Ah, these are fun to write!
Disclaimer: Chauvelin, sadly, is not mine. Mercier and Coupeau aren't either, but theye personalities bolong to me!
And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones
Chapter 2: The Art of Thievery
"I had the most splendid idea!"
Coupeau groaned, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep, but the shaking would not stop. Squinting up at the boy who leaned over him, who was grinning like an idiot, he groggily asked, "Have you any idea of the hour, Chauvelin?"
"No. Well before dawn, I would imagine."
Groaning, the boy turned over and pulled the sheets over his head. This crazy man was gone, and he was all alone in a nice, happy place…
He suddenly hit the floor with a thud as his leg was forcefully yanked, and he felt himself being dragged along the ground. "Chauvelin! What are you doing? Stop it!"
"Listen, Coupeau. I had an idea." Chauvelin whispered, placing his hand over the other boy's mouth to quiet his complaining. "We want to leave the town, right?"
"Not really…"
"Yes you do. Do you want to be stuck in this place forever?"
"My father says-"
Hitting the boy upside the head, he quietly snapped, "I know what your father says, Coupeau. You have only told me a thousand times. We were born here, we will live here and we will die here, I know! But…" He paused, smiling smugly and making sure that the boy shifted uncomfortably before he continued. "But, that only applies to the poor."
"Chauvelin, we are the poor…"
"Not after what I have planned…"
Coupeau gulped, made himself as small as he could in hopes that Chauvelin would be unable to see him, but those predator-like eyes remained on him. Chauvelin was smart, perhaps a bit cruel, and he never did anything without a reason. Shifting uncomfortably, he meekly asked, "What do you have planned?"
Grinning in utter joy, he quietly said, "Come with me."
The two boys left the house as quietly as possible and ran low to the ground through the field. They finally came to the small town, and Chauvelin stopped just behind one of the buildings, back pressed flat against the wall, Coupeau following his every movement. He had known this boy for only a week, and already was he breaking into his house in the middle of the night. Leaning over to him, he quietly asked, "What are we doing?"
"The tailor has been ordered to create a new wardrobe for the Viscount. He has finished, and it is to be delivered early this morning." Motioning around the corner and cautiously peeking into the ally, he whispered, "There's the cart that will be delivering the shipment. All we need do is hide ourselves in one of the chests that will contain the clothing, and we can sneak into the manor with little difficulty."
"Chauvelin, why…" Pausing, hanging his head in disbelief, Coupeau wondered why he even bothered ask the reasoning behind the tiny boy's actions. The boy was touched in the head. "Why are we doing this?"
"To be perfectly honest, I ruined another pair of pants running away from the soldiers and I am in sore need of a new pair."
"You woke me up in the middle of the night to get you a new pair of pants?"
Chauvelin shrugged. "Consider it a shopping trip."
"It doesn't matter what I consider it to be!" Coupeau sternly whispered. Lowering his voice again, he asked, "Running away? What did you do this time?"
Shrugging again, he flatly stated, "I took the captain's hat."
"You what?"
"His hat," he firmly restated. "You should see it. I have it back at home. Far too big for me, but I imagine I will grow into it. One of those tri-corner things, don't you know."
"You stole the captain's hat? Chauvelin, that's wrong!"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Thou. Shall. Not. Steal. That is one of God's ten sacred laws, Chauvelin! If you break those, you are damned for sure!"
"Nonsense, Coupeau," the boy said as he patted the preaching boy on the head. "Those rules only apply to those who can afford to follow them. If I were not to steal, I am certain I would die. Would your God rather see me dead?"
"At least you would die with a clean soul!" Coupeau cried mournfully, hanging his head in desperation. "And those rules apply to everyone. And I am firmly resolved to believe that you do not need that hat to survive."
"You're talking crazy talk again. I am quite certain that Monsieur le Viscount or Monsieur le King or Monsieur le Pope made that up so they can go about their merry way stealing from us without us stealing it back." Looking curiously at the distraught child, he added, "And I am quite sure the hat is a necessity. It may well one day come to represent the manliness of me."
"You must return it…" Coupeau groaned as he slid against the wall and sat upon the ground, holding his head in his small hands, gently rocking back and forth and whimpering slightly.
"What? Coupeau, don't be ridiculous. What would I say? 'Here, Monsieur Soldier. I am returning your hat.' He would likely already have a new hat by then and I would be chased again, and I do not have another pair of pants to risk for that cause. That's why we're out here in the middle of the night waiting to steal the Viscount's clothing in the first place."
"Chauvelin!" the small, flustered boy cried as he jumped to his feet and menacingly shook a finger at the thief. "You must return it. Otherwise when you die, Saint Peter is going to look at his book and say, "Chauvelin, you stole a hat, so you have to go to Hell, you wicked thing!'"
Sighing slightly and laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder, Chauvelin soothingly stated, "I'll tell you what. If when I die I find myself surrounded by clouds and angels and harps and such, I shall return the hat. Deal?"
"I believe you are a lost soul, Chauvelin."
"Well, at least I don't believe that there is magical old man that lives in the sky with all my dead pets. Come now." Chauvelin swiftly turned the corner and ran to the cart, Coupeau following cautiously behind him.
It was a strange friendship, and in the very best of cases, an extremely unlikely one. Aside from their circumstances, the two boys shared nothing in common. Coupeau was a meek, timid, God-loving boy who was more than willing to accept his lot in life and move on with his day. He was quiet, gentle, very friendly and always looked for the best in all people. He followed and stayed by Chauvelin because he saw it as his task as bestowed upon him by God and his duty as a good Christian to save the poor boy's soul from eternal Hellfire and damnation.
Chauvelin was rather the opposite. Even at such a tender age as nine, he was already horribly cynical, dryly sarcastic, and thoroughly irritated by everything. He was restless in the small town, and thoroughly strived to find a way out, his attempts often landing him in trouble with the local authorities, but he continued to try; he was certain that he was meant for something bigger than a useless life in the nowhere town he called home. He saw things as they were and did not hesitate for a moment to point out his cutting observations in a less than gentle manner. He put no stock in anyone, mistrusted most, and had little time, use, or patience for religious worship, considering it to be little more than a rather weak protection of the harsh reality and inevitability of death, and saw the people who followed it's practice as fools; in short, he did not believe what he could not see, and the absence and seemingly careless higher being fell into this category. He befriended Coupeau for the sole reason that the boy embodied everything he saw as foolishness, and the child was quite simply very easy to belittle and mock, which was a source of endless amusement for Chauvelin.
But despite their differences, the two stuck by one another, and at times, almost cared for each other. But Chauvelin was not to be changed, and Coupeau was not to be turned from the path of God, which possibly only made their bond stronger, as both were determined to fix the other to their own liking, and would not quit until it was done.
Chauvelin and Coupeau crouched behind the cart, carefully looking about for any sign of movement. Nothing. "Chauvelin, I don't think this is right. We should go back."
"Quiet, you idiot. If you don't like it, you should have said so before."
"I did, Chauvelin!"
"No, you lectured me on the moral wrongness of stealing."
"Is that not what you intend to do?"
"What are you two doing?" The boys froze, slowly turned and looked wide-eyed at a boy standing before them. He was no bigger than they were, and Chauvelin instantly took this as a sign to disregard him.
"No matter of yours, I should think."
"If it has anything to do with that cart, then you had better believe it's my matter."
Chauvelin stood, clearly irritated and looked the boy straight in his eyes. "Why is that, boy?"
"Because this is my father's cart, and I am to watch it and make sure thieves like you do nothing to it."
"I'm not a thief…" Coupeau said quietly, tightly ringing his shirt. "I tried to tell him-"
"And what would you do about it?" Chauvelin asked, scoffing at the boy. "You are no bigger than I. Some guard against thieves."
"No, but I have three older brothers who would sooner become women than allow anything to be touched. All I need do is call for them." The black-haired boy suddenly fell quiet, and he smiled quite smugly. "Now, what are you doing?"
"I need a new pair of pants and I thought I'd take them from the Viscount."
"Oh." Quickly looking the boy over and taking notice to his badly worn pants and almost sickly thinness, he quietly said, "Hold on," and disappeared into the house. He emerged a few moments later, arms full of clothing and dropped them at the boy's feet. "Here."
"Wha-? You can't…I mean…he just…but the Viscount…" Coupeau's sense of up and down had just vanished.
"Thank you!" Chauvelin chirped happily, picking up some of the garments that lay on the ground.
"You can't take those!" Coupeau cried, and was suddenly faced by two very cold glares. "I mean, that's stealing. Those are for the Viscount…"
"So?" both boys asked in unison.
"Stealing is wrong…"
"Let me ask you something," Chauvelin said firmly, turning to the boy that had brought him the garments. "You are the tailor's son?"
"Yes."
"And the Viscount ordered this stuff, right?"
"Correct."
"Now let me ask you. How much is your father being paid for this?"
"Nothing. Monsieur le Viscount is calling it his rent dues, though my father had paid the rent at the beginning of the month. He threatened to take away the home and business if he did not comply."
"I see." Turning to Coupeau, Chauvelin firmly asked, "Now, in what way is the Viscount not stealing, Coupeau?"
"I…"
"Exactly." Smiling broadly, he said, "We are merely taking what belongs to no one."
"But the tailor made it! It's his! You're stealing form him!"
Sighing in frustration, Chauvelin thrust his hands into his pockets and withdrew something that he forced into the tailor's son's hand. "Here. Payment. Are we agreed?"
"Yes…" Looking at the thing in his hand, he quietly asked, "Corn?"
"Yes. You can eat it."
"Corn grew last season. This can't be edible."
Shrugging, he casually stated, "Oh well. It makes a lovely decoration." Looking the boy in the eye, he softy said, "You're smart. What's your name?"
"Mercier."
"I'm Chauvelin, and this idiot is Coupeau. What does your mother do?"
"She's dead."
"And what about your father?"
Mercier's face grew stern and very cold. "We do not talk of him."
"Oh, I like you!" Chauvelin cried happily, patting the boy on his shoulder. "Coupeau and I are going to leave the town forever and go to the city. How would you like to join us?"
"But, Chauvelin!" Coupeau said pathetically. "I don't want-"
"Shut up."
"Are you really going to leave?" Mercier asked, his face filling with hope.
"Absolutely. My mother always said to me, "Chauvelin, get out of this town. There is nothing here for you, and you are meant for greater things.'"
"Really?" Mercier asked quietly.
"No."
"Oh…"
"But I'm still getting out," Chauvelin said staunchly, picking up his clothing and grabbing Coupeau's hand. "You are welcome to come along, but I must take this one home. I shall see you tomorrow then?"
"Without a doubt."
"Good," he stated, dragging a complaining Coupeau behind him.
And so they became three.
