Getting the ball rolling here. After this one, this entire fic will be much better. Promise.

And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones

Chapter 6: Onward Ho

"Double or nothing!"

The young Marquis sighed, picked up the cards and looked the hopelessly drunk Viscount de Garnier in the eye. "Monsieur, I would highly recommend that you reconsider your decision," he said calmly, actually making an attempt to get the man to back down. "You have already lost a substantial amount of money in this manner, and frankly, I do not believe that your bank account can handle another loss."

"Oh nonsense!" the Viscount cried, leaning back in his chair. "I have it, don't I, boys?" he slurred, looking nearly in the direction of his nearby servant.

Indeed, the poor man looked hopelessly frantic, wringing his hands and in a soft, urging voice, responded, "I am afraid that the young Marquis is correct, sir. As it is now, you have lost most of your wealth."

"Bah!" said the man as he hiccupped slightly. "Alright, Monsieur…Monsieur…I'm sorry, your name again?"

"Chauvelin, sir."

"Yes! Yes, of course. Very well, but I think I may win yet! Here, I shall bet some of my land against you, if you shall put some of yours up as well. Lovely place, that Agnew, and I should like to have some land there!"

Sighing hopelessly, Chauvelin shuffled the cards.

Five years had done little to change Chauvelin or the two boys he had come to call family. He was still cynical, still small for his age and still terribly thin. But he did become handsome as his fine features became more prominent, which gave cause to believe that he was, in fact, of aristocratic decent as he had so often been told as a child. And he was intelligent, dangerously so, and very cunning and a touch reckless. He had spent the past years teaching himself to act like an aristocrat so that he may infiltrate their ranks and steal from them all he could so he and his friends could finally leave the drab town. He had also become a bit of a card shark, extremely good at winning and skilled in cheating when he was losing.

Which was the case here, though he had no need to play unfairly. The man was quite possibly too drunk to hold the cards, let alone to differentiate between them. But still, it seemed a bit unfair, and not even the ruthless child was willing to take advantage of this man anymore. He had only hoped to get enough money to possibly buy the land the Mercier and Coupeau's families lived upon so they would no longer be held by the Viscount's power, but the man had continued to bet, and he was on the verge of bankruptcy. And Chauvelin didn't exactly want that…

No, no, forget it. Damn the aristocrats.

"Fifty thousand francs!" Coupeau cried, staring at the stack of paper bills in front of him. "Fifty- Chauvelin! You must return them!"

"I got the deeds to half his land too!" he said proudly, holding up several rolls of parchment. "See?"

"Chauvelin, what is he going to do when he wakes up today and realizes that he has nothing?" Coupeau wailed, banging his head against the table, trying to talk some sense into the beaming boy.

"I imagine that he'll say 'Oops' and start taxing the hell out of the people."

"Chauvelin," Mercier said quietly, smiling slightly as he handled a stack of the money, "taxation is bad. That's what's hurting us so badly. We are taxed off our asses by everyone. We don't need this additional burden."

"Ah, but my friend," Chauvelin said smoothly as he pushed himself out of his seat and draped his arm over the blonde boy's shoulders, "that is what the land deeds are for. The aristocrats are only allowed to tax their own land. I now own half his property, both your families land included. And I won't make you pay any taxes." He grinned broadly. "Aren't I nice?"

"You're a rotten, wicked, and dishonest sinner!" Coupeau cried, quickly standing up and shaking a finger at the smug boy. "Chauvelin, it must be returned!"

"See this guy?" Chauvelin asked Mercier quietly, pointing at the fuming auburn-haired boy. "He supports one of the institutions that tax us to death. Should I listen to the prattling of an idiot?"

Mercier thought for a moment, shook his head. "You won it fairly, so I think you should keep it."

"Mercier!"

"Shut up," Chauvelin said quietly, gathering up his papers and the stack of bank notes and stuffing them into his bag. "It doesn't really matter. I can assume Monsieur le Viscount is going to be royally pissed." Grinning, placing one hand on each boy's shoulder, he smoothly stated, "We have no choice but to leave."

"What? Why?" Coupeau asked carefully, not wanting to hear the answer. This couldn't be good…

Chauvelin shrugged and indifferently said, "I told him that I had two servants named Mercier and Coupeau, and if he remembers anything, we're going to be in a huge amount of trouble. Come along."

Mercier quickly nodded. "Let me go home. I'll get my things."

But Coupeau was on the verge of tears. "How could you, Chauvelin? I'll have to leave my family…"

Grabbing the boy by the shoulders, he firmly said, "Coupeau, listen to me. There is nothing for us here. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in this town? Do you really want to live in a family with twenty two sisters? Get with it, man! We can do something with our lives! Look what we have already done! Not yet men and we have driven a Viscount to bankruptcy. Who does that?"

"Satan and his minions of sin and evil."

"Oh, nonsense! We are smart, Coupeau. We can change the world!" Thinking hard for a moment, he gleefully cried, "Think of it! We can be warriors of freedom! Liberte, egalite, fraternite, ou la mort!"

Coupeau stared at his beaming friend for a few moments before blankly asking, "Did you make that up?"

Blinking a few times, his chest swelled and he proudly affirmed, "Yes. Yes I did."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life, Chauvelin. Liberty, equality and brotherhood; here? In France? Don't make me laugh!"

Chauvelin suddenly looked very hurt. "What? I think it's quite the good saying. I imagine the people will take to it quite well."

Coupeau thought about this, shook his head. "No, I think not. Not if the cry is for death instead of liberty. It rather be something about liberty, or a nice array of pastries. Everyone loves pastries."

He stared at the thoughtful boy for a moment before smiting him. "Get packed and say goodbye to your family. We're leaving."

"No!"

There was a loud banging on the door, and the two boys froze as Coupeau's mother answered it and they saw several soldiers at the door. They didn't wait to hear them ask for Mercier, Coupeau, or Chauvelin, for the falcon-eyed boy had grabbed his petrified friend's hand and his bag with the deeds and the money and jumped out the window.

"Why are we going back here?" Coupeau whined as Chauvelin dragged him toward the brothel where he used to live. "Every time we come here, someone dies…"

"We have only been here once, and that was bad timing," Chauvelin sneered. "And remember my hat?"

"You mean the one you stole?"

"That one. When they kicked me out, I didn't have time to fetch it. I need it for our trip. Remember? That whole thing about me being manly with it?" There was no answer from the boy, so he continued. "Well, I have decided that it is also terribly, terribly sexy."

"It's what?"

"I may get many a woman with that hat!"

He groaned and let his head hit the pavement as the sinister child continued to drag him by the leg to the brothel. What a day. Hardly noon and they had already become rich, were being hunted by the National Guard and were on their way to a whorehouse. Wonderful.

They arrived at the establishment, and Chauvelin threw open the door as if he belonged there and marched inside, several pairs of eyes following him as he waltzed into the room. One of the women recognized him and she ran to him, threw her arms about the slightly confused child. "Chauvelin! I have missed you!"

"Chauvelin, why do you know this prostitute?" a rather terrified Coupeau asked from the floor, but he quickly stood up as he thought of all the things that could have been on the floor that he most certainly did not want on him.

"Sibylle, how have you been?" Chauvelin asked quietly, ignoring his compatriot and recognizing the woman.

"Not bad at all. What are you doing here?"

"I have come to retrieve my things. Come with me?" The woman nodded and walked beside him as he went up the stairs to what he had once called his room. "May I ask something, Sibylle?"

"Of course."

"My mother," he grunted, pulling something out from a compartment in the wall, "how did she die?"

The woman shrugged. "Just bad timing, really. Strangled. It was an accident, of course. Just a hazard of the profession."

"Who did it?"

"Who is to say? The last one we saw her with was some old drunkard. Does it really matter all that much?"

Stuffing his pockets full of whatever it was that he stored in the compartment and withdrawing his hat, he quickly brushed it off and placed it on his head. "No, I suppose not. Come on. I'm done here." They walked down together, and just as the enterer the main room, Chauvelin was face to face with the owner, Jacques.

"What are you doing here?" the man growled, standing over the boy and looking quite intimidating.

"What? You still alive?" Chauvelin asked, genuinely surprised. Of course, this only succeeded in making the man all the more furious. He grabbed on to the boy's arm, and with the other hand raised to strike him, Chauvelin quickly pointed behind him, eyes wide with fear, and yelled, "Look out! Whores!"

The man was shocked by the sudden out burst and quickly released him and spun around to see what the child was pointing at. Grinning maliciously at the idiot, Chauvelin firmly planted his foot and his rear and the man was knocked forward, his head hitting with a sickening thud upon a sharp corner, and the man fell to the ground and lay still. "Oops," said Chauvelin.

One of the girls carefully approached to look at the man, gasped and jumped away as blood ran over the floor. They all stared for a few moments and noticed the complete lack of movement. One of the woman quietly whispered, "Jacques is dead."

"Bah!" Chauvelin declared, waving his hand carelessly. "He was broken anyway. It was time you got a new one."

"Well," Sibylle said, placing her hands upon her hips, "good riddance to that bastard."

"I should go," Chauvelin said, grabbing his trembling and scared stiff friend.

"Bye, Chauvelin," Sibylle said, waiving to him. "Come back and visit sometime soon." She watched the boy head to the door. "Oh, and Chauvelin?" The boy turned, and, winking at him, stated, "Sexy hat."

Chauvelin grinned like an idiot and pulled Coupeau to Mercier's house.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Mercier said, slinging the small pack across his shoulder.

"Good. Let's go."

The three boys walked past the town gates with little difficulty, as the entire guard was searching the city for the thieves. Those thieves, of course, had just left the town limits.

"I have never been this far away from the village," Mercier said quietly as he looked back on the town.

"And good riddance. I certainly won't miss it. And mark my word, I am never coming back here again," Chauvelin spat, his head held high.

"I didn't get a chance to say goodbye," Coupeau sniffed, tears slowly filling his eyes. "I'll never see my family again…"

Chauvelin looked at the boy for a moment before softly grumbling, "Alright, maybe we will come back some day…"

Coupeau's eyes lit up like the sun and he threw his arms about the dark boy, which earned him a swift backhand to his head from the irritated boy and helpless laughter from the blonde. And what a little band of merry men they were.