrupted him. "She-" he squinted at one of the papers on the desk- "Flavie, was it? She cannot stay for longer at the station house. We need that cell for actual criminals, not some gamin children."
Javert frowned slightly. Was Flavie her official name? He had never checked. But he assumed that it was Shofranka that the prefect was talking about.
"And in the current state of matters," Gisquet went on undisturbed, "we have no place to put her in. Even the ones who agreed to take care of some of these children for now did not agree to take in a Gypsy one. And we cannot just put her on the street either, especially as the information that she knows might still prove to be useful. It would be just for a while, until everything calms down a bit, people are given their trials and we can find more room for the children."
"Monsieur, I am not exactly the right person for this task," Javert protested.
"I'm afraid that you might be the only person capable of undertaking this task, considering how nobody else even managed to talk to this child. Beside, she has been living on her own in a cell for a few days now, only receiving food. It would only be a matter of keeping an eye of her. You would receive a raise to cover for her expenses as well. She would simply stay at your house."
"It really isn't a good idea-"
Gisquet sighed. "Look, consider it a part of your duty, Javert," he stared at him with a stern look on his face. "This is an order."
Javert looked at him with terror. He clenched his jaw. "Yes, monsieur."
This was absurd. Absolutely ridiculous. It would have even been laughable, had it not been so terrible. It did look like a joke.
But it was also an order from his superior.
Looking after criminals' children was not exactly a part of his job. But times have been hard. He could not refuse an order from the prefect himself. Even one as ridiculous as this.
The next morning he headed to the station house, barely hiding his distaste. Everyone there seemed to be informed of the situation by now, somehow - they must have received the orders concerning the child. Someone even patted him on the back and wished him luck. He wished him death, but said nothing.
He would have walked towards guillotine more eagerly than he did toward the cells. Sure, he had to notice that each cell he passed was occupied by one or even a few people. The prefect was right about the situation. It did not lift his mood at all.
As soon as he reached the right cell, he heard a creak accompanied by a squeal. The girl immediately jumped up to the bars. "You're back!" she exclaimed, beaming.
Javert felt like he was one step away from murdering the child on the spot.
"Yes," he drawled out. "Yes, I am."
"What took you so long? I thought you would never come, it's been so long! And it's so boring in here!" she started chattering.
Javert noticed that despite her being just as bouncy as before, if not more, she looked paler and perhaps even thinner than a few days ago. Her long hair had also disappeared - it was cut close to her skin, leaving uneven short hairs to stick out in all directions.
"Yes, about that - you can come out now," he stated rather coldly, unlocking the door to the cell.
"Oh!" Shofranka's eyes sparkled as she watched the door open. "Can I go to mum?"
"No," Javert shook his head as he observed her come out of the cell, looking around with wonder. "You will stay at my apartment for the time being."
Shofranka gasped.
"Just for a while," Javert emphasized.
She gaped at him with wide eyes. "Are you my dad now?"
"What? No, absolutely not. Just," he sighed, "come along," he turned away and walked back where he came from.
Shofranka trotted by his side, clinging to his arm. "I never had a dad before!" she announced cheerfully.
"No, don't- don't do that," Javert freed his arm. "Oh, but one more thing," he turned to her as he reached the door at the end of the corridor. "If you try running away, you won't be seeing your mother again."
She seemed shocked by this suggestion. "I won't! Promise!"
"Good," he said, pushing the door.
As soon as they walked through the door, multiple heads turned toward them. Javert put his hands into his pockets and marched through the station, stubbornly staring forward, not paying heed to the amused glances.
He looked back at the girl to make sure that she's following him; she was busy sticking out her tongue at a group of officers. Javert nudged her back, hurrying her to walk forward. "Behave," he growled, receiving a quiet giggle in the response.
At least nobody dared to comment on it. He reached the exit without hearing a word and walked out on the street.
"Adieu!" he heard Shofranka call toward the station house before the door closed.
"Good to know you speak French," he mumbled with a scoff.
"Of course I do!" Shofranka passed next to him and leapt onto the pavement, spreading out her hands and spinning. "Well, finally!" she laughed when she felt the sun warm her skin. "I was getting quite sick of that place!"
"This way," Javert stated as he walked along the road. He could hear that the girl's bare feet followed him.
"It was so boring sitting there for so long! Why didn't you come sooner?" Shofranka resumed her chatter. "The food there was awful too! Sure, it's nice to get food at all, but me and mum have been having much nicer meals lately. I want to see mum. And they cut my hair, see?" she ran her hand through the bristles of hair on her head. "Because I had fleas or whatever. I don't know if I had any fleas. I think they probably wanted to be mean. Because they don't like me," she crossed her arms, pouting. "Well, I don't like them either! Because they are the police. Mum said not to speak to the police, ever. So I didn't!"
Javert listened to her rambling with resignation. If she was like that all day, it will be a painful period of time. He'd rather have her remain in prison. She would probably return there after a while either way. After all, what were the chances that this child will grow up to be at least a decent person, having been raised by a criminal?
Oh.
The same chances as he had.
Oh.
The same, or even bigger. He was born in prison. Have their situations not been similar? He was also brought up by an arrested criminal, they were raised with the same set of rules. He also had his fair share of sitting in a cell, his hair had also been cut because of the fleas.
He did not become a criminal himself, he rose above it. But have his chances not been as slim as these of that girl?
That girl, who was currently pulling on his coat, disturbed by how he suddenly stopped walking.
"What's wrong?" she asked, clinging to the fabric. "Let's go!"
"Stop pulling it," he commanded, peeling her hands off his coat and resuming walking with no explanation.
"It's a very nice flat!" Shofranka commented while rustling around Javert's apartment.
Javert would not exactly call it nice, but it was sufficient for his needs. In was only a single room, a bit cluttered due to its size, containing everything that he needed, without even a wall to separate the bedroom from the rest of the living space. Because of that, Shofranka would not be able to live in another room. Instead, he asked his portress to lend him an extra bed from one of the rooms that were currently not rented. It will have to be enough.
The girl did not seem disheartened by the prospect at all. She circled around the room, touching every piece of furniture with amazement, as it if was at least a castle.
Javert glanced at his pocket watch. "I will have to get going."
The girl turned toward him. "Where to?"
"Work," he explained simply, putting his coat and top hat on the hanger and walking toward the wardrobe. He took out an old jacket and a cap. His work now will be getting information about the plans of revolution; it should be better if he looks different than usual, and definitely nothing like a police officer. He needed to blend in as much as he could.
"Can I go too?" the girl asked.
"No. Stay here until I return," Javert said, putting on the cap and tucking his hair under it. "I asked the portress to bring you a tub of water to wash yourself in and some food later. I will be back in a few hours," he threw on his jacket. He ignored Shofranka waving goodbye to him and walked outside.
The door shut, leaving the slightly confused child standing in the middle of this sparsely-furnished room.