Thank you for the wonderful reviews! :) And so we continue...
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The Friends were not idle during this time. They had taken to the streets; challenging the other factions, questioning the citizens and rallying people to their cause. A few even used the attack on Enjolras as an example of the desperation of the people. And they heard responses from all quarters. The workers near the Rue de Charonne were all but speaking in code, and the authorities there were on their guard. Jehan had reported that they knew of Enjolras' imprisonment and it was seen as nothing more than an unfortunate fact.
This angered Jehan. "They care little, and say less," he complained to Courfeyrac that evening.
"They must keep their distance," Courfeyrac explained. "And while Enjolras is known to them, he is not a friend."
"He is important!"
"We are all important, Jehan! Do not for a moment think this movement will succeed without the hands of everyone involved, not just a chosen few!" He cocked his head at Jehan's dismay, and sighed in understanding. "You are allowing your personal feelings to get in your way. The most that Enjolras' arrest will do for them is to put them on their guard, and rightfully so."
"And where do we stand?" Jehan asked sullenly, and almost defensively.
"Have you seen him today?"
"I have."
"As have I. And Combeferre. And Feuilly. And Grantaire, several times. THAT is where we stand."
Jehan smiled, just a little, and nodded decisively. Both men turned as Combeferre entered the room. "Well?" Combeferre asked impatiently.
Courfeyrac shook his head. "We have Gavroche and his minions tucked into every corner of this city. No one has seen the man who attacked Enjolras."
"Gavroche? Why? He is recognizable."
"Perhaps," Courfeyrac smiled, "but he must be seen to be recognized. His stature works in his favor." His expression waned. "Combeferre, there is a movement afoot."
"The bourgeois is getting nervous?" Combeferre raised his eyebrows as he set his papers down on the table.
"It isn't the bourgeois." Courfeyrac ran his hand through his hair and glanced at Jehan. "Someone is trying to take down the Society."
"Someone is always trying to take down the Society," Combeferre scoffed, but Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder.
"Lamarque is gravely ill," he said. 'You've heard Enjolras. He is the last sympathizer to the people. He isn't expected to survive more than a week at best. What happens then?"
"The Society is already making plans," Jehan added. "Enjolras was in on those plans. They may change them now, considering. And if they do I fear Enjolras will not be notified."
"Unless he's had a visit in the jail, which is possible," Courfeyrac said. "I refuse to believe they would abandon him that easily. The whole of this side of Paris is counting on his tactics."
"But it remains," Jehan added, "that our time is short, and the Society is on the move, as are many other factions. Not all approve of the circumstances, or our means of obtaining our objective and they've made that abundantly clear with their attack."
Combeferre leaned against the wall. "So you're saying whoever these people are, they're preparing to counter us before we even attempt to join forces."
"It seems they will ensure we do NOT join forces," Courfeyrac said.
"Were any leaders of the other subsidiaries attacked?"
Courfeyrac shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. They know what happened here. But nothing more has been said."
"Then why Enjolras? Why not someone near Rue de Charonne? Strategically are they not more important?" Jehan did not like it.
"He is the best at what he does," Combeferre said with a shrug as Grantaire joined them. "Of anyone who speaks of rebellion, he is the one who stirs the hearts of even the coldest man. He is visible. He could easily become a rallying symbol. They fear him."
"They think he could be successful?" Grantaire joined in, glancing from one man to another.
"They know it."
Grantaire considered this. "He is released today, in a few hours time." He thought for a moment more, then smacked his hand down upon the table. "He must be re-arrested at once."
"Grantaire!"
"I could get drink into him. I've always wondered what Enjolras would be like were he under the influence. We could push him into an example of drunk and disorderly conduct and he would be right back into the cell."
Combeferre was appalled, but Courfeyrac laughed. "I would almost pay to see that, but no. He is needed."
"He is needed, alive, very much so!" Grantaire agreed.
"No one has threatened his life, Grantaire!" Jehan exclaimed.
"Were you there? Did you hear those men? They will be back for him. They are not in jail with him, they are free to do as they please. They ran when the police arrived." He looked sheepish. "We all did."
Combeferre raised his hand. "Never mind that. He has a point. This evening, when Enjolras is released, how do we know he will not be met at the door by this enemy?"
"Perhaps they were merely sending us a warning." Courfeyrac replied. "More than likely this was nothing more than an attempt at a show of strength. If they really wanted to make things happen. . ."
But Combeferre wasn't certain. He pushed from the wall and eyed the street through the window. "Our numbers are growing," he said softly. "Enjolras told me just last night that when Lamarque is gone, and there is little doubt now that this illness will soon take him, that will be our call to action." He gritted his teeth and turned to his friends. "When it happens, it will happen quickly."
"Enjolras is but one man," Grantaire said.
"Enjolras is the one man who is in communication with everyone who matters," Combeferre snapped. "Do not dare underestimate his role! He not only knows his own plan, he knows what is going on in the minds of all the men, of the Society itself. He is the…" Combeferre paused, feeling dread. "He is the single thread which holds this insurrection together. He is the one who will organize the downfall of anyone who stands in our way…and they know this."
His words surprised Courfeyrac. "I knew he was important. Is he really that involved in what is happening? All the way…"
"All the way to the upper most of the Society."
"He isn't safe," Grantaire reiterated. He pressed his lips tight together, turning a circle in irritation.
"None of us are safe, Grantiare," Combeferre chastised. His expression had changed. He tilted his head, watching Grantaire as he stood with his hands on his hips.
"What?" Grantaire asked, not liking the attention. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
Combeferre leaned in, and sniffed. He frowned, and sniffed once more. "That isn't right."
"What isn't right?"
"You no longer smell like a distillery."
Grantaire winced.
"Good lord," Courfeyrac leaned in, then smiled. "He's shelved the bottles!"
"Grantaire, is this true?" Jehan exclaimed, leaning in himself then stepping back in astonishment.
"Enjolras might need me," Grantaire said. "Do not laugh! Do you really think anything you've said hasn't already crossed my mind? I could not help him before he was arrested. I will not make that mistake again. Someone has to talk sense into him."
"I'm impressed," Combeferre admitted. "But you do realize stopping sudden will carry its own effects?"
"Do not remind me, my skin crawls at the thought of it. I was awake all night." Grantaire shuddered, rubbing his arms.
"Keep moving, it will help," Combeferre said, steering the men through the café door and out onto the street. "I can no longer stand that room," he explained. "It makes me angry that Enjolras is not in it."
"Quiet. Look!" Courfeyrac quickly pushed the three men back into the shadows as two policemen walked by. Following them were two men, well-dressed. One was the man who had attacked Enjolras.
"How is that for a stroke of luck?" Combeferre muttered, and patted Grantaire on his chest. "Quickly. You have a chance to prove yourself. Do not screw it up. Follow those men. Signal Gavroche as well, he's hiding behind that buggy as though I can't see him. Meet me at my place with the news. Quickly now, the sun sets!"
"And Enjolras?"
Combeferre gave a small shrug. "With any luck he should be there to hear the news himself."
Grantaire pulled himself up to his full height, saluted, and shuffled after the men.
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Enjolras heard keys rattle in the lock. He slowly turned his head, then rolled over on the cot.
Hands clamped over his eyes and mouth. He instantly kicked out, heard a curse, felt a weight press down on top of him. His arms were jerked outwards and held. The hand covering his nose was replaced with a foul-smelling cloth.
He'd had no time to speak.
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Grantaire followed the men and watched carefully from under his brow. Concentrate, he chided himself. His hands were trembling. He would take them from his pockets, rub them together, stick them back. The air was warm, but he shivered. He paused as the men did, turning his face from them to look at a window, or appear to see someone across the street. They never looked over their shoulders.
But to be safe, Grantaire managed to assume several disguises on his walk. The neckerchief was dropped. His hat was swapped for another as he bumped into a young man. His vest was one minute open, then buttoned, then discarded, all enough to keep any one glance from taking in too much detail. He was discouraged to see them hail a driver, the horses clopping their way to the curb.
Oh, do not make me run, Grantaire pleaded silently, and groaned as he took to his feet behind the carriage.
He jostled people out of the way, frantically trying to keep pace, cursing his pounding head and tumultuous stomach. "This was not the plan!" he exclaimed loudly, and flagged for a carriage to follow. He climbed in, merely pointing to the carriage in front of them before doubling over and retching.
He did not sit up until the carriage slowed. Grantaire leaned out and saw the carriage before them had slowed as well. He quickly opened the door and jumped out, ignoring the angry cry of the gypped driver. A sous was casually tossed toward him, and Grantaire dove into the clothing shop until the carriage passed on. He peeked out, and saw his prey further down the street. They were on the outskirts of the city.
Grantaire followed, then flattened himself against a building as they turned toward a second carriage. He leaned forward, and the sight before him nearly caused him to become ill once more. He fell to one knee.
The carriage had stopped before a large building. The front door opened, casting light onto the grimy street, and several men greeted the driver. Enjolras was being hauled out, immobile as one held him beneath his arms and another took his ankles. He was carried inside the building. The door closed loudly.
He should go in. He should take those men down and…he was one man, what the hell was he thinking? He should go in and rescue Enjolras from the inside. Enjolras had brains on him, he could get them out. But no one would know where there were, should the situation arise where Enjolras' brains were not intact, and seeing the state he was in…so he was back to crashing in the doors, but he was one man…
He was also a fool. Grantaire swallowed heavily and pushed against the wall, heaving himself to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. It was all well and good for heroes, he chided himself, and he was no hero.
He spent every ounce of energy he had running back to town, calling for any carriage within distance.
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Courfeyrac and Combeferre were waiting impatiently outside the jail. It was some time before their admittance was allowed, and it was too late. "What do you mean, he's gone?" Courfeyrac demanded.
The warden leaned over his desk, folding his arms on the scarred top. "I mean, he is no longer on the premises, monsieur," he replied smartly. "His bail was met."
"He was due to be released regardless!"
"I was told he was to be held longer, but," the warden shrugged.
"I see. I hope you enjoy the pretty amount your insolence costs him!" Courfeyrac gritted his teeth but Combeferre took him by the shoulder and steered him from the small room.
"If he isn't here, he isn't here," he said. "They can give us no more information than that."
"They did not release him. Someone bailed him."
"Someone paid for that man's silence," Combeferre corrected. He cursed loudly and gave Courfeyrac a quick shove. "Get the others. We meet in the café."
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The voices of the men were so raised that Grantiare's explosion into the room was unnoticed. "There you all are!" he yelled out.
Combeferre turned, and suddenly wondered how he was going to tell this follower of his god's disappearance. He needn't have worried.
"They have him," Grantaire exclaimed, falling against a table then into a chair. The room fell silent at his words.
"Who?" Feuilly asked.
"The man who decided he didn't like our leader's tone, I suppose" Grantaire replied curtly. "They've carried him into one of those abandoned buildings outside of town. Quite literally."
"You've seen him! Did you go in?" Jehan asked quickly.
Grantaire straightened. "Yes, Jehan, I followed the eight large men into a dark building with no support behind me whatsoever." He gave the young man a disgusted sidelong glance. "There are many men. What they want of him, I know not. He was not conscious, but appeared no more injured than before." The room erupted in clamor and questions, with everyone crowding around Grantaire.
"Ransom?" Courfeyrac leaned in to Combeferre turning him from the group so they could speak privately. "They could plead to his father."
"For what? What good would money be to them?" Combeferre responded in a low voice as Grantaire continued to rail to all who would listen. "No, this is a warning against our means. With Enjolras gone, communication will break down. Think of the timing!"
"If they keep him…"
"If they have him after Lamarque dies, our cause is lost. When Lamarque is silenced, the people's voice must be heard. But without Enjolras…"
"There are too many! Keeping Enjolras will not affect…"
"Keeping Enjolras will indeed affect things on this side of the city," Combeferre said. "It is enough. Someone must stand in his place, for now. We can not let this momentum slide." Combferre glanced around the room.
"None here have the wits which Enjolras possesses," Courfeyrac scoffed.
"Then we take another tactic. Jehan could do it."
"Jehan looks like a cherub."
"Jehan is just as capable of speaking with passion as anyone here. And his cherubic looks could be beneficial. Enjolras may speak as a tower of flame, but Jehan can appeal to their inner nature." Combeferre tapped a finger on the table. "We'll send him to the Society, and to the other insurgent groups. They'll have to trust him. In the meantime," Combeferre straightened and addressed the room, "we must rescue our esteemed leader."
A yell of agreement rose.
to be continued...