Ch 8
The revolution began as the soldiers and drummers and mourners took to the streets, a spectacle, a sham of a funeral as Lamarque's body was paraded through the streets of Paris, the final insult, salt on bloody wounds to suffering citizens as they clamored to watch their hero's body in a horse-drawn carriage go by. Enjolras, the Amis, including Marius, and other revolutionary groups ignited in a fury, stormed through the tension of the funeral, seizing control of the entire affair as they sought to convince citizens to join them. And Éponine could not be there to witness it, to stand beside Enjolras for his cause, whether she believed in it or not. Instead she was with her father, sister, and Montparnasse walking through the crowds of people on the Rue Plumet. The people either sought the comfort and safety of their homes, or to spy Lamarque's body before he was taken away for good, but by their confusion, Éponine wasn't sure if they had any sense of direction. They seemed lost, like empty shells that compulsively wandered.
But that did not matter to her father or Montparnasse, for they knew well enough that with the rebellion starting no law could touch them. And they were not the only ones participating in such anarchy and mayhem. She could disappear, she thought, vanish into the crowd like the ghosts they were, but Montparnasse kept a watchful eye on her to prevent the very thought.
The section of the street they walked was familiar to Éponine. She had taken this path from the alley to reach Cosette's house. And then she quickly realized exactly who her father planned to rob, and she held her tongue, smirking from the irony of it.
In the bright sunlight of the mid morning the gang reached the house. They went around to the garden and easily broke the chain that kept the gate locked. Trampling over plants and flowers, Montparnasse approached the backdoor, burying his crowbar into the space between the door and frame. Azelma kept watch at the garden gate as Montparnasse pried open the door, snapping the wood. The three entered the house, sacks over the men's shoulders and a bat in Thénardier's hand to accompany Montparnasse's crowbar.
While Montparnasse rummaged through cabinets and drawers, digging for whatever valuables he could find, Thénardier searched the house, his heavy footsteps echoing off the wood floor, looking for the people that had already fled. Cosette and her father and even that maid were days gone, and Éponine hid the smile creeping across her face as her father darted up the stairs, growling in frustration. She looked about the house while absent mindedly placing random, worthless items that had been left behind into the sacks on the floor. How she had dreamed of a house like this, filled with lovely treasures and essentials to live suitable, comfortably, happily. But she could not think of that, not while knowing she was here, not while Enjolras is fighting, not when he could die. She scratched her palms, her fingers, her nerves taking over as she struggled to swallow the guilt she felt.
Montparnasse tore down various paintings that still hung, ripping the canvases in his search, destroying whatever value the paintings had. Thénardier rushed down the stairs, gripping his bat hard, letting it banging against the stairs, snarling all the way back to Montparnasse. "They aren't here."
"And there's not much to take." Montparnasse replied bitterly, "They abandoned the place. This was an entire waste of time just as I said it would!"
"He was here before!" Thénardier yelled, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring, "How was I to know he'd leave?"
"That doesn't matter! We took a risk coming here, and I don't see any profit."
Azelma then came in from the garden, and everyone turned, startled by the look in her large, fearful eyes. "It's the police! Javert is leading them!"
"Merde!" Thénardier spat, and he and Montparnasse scrambled to pick up the sacks of what little they stole.
They ran. Montparnasse tugged on Éponine's arm, refusing to let her go as the gang fled the house. His hand on her upper arm was her shackle, her reminder that she was in a sense his prisoner, that she could not escape them, not while she was in their sights. She thought of Claquesous at Montparnasse's command, so close to Enjolras. What if he already did it? Enjolras could be dead, and she would never know it. She was nauseous, such blood on her hands.
Looking behind her, she could see four men, Javert, who was dressed in civilian clothes, at the head of them, chasing them, shouting feeble commands that would result in their surrender. Time seemed to speed up as they ran, and Éponine could feel it mocking her as she was led through the streets, through the crowds as they struggled to shake the police off their trail. They turned street corners and hid inside an unlocked flat, hoping Javert and his cronies would pass them by. And when the men believed they were safe to come out, Thénardier lead them back through the streets. Long after the morning turned to afternoon, they reached the sewers, a filthy path that would lead them out of the city.
Thénardier handed his bat to Azelma before jumping eight feet down from the upper level they stood on into the pit of sewage, the splashing somehow increasing the vile stench, but he did not shy away as he struggled with the keys—he must have stolen them—to open the gate into the sewer.
"Quick," Montparnasse urged.
"I don't need any reminders." Thénardier replied crossly.
Éponine struggled to wriggle free from the murderer's hold, but that only managed to frustrate him.
"Why do you keep fighting?" He pulled her to him.
She said nothing, glaring at him.
"That bourgeois is dead. And even if he lived he would never settle for you." He was glad to say it, "What did you expect? That he'd love you? Marry you? You're an idiot. I'm the only one you have."
Her mouth turned dry, and her blood had gone cold. Her muscles slacked, and the fight in her was draining. She wondered if his words were true, that Enjolras could never truly love her, that all she had dreamed, all she shared with him was as false as it had been with Marius. But none of that would matter if he is dead. And what if this was all she was meant to have, to end up just as her mother had, unhappy in marriage to a man that amounted to less than a flea. She had hopes just as her mother did, for a grander life and love, and her mother died aspiring to nothing. It would be something like poetic justice, what she deserves, to become her mother. Perhaps she never did have a chance with Enjolras, but she would rather have no one than the murderer, the scum that stood before her. Her heated stare did not waver, and he scoffed at her defiance. He looked like he wanted to strike her, and that did little to frighten her. Her skin, with each beating life inflicted upon her, turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Montparnasse was only a trifle.
"Montparnasse, quit your foolin' and help me with the door!" Thénardier shouted from below. "Azelma will watch Éponine for you."
His eyes were reluctant to leave Éponine. He loosened his hold on her before letting her arm go entirely and then turned. He turned his head but before he could complete the motion, Azelma swung the bat with all the force her puny arms could muster, hitting his jaw hard enough that Éponine heard a crack. Montparnasse fell at her feet, the crowbar clattering on the stone ground. Their father called to them from the pit, and the two sisters shared a glance. Beneath the concern in her eyes, there was a fierceness Éponine had never seen in her sister before as she leaned down, taking the crowbar away from the unconscious Montparnasse, whose mouth now dripped red with blood. Sloshing from below and Thénardier was coming up the ramp. Azelma nodded to her sister as she stood to her feet, turning her back to her, gripping both the bat and crowbar.
"Thank you," Éponine whispered before running in the opposite direction.
She took to the streets, panting hard, feet pounding against the cobblestone. It did not take long before her energy depleted, her muscles aching as she forced herself to run. She'd forgotten that she hadn't eaten in days, nor had she slept. She struggled to keep going. She hadn't the slightest idea of where she was headed, and to make matters worse, road blocks that surrounded the many barricades that had sprung up, hindered her progress. But which barricade was Enjolras commanding? Be quick, every second is precious, and the sun is fading.
There were no soldiers when she snuck passed the road blocks and arrived at a small barricade. The men there shouted for her to halt, and she raised her hands in surrender.
"I'm looking for someone!" She said, breathless. "Enjolras of the ABC."
The men above her on top of the barricades, their rifles pointed at her, looked at each other.
"We know no one by that name." One with a gray cap replied, even toned, a cigar hanging from his mouth.
"M'sieur, are you the in command?"
"I am." He said, lifting his rifle, and the others followed.
"Then you must have met with him sometime before today? To discuss plans? He's a leader of a barricade just as you are." Éponine pressed.
"Aye, I met with leaders. But no one by that name came by."
She hesitated, unable to find words to convey her confusion. "But that's impossible, m'sieur!" He hasn't come back to her because of those meetings. The man in the cap was lying. He must be! Where else could Enjolras be if not fighting for the stability of France? Or is it possible that perhaps his friends lied to her that night? The leader sent her away, suggesting she get somewhere safe as she left.
Her heart seemed to turn her limbs to lead, struggling against the overwhelming sense of hopelessness. There are so many barricades all across Paris, how could she know which he is stationed at? She will find him before it was too late. She ran again, her feet pouding with the reminder that she could be too late. Claquesous may have already reached him. Or perhaps he died this morning when the fighting started. Panic seeped into her bones. But she kept going, her mind screaming: all my fault, all my fault, all my fault.
Sunset was coming as she advanced passed another road block. She hadn't the fondest idea of where she was, too preoccupied, too frazzled, unable to concern herself with anything else. Another barricade was close. She turned the street corner and then promptly stepped back, her head peering out just enough to see and hopefully not be spotted. Gavroche was climbing over the barricade to reach the side opposite of the revolutionaries. He jogged in her direction, oblivious to her presence, a letter in his hand.
"Gavroche!" She whispered.
His head snapped to stare at her as she beckoned to him. If he was surprised, he did not show it while he disappeared from line of sight of the revolutionaries keeping watch on the barricade. A brown cap sat up the boy's dark chestnut hair, his face covered in dirt and sweat.
"What are you doing here?" Éponine asked.
"I'd ask the same of you." Gavroche replied simply.
She hadn't the time for formalities. Night is coming. "Are you returning to Enjolras' barricade?"
"Yeah. Courfeyrac sent me on an errand."
"Is Enjolras all right?"
His eyes narrowed, puzzled. "Everyone was okay when I left."
Her heart jumped, alive again. She fought against her overwhelming excitement, composing her features.
"Please Gavroche, take me to the barricade."