Author's Note: Oh my goodness you guys...I didn't realize it has been over a year since I updated! I am SO sorry! Life has been crazy and prevented me from writing much lately. I know most of you have probably given up on this story or just forgotten about it, but for those of you who have stuck with me so far, I can't thank you enough. Every review helps keep me motivated, and I genuinely appreciate each one even if I don't respond. I had originally planned for this chapter to be longer, but I wanted to go ahead and post what I have rather than making you guys wait any longer than you already have for an update. Hope it was worth the wait! I'm not even going to try to guess and tell you when more will be posted, but I do want to reassure you again that I plan to see it through to the end. I might be 89 years old and bedridden by the time I get done, but I'm finishing this story, one way or another!
Chapter Twenty-One: The Wolf and the Pup
Cosette breathed a contented sigh, the gentle breeze that set her curls tickling her cheeks carrying with it the heady scent of flowers, damp earth, and the salty smell of the sea. She had risen early, before the sun was up, that she might take Magnifique out for a morning ride. Upon arriving at the Beaumont's inn, she'd noticed a warm glow emanating from the kitchen, yet the stalls remained dark, indicating that the stable boy had not yet begun his morning chores. The Beaumonts, being the kindhearted old couple that they were, had graciously given her the freedom to come and go as she pleased to visit her beloved horse, and in return, she occasionally offered her assistance in running errands or doing other small favors for them, though they had insisted that her father's generous payment was more than enough. On this particular morning, she had agreed to deliver some important letters to the post across town and pick up a few items from the market. She'd tapped on the glass as she passed by, waving through the window to let them know she had arrived and was greeted on the steps by the Madame with a smile and a small white cloth tied around a batch of fresh pastries for the road.
A light rain had begun to fall during the night, transitioning into a thick mist draped across every dip and valley like a wispy, ethereal veil that separated the world of dreams from reality. As a child, Cosette had feared going out on such days, her wild imagination seeing ghosts in every shadow and monsters behind every tree. Now, she took delight in the quiet stillness of the morning and allowed her mind to wander. It had been several months since the death of Officer Édouard Perrot and the events which had followed. Neither Cosette nor Valjean had heard a word from Javert in the time that had passed, and with the increasingly tense political atmosphere in Paris, Cosette had grown more and more anxious. Occasionally, someone from the city would visit the Beaumont's inn, bringing with them the day's paper, and Cosette would eagerly—if not somewhat apprehensively—scan the pages for any mention of the inspector. But inevitably, neither the headlines nor the obituaries ever yielded any evidence of the policeman's whereabouts, and Cosette would find herself breathing a sigh of relief mixed with frustration as she set the paper aside and waited impatiently for the next opportunity to receive word from Paris. She had considered, once, posting a letter in the personals but thought better of it when she recalled her father and uncle's shared past and realized the potential trouble such a letter might cause for both men.
And so it was with such thoughts in her head that Cosette found herself galloping across the open field where she had first learned to ride, the dark musings she had entertained giving way to happier, fond memories as the gray mist of the morning gave way to a rose and violet streaked dawn. She slowed as she approached the edge of the field where she could just make out the silhouette of a man with his arms folded propped against the fence. The figure raised a hand in greeting, and for a moment, Cosette's heart leapt in hopeful expectation. But as she drew closer, she realized that it was not Javert but Valjean who had been waiting for her.
He smiled warmly. "I thought I might find you here. Javert would be quite proud of your progress…and Magnifique's."
She came to a halt and dismounted.
"Papa!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I thought you had business to attend to this morning."
"That is what I wished to speak with you about. It seems my presence is required rather urgently in Paris."
Cosette's eyes widened.
"Some official matters of state—nothing to worry about, I assure you." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But I'm afraid I must go."
"Well…when are we leaving? I promised the Beaumonts I would—"
"You're not coming with me. Not this time."
Cosette took a step back. "What? But Papa, I—"
"I know you want to go, but it's too dangerous right now."
"All the more reason for you not to go alone!"
"I will only be gone for a few days," he reassured her. "I have asked Sister Simplice to check in on you when time allows. If you need anything, she will be available."
Cosette sighed. "Papa…we have always taken these trips together…."
"I know."
"And you know much I have been longing to get word of uncle!"
"I will tell you the moment I return if I have any news of him at all, I promise. But please, for my sake…I need you to stay here…." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "I worry about you."
She smiled gently, raising her own hand to cover his. "And don't you think I worry about you?" she asked.
"I know you do." He returned the smile.
Cosette sighed again. "Well, I suppose I could help Sister Simplice at the hospital to keep my mind off things while you're gone. I know she's been a bit shorthanded since the cholera outbreak. I hear it's worse in Paris…." She trailed off.
"I'll be fine," he assured her. "Now, then…now that we have that settled…what would you like for me to bring back for you?"
Cosette rolled her eyes.
They had been playing this game for years, and she never won. Every time they went to Paris, she insisted she didn't need anything and every time Valjean ignored her and surprised her with something anyway…a new toy or dollhouse or chocolates when she had been young, a dress or a parasol or perfume now that she was older.
"Papa, we've been through this…. I don't need anything. You have always provided me with more than enough. I'm not a little girl who needs to be showered with gifts in order to feel loved. You've already given me everything I could have ever wanted…." She paused, then added quietly, "Except… I wish you could find a way to bring Uncle home…."
Valjean smiled sadly. "That, I'm afraid, is beyond my control."
"I know… I just wish…."
"As do I."
"You'll tell him if you see him, though, won't you? That I miss him?"
"Of course." Valjean pulled a pocket watch from his vest. "Unfortunately, I must be going. The coach is leaving for Paris in half an hour."
"So soon?" she frowned.
"As I mentioned before, it is a matter of some urgency. And I should prefer to get back as soon as possible."
She embraced him, then, and standing on her tiptoes, placed a kiss on his cheek. "Be safe."
"I will."
As Valjean turned to leave and Cosette prepared to remount her horse, she glanced back over her shoulder.
"Flowers," she said.
"Pardon?"
"You asked me what I wanted you to bring back." She smirked. "I'd like some flowers from the garden."
Valjean smiled and shook his head.
xxxx
The gigantic elephant statue of the Bastille, once a rather grand looking thing, had—like its commissioner—fallen out of public favor for quite some time, the whitewashed plaster having weathered and faded to the dull, sooty gray of the streets until it was barely distinguishable from any other dilapidated structure or abandoned building at a distance. Upon closer inspection, however, one might notice that the matronly old elephant—who in her prime had never been more than a hollow, barren husk of political ostentatiousness—now carried life within her womb. Bats and birds roosted in the rafters, straw nests and black bodies strung along each rib like gold and onyx beads dangling from a woman's necklace, while mice and rats scurried along the floorboards and, in the darkest depths of her belly, her most precious surrogate child—a boy born of the streets—rested quietly, curled up like a cat in front of a fireplace as the sound of raindrops against the roof lulled him to sleep.
A sudden, swift tapping startled the boy from his slumber. He raised his head and listened again, mimicking the mews of an irate feline who had been disturbed from her nap, then stopped to listen again for the rhythmic knocking against the elephant's leg—five taps, then a pause, followed by two more. The boy grinned and poked his head out of the hole in the elephant's stomach.
"I'm sorry, monsieur, we're closed for the evening. Come back later during business hours!"
"That sharp tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble someday, Gavroche," Javert huffed.
The boy's grin widened as he gave the inspector a wink. "And that horribly cross attitude of yours is going to get you into trouble. You'd have a lot more friends if you'd loosen up every once in a while, you know. No one likes a stick in the mud!"
His head disappeared back inside the elephant, replaced momentarily with a pair of legs followed by a torso as he dropped to the ground, landing softly on the balls of his feet. He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes and dusted a bit of sawdust and a few cobwebs from his clothes.
"Lucky for you," he continued, "I don't particularly mind."
Javert rolled his eyes. "How very fortunate for me."
He glanced up at the underside of the elephant from whence the boy had come and frowned. He had never quite been able to put his finger on it, but ever since the boy had revealed his "home" to the inspector, something about the situation had troubled him. It wasn't pity, exactly. Javert had seen plenty of beggars on the streets with far less comfortable accommodations. Nor, he reluctantly admitted, was it the fact that the boy was technically trespassing on public property. The boy was a valuable informant, he rationalized, so certain allowances would be considered acceptable in the situation…particularly since the boy's choice of living quarters was not directly harming anyone. It was something deeper and more disturbing, something that twisted his gut every time he met the boy here. Perhaps it was the fact that he had earned the child's trust—a thing all too easily broken and a thing for which he was not certain he wanted to take responsibility. Or perhaps it was the fact that if he stared too long at the boy in front of him, he saw a reflection of the child he had once been.
"So," Gavroche said, breaking the inspector from his reverie, "watcha need me for tonight?"
"I had hoped," Javert said, "that all this talk of rebellion would have died down by now. Unfortunately, the situation only appears to be getting worse. What have you heard from the boys at the tavern?"
Gavroche shrugged. "Nothing much different than before. They're still holding out hope that if General Lamarque can convince enough people to see things his way, bloodshed won't be necessary…but I think they're beginning to lose faith. Enjolras says if we can't find a peaceful solution soon, an uprising may be our only chance—the only way to make the government wake up and take our concerns seriously. We don't want to fight, but if we have to, we will."
Javert raised an eyebrow. "We?"
Gavroche ducked his head. "Er…I mean they."
Javert sighed and ran a hand over his face tiredly. "Gavroche, when I first asked you to take on this job for me, I told you I needed you to become a part of this group…to earn their trust…learn their secrets…get close to them…. And you have done a remarkable job…but I think, perhaps, you may have gotten a bit too close. I know that you have come to care for these boys, but they are a target of investigation, and you must understand that if it comes down to it, I will arrest them, regardless of your feelings. Perhaps it was foolish and irresponsible of me to ask so much of a child. For that, I do apologize. But if you even think that your loyalties might waver, I need you to tell me now…because I cannot afford it."
Gavroche crossed his arms. "I'm not just some stupid child!" he protested angrily.
"I know that, Gavroche. You wouldn't still be alive if you were. The streets are a hard master, crueler than any father or mother. It's a struggle every day just to live, and only the strong and the smart survive. One grows up quickly in such a world. Believe me, I have stood where you now stand. But there is still so much of the world that you do not understand, things that no one should ever have to understand. War is one of them. It is not a glorious, grand gesture of patriotism as your friends would have you believe. It is a bloody, ugly thing wherein the darkest parts of men's souls are laid bare, where a brother may kill his brother and father may kill his own son yet it is written down in the history books as an act of necessity in the name of a better world that will never come. Men are alike the world over, Gavroche. Kings and emperors come and go. Dynasties rise and fall. Over and over we fight the same wars over the same things and every time we convince ourselves that it will be worth it in the end because something better will come of it, because we can change the world, change the system…. But it cannot be done. People do not change—" He hesitated. "At least, not enough of them to change the way the world works. If it was possible, it would have already been done. And so the world goes on, as it always has…as it always will…and their needless deaths amounting to nothing."
Gavroche studied his feet, wriggling his left big toe through a hole in the tattered shoes he wore that were a size too large.
"They're good people, Inspector," he said quietly. "They're a bunch of rich schoolboys—toffs, most of 'em. Never worked a day of their lives. They don't know nothin' about living on the streets. Why should they care about what happens to people like me? It don't affect 'em. But they do care. They believe my life is worth somethin' like nobody ever has before. They treat me like a younger brother…like I was family…." He looked up. "You have a family, Inspector?"
"I… No. Why?"
Gavroche shrugged. "Dunno. Just seemed like you might from the way you talked…like you lost someone…."
Javert sighed again. "People are going to die, Gavroche. Good men—including your friends—are going to die if these boys have their way and stir up another revolution. You aren't old enough to remember all the damage that resulted from the last time someone tried. But I assure you, I am, and it is not an experience I wish to see repeated."
"But good people are already dying! And for what? For love? For a cause? For something bigger than themselves, something they believe in? No! They're dying because they're sick and too poor to afford medicine. Because they don't have food in their belly or a roof over their head. If people are going to die anyway, shouldn't it at least be on their own terms? Shouldn't they at least go out fighting for what they believe is right? Isn't that what the law is supposed to be for anyway? To protect people? If it's not doing its job, shouldn't it be replaced with a new one?"
"I am trying to protect people, Gavroche, the best way that I know how. Yes, people are dying every day of illness and starvation and exposure. I do not say that it is just or good that such deaths occur. In a perfect world, such things would not be. But the world is not perfect, nor can it be made to be by the hands of men. Some deaths are inevitable. It is simply the way of things, and there is little I can do to prevent them. But I can do my part to prevent a potential revolution and the countless deaths it will inevitably bring. Believe it or not, I am trying to save lives here, Gavroche—even the lives of your friends who, though perhaps their intentions are good, have little real idea of what it feels like to watch the life fade from another man's eyes. And I will do whatever it takes in order to do so. I will not hold it against you if you choose not to betray their trust any further. But I would ask that you think long and hard about the choice you make, and if you do find that you are unable to offer me any further assistance, when the time comes to fight, get as far away from them and their dangerous ideas as you possibly can. Promise me that much, boy. The battlefield is no place for a child."
Gavroche, taken aback by the urgency in the inspector's voice, nodded soberly. "I promise."
Javert breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. You think on what I've said, boy, and let me know. Just…just be careful and stay out of trouble."
Gavroche flashed another dazzling grin. "Why, Inspector, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were actually worried about me!"
Javert muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and Gavroche laughed.
"Anyway," he said, hoisting his upper body back up into the interior of the elephant, "you shouldn't be." He pulled his legs in, then turned around so that just his head stuck out over the opening. "I'm always careful."
Javert rolled his eyes. "Yes…about as careful as a pup let loose in a banquet hall!"
Gavroche laughed again. "Oi! I take offense to that, I do! I'll have you know, I'm as careful as they come. Just you wait 'til this pup grows up! You won't be insulting him then!"
"I dread the day…."
Gavroche smiled. "G'night, Inspector."
"Goodnight, Gavroche."