I felt weighted down by darkness, head pounding as a quiet voice drifted to me, whispering, "Inspector? Inspector?"

Coming to my senses was difficult: the more lucid i became the more intense the pounding. As my eyes fluttered open the pain localised to my cheek. I tried to reach up and cup the undoubtably swollen flesh but found my hands still handcuffed behind me. My shoulders were killing me.

"Inspector?" A woman comes into my line of vision, waving a hand before my eyes, "Inspector, are you alright? What happened?"

I cleared my throat, tried to look more alert. "Where's Val- where's the Mayor?"

She blinked, confused, "He left ten minutes or so ago, calling for a carriage to take him back to his home." She swallowed heavily, "He isn't the one who did this to you, is he?"

I notice now that there are several people in the room: two more nurses and one of the local police officers whom escorted Fantine here. I glance over - her body still lies in that bed, except now someone has thrown a sheet over her. It's thin material, I can still make out the dark colour of her eyes through it.

I try to stand and the two nurses rush over and support me until I am on two feet once more. I address the room, "The man whom you knew as your Mayor is a freud. He is a fugitive who goes by the name of Jean Valjean. He was given twenty years hard labour because he was a thief, and after serving his time he skipped his parole and has been on the run these past ten years. He is not honourable, as you see him, nor is he a man of God. He is a liar, and as soon as his ploy began to unravel he attacked a man of the law and ran. No doubt he has already collected a horse and is long gone - disappearing is what he does best."

"Sir, with all due respect, that can't be true." The police officer spoke. He was young, an innocent naivety in his eyes. He could not have been in the job long. "The Mayor is a truly generous man: he has cared for us all during his years in office and will jump to the aid of anyone who may need it. He has always been selfless and...and kind, Sir."

I tried to stand tall, asserting dominance in this situation, "Although that is what you think is true, I can assure you I have been dealing with this man since long before you were born. He has fooled you all, but I am here to hold him accountable. He will not get away with this. Now," I say with a flick of my chin, "I need these shackles removed before I can bring this man to justice. I will also require a horse, if your town can spare one, and some provisions."

The officer nodded and hurried out of the doorway and down the hall, leaving me alone with three woman who stared at me in disbelief and the still body on the bed in the corner.

"Now, sir, I suggest you hold very still."

I bit my tongue to stop myself snapping at the blacksmith to get on with it. With my arms stretched out behind me I could not see what the mountain of a man planned to do to release me from the shackles: all I knew was that the process to do so required a very large hammer. I tried shifting a little before he began, making sure I was as comfortable as I could get.

I found myself torn between wanting my arms free as soon as possible and the hope that this was a long, tricky process so that escaped convicts didn't have an easy time of it. The strain in my shoulders had me swaying towards free as soon as possible.

"Now, I hope you're ready. Don't want you jumping from fright and getting a crushed hand."

I nodded, breathing through my nose in the dim, hot cabin the blacksmith inhabited. A fire roared somewhere behind and to the right of me, regularly stoked by the man whom had told me to call him Nicolas but since I didn't plan on speaking to him a didn't pay him much heed.

Something came down upon the chain then - I would assume the hammer but I didn't dare sneak a peek to sate my curiosity. For many long minutes, the blacksmith hammered and pushed the chain around. I felt heat near my fingers at one point before hammering and grunting ensued. Finally, when my shoulders were screaming from being so tense and sweat beaded my forehead, a mighty blow came down upon the shackles and my wrists separated and swung round to where they belonged.

I rolled my shoulders, muscles stiff and sore. I looked down to find the cuffs of the shackles still encircled my wrists. I turned to the blacksmith - Nicolas - with a raised eyebrow.

He merely shrugged, "Best I can do, I'm afraid. Well, best I can do without seriously burning you or worse." He began tidying up, putting various tools away, returning a dimly glowing rod to the fire. "Only way you're going to get rid of those is by using the key made for them."

With a mumble of thanks and coins laid in his gruff hand I escaped the heat to be greeted by the beginning of the evening. Valjean had up to a two hour lead on me, but I highly doubted he planned on constructing a new life without money nor provisions, let alone caring for a child amidst all of that.

The nurses had been incredibly helpful - while one left to find if the blacksmith would be of any help to me,the others told me what they knew of Fantine: of how she had lost her job because her boss had found out about her paying for the care of her child in more ways than one.

As it happened to turn out, one of their sister nurses had been present the day of Fantine's firing. She had snatched a telegram from Fantine's hand, read aloud the woman's troubles for all to hear.

She told me she blames herself for the death of Fantine and the probable death of her child, that she had to turn to her faith to find a way to forgive herself. It was how I came to be here, she said, helping those less fortunate than I. She had even kept the telegram to remind herself of her misdeeds.

But most importantly, she showed me the telegram in question: upon which it said very clearly where it had been sent from.

Valjean was headed to Montfermeil, not much farther than five days ride from here. Of course, that was with him having to stop and rest. As an officer of the law, I could obtain a new horse easily from other officers when mine would tire, and I didn't expect to feel tired until I finally had that criminal in shackles.

I was so close, so close to righting the mistake I had made when I gave Valjean that yellow slip of paper. I felt personally responsible for this mess, but I would be damned if I didn't clean it up.

I was given a horse - "fastest legs in the stable," I was assured - and was on my way as the day finally faded into night.