Jean Valjean entered the galleys sobbing and trembling; he left hardened. He entered in despair; he left sullen. What had happened within the soul? (p.87)

Victor Hugo, 'Les Miserables'

Knowledge is power, all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Familiar to all ears that focus on it for through the ages it has turned the nicest man to a creature of violence and rage. To fear the stranger is common in any part for the laziness of working and living a truthful life comes to all and the power to actually live in the light deserves an applaud. Those who steal are those who cannot be trusted, for stealing a relic could lead to a life. To steal is to break so to cause thievery is to break the word of the one above and the law of man. To kill is to cause harm to only the victim or countless others who loved the murdered one, breaking yet again either sanity at times or hearts.

All this went ignored by the bishop of the small town, who resided in the old abandoned hospital that was overgrown in the garden, broken on the path, and worn on the walls. Being a man of holiness (and the only it seemed to that) he ignored the outward harm that could be caused for, as he said, they were only petty dangers. The worst would come to them if they dared attack or steal from anyone, especially a house of Hyne. Locks were forbidden on the doors, the bars on the windows that were meant for protection for the hospital so that none would break in to take any drugs and so the injured or sick could not get out had been torn out and tossed like old ideas from a writer so carelessly forgetting them. The shutter that were now hooked to the windows replaced the prison-like bars and a large wooden yet this door replaced the bar locked excuse for a door that prevented anyone from coming in and from the wait of the object, going out.

The bishop, a tall and muscular man but had no intent to show his strength, could be seen during the day working at the garden, praying in the small room that was designed to be a mini church, or going around town talking with the common people who would be forgotten in an instant by the King himself. He was not like most bishops of the time, others would have spent all the money given to them on gold plates and silk pillows and grand houses so that their lives would be pleasant, but he spent his money on the repairs of the homes, streets, and other things that needed to be taken care of. He had no expensive items to show off other than the pure silverware that was locked in a display case (the only thing that was under lock being that the maid would have hear none of what he had to say against it) which he liked to use a lot of when the 'friends' of his would come and see how he was doing. They would complain, asking him why didn't he keep more money for himself since now he was more of a pauper than a bishop, but he would respond with a fearfully pleasant calmness and answer,"That he may work with his hands what is good, and give to him who has need." Less and less bishops would visit him then, but he had little worry about that. He liked it better without their company.

He was known more as M. Ward, a shorter version of his longer name since slightly would be an understatement. He was slightly older than the middle aged man of the time, his scalp bald with no sign of hair. His robes always were longer than he was which was surprisingly huge when studying his frame. He was calm, and sometimes never cautious of what he did, but he was loved by the people and that was what mattered.

"What is this?" It was an obviously angry voice belonging to a hungered man who was close near to needing a shave and new clothes. He smashed the money back into the strangers hands and looked at him with irate eyes that demanded an explanation.

"Do you need an answer? You are a former convict as said on your yellow slip or have you not forgotten? For not living by societies rules and breaking the law you will only get what you deserve. If you don't want it then go on your way." the money was offered again and the man snatched it back, thrusting it into his pack that was slung across his shoulder.

"I have worked longer and harder than any of these pathetic men you have working for you who only talk about ale and girls. I am no more guilty than the rest."

The stranger, obviously the landlord, bared his teeth, a animal thing to do but it was normal for the countryside in that time.

"Go on your way and don't come back. You will be lucky if anyone gives you board."

However truthful that was, it was ignored as the man left with a brisk stride, trying his best to hurry away. Ever since his freedom-

'No, not freedom. Remember that.' he thought to himself

ever since his...release he had only one name that was known by any boss, stranger, man, women, and child. Convict. He was to only get half-pay as the slip demanded and to never get the best of rooms unless instructed otherwise. Permission to kick out of a household or defend yourself against such a danger was permitted, but what would he do? Anything. That he would do anything. Would he kill, steal, hoodwink, lie, and possibly sell what wasn't his? He didn't know. If it came down to it, maybe. He was a Nothing, an outcast, a burden on society and he was paying for it. He had tried to do the right thing, or what he thought was right, and instead it backfired, leaving the remaining close ones to either live a harder life or die. There was no way to know now.

What was the name of the town he was heading to? He didn't know that either. Come to think of it, did he know anything? He knew they must have board and that it was nearing night time. The sun was providing the last of it's light on the now dirt road that was cut on both sides by wheels from horse drawn vehicles. The bare trees looked more threatening than ever but he wasn't afraid, he had handled worse. If anyone was to club him and take whatever was his then he promoted it, to end his misery of a world that had forgotten him.

It was but three hours later, late at night, early in the night, another thing he could hardly tell, when he finally reached the town. Lights around the signs of inns were lit and he headed towards the nearest one, big and grand, pleasant and comfortable looking. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. The sound of cheering from probably some sort of discussion was heared along with the clinking of glasses. The hoarse laughs of women ('probably paid from the young men's pockets...' he thought) was followed after. The door was opened by a short man, skinny though and nearly bald. He had almost an elven appearance to him with a short, pointed nose, high cheek bones and a sense of royalness about him though he lacked a bow an arrow as all fairy tale elves of this height were supposed to possess. He looked at the stranger at the door with a look of happiness as he spoke with ushering words," Come in! You must want a room, no?" The stranger took out a yellow slip that he handed to the supposedly innkeeper. The man's look changed as he took it, scanned over it and thrust it back at the stranger."Then you are going to have to sleep somewhere else."

"Then I will sleep in the stables. I will pay."

"All stalls are taken by the horses that belong to the party here. If I allowed you an empty stall, which we don't have, you would scare the barn boy and who knows what you would do with him..." The man had a look of disgust on his face as he looked the stranger up and down. "There is a bench farther down. Stay there."

"You treat me as if I am no better than a dog!"

"Because you are no more of a man."

The door slammed shut leaving the former convict outside. Rage filled him but doing anything about it would mean being thrown out again with more problems than he could handle now. He looked for the bench that was mentioned and trudged toward it. He sat down with a sigh, tired of the world and it's cruelty. There was a sudden shuffle underneath him as the bench's seat moved and tossed him off.

"What ish the marning uf tharse?"

He looked at was the seat and saw it was an old hag, beaten and worn and laying on the actual seat with a blanket that was almost identical in color.

"Are you trying tar steal mah bed?"

He could hardly believe the women and stood, taking in what had just happened.

"Well?"

"I-uh- no. No ma-" What, was it a she? "'am. I was, well, I didn't know-"

"Ah, shut it. I carn't understand you. I'll tell you one thing. You aren't sleepin' here." She readjusted the blankets and laid back down. He stared in disbelief, threw down his pack and held his head as he started muttering to himself," I am less than a man and dog, I can't even get a bed for doing what? For taking a loaf of bread...unbelievable..." The old lady stared at him with an irratable look.

"See har. You want somewhere to sleep, go to thart house down there." She pointed a ways down. "That thar the bishop. He should have an extra room fer you if'n his high-class friends aint thar." He looked at her and nodded. Maybe things was getting better, maybe this was a trick to get him robbed. Oh well. "Thank you ma'am." He hoped it was a she.

The women waved him off and tried to go back to sleep. "..anythin' to get you to stop talkin' and let me get some winks..." she muttered.

He picked up his bag and headed down in the direction, trying to remember where the house she had pointed at was and looked in almost shock. A bishop lived /here/? In this old run-down excuse for a shaft? He shrugged. At least it would have a bed. Walking up to the door, careful not to trip on the stones, he knocked on the door. It was after ten minutes that he finally got an answer and by then he had his yellow slip already out. It was a short lady, in her night-gown and looking out at him with squinting eyes.

"Wha ya wan?" she asked in a sleepy voice. He cleared his throat and handed her the slip. "I was hoping I could stay a night, if you don't mind. I am a former jail visitor as you can..." No, not plainly. She looked to sleepy. "...see."

"Huh..."she blinked at it and then backed up."Come in. I will ask the bishop." Yes, she was hardly thinking straight.

Once summoned, the bishop came, joyful and ignoring the fact of what the stranger was. "Laguna, yes? The slip said so. You must be hungry. Come, come, we have something you can eat before you rest your head tonight. You don't mind wine, now do you?"

The sudden hospitality caught Laguna off-guard, who responded quickly," You do know what I am?"

The bishop nodded, sticked his head in the pantry and calling out to the maid," Go get some of that new wine. I hope you don't mind Monsieur Loire? Isn't fully aged but it is the only one I have." He gave a slightly embaressed look as he stood straight and led the way to the small dining table and sat down a couple slices of bread, an apple, and whatever else he could find. Laguna looked at it with hunger clawing at his stomach but he turned to the bishop."I could be a murderer and you will not know it until it is too late."

The bishop nodded yet agian as he looked at the man."And could very well be a murderer also, M. Loire, waiting for you to drink the poisened wine." Laguna looked startled but recovered, muttering an agreement as he sat at the table. The maid brought in the wine and filled a couple glasses from the cabinet that was hidden against the wall behind a curtain. Along with the glasses she brought out the silverware, which Laguna eyed secretly. Such money it would cost...

"Now, I hope you will have a good-night after your meal, M. Loire. I have to get to bed. The maid will show you where to go." She in turn gave the bishop a rude look which he ignored and left, slowly as if to savor the time that a guest was there.

"I have to get to bed soon, Monsieur, I have to get to bed also." the maid said yawning. Laguna nodded and ate what he was given, drinking the wine slowly and nodding with a smile, remembering the last time he had had a glass.

He stayed up that night, the hours creeping by and by. Maybe the bishop told the truth, that he wanted to harm him. He had heard of the sick men who went into these positions and would do horrible things but would be forgiven because they were men of the holy house. Take a normal man off the street and have him commit such a crime and he would be sent to jail immedietly. But then, what was he doing here? Was he tricking those who were dumber than he, and pretending to be a bishop? Did he babble something and let the little people of this town mistake it as Latin?

He looked outside, the moon was above the house straight meaning only one thing to him: it was midnight. If he left tonight, then he would be free. He didn't see any officials in the town, and he doubted that the bishop fully looked at the slip. A fool who saw a chance to entertain a guest, maybe. That silver, too, looked mighty fine. Almost as if that could let a man live like a King for about...20 good years? That would be more than enough. He would be dead before then. But in a holy house? To commit such a sin? Sure, why not? He commited such a sin long ago, and he could do it now. He was caught last time because he was young and foolish, but now he had wizened and grown stronger.

Yet, who was to say he still wasn't foolish?

He stood, stretched, and redressed. Picking up his sack, he quickly and silently sneaked down the hall and past the bishop's room where he could hear a soft snore. Back into the dining area, he stretched the curtain back and looked at the gleaming silverware behind the thin glass. The cabinet that held it was light by the dim moonlight but still had a light wooden color, almost white. He opened the cabinet and grabbed at the silverware. At first he stuffed them in the pack but it made a loud noise as it clanged together making him cringe. He looked around the corner and gazed into the darkness before continuing his work. He had all but the candle-stick and it's holder before he heard footsteps closer than comfort. He stopped when it stopped and waited. Seconds seemed like years until he looked around the corner and saw the morose look of the bishop. They stared at each other for a while, not moving, until the bishop finally broke the silence.

"Why?"

Loire brought the silver holder up and met with the large man's temple which brought him to the ground.

(I will, as a heads-up, not start with the rest of the scene. Instead, I will introduce someone new! Maybe with this new charrie you will start to understand why Victor's book was named, "Les Miserables" Trust me, though, things will start to look better! I am actually getting pushed to finish this, but I probably won't repsond in a while. I have mid-terms, speech, project, and I just got new sheet music (( PoC yayness)) that I need to practice. I will get on ASAP as to see if this story is interesting. shrugs good night/day and farewell.)