A/N Sweet suffering sock puppets! I'm about to hit *100* reviews and all thanks to you lovely people! As always on momentous occasions such as this, the 100th reviewer shall receive a one shot written from a prompt of their own devising. So, review my lovelies and that one shot could be yours…
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: *sings* Is this theft? Theft it may be. It didn't seem like theft to me. It all belongs to Victor Hugo!
Chapter Twenty-eight
The top room of the Corinth restaurant was somewhat less pleasant than that of the Musain. It was dark, dusty, and smelt strongly of grease and bad wine, but it was the perfect location for Enjolras' private meeting with Le Faucon. The underground revolutionary had arrived alone, although Enjolras was certain that he would have lookouts spread throughout the closer streets to warn of danger. He greeted the group warmly, introducing himself to the Amis that were present as a friend and not a leader, and greeting Enjolras, Combeferre and Feuilly as if they had known each other for years.
"Now," he announced, clapping Feuilly on the shoulder one final time, "down to business I think. Is there anything particular to report?"
"Well," Combeferre pulled out a sheaf of papers covered in coded information and seemingly random numbers, but which were in fact the most intimate dealings of Les Amis, "we've had a surge of new members joining us recently, some of them with very useful skills or contacts. For example," he handed over a translated copy of one of the sheets, "this man claims to know of a large number of weapons and ammunition that we would be able to purchase for an almost reasonable price. The only difficulty with this supply is that it is located some way outside of the city, and therefore discovering a method of transporting the weapons into the city could be difficult and very dangerous. We do however have a few ideas," Combeferre glanced at Enjolras for permission before handing over a thick sheaf of parchments, "which are shown in their entirety here. We are only lacking the resources and the strategic experience to bring at least one to fruition, something we were hoping you might be able to help us with."
Rene sat in silence, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned the plans before him, scrutinizing their plans with a focus that made Enjolras feel ashamed of the crude designs and messy writing. Le Faucon did not speak for the longest time, simply reading and rereading the plans, not a single facial movement indicating his pleasure or distain. Finally he spoke, saying, "It is when I meet with believers such as you that my belief in a better world is bolstered. You bring such a great passion and certainty to the Cause, a raw desire for a better future that is sadly waning in too many of the organizations that I speak to." His dark, fathomless eyes moved around the circle, captivating them with the fire that burned within them, his words resonating in their hearts, feeding the flame that burned brightly inside of them all. "For many years, men like us have had a dream; a dream of a French Republic. It was strong once, strong enough to move the people to revolution, strong enough for us to win in 1830. But," he heaved a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the loss fell onto his shoulders alone, "we failed then, in a manner which we cannot repeat this time because the dream is now delicate, it is fragile, so fragile you can only whisper of it in back rooms of cafes and cellars and alleys." He gestured to their unpleasant surroundings, his voice rising in intensity but not in volume for fear of being overheard, "It is men like me and you that shall strengthen that dream, shall strengthen it until it is no longer a whisper, but a battle cry that will ring throughout France, calling people to stand up and fight for a brighter, better world where all are free and equal!"
"They will come when we call," Enjolras murmured, remembering the fervour that had blazed from them before; a fervour that was now being stoked back to full flame by the words of this eloquent zealot.
"Exactly," Rene replied, fixing Enjolras with his fearsome, but somehow reassuring, gaze, "they will come when we call, because of the men such as you, and others groups around the city, around the country in fact, who are laying the fire and the tinder for when we call them to arms."
A tentative knock sounded at the door then, startling the group. In the blink of an eye, Rene transformed from a reassuring presence to a warrior on the defensive, a lethal silvery blade appearing in his hand seemingly out of nowhere, an action that startled many of the Amis. "It should be Marius, one of our members," Enjolras whispered to Rene, swiftly gesturing for Bahorel to go to the door. "I sent him to collect our newest batch of pamphlets from the printers for you to look over before we distribute them." He turned to face the door then, for Bahorel had opened it crack, then let out a noise of surprise and opened it all of the way. However, the figure in the doorway was not the one Enjolras expected to see and his eyes widened, a flash flood of scenarios and emotions tumbling through him.
"Forgive me if I am mistaken," Rene said dryly, the knife disappearing just as quickly as it appeared, "but am I right in assuming that this young woman is not the Marius you were speaking of before?"
"Mademoiselle Lyon is a member of Les Amis," Combeferre began to defend, but the older man waved his hand for silence imperiously, an action that was not appreciated by Combeferre, if the barely masked irritation in his usually calm face was anything to go by.
Aimee watched the exchange with a somewhat guarded expression, her posture stiff and tense with unease. Her obvious discomfort only increased when Rene rose to his feet and began to stalk a circle around her, his steps heavy and precise, his whole body language dominant and threatening.
"I assume you know these young men?" His tone was cold and hard, very different from how he had been speaking a minute before. Enjolras was feeling more and more uncomfortable with how the encounter was progressing, not helped by the fact that Aimee appeared to have been crying, her eyes still rimmed with red. He shared a glance with Combeferre, both of them sharing their sense of unease at Le Faucon's sudden bullying demeanour.
"You assume correctly." Aimee's voice was calm and cool, her composure making Enjolras' heart swell with something that felt strangely like pride as he watched the bravery that had kept her alive throughout the most terrible of ordeals come once again to the surface.
"Do you regularly arrive at their private meetings unannounced?" Rene paused to flick back the cloth covering her basket, grunting in acceptance when he saw the unoffending items.
"I'm not sure why that is any of your business." The stubborn curl of her mouth made Enjolras want to chuckle, but at the same time he was uncertain as to how Le Faucon was going to react to her improper conduct. To his surprise the other man merely raised an eyebrow and continued his circling of her.
"Why are you here today? Enjolras made no mention of a female's presence at this meeting."
Enjolras barely suppressed a flinch at the implied incompetence, beginning to see now why Le Faucon was a feared man. His passion burned bright and warm, but beneath the engaging, eloquent spokesman lurked a stone-hard soldier of the Republic, a soldier that would be prepared to do anything for the Cause.
Aimee suppressed what seemed like an impudent sigh, before answering, "I was sent to deliver a batch of pamphlets that Enjolras requested."
"By whom?"
"A member of this group by the name of Marius Pontmercy. I met him in one of the public gardens and he gave me the package."
Enjolras suddenly felt very inferior and very incompetent, a feeling that did not sit well with him at all. Why had Marius palmed the pamphlets off onto Aimee instead of delivering them himself?
Rene seemed to have reached this conclusion as well, for he turned back to Aimee and asked, "I mean no implied slight as to your character, mademoiselle, but for what reason would this Pontmercy hand over an extremely dangerous and valuable package to someone such as yourself? And in a public place no less?"
While Rene was speaking, Jehan chose that moment to lean close behind Enjolras and whispered almost soundlessly in his ear, "I saw Marius on my way here, over by the river. I assumed he was taking a different route, but…" He trailed off not wanting to finish by saying that Marius had once again let the group down, but this time in the worst possible way. Anger coursed through him, swiftly followed by a gnawing feeling of failure of his ability that was totally unjustified, but present nonetheless.
As Le Faucon passed behind her, Aimee's gaze flickered slightly sideways to meet Enjolras', showing him the fear deeply concealed there, just as she surely saw the shame showing in his. A sudden spark of anger flashed through the green orbs, confusing him, and her chin lifted defiantly as she continued with the interrogation that she was trapped in, her every word surprising Enjolras more and more.
"I believe the partnership between yourself and Les Amis is still fairly young, Monsieur Le Faucon, so it is natural that there is going to be restraint shown in passing information between you until a proper bond of trust is established. All that has simply happened here is that Enjolras did not feel it necessary to give all information regarding his process of pamphlet delivery."
Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but quickly morphed it into a cough and then proceeded to hide his face in his wine cup.
Le Faucon did not seem amused at Aimee's flippant attitude, but simply gestured sharply for her to continue.
"I met up with Marius in one of the gardens because he feared he was being followed. There we did the only natural thing and changed the location of the pamphlets."
"And where are the pamphlets now, pray tell? Since they have caused so much trouble I may as well read one."
Here Aimee surprised everyone by flushing a very vibrant red, the colour flashing up her neck to reach her cheekbones. "I…um…well…if you'll excuse me I'll just…get them." Before another word could be said she darted out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.
"Where on earth has she gone?" Bahorel muttered from his post by the door, turning the handle and opening the door a crack. A shriek sounded outside and he shut it instantly, an amused grin stretching across his face as he muttered something that sounded a little like, "Well, they wouldn't have thought to look there!"
A minute later she re-entered the room, her face still flushed and the bodice of her dress oddly twisted, the package of pamphlets in her hand. Much to Enjolras' surprise, she glanced over to him, seeking permission. He inclined his head minutely and only then did she offer the bundle to the Le Faucon. He took it, a shadow sitting darkly on his face, though Enjolras was uncertain if he was irritated or simply deep in thought. Anger began to override his shame, though he was unsure whether it was directed at Marius for his betrayal, Aimee for her foolishness, or himself for his inability to organize his group. His inner self-flagellation came to a halt when the older revolutionary called his name, not sounding at all displeased, but in fact…very satisfied.
"You do not need to look so downcast, Enjolras mon ami," he reassured, turning a quicksilver smile in Aimee's direction, an act that seemed to startle her somewhat, "there is nothing amiss here. While I am a little sceptical of a woman's uses once the fighting begins, there is no question that they can be useful to the Cause in other ways, as your brave and resourceful compatriot has shown me just now." He turned to face Aimee fully, executing a small, formal bow, "Please excuse my somewhat abrupt manner from before, mademoiselle, but I am naturally suspicious of everyone. In the life I lead it is a necessity to stay alive, and on occasion I forget that it is mostly unnecessary when among friends."
Aimee gave a ghost of a nervous smile, bobbing her head in return, "I understand, monsieur; you meant no harm."
"Indeed," he replied cordially, the conversation obviously drawing to a close. Aimee took this as a chance to move from by the door, hurriedly putting some space between herself and Le Faucon, eventually ending up by the window. Turning back to Enjolras, he tossed the package onto the table, still unopened, with a soft slap, "I trust you with issues such as these, my friend; you do not need my approval." He picked up the plans involving the moving of the guns and ammunition, studying them once again, "I will endeavour to help you with this matter for, truly, I shall be helping myself at the same time. I, however, must ask for your help in return on a certain matter."
Relieved to have been spared any chastisement, Enjolras impetuously answered, "Any way I can assist you is an honour in itself."
Le Faucon smiled at the dramatic, yet earnest words, and drew forth two envelopes from his breast pocket. The parchment was of a high quality, thick and creamy, and the seal was of an alluring blue wax of a deep indigo shade. "I assume you remember our conversation from our first meeting regarding a politician with certain information to give?"
Enjolras nodded, a swirl of excitement cutting through his previous misgivings at the thought of being involved in such an important venture.
"He has finally settled on a location for the transaction, and it is…unique to say the least." He passed one of the envelopes to Enjolras, a flick of his eyebrow encouraging him to open it.
He did so, the seal breaking cleanly, and pulled out a pale blue card covered in an outdated, fussily curling script. All of the Amis leaned close to examine the card as he took a few moments to decipher the flamboyant text, even Aimee craning her neck to see over all of their shoulders. Almost immediately Enjolras raised his head in confusion to meet the amused gaze of the other man. "This is an invitation to a masked ball," he shook his head in mild bewilderment. "A fancy dress masked ball. How is the transaction going to take place in a ballroom…," he trailed off, puzzling it through until he reached the only obvious conclusion, "You want me to go to a masked ball?"
Rene shrugged. "Hiding in plain sight; the perfect place for a risky liaison such as this. The only obstacle I perceived there to be with this plan was finding a suitable consort to accompany you."
"Surely many of the members of Les Amis are capable of fulfilling such a role?" Enjolras said, feeling the need to defend his friends, feeling that their capability was being questioned.
"Only one," Le Faucon said cryptically, before passing around the table to present the second envelope to a baffled Aimee.
Uselessly, she tried to hand it back. "I am certain any of the others would be more suited than I," she protested.
Le Faucon frowned in disapproval. "I find that unlikely since the consort is expected to be a woman. You have more than proved yourself to me; you have a sharp mind which will enable you to think on your feet, but you remained seemingly calm under pressure. Even if you are not calm, you are able to appear so, an asset should the situation not go exactly to plan."
"Rene," Enjolras rose to his feet hurriedly, not liking where the conversation was going, "I really must protest to Aimee's involvement in this matter. Could I not just go alone?"
"That will merely draw more attention to yourself!" Le Faucon snapped, tired of the protestations, "You said you wished to help in this matter, so stop being so goddamn awkward!"
Enjolras flushed at the reprimand, and Combeferre cast a disapproving stare towards the other man who had the grace to look apologetic.
"My apologies, Enjolras, I did not need to speak so harshly." He walked forwards and laid a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder, "You would be doing a great service, not only to me, but to the Cause by undertaking this task. If it is the mademoiselle that you fear for I hope to assure you by saying that there will be very few guards or police scheduled to be on duty at this little soirée, so the risk of discovery and capture is next to none."
"No, your words were just," Enjolras disagreed solemnly, knowing the prick to his pride was deserved. "I must put aside my misgivings and learn to trust your decisions. How else shall this partnership grow for the better?"
Rene smiled broadly and squeezed Enjolras' shoulder. "I have said it before and I shall say it again; you have a wisdom that greatly belies your youth,
Enjolras."
The mild rift now closed the meeting drew to a swift end. No more than two minutes later Le Faucon had departed, his final words simply informing them that the full details of the ball, which was in just under a week, would arrive probably the next day at the usual address for their correspondence. With so much having transpired in such a short amount of time, the Amis took a brief moment to gather themselves and process, several glasses of previously untouched wine being emptied.
The silence was shattered by a savage growl from Enjolras who shot to his feet and began to pace. "I swear, this time Pontmercy has gone too bloody far!" he snarled, his hands bunching in fists at his sides from the force of his impotent rage.
"I have spent too many years defending the sop," Courfeyrac agreed, titling his chair back to balance on two legs, a frown on his usually jovial features. "All I can say now, dear Enjolras, is 'have at'."
"With pleasure," came the muttered reply, the room once again falling to an uneasy silence.
"To be fair," Bahorel began, pausing upon seeing the furious glare Enjolras was giving him, "I'm not going to defend him, you fool! No, all I was going to say was that the pamphlets would have taken quite some time to find." His smirk remained fully in place even as Aimee threw an apple at him from her basket, even going as far as to catch the fruit and begin eating it.
"So where were the pamphlets, Aimee?" Courfeyrac had caught on and took great delight in heightening the colour that brightened her face.
"I think we are missing the main point here," Combeferre interjected, drawing a grateful look from Aimee, "that main point being that you two have a ball to attend, a fact which will take some substantial resources to make possible."
"I know an excellent man for your costumes," Courfeyrac intimated, dropping the chair back down onto four legs. "He's got real flair."
"It's a rather glamorous mission, isn't it?" Jehan said to the room at large. "The whole scenario is rather dramatic and…romantic actually."
"I glad someone thinks so," Enjolras groaned, his anger temporarily forgotten, slumping back into his chair, "I hate balls of any kind, let alone fancy dress balls."
The smirk that appeared on Combeferre's face was mildly disconcerting, looking out of place on his usually calm and kind features. "What was that you said to me about taking a few turns around the dance floor with the devil?"
"Excuse me?" Aimee was unsure whether to be incensed or confused, her question almost drowned out by Enjolras pained groan.
"No insult meant to you, Aimee," Combeferre hastily assured her, "Enjolras knows what I mean, don't you dear friend?"
"I really should have seen that one coming, shouldn't I?" Enjolras mumbled, wiping a hand across his tired eyes.
"Probably," was the smug reply, "but look on the bright side, at least you can channel some of your rage at the situation into shouting at Marius when he next appears."
"Oh, small mercies," was Enjolras sarcastic reply, his attention now focused on the elaborate invitation.
This poorly worded comment then led to Courfeyrac making an outrageous pun out of Marius' surname, leading to a lighter atmosphere overall. All the while Aimee stood in the background, her face blank to hide the tumult of emotions cascading through her. What on earth had she just got herself into?
A/N Hope you lot enjoyed that! Up next time: we meet Courfeyrac's fashion friend, the costumes are decided upon, a little bit of angst (as always!), and the ball! Remember to review; it makes my day as well as helping to stop global warming…I think.
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz