A/N- For the record, the bandit that got killed was Kruideniers, alias Bizarro. And as to Enjolras being called Pierre, that's just my name for him. Author(esse)s give him (and all of Les Amis) their own personal nicknames. Some call him Raphael, some call him Julien... me, I like Pierre. Although I may end up calling him Marc someday... -wanders off into Words of Love land-

There was a loud, ominous knock at the door. Enjolras and Grantaire glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. The knock was repeated, and everyone looked patiently at Deux-Milliards.

"Yes?"

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. "Open the door."

"No, no! I'm not to let anyone in until you leave!" Deux-Milliards said loudly. "That was a good try, though."

Montparnasse frowned, and Babet leaned over and whispered something into his ear. "Right," Montparnasse said to him. Turning back to Deux-Milliards, he said, "But I have left, sir!"

"Have you?"

"Yes, I have! So go ahead and open the door, because it might be me!"

"But it might not be you."

"But it might be."

Deux-Milliards scratched his chin. "I suppose you're right," he said at length. "But wait! How do I know you aren't really in here, trying to trick me into thinking you're out there, so I'll open the door and you can get in?"

There was a very, very long pause.

The knock was repeated.

Montparnasse closed his gaping mouth. He had been trying to work out Deux-Milliards' statement, but had finally given up. "Just open the door! Please!"

"That was all you had to say," Deux-Milliards said, smiling foppishly. He pulled the door open to reveal a curious sight.

Four men were crowded into the hallway, all of them dressed in a manner similar to Enjolras – fireplace pokers hanging at their sides, bits of iron tied over their chests – and all of them had their faces hidden under various articles – ripped cloth, flower pots, or just blacked with soot.

The smallest man, who seemed somehow familiar to the Patron-Minette, held two coconut shells in his hands.

"Sir Enjolras!" one of the men said loudly. "Where is Sir Enjolras?"

The blond knight leapt to his feet. "Here, sirs, is your Sir Enjolras! What do you ask of me?"

"We have a mission for you," the man said solemnly. Enjolras went to speak with them, and the Patron-Minette huddled on the other side of the room.

"I know the môme with the coconuts," said Gueulemer.

The entire gang looked up the thin man, then returned to the huddle.

"So do I," Babet muttered.

Montparnasse leaned up again, then back down. "Isn't it the boy with the scarf? You know…" he pointed to Eponine, who was sitting very quietly in the corner. She was watching Enjolras, fingering the white scarf he had given her. "The rabbit-scarf boy."

Everyone leaned up and glanced at the man in question, then back down.

"It is him," Carmagnolet said softly.

Montparnasse chewed pensively on his lower lip, and Babet asked, "Well, what d'you think that means?"

"Well," said the cloaked Claquesous, "the squire seemed to know him. So he must be a friend of theirs."

"What d'you think that means?" Babet said again.

The others shrugged.

"What're you whispering about?" Grantaire said from right behind them.

The bandits all jumped and returned to their separate parts of the room. Montparnasse went over to Eponine and poked her.

"Go away," she said.

"I don't want to go away."

"Then leave me alone."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"Then what do you want?" she asked impatiently.

"I… just… want… to-"

"Hush, hush, I remember now!" she said quickly. "No, not now. I don't wanna."

"I wanna!"

"I don't. Go on, then."

Montparnasse scowled at sat down next to her. "What'll you do if I don't, sic your knight on me with his poker?"

"I just might," she said.

Montparnasse looked at the fireplace poker at Enjolras's side and, realizing that it was quite sharp, left Eponine alone.

Meanwhile, the four mysterious knights were telling Enjolras of a threatening foe they had encountered near Notre-Dame, and how he had slain one of their companions. For further proof, they pointed to the window on the other side of the room.

Enjolras and the four men crossed to the window and look out. In the street stood two more mysterious knights, guarding a funeral bier. A man lay there, covered in a black cloth, but Enjolras could distinctly make out his form. A young lady in mourning accompanied these men.

"What do you ask of me, my lords?" he said gravely.

They looked at each other, then the bald one with his entire head blacked spoke. "The day after tomorrow, where will you be?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Here, I guess."

"The foe is rumored to be on the… uh… at Austerlitz then. He will be… uh… killing people with his massive forces."

"Have no fear, my lords!" Enjolras cried. "Your comrade shall not have died in vain!"

"Good," another of the men said. A shock of black, curly hair was just visible through a tear in his hood. "We shall rely on you, my good sir."

Enjolras returned to Grantaire and Eponine as these men left the room in a patter of hoofbeats. Les-Pieds-en-l'Air (another insignificant), curious, followed them into the hall.

"Hang on!"

The men stopped and turned to face him.

"Where'd you come from?"

They exchanged nervous glances. "We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of a knight who will vanquish our dreaded foe," one said.

"What? Ridden on a horse?"

"Yes!"

"You're using coconuts!"

"What?"

"You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're banging them together," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air insisted.

"So?"

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air in shrugged, then said, "Where'd you get the coconuts?"

"We found them."

"Found them? In Paris? The coconut's tropical!"

The bald man cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said matter-of-factly, "this is a temperate zone."

"Da swallow bay fly south with the sud or the house bartin or the plover bay seek warber clibates id widter, yet these are dot stradgers to our land," stated a man who seemed to have a cold.

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air thought about this. "Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?"

"Nod ad all. They could be carried."

"What? A swallow carrying a coconut?"

"It could grip it by the husk!" cried the thin man with the coconut shells.

"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five-ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said impatiently.

"Well, it doesn't matter," the curly-haired man sighed. He began to leave.

"Listen. In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?"

"Please!"

"Am I right?"

"I'm not interested!" The men began to leave, but Les-Pieds-en-l'Air followed them doggedly.

"It could be carried by an African swallow!"

"Oh, yeah," the man with the cold said, "ad Africad swallow baybe, but dot a Eurobead swallow."

"That's my point," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air nodded.

"Oh, yeah, I agree with thad."

"Will you come on?" the curly-haired man hissed at the other.

"But then of course," Les-Pieds-en-l'Air said knowledgeably, "African swallows are non-migratory."

"Oh, yeah..." the mysterious knight agreed.

"So, they coudidt bring a cocodut back adyway..."

The other three men, impatient, left, accompanied by the thin man's coconut shell clopping.

"Wait a bidute!" the mysterious knight said. "Subbosig two swallows carried it together?"

"No, they'd have to have it on a line." Les-Pieds-en-l'Air frowned.

"Well, sibple! Dey'd just use a strand of creeper!"

"What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"

"Well, why dot?" The masked man looked around. "Oh, of course they left. BARIUS! GET BACK HERE OR TRADSBITTIG BY FLU TO YOU!" he shouted, running after his comrades.

Les-Pieds-en-l'Air shrugged to himself and went back to the garret to find that the door was locked.

He knocked.

No answer.

"DEUX-MILLIARDS, LET ME IN!" he shouted.