Chapter Twenty One

The Waiting

Night had fallen on the barricades, and Jean felt like he was losing his mind.

They were waiting for the spy Enjolras had sent to find out the enemy's plans to return. As of yet, there had been no fighting, which Jean was grateful for considering the presence of one overly stubborn woman currently sat in the doorway to the Musain, folding a crumpled piece of paper into various shapes.

His heart had nearly stopped hwen he had seen Clementine just a few hours earlier. He knew he wanted her nowhere near the barricade – he wanted her safe in her own time – but she wasn't going anywhere. She'd made that clear enough. And now she just sat there, looking sadder and sadder by the moment, only moving her legs so that people could climb over her.

He could see people's raised eyebrows at her presence. She was obviously a woman, even if she was wearing a rather odd-looking pair of blue trousers; the jacket she was wearing was bright purple with green dots all over it. She stood out like a lone white dove amongst a flock of common pigeons, but no one was saying anything. Even Enjolras had taken one look at her, asked if she could fire a gun and then carried on with his usual job of focusing on the task at hand.

Jean was well aware that he was distracted completely by her presence. He just wanted her to be safe. He knew that fighting would come soon and he had no idea if anyone on this barricade could make it through the night alive. What would happen to her if she died? She wasn't in the right time – anything could happen to her…

"Psst!"

Jean's head whirled around to find the source of the noise. He was perched rather precariously on the barricade itself and nearly fell off with how fast he moved.

A familiar, grimy face was peering at him. The fortune teller from what felt like years earlier was stood against the wall of the building, a cocky smile on her face. "Careful, there, monsieur," she said. "I wouldn't want you breaking your neck. That would defeat everything I've worked for."

As carefully as he could without falling, he scrambled down the barricade to stand very close to the woman. "Send her back," he ordered, his voice a hiss. "What were you thinking, allowing her to come here? It isn't safe!"

"Of course it's not safe," the woman said in a scoffing tone. "That's why she's here. And I can't just send her back, I've broken every rule by bringing her here, so I'm not putting my job on the line without giving her a final chance to do her job."

"I am getting sick and tired of this," Jean said. "I don't want her to die."

"And you mustn't die," the woman shrugged. "That's why we're all here, Jean Prouvaire. It's why your paths have crossed with hers, to make sure you don't die. It has led to extreme measures because you wouldn't listen to the girl when she asked you not to come here. If anything happens to her, it's really your fault."

His heart jolted at the thought. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Do you remember where I live, monsieur?" the woman pushed off the wall.

"What?" he said, confused.

"The alleyway," the woman said. "Do you remember where that is?"

He thought about it, and nodded. "Of course, but…"

"Oh, good," the woman said, sounding pleased. "It would have been rather unfortunate if you'd forgotten. And do you know your way to Musichetta's home?"

"I…I had been there once," Jean said, after a few moments of hesitation.

"See, it's all coming together." The woman clapped her hands together. "I'll leave you now, Jean Prouvaire. It shouldn't be too long before we see each other once again."

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the woman was gone.

III

With a small huff, Clementine crumpled the paper one last time in her fist and threw it away from her. It bounced across the dusty cobbles outside the café. Another sigh escaped her mouth as she drew her legs up against her chest, resting her head on her knees.

She felt at a complete loss, here in 1832. Jehan didn't even want her there, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do. In addition to that, nothing was happening. They all had their guns ready and no one had fired a shot yet. She knew they were waiting for something, but no one had explained to her what.

Her stomach was a ball of nerves. She wanted to talk to Jehan, but she also felt like she shouldn't. He hadn't been too pleased to see her, she knew that, because he was worried about her welfare. She understood that, because she was worried about his too, but it had been somewhat deflating to have him instantly tell her to leave – and to then sit there with the grumpiest look on her face that she had ever seen.

She closed her eyes. She couldn't think straight. She didn't know what the point of her being here was, but Margaux hadn't returned since abandoning her here. What was she supposed to do?

Suddenly, there was a lot of shouting, and then it went somewhat quiet; the next thing she knew, there was even more clamour. Frowning, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. Was the fighting about to begin? Her stomach rolled.

There were no gunshots from what she could hear, but she could see a middle-aged man being dragged towards her by some of Jehan's friends. She had barely the time to scramble out of the way as they hauled him through the café doors, and one of his friends still managed to catch her knee with his foot. Once they were past her, she allowed her body to relax and then peered through the door after them. Some sort of fight was ensuing. She watched as one of the men – she couldn't remember his name, but they had been introduced – hit the middle-aged man with what looked like a club.

A hand touched her shoulder. It was Jehan. "He was a spy," he murmured in her ear. He was crouched next to her. "Are you all right? Did any of them kick you?"

She shook her head, even though her knee throbbed a little.

There was a brief moment of quiet on the barricade as the 'spy' was trussed up in the café. But Clementine heard it – the sound of hundreds of feet marching in unison, somewhere nearby, far away but close enough to be heard. Jehan's hand tensed on her shoulder so much it was nearly hurt.

Clementine looked up into his face with wide eyes. His eyes stared back at her, and she could see the range of emotions playing out in them – fear, anticipation, worry.

"What is it?" she said, glancing over her shoulder back into the café. The men there seemed to hear the marching too and suddenly all moved forward at once, scrambling through the door. Jehan wrapped his arms around her to pull her out of the way.

"I want you to stay inside the café," he hissed in her ear. "Please, Clementine, stay inside here. It will be safer."

"What is happening?" she demanded, her stomach rolling. She thought she knew – no, she knew that she knew. The fighting was going to begin.

He kissed her, hard on her mouth. "Please, wait inside," he urged, before letting go of her. She watched as he accepted a revolver from one of his friends and then he was gone, scaling the barricade of furniture to stand with his friends.