A/N: I'm so sorry... writing time is really in short supply right now. But I'm still here. I still love to write. And I still hope you like it.
Bear with me please, for being a bit slow at the moment...
Comments make my day
Lots of love for all those still here
Spirit
Chapter 58: The dead lead the way
"The soul we save: not all, only the special ones. Leaders, thinkers, poets, dreamers, blessed lunatics."
When Courfeyrac and Marius arrived in Rue Pascal, laden with documents, drafts and a few books courtesy of Professeur LaManche, dusk had only begun to lower on the narrow streets of Paris and the light of a lamp in the second floor told them that Enjolras was home.
A knock and a few words convinced their friend that opening the door would be safe and they found the blonde law student in his dimly lit apartment, a plate with barely touched food on the table, today's copy of Le National open next to it. He was alone. Courfeyrac frowned.
"Where's Éponine?" he asked and Enjolras shrugged weakly, an almost amused notion wandering around his mouth.
"Who knows", he answered, and some resignation had crept into his voice as well. He turned back to the table, offering seats to his two friends, and, since Courfeyrac thoroughly did not consider the question answered and expressed this in clear words, he continued at length. "Apparently she is concerned about someone… a friend of hers, I guess. She expressed the need to find him, and quickly, and very clearly explained that my presence would be hindrance rather than help." The tone was dry, but otherwise fairly unreadable. Even Courfeyrac, knowing his friend as well as he did, was not sure what sort of sentiment was behind the prim comment.
"And you just let her go?" Marius sounded incredulous. "After what has happened to her the last time she took off on her own?" He shook his head. It seemed, Courfeyrac remarked, as if Marius had temporarily forgotten that he was cross with the gamine, but he was not too surprised.
It was not within Marius to hold long grudges. His memory, when it came to anger, was short. Enjolras, however, was a completely different matter. For a moment he froze and then turned to Marius, deceptively calm.
"Would you rather have me put her in chains, Marius?" he asked coolly. "I am not her father, not her brother, maybe not even her friend. All we share is the fact that we are allies. Which gives me no right whatsoever to command her."
Courfeyrac wondered if there was some regret in Enjolras' voice, but his friend was being particularly enigmatic today and in the end, it was probably not as important as that. Enjolras, however, was far from finished.
"However", he continued, "despite what has happened before, I do maintain trust in her abilities to keep herself safe. She is as much a person in her own right as is every one of us, and to such a person, I can suggest – which I did – or advise – which I did as well – but I have neither right nor means nor will to enforce."
Combeferre should have heard this, Courfeyrac thought with a flash of something akin to amusement and astonishment. He remembered a discussion between Enjolras and Combeferre, a few months ago, on the subject of women and their capabilities in revolution and society. Combeferre – maybe because this touched the subject of Hélène – had been as cross as he probably could get, but since then Enjolras seemed to have undergone some transformation in that effect.
Maybe Combeferre's constant words – transformation through conviction, as he would say –were finally showing effect.
Or Enjolras was moved by what usually was the thing that swayed him easiest: Sheer capability.
Whatever it was – something in his tirade had silenced Marius, who, not conviced but not in the mood for quarrel, shrugged and took the offered seat at the table.
"I take it you were successful then?" Courfeyrac changed the subject, hinting at the errand that Eponine and Enjolras had run, and he earned himself a sigh that – considering it was Enjolras he was talking to – sounded remarkably conflicted.
"By manner of speaking, yes", he agreed and gave a quick overview on the events of the afternoon, their trip to the dubious man that called himself Cortez, as well as their success in their demand to him.
"We have, on our way back, taken a short look at the premises, and they indeed seem suitable", he ended. "It remains to be said that something about this bargain leaves me conflicted. I… am not sure that I have yet grasped the full price."
"And that's a wise thought", Courfeyrac confirmed. Like Enjolras, he was not sure what had swayed the criminal lord's mind, and like Enjolras, the fact that he could not see the whole picture was somewhat disquieting. And yet, he was usually inclined to see the bright side of things. "But still. We have a meeting place. That is something that we should cherish. As for the rest, we will deal with it step by step. I don't think that at this point in time, we have much to choose."
"So do I", Enjolras concurred. "I may not like it but I count my blessings for now." He smiled wryly. "The way of the streets, as Éponine would say."
Courfeyrac laughed and got up, walking to the cupboard to get a few glasses and a bottle of wine from Enjolras' supplies. They were close enough, he knew Enjolras would not mind him intruding thus.
"She'll make a gamin out of you yet", he chuckled. "I regret not having seen you with your hair dyed. But perhaps, Feuilly can give an impression once he is well again and able to draw."
Enjolras did not share his amusement.
"How is Madame's defense coming along?" he asked instead, clearly deflecting, answering an attack not with a parade but with a counterattack instead. Courfeyrac considered mentioning this, but Marius – either blissfully oblivious or blissfully perceptive – answered before Courfeyrac could.
"Difficult", he answered. "Of course, no one has a proof of anything. But with the way the climate is – and with Madame's tendency to being somewhat obnoxious", it was good, he thought fleetingly, that Combeferre was not there to hear it, "there is no telling where a trial will go. It all hangs on Madame's good name, so I figure it would be the best of ideas to assemble friends of her – hopefully somewhat unconspicious friends – to give account on her character."
Enjolras nodded slowly.
"That is, if we want to keep out Éponine."
"That is that, yes", Courfeyrac nodded. "But as much as we have come to appreciate Marius' gamine friend, I would still have to say that even if she were to testify, I cannot vouch that they would even believe her. She is a gamine, so with any luck we may end up with her being convicted and Madame as well. I'm not sure her account will be strong enough to set Madame free in any case."
Enjolras bit his lips in thought and nodded slowly.
"I hate to agree, but it seems as if I have to. Unfortunately your reasoning makes sense. So your next steps would be…?"
"We have asked Monsieur Dufranc to come up with a few of Hélène's friends that may be able to vouch on her character. We are thinking of calling Rodrigues or Chevalier from le Globe – I realize that le Globe is not popular in itself, but both men are senseful and somewhat respected despite their involvement with the paper, so it may be a risk, but in the end more beneficial than harmful. I'd like Combeferre's opinion on that, first, though."
Enjolras nodded.
"He's most intimately connected to them, so yes, he should know best. So there is some hope, at least."
Courfeyrac nodded.
"And then there's the funeral. We've met Alexandre's parents, and it seems the funeral is scheduled for the day after tomorrow."
Enjolras nodded.
"Two days", he mused thoughtfully. "A lot can happen in two days."
He turned towards his friends, and the repose was gone, replaced by the bright spark they had all come to know of him, determination and anger and conviction.
"If we play this right – if Combeferre's works with le Globe turn out well, we may yet turn this into a demonstration", he said. "A demonstration on the thing that our opponents don't want to hear."
"Which is?" Marius asked, and Enjolras smiled.
"That we're still here", he said. "That we're fighting back. And that we never, never will forgive."
"Some trip around the city…", Bossuet sighed, as he finally sank into Enjolras' couch, making a face at the insistent throbbing of his toes. "One of these days, when we have a new government, the one that we are intending to bring about, I hope that as one of its first and faithful soldiers, I will get a new pair of shoes in honor of my services. Or, even better, a new pair of feet."
Joly next to him chuckled and Courfeyrac outright laughed, but the scowl on Enjolras' face did not wane in the least. Bossuet was unfazed. He was used to Enjolras not easily giving in to cheer and mirth. It was as much part of him as his gift for oration, or his natural inclination to inspire confidence.
The comment had been done mostly for his own sake, anyway. There was never anything wrong with a solid bit of self-deprecating humor to lighten up a situation. And despite the presence of ever positive Courfeyrac, the situation did need some lightening indeed.
Marius and his friend sat at the table together with Joly and Bossuet, while Enjolras, who had left his seat to Joly when they arrived, was leaning against the windowsill. He looked slightly ruffled, curls still moist, and in a few areas around the forehead, his hair showed a slightly darker hue than it had before. He had waited calmly, while Courfeyrac and Marius had given a little update on the events of the afternoon that presumably were not new to him.
The new meeting place.
Madame's defence
Alexandre's funeral.
The last one had Bossuet and Joly share a gaze of surprise, excitement surging through him involuntarily.
Things were getting into motion, there was no denying it. It was like the excitement on the day before Christmas as a child. Or like the sizzling power that filled the air before the eruption of a thunderstorm. Or a walk through a dark alley, where you could feel shadows, lurking and breathing, without ever coming into the clear to be seen.
Bossuet could see that Joly wanted to share his news right away and stepped in, knowing fully well that if they gave the most interesting part first, the rest would be lost in the subsequent discussion.
"We've spent the day trying to contact the other revolutionary groups", he started at the beginning, discreetly wiggling his toes inside his boots. His soles were burning indeed. "Quite some footwork I might add."
"We gathered that", Courfeyrac answered drily, but the mockery was gentle and not intended to hurt. Bossuet answered with a laugh. "So, how is the situation?"
"Both better and worse than I thought", Bossuet answered. "We have reached all of them, or, as I should rather say, at least members of each group. Apart from the fact that they are still there, that also means that they are still willing to talk to us – and that's, quite frankly, not something to be taken for granted after our last experiences with the Cougourde."
Enjolras nodded solemnly.
"So we have no more discouraged than we had before" he inquired, in cautious optimism rather aiming for a statement than a question with his words. Joly grinned broadly.
"And that's still a careful statement given what actually happened", he answered, barely containing his enthusiasm. "You should have seen Pierre Lafague. He was livid, seething almost. I've never seen him that way. It was quite a sight…"
"An excellent crowd, I have always said", Enjolras nodded. "If properly motivated of course. Experience shows that the fire burns out with time, but I have to admit that these last days do not give the promise of calmer times any time soon."
"There's varying degrees to that enthusiasm, of course", Bossuet continued. "None of them is exactly retreating, but for example when it comes to Picpus, I think the shock goes deeper and much farther than Corinthe."
"Especially since they have not lost one of their numbers in their rubble, and that was because most of them were out retrieving the bodies of those killed in previous attacks", Courfeyrac added sadly.
Out of the corner of his eye Bossuet saw Marius shiver slightly and felt a rush of sympathy. They had had their share of retrieval of the Picpus bodies, and a gruesome work it had been. It had spared them the horror of the Corinthe incident, but apart from the fact, that their life had not been in danger, Bossuet was still not sure who had gotten the better part of this bargain.
"But even they don't think of giving in", Joly found his way back to a brighter tone in the conversation. "Quite to the contrary. Wherever we looked, there was much less panic and much more anger. People willing to do something. Impatience growing stronger."
"A good thing", Enjolras voiced what Joly and Bossuet had already discussed earlier. "Rage is active, while fear is paralyzing. So we should try and fuel this rage the best that we can."
"Indeed", Bossuet concurred. "Although the bad news to this story is that for many of them, the same thing has happened that we experienced this morning. Most of us have become personae non grata in an astonishingly short time."
"That's why it was such a walk through the city", Joly answered. "The Barrière is not welcome any more at Richfeu's, and as we finally found out, the Picpus group was hovering at Laurent Abati's home."
"Saint Antoine is still at their nominal gathering place – the patron is one of their number – but when we asked he also refused to hold the general assemblies that we were planning. It seems that it is friendship alone that keeps him there, but to risk his livelihood for the rest of us is apparently a wholly different story."
Enjolras snorted, but refrained from a comment, probably after a warning glance from Courfeyrac. They all were willing to take risk for their beliefs, but apart from Bahorel, Enjolras was certainly the boldest of their number. And unlike Bahorel, he sometimes lacked the understanding for those with lesser courage. Bossuet opted for quick deflection and continued his report.
He wrapped up the results of their stroll through Paris in search for their friends –mourning Saint Antoine members, who had not taken the loss of another of their numbers lightly; a Cougourde of Aix that seemed to have declared the Necker their new basis of operation – which was starting to show effect. Jacques was slightly better, but for now Stéphane and Marc Lamarin had taken it upon themselves to keep business running. There was a subtle change in the way the Cougourde behaved, and Bossuet thought that he had detected somewhat stronger initiative than before.
At this mention, Enjolras smiled slightly.
"And that", Joly finally could not contain what he knew, "is not even the best of it."
He let the words hanging and Enjolras pushed himself back from the windowsill and stepped towards the table, towering over those seated as he raised a curious brow.
"Go on", he said and Joly, after a quick exchange with Bossuet began to spill the news.
"We've been at university as well as you probably know, and there's a real uproar there. I don't think anyone has attended a lecture today, at least not in the polytechnical, but medical school was no less affected."
"Because of the attack at the Corinthe…?" he asked and Bossuet weighed his head.
"Not… as such", he answered, "at least not in the beginning. Are you familiar with a man called Évaristide Galois?"
Enjolras narrowed his eyes and repeated the name slowly. "It does sound familiar… someone that Combeferre knew?"
Joly nodded.
"A mathematician, former student at the École normale", he explained and Courfeyrac snapped his fingers.
"Ah, yes, I remember", he said. "Pale fellow, short brown hair, boyish looks, right?" he quickly sketched with few words the image of the man. "Wasn't he the man who was almost arrested, because he had uttered a toast to Louis-Phillipe, knife at point blank at a banquet?"
"The one and only", Bossuet confirmed. "That was a story to remember."
"Wasn't he in prison afterwards?" Marius asked thoughtfully. "I seem to have remembered something to that effect – connected with the riots on the 14th of July a year ago?"
"He was", Joly answered. "But it seems he has been released a month ago."
"Another man on our side", Enjolras nodded. "However, I still fail to see what your excitement is about."
"Wait and listen"; Bossuet advised. "It begins with a tragedy, because unfortunately I will have to contradict what you have just said – he is not a man on our side. He died, on the day before yesterday, in a duel as it seems. However, the story does not end there. Because – even though he has been expelled from the Ecole Normale a while ago – he seems to be still very popular with the students there. Rumor has it that the man who killed him was actually sent by the government itself, and his friends are in outrage. From the Ecole Normale, the fire has spread to the Polytechnique, and by now the Sorbonne and the Université are aflame as well. It seems as if everyone is intent to make a spectacle out of the funeral – which will be tomorrow."
Enjolras unfolded his arms and Bossuet saw attentiveness wandering through his whole body, head to toe.
"We've spoken to some of those who have been here yesterday, and they will try to convince the family of Ramon Deleric to have his funeral on the same day, at the same occasion. That way, we might be able to attract a larger crowd still."
"Splendid!" Enjolras was clearly excited. "This is exactly what I was hoping for! An adequate answer to the attacks yesterday if there ever was one. We will attend, of course. A large crowd – of course it can be attacked as well, but will they really go that far? To turn against an assembly that has formed in honor of one dead, in honor of the church? I say it is worth the risk. We will inform the others and hopefully will be able to convince them to participate as well."
Bossuet grinned at the excitement that had gripped Enjolars at the prospect. He shared it in the fullest.
"Great, is it not?" he asked. "I knew you would like it!"
Gavroche ran as fast as he could. The streets of Paris were rushing by in a blur and he tried not to stumble in his haste, the pavement slippery in the rain that was falling from the sky at last.
The promise of a thunderstorm had not been fulfilled, but at least there was rain, sweet, wonderful, cooling rain, and the gamin was already soaked to the bone. He did not mind, thought. The cooling water was appreciated, for the rain brought some sort of relief to the fat, stifling air of the day, but not as a thunderstorm would have.
The heat was still radiating from every stone in the city.
Dimly, Gavroche was aware of the steps behind him, much as fast as his own, following every twist and turn of his path.
"Hold on", a voice from behind him finally stalled his steps, and Gavroche complied for a moment, turning around to understand what had prompted the call.
Jean had halted in his step and turned to the beginning of the alley, where, steps slower than that of his surrogate brothers, Pucet tried to keep up with the elders and did not quite manage to accomplish it.
Of course. The youngest of them had learned to run, but size was not on his side yet.
Gavroche used the time to catch his breath, although, by the time that Pucet and Jean caught up with him, it was clear that they would need a moment's repose, too. It was the sensible thing to do.
At first glance, at rational glance, their news did not prompt speed. It would be the same news, the same information tomorrow, and Gavroche suspected that even the conclusions would stay the same, but this was not the point. Having been in the circle of the friends of the Abaisse for so long, Gavroche had learned a thing or two about their plannings and dealings, about the way they saw politics and reacted to it.
And this allowed him to know that his news was big, monumental maybe. And he just could not wait to see Courfeyrac's face.
They had been without success at Courfeyrac's apartment, so Gavroche had next tried the apartment in rue de la Chanvrerie, where they had stayed the night before, but they had only found a sleeping Feuilly, and Adelaide and Elodie, still in conversation but unaware of the whereabouts of the others.
Rue Pascal was the next best guess.
"You okay?" Gavroche asked a heavily panting Pucet, and the boy tried to raise himself to full height and nod with some measure of dignity – as much as he could muster. He seemed exhausted, but not drained and so Gavroche decided that they could have as much rest as they wanted as soon as they had found the others and ran on. Rue Pascal was not very far.
It took only a single glance to understand that they had reached their destination. Gavroche spied Enjolras' apartment, and not only was the inside brightly lit, but also the shilouette at the window was quite telling of the fact that Enjolras himself was at home and present.
One might even hope for Courfeyrac.
"Let's go", he urged on his friends – Jean was holding up nicely but Pucet was in sweat and panting again – and Jean did not wait for him to start but instead pushed through the entrance door into the building.
The Concierge's chamber was abandoned and the three boys crept by and climbed up to the landing on the second floor, where a light under the door of Enjolras' apartment told them as much as the voices from within that they had reached the end of their race.
Gavroche placed his hand on the doorknob but reconsidered at the last moment. His friends were nervous, and probably not so much without reason, and therefore coming onto them unexpected could even be dangerous.
Gavroche – true to the first rule of the streets of avoiding things that were stupid – knocked on the wooden door instead of just coming in.
All conversation inside died down.
"Who is it?" That was Enjolras.
"Gavroche"; answered Gavroche, his attempt at merriment failing with the excitement of his news.
The door opened almost immediately and he found himself in front of his grown-up surrogate brother.
"Little man", he was greeted fondly with a ruffling of his curls. There were days where he wondered why he even allowed this gesture, but the welcome was friendly and Courfeyrac would not even know how it was to be insincere.
That was one of the things Gavroche loved about him. You always knew where you stood. That was a rare and precious thing.
"How are you?" Courfeyrac asked as Gavroche took in the surrounding – Joly, Bossuet and Marius sitting around the table, Enjolras standing at the window, an air of barely contained restlessness lying in the room. Did they know already?
Gavroche had no time to speculate.
"I bring news", he said as Pucet and Jean behind him pushed their way into the room.
Marius got up to get a better view on the gamin and cocked his head.
"What news?"
"General Lamarque", Gavroche announced with an air of severity about him, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before he concluded his statement, "is dead."
For a few instants, deadly silence reigned the room.
And then, pandaemonium.
In the aftermath of his announcement, following the hasty discussions that almost immediately ensued, Gavroche gathered, that this was not the first death, and not the first possible funeral that they were talking about. The excitement that had filled the room had erupted, like the long expected thunderstorm, and thoughts and words were flying, half thought through, half discarded again."
Marius was in outrage – he had held a strong respect for the man, Gavroche knew – while Joly expressed distress at another victim that could not be saved, another victim of the disease that seemed to kill primarily those who cared for the life of the Abaisse or lived among them, and Bossuet discussed at times with the one, at times with the other.
"It was the Cholera, I assume?"
Courfeyrac's gaze changed from Jean to Pucet to Gavroche in turn and the latter nodded solemnly.
"How do you know?"
"We couldn't have missed it if we tried", Jean answered instead of Gavroche. "Of course – not that we did try to miss it. We were lying in wait in front of the building, and there were all sorts of folks coming in and out, politicians, doctors, priests, and finally with the wailing that went through the crowd, it was clear that he had died."
"Yes, but how do you know about the Cholera?" Courfeyrac asked.
"There was a woman leaving the house", Pucet explained. "And she was screaming that she would leave because she wouldn't want to die like that, all shitting and trembling and hallucinating. Jean said that was what Cholera was like. He would know. He's seen it before."
Jean threw his little surrogate brother a murderous gaze, but Gavroche knew that there was no need. Courfeyrac would not pry if it was not necessary and if he did not feel the secret needed to be out at that moment.
And at the moment, there were clearly more important things.
"Quiet everyone."
Before Jean could attack Pucet, or Pucet defend himself, before Courfeyrac or Gavroche could try to calm the situation again, while Marius, Joly and Bossuet were discussing heatedly, Enjolras cut through their words and thoughts like the sharp edge of a sword.
The noise died down immediately.
"Another death", Enjolras said. "And though it is the one that is least connected to us – for while Lamarque was to us father and idol, he was not to us friend – it may be the one that carries the farthest. Lamarque is dead. The man of the people, the voice of reason, the brightest light of the assembly is extinguished. The candle has burned itself out. This is the end of an era."
He took to pacing, along the line of the windows, the light playing tricks of shadows on him as he continued to speak, more to himself than to them, and yet commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
"Tomorrow, the world will not be the same. Tomorrow, we will live in a world where the best memory of what the revolution should have been will be no more. Be it through trickery or fate, Lamarque, General Lamarque is dead. And this cannot, will not go ignored."
He halted in his stride and turned to his friends, and for a moment Gavroche was almost terrified by the burning intensity in his eyes, full of anger and pride and a determination, that seeped into every bone.
"This, my friends is the end of the dream of a republic. The final death rattle. The last straw. This, my friends, is the sign we have awaited. The sign for action."
Gavroche felt a shiver running down his spine in excitement.
"This", Enjolras continued, "will be the last step of the ladder that we are escalating. A ladder leading to the ultimate goal and the ultimate daring, and the dead, the best of us, those who are gone, will lead us the way."
Gavroche wondered what he was talking about, but Enjolras continued, fire in his eyes, gold in his hair, a surreal figure come into their midst. This, Gavroche saw, was what he really was, what he burned for deepest, and brightest, and longest. It was a terrible sight to see.
"Tomorrow", Enjolras contined, "we will pay homage to two of us who have fallen before their time. Two of us, who have had the courage to speak what was wrong and who paid the highest price for it. Under this banner, we will assemble who will come, in their memory and in their name. We will show them that sorrow, that fear has not cowered us. We will show them that we still believe. We will show them, that we still are here."
He took to pacing again, a tiger, restless, full of energy.
"The next day, we will follow the spirit of the man who was our voice. We may have lost its tone, but we have not lost the thoughts. Alexandre de Cambout, for all the nobility he was, was one of us as much as he could be, for he shared our spirit and our wishes, and he has been murdered, cowardly murdered for this. And so we will be there, those of the day before and many more, all who will come, And we will show them that if they take one voice another arises. We will show them that they cannot silence what is true or what is right."
He stepped up to the table again, propping himself up on it to look at each one of them in turn.
"And then Lamarque. The people's man. Behind his coffin we will rally all. Those with and those without voice. Those who have lost and those who believe. The people of Paris, united in anger and sorrow and remembrance. And then…"
He straightened himself with dignity, tall, strong, bright, and utterly, indescribably sure of himself.
"Revolution."
Gavroche felt his heart pounding in his chest in excitement and joy. It was happening, it was really really happening.
And so he echoed.
"Revolution."