Chapter 4: Here Among the Sewer Rats

It is was when Jean Valjean got his foot stuck in the sludge, and the body of Javert slipped from his shoulder and into the muck with a thunk! that he at last began to wonder whether this was a good idea.

He was ankle-deep in foul water and human waste, exhausted and lost in the dark, dragging an unconscious two hundred pound man on his back who wanted to have him arrested.

There was so much wrong with this scenario that it seemed almost logic to leave Javert behind and continue alone. Saunier wasn't going to report his whereabouts to the police, after all. He was too much of a coward, for one thing, and if he did report him then there was nothing stopping Valjean from exposing his dirty little secret. What was Fate trying to tell him, by continuously, laughingly intertwining his destiny with that of this man?

That Javert was going to die, killed by the same government he'd spent his life defending; he needed to be saved from such an inglorious death. And Jean Valjean, as ironic as it was, was the only person who could save him. He was Jonah, and he must find his way through the Whale.

So Valjean shook his foot free of the sludge, took up Javert once more, and continued through the labyrinth of the Parisian sewer.

Some time later-minutes, or perhaps hours-Jean Valjean came before a large stone arch. The arch had been built to hold the gate of the sewers, and relief flooded him. He cared not where in Paris he entered or who might see him; anything was worth the risk to be rid of the sight and the smell of the sewers.

He placed Javert against the dark, wet stone wall and pushed at the gate. It didn't open.

Now suddenly fearful, he tried again, harder this time. Still the iron gate did not budge.

Was this the end of it? Valjean did not have the strength to turn back and return to the barricades, and he certainly couldn't bring Javert with him. And even if he did start the return journey, what would happen when the inspector awoke, in an underground sewer all alone? He'd die, most likely, and Valjean, worn down by a second trip through the pit, would join him.

It was the end for them both, caught up in the grim cobweb of death. He sank down to the floor beside the motionless form of Javert, and started to weep silently. Nothing, after all the years of hopelessness and waste, could compare with the anguish he felt now.

He did not waste any more time thinking of himself or Javert. He thought, as Marius must have, of Cosette.

As Jean Valjean sat in both darkness and despair, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A man's low voice said:

"We'll go halves".

Valjean was so baffled he thought he was dreaming. He stood up, and when he looked, he could see that there was not only a man, but three.

They were a foul-looking trio, all barefoot and clad in smocks to keep the waste off their already dirty clothes. They carried their shoes in their hands, which explained why Valjean had not heard them coming. And while their appearance was unexpected, he knew instantly who they were: three of the criminals that had joined Thenardier in his robbery four months ago. One of them was huge, black-bearded and strong, another bald and the third was short and ruddy-faced.

Despite his astonishment, Jean Valjean was too accustomed to suprises and too worn out to lose his self-control at the appearance of these men. In any event, their prescense could not possibly worsen his current predicament. But by way of reply, he asked "What do you mean?"

The bald one snorted. "You want to get out of this hell hole, right? You can't unlock the door. So we'll go halves."

"But what do you mean?" Valjean repeated.

"My titanic friend here has a key." Said the bald man, and he elbowed the big man. "Show him, Gueulemer." And Gueulemer produced a large key from his pocket.

"You've killed a man," the bald man went on, gesturing to Javert. "I don't know who you are, but I'm willing to help you."

Now Valjean understood. This man assumed him a murderer.

"Listen, my friend." Gueulemer said. "You won't have killed that man without looking in his pockets first. Give us half of what he's got, and we'll unlock the gate for you."

Jean Valjean could have laughed. Where God had failed him, these three scoundrels were going to rescue him and Javert.

"Now, Brujon, bring out the rest of it." The ruddy-faced one told the bald man.

Brujon reached into the bag he kept on his shoulder, and brought out a rope and a large stone. "We'll give you these too. You'll need them."

"For what?"

"Fool! You'll have to drop the body into the river once you get out."

"If it's all the same with you, I'll carry it with me." Valjean said firmly.

Brujon looked surprised at this strange preference, but shrugged. "Not my business if you want to drag a corpse through Paris." He said carelessly. "Just dig into your friend's pockets and give half of what you find to Babet here."

Mechanically, Jean Valjean knelt beside Javert (who was still mercifully out cold), and brought out all the money he could find on his person. He handed it to Babet, the third man. It couldn't have amounted to more than forty francs and six sous.

"You didn't kill him for much, did you?" Babet scowled as he inspected the money. He was pocketing the money when he noticed the glint of white on Javert's overcoat. "Say, what's that?" He asked Valjean.

Jean Valjean tore it off the jacket and looked at it. It was a star-shaped medal, decorated with a small fleur-de-lis in the center and painted black and gold. What it meant and what it stood for, Valjean had no idea.

"We'll take that too." Said Brujon.

Valjean complied, and gave Babet the medal.

"Well pal, you better get out." Babet laughed. "It's a fare just like any other: you leave when you pay. Gueulemer, open the gate for our comrade."

Gueulemer shouldered past Valjean and unlocked the gate. Valjean lift Javert up again, and began to walk towards the patch of sunlight. Then he paused, and turned back towards the trio of criminals. "Why are you three down here anyway?" He asked. "Is it some sort of refuge?"

Babet shook his head. "We came down here for the spoils of war." He glumly. "We were hoping that once the King won, the National Guard would flush all of the dead down here, hopefully with some change in their pocket."

"Claquesous went up yesterday to inspect the barricade." Brujon added. "He still isn't back yet."

Valjean remembered hearing of the death of Le Cabuc, and he couldn't help grinning. "Nor, I doubt, will he ever return." He told them. "Good day."

He continued taking the last steps to freedom, leaving the crooks behind. Within a few minutes of trudging through the last bit of waste, bright sunlight streamed into his eyes.

Jean Valjean was outside at last.

Inspector Francois Beauvais could have expected no greater surprise on that turbulent day of June 7 than a man covered in sweat and mud to enter the Paris Prefecture, carrying the body of Javert like a sack of potatoes.

"Mon Dieu," He swore, and ran out from behind the desk to help the stranger. They placed the equally dirty Javert upon one of the large leather armchairs."He's alive!"

The man nodded. "When he wakes up soon, he'll be just as surprised as you are."

"Is there anything I can do for you, monsieur, for saving the inspector's life?" Beauvais asked. After Enjolras had let him leave the barricade, he'd expected Javert to be executed by sundown. And yet here he was, brought back home by a stranger. Whoever he was, he deserved some reward.

The stranger looked ready to decline, then paused. "I could use a fiacre." He said mildly. "I have to get home, see my daughter. And I have...someone else whom I must attend to."

Beuavais nodded. "The Prefect has his own private carriage. It's the first one you can see out front. It's a carosse, but it should do fine. Just tell the driver where you want to go, and he'll bring you there."

The man nodded, and turned to leave, but Beauvais grabbed his arm to stop him. "Monsiuer, when Javert awakens...who should I tell him it is who brought him here?"

He thought about it, and answered darkly. "If Javert knew the truth, he wouldn't believe it. But tell him that it wasn't a stranger nor God who brought him back; it was the Angel of Darkness." And with that, the man exited the Prefecture, and stepped casually into the carosse.

"Number 5, Rue Plumet." He told the driver. "Bring me home."