Hi everyone! Wow, I can't believe I've been at this story for officially over a year now! Thank you all so much for hanging in there and continuing to send me awesome feedback! I will definitely try to make timely updates more of a priority, because I do intend to conclude this story someday... haha, but anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter; hopefully the next several after this will be pretty exciting. Please leave a review! Enjoy!
Gathered at the table, the five men spoke in hushed voices, though they were quite certain that no one was listening. For the surviving Friends of the ABC, plotting in secret was a well practiced skill; for Jean Valjean, while the collaborative element was new, he was no stranger to covert planning.
"I know Bellanger," Courfeyrac explained. "He would help us. He'll want to appeal, but he knows that's a lost cause. If he knows that we're up to something illegal, he won't interfere. I had hoped to keep him ignorant, because if we fail and they find out he knew, he would almost certainly go to jail himself."
"He doesn't know you're alive, does he?" Valjean asked.
"No," said Courfeyrac. "Anyway, of us, I'm the only one he knows personally. But from what you've told me about Enjolras' testimony, they both think we were shot by Javert."
"I want to go see him," said Combeferre anxiously. "Enjolras, I mean. I can't stand the thought of leaving alone in that place another second."
"We have to be pragmatic," said Feuilly. "They will pay close attention to who his visitors are. I'm sure they're still looking for insurgents. Any friend who goes to visit him will be interrogated and you know it. And if any guard happens to notice that you match the description of the suspect in Javert's death, you'll be arrested on the spot."
"But someone has to contact him somehow, I think," said Joly. Combeferre's head sank lower as he listened. "If an attempt to stage the breakout comes as an utter surprise to him, he could inadvertently cost us invaluable time during the effort. Not to mention the shock of knowing we're alive would be a lot to overcome in the kind of small time we're talking about."
"But I agree it's unsafe for any of you to go," said Valjean quietly. "Not even just Combeferre, but any one of your age. None of you closely enough resemble him to pass for family, and from what you've told me is well known about the Enjolras family, that would be suspicious as well."
"Well everyone has said what we can't do, so how about a useful idea now?" Combeferre snapped. The others patiently took his tone in stride.
"I should go," said Valjean to everyone's surprise.
"What?" asked Feuilly incredulously.
"I could invent a better story," said Valjean. "I can explain everything to him in a brief visit. He can process the news of your survival in relative privacy and I can discreetly pass along any information he needs."
"Won't you be in danger?" asked Joly. "You have your own reasons to avoid attention from the police."
"As I said before," he began. "I think the only person left on Earth to know Jean Valjean and his story was Javert. I must beg God for forgiveness for the relief I feel, but I think, after all these years, I am safe."
"But you were at the barricade as well," Courfeyrac reminded him. "Aren't you worried you might be recognized?"
"I think it's improbable," he began. "I arrived on the scene late, and so many of the people who had a chance to recognize me are either in this room or dead."
"What will you tell him?" Feuilly asked. "And who will you claim to be?"
"I'll tell him, as calmly and discreetly as the conditions allow, that his surviving friends intend to help him," said Valjean. "And it's not something I'm extremely proud of, but I've become rather skilled at inventing identities for myself."
"Courfeyrac," Combeferre began to consult the lawyer. "Will they give him any say over whether or not he will or won't see a visitor? For instance, will they tell him who it is there to see him, and if he doesn't wish to meet them, will they force him?"
"They can't force him to see anyone," said Courfeyrac. "But I think it's improbable that they would bother telling him who's there. Why do you ask?"
"I have an idea for how Monsieur Valjean could speak to Enjolras without any unwanted attention from the guards," Combeferre elaborated. "But if they repeat this false identity to Enjolras, he won't see you."
"What do you have in mind?" Valjean asked.
"Claim to be a hired attorney or man of business from his grandfather," said Combeferre. "Say the old man has sent you to settle family financial matters. They'll believe it easily. Monsieur Enjolras the elder has a vast fortune that René is heir to. But if he's executed, the part he's already inherited from his father may be at the center of a small fight between a few potential natural heirs. It's perfectly believable that the old man, overcome by shame at having a grandson condemned for treason, would want to send someone to bully him into preventing any further embarrassment or chaos to the family, by clearly and explicitly bequeathing the money back into the family accounts."
"What if he really does send his own man?" Feuilly asked.
"I can be vague," said Valjean. "In fact, it would probably help if I did. I act as if I'm too important to tell whichever guard I speak to all about my purpose. It's plausible more than one such man could be employed by Monsieur Enjolras."
"But Enjolras will never knowingly speak to an employee of his grandfather," said Combeferre. "We have to hope no one says anything."
"Is this family really as bitterly divided as you make it seem?" Valjean asked.
"I'm afraid so," said Combeferre. "René was always something of an oddity among them. He'll have relatives waiting to dance on his grave for the fortune it will net them. His grandfather was always kind to him when he was a boy, but he was determined to make him into something he could never be. When René made that clear, it poisoned any fondness between them. And I think even his own mother merely never forgave him for the great sin of reminding her of her husband."
"What a shame," said Valjean. He refocused on the task. "So, I shall go tomorrow. I'll use that as my alibi, then when I speak to Enjolras, I'll tell him you're alive and working desperately on his behalf. That way, he won't be stunned."
"Thank you," said Combeferre quietly. It hurt deeply to think that he wouldn't be the one to see Enjolras, but it could not be helped. The others studied him carefully as he drew a deep slow breath, determined to find a new outlet for his attention. "Courfeyrac, will you make your way back toward the bed? I ought to check the wound and change the bandages."
Courfeyrac, who never was good about tolerating such orders from his friends, nodded and silently reached for his crutches, himself lost in thought. Valjean took that as his cue to leave the boys to their grief.
When the news made its way to Monsieur Gillenormand, he wasn't sure what to do. Of course it was no surprise, the verdict. But after his conversation yesterday with Marius, he thought he should tread carefully. It was on the cover of the morning's newspaper, Rebel Leader Convicted; Sentenced to Death. He barely had to read more than the headline. He drew a deep breath and made his way towards his grandson's bedroom, and partly to his relief, but partly to his terror, Marius was already awake.
"How do you feel today?" he asked quietly, taking a chair beside the bed. Marius blinked heavily and slowly hoisted himself up.
"It's difficult to say," he murmured. "I hardly slept, and my shoulder hurts worse now than it has in two weeks."
"I'll send for the doctor," replied Gillenormand quickly. Marius shook his head, suddenly becoming more clearly aware of himself.
"No, I'm sure that's not necessary," he insisted. "What of Enjolras? Please, I know it will have made the morning papers, and I need to know."
Gillenormand took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," was all he managed to say. Marius bit his lower lip, partly bracing against the physical pain that coursed through his arm and chest from the wound, and partly to collect himself in the face of the bad news. But he did appreciate his grandfather's offering of sympathy. He nodded solemnly.
"Grandfather," he said quietly. "I wonder if you might leave me. I just think I'd prefer to be alone for a little while."
The old man was about to protest, but seeing the look on his grandson's face made him realize that it wasn't personal, and that this was a request he couldn't refuse. He nodded and left the room silently as Marius used his uninjured arm to pull himself up forward enough to rest his head on his knees. The movement was very painful but he almost preferred it that way. Pain was a highly effective distraction, and if his complete and undivided attention made its way to Enjolras's plight, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. For now, the best he managed was to sit achingly on the bed, feeling useless and sad.
Later on, he had visitors, and they were probably the only people on earth, possibly including Cosette, whose presence would be of any comfort to him. It was the first time he'd seen Combeferre, when he walked in with Feuilly.
Combeferre's face was grim and hardened, as if he had aged ten years in the few weeks since Marius had last seem him. But in being reunited with his friend, he gave a smile.
"It's good to see you, Pontmercy," he said quietly, taking a seat beside the bed. Feuilly pulled up his own chair.
"Is it safe for you to be on the streets?" Marius asked.
"Probably not," Combeferre admitted, with a bit of a cynical laugh. "But I've already ventured out once, and it seems I can't hide forever. Attending the trial was a risk I had to accept."
"You went to the trial?" Marius asked anxiously.
"We all did," said Feuilly grimly.
"You saw him?" Marius asked.
"He looks awful," said Combeferre bluntly. "A few obvious injuries and half starved."
"It seems no matter how much we knew what would happen, there was no way to be prepared for it," said Marius.
"No," Combeferre agreed. "Monsieur Va–" he stopped himself short. Marius didn't know Valjean's true identity, and though Combeferre thought he had a right to know, it wasn't his secret to tell. It felt wrong to lie about something so serious to a friend, but after all Valjean was willing to do and risk for them, when he owed them nothing, the least Combeferre could do was honor his confidence. He just hoped that the old man would decide to tell Marius himself, preferably soon. "Monsieur Fauchelevent is astonishingly generous in his efforts to help us. He's going to see Enjolras today."
"What for?"
"To tell him that we're alive," Feuilly began. "It became clear during the trial that he believes himself to be the only survivor. We came to the painful decision that it would be reckless for any of us to appear at the prison, so Monsieur Fauchelevent is going in our stead."
"Do you have some sort of plot?" Marius asked dully.
"Yes," said Combeferre quickly. "We have to move very quickly, much more quickly than we intended. For some unfathomable reason, they only gave him three days."
"Three days?" Marius' eyes went wide in horror.
"But we intend to act," said Feuilly. "The odds are heavily against success, but we've formed a decent body of information about the geography and routine of the place. I can get in undetected and await the right moment to break into his cell. It will be cutting things dangerously close, but our current plan has us slipping out before dawn the morning they intend to do the thing."
"And then what?" Marius asked. They all spoke in low quiet voices.
"He can't stay in Paris," said Feuilly. "I hate the thought but most probably, Les Amis de l'ABC will be further splintered, at least for now."
"You would send him off alone?" Marius asked, troubled by the thought.
"No," said Combeferre. "It's true that you and Courfeyrac are in no position to travel, but he is on the mend, and you are safe in the house of your grandfather. Joly can stay to further oversee his rehabilitation, and Feuilly can decide whether to stay or go. But Enjolras will probably need continuing medical care, and as I might still be wanted by the police, it makes sense that I would accompany him. Apart from that, I don't think I could stand not being with him."
"Where would you go?" asked Marius.
"Perhaps south," began Combeferre. "I will try to persuade him that he should go abroad, but I suspect he won't hear of it."
"But in any case, we owe a debt of gratitude to Monsieur Fauchelevent," Feuilly began. "He is shouldering a portion of the risk by going to see him today, but he will do us a world of help. Enjolras has to know we're alive and coming for him. When I'm with him in the prison, we will have fleeting minutes and absolute silence will be required. If my appearance is an utter shock to him, it will put us both in undue danger."
It suddenly seemed strange to Marius how little he'd actually ever spoken to Fauchelevent alone. The man he hoped would soon be his father-in-law was such an enigma to him, that the subject almost made him uncomfortable. Fortunately, Combeferre was ready to discuss something else.
"Joly tells me you've been quite sick," said Combeferre. "That the manner of your escape from the barricade exposed you and your wound to all manner of horrid things."
"Joly is known for exaggerating illness," said Marius defensively. He didn't especially want this sort of attention now.
"Nice try," said Combeferre with a sly smile. "He may be a bloody hypochondriac about his own affairs, but he's seldom wrong about other people."
"I'm fine," said Marius indignantly.
"You're a poor liar," said Combeferre. "It's very clear that you're in a great deal of pain right now; you wince when you talk, and despite the fact that it's cooler than its been in several days, you're sweating. Sweating is either new or increased pain, fever or both, and each one of those options is bad. Will you indulge me to at least see the wound?"
"I'm sure it's not necessary," Marius insisted.
"I'm sure it's better if you just agree now," said Feuilly. "He'll get you to agree in the end."
For Jean Valjean, entering a prison was a horrifying ordeal. Frankly, he could hardly believe that he had gotten himself into this voluntarily. Even though he was entering as a visitor, as a free and respected man, with full power to leave when his brief business was concluded, it was absolutely horrifying. He only hoped that he wouldn't outwardly betray his anxiety in a way that might raise suspicion.
So far, he was doing alright. He was dressed well in the part of a business man, had gruffly explained to the guard his purpose, and given an invented false name. He said very little and seemed to succeed in passing off the appropriate air of snobbery. As he followed the guard down the corridor to the visiting area, he fought harder and harder against the darkest memories that fought their ugly way to the surface of his attention. This jail in the heart of a big city was very different in detail than Toulon, but at its core, it was the same: a place of enormous suffering and hopelessness.
When they arrived at their destination, Valjean was greeted by an older guard, who made him very nervous as he studied him. Eventually, he told him where to go.
"He'll be there on the end," he said gruffly. Valjean nodded, but avoided additional eye contact.
When he saw Enjolras, shackled behind a barred divide, his first instinct was that it was painfully undignified, especially for such a charismatic and proud young man. He highly doubted that Enjolras would recognize him at all.
To his surprise, as soon as the young prisoner met his eyes, it was as if a wild animal were released. Enjolras lurched forward like a madman, with hatred and violence encompassing him entirely.
"You bastard!" he shouted. Valjean was taken so aback, he couldn't speak. Enjolras was filled with disgust. Somehow, here was the man from the barricade. The man who had saved them, and asked only one favor in return: the honor of dealing with Javert. Enjolras was glad to indulge his request at the time, and didn't think anything of it again until the morning when it became clear that Javert was not dealt with. The only probably explanation was that the other stranger was also a spy. So Javert had survived long enough to shoot Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Joly. And here in front of him was the treacherous scum responsible. "We trusted you, you filthy spy!"
"Listen, please!" Valjean sputtered nervously, but Enjolras would here none of it.
"When you spared your miserable friend, you allowed the deaths of four good men," he snapped. "Javert shot them! Like animals!"
Suddenly, Valjean made the connection. He simply had to explain that Combeferre and the others were alive. But in Enjolras' state of near madness, that was a tall order. The young man backed off the bars, but turned his head away.
"No you don't understand," Valjean tried to explain, but Enjolras merely ignored him now.
"Guard!" he called, facing the other direction. "Please return me to my cell. I have no business with this man." Valjean's heart sank; as soon as a guard appeared, the option to merely shout "Your friends are alive and intend to help you escape!" was no longer an option. Soon an officer was beside Enjolras, fiddling with keys to undo the heavy shackles.
"Enjolras, please listen to me," he said calmly. But he knew instantly that he'd erred in appealing again, because suddenly, Enjolras's rage was renewed. This time though, he was able to pull his hands free, as the guard was taken by surprise. In a split-second, he threw his entire weight against the bars, and for a moment, Valjean was almost afraid of him.
"Listen to you?!" he shouted, then drew back his head only far enough to allow him to spit in Valjean's face. "I would kill you!"
Valjean then watched in horror as two more guards appeared and soon grabbed the boy, wrestling him to the ground. Enjolras fought with all his might, but the effort was feeble. Soon he was pinned beneath the weight of three men, his hands harshly forced behind his back and forced into tight manacles. But, and not to Valjean's great surprise, they didn't stop there. Even when the prisoner was thoroughly subdued, they continued to strike him.
"Please don't hurt him," Valjean implored quietly, but he knew it would do no good. Soon they hoisted a nearly unconscious Enjolras up and dragged him from sight.
Valjean, having completely failed his mission and deeply traumatized by what he'd just witnessed, left the prison as fast as his aging legs would carry him. Once outdoors, he realized that his hands were shaking violently, and they didn't stop until he had completed the long journey to his home. He would see the other boys in the morning, but he could not face them now. Now, the only person who's company he could tolerate was Cosette.
"Monsieur Gillenormand?" Combeferre called out quietly, getting the old man's attention, alone in his study. He dreaded this conversation, but after what he'd seen beneath Marius's bandages, he had to tell him. It seemed like a betrayal to discuss with with Gillenormand first, but in that moment, as he redressed the festering wound, he found himself feeling like too much of a coward to share his prognosis with Feuilly and Marius himself.
"Yes?" he replied, eager to hear what Combeferre had to say. The gentleman was very warm and receptive to Marius's friends, but he found that he was especially fond of the two medical students, for purely pragmatic reasons. He wanted every second and third opinion about his grandson's health. But when he studied Combeferre's nervous face, his own heart started to pound nervously.
"I'm very worried about him," he said gently. "His fever is high and the wound has a strong foul odor."
"What does that mean?!" Gillenormand asked, frantically.
"I haven't seen it before, but based on what Joly has told me," Combeferre began. "It's gotten much worse, and very suddenly."
"What do you think?"
"I think he needs to be in a hospital," said Combeferre bluntly. He put his hands on his hips and let out a nervous deep breath of his own. "And I say this after I've amputated another friend's leg in our apartment. A hospital is better prepared to see him through this with the treatments he would need. But even with the best care, if this takes the course I think it will, he's going to get extremely sick. There may be very little that can be done."
"We'll bring him right now!" cried the grandfather. But again, Combeferre's expression told a great deal.
"If we do, there is a very strong possibility that he will be arrested immediately," he replied as calmly as he could muster. "The wound is clearly from a gunshot, and it would not be difficult to discern that it's about a month old. They'll know he was an insurgent and he'll be jailed, with no concern for his condition, and in a place like that, he would have no chance."
"What are you saying then?" asked Gillenormand quietly.
Combeferre took a deep breath and put a calming hand on the old man's shoulder. It was difficult for him to even think it, much less express. "I think it's likely that Marius is dying."