A/N: Thanks everyone! I don't own Andrew. Again another friend from the Pimpernel verse.
Smithy: I have tasted lemons a few times. Not fond of them, really
Chapter 7: What the Water Brings
It does not take Jehan and Grantaire long to realize that pretty much nothing escapes Darren's notice or his attempts at investigation. "We might make a Whitman out of you just yet. Old Uncle Walt was also fond of writing about water," Jehan tells Darren as they are walking by the pier that is just a block away from their home. Contrary to what everyone thinks, the river does not always figure as one of Jehan's main inspirations. The opposite is true for Grantaire though; the riverside is a favourite subject of his, second only to their circle of friends. 'He'd render it on canvas...and maybe reverse the colors,' Jehan muses silently, remembering now what colors he saw Grantaire mixing up earlier in the day for a picture he has to finish by the end of the week.
Darren stares quizzically at Jehan's hands for a moment before suddenly jumping up and tugging on Jehan's sleeve. "T-there!" he shouts, pointing to the riverbank.
Jehan turns and grins at the sight of a ferry drawing up to the dock. "Ah, that is a boat headed south to the beach," he explains. He hoists Darren onto his shoulders so he can get a better look at the double-decker boat running out a plank for passengers to disembark onto the pier. "Like it?" he asks, looking up so the boy can read his lips.
Darren nods and tugs on Jehan's collar. "Ride?"
Jehan pauses to consider the vessel; the boat is rather full especially for a weekday morning, but he figures he can get them seats on the roof deck. He lowers Darren to the ground so the boy can see him clearly. "Okay then. We'll go for a short ride and then take the bus back home," he signs. Of course Darren claps with glee and grabs Jehan's sleeve to tug him along to the dock house. It's an awkward sight, but Jehan doesn't mind it at all if only for the sound of little Darren's slightly shrill laughter.
The lady at the ticket booth smiles as Jehan and Darren approach the window. "The boy gets in for free; he's still small enough," she explains, holding out her palm to indicate the height limit. "Father-son bonding?" she asks as Jehan digs for change.
Jehan nods as he puts the money on the counter. "Yes. It's his first time."
The woman hums approvingly as she punches in Jehan's ticket. "I'm sure his mother must be happy you're taking time to be with him. Not enough dads do that nowadays."
"Maybe," Jehan says with a shrug as he gets the small plastic ticket. 'She has her reasons after all,' he reminds himself. He and Grantaire know next to nothing about Darren's biological mother, other than that she is young, almost a child herself. There are many tragic and melodramatic speculations that come to mind but he actively wills these thoughts away; her story surely deserves more than mere mawkish sentiment.
Darren is nearly beside himself with excitement, but he grabs Jehan's hand anxiously as they board the ferry and find seats near the bow, away from the noisy engine and the stench of exhaust. "Many people," he signs as he climbs into Jehan's lap.
"Yeah, it's crowded, so you have to stay with me," Jehan signs back. It's nearly lunchtime, hardly an hour most people would choose for a cruise. Yet perhaps this isn't cruising, at least not for the passengers who come aboard with huge baskets of fruit, large crates, or even chicken coops. A few curses and complaints cut through the din as people try to keep their baggage out of the paths of vendors hawking boiled corn on the cob, various grilled meats, and chilled bottles of juice and water. Yet despite the confusion it is only a matter of minutes till everyone finds seats and the bosun blows a whistle as the ferry casts off from the pier.
The air is crisp and clean, and Jehan is so tempted to close his eyes to better enjoy the breeze but he has to keep Darren from running about on deck. Besides there is no end to Darren's questioning and pointing to just about anything and everything in sight. "That basket is full of mangoes-no, that is not chocolate, that's rice cake-and no this boat has an engine, there aren't any sails like in Papa Grantaire's paintings," Jehan explains, trying his best to keep up with Darren's rapid fire questioning that alternates between half-garbled phrases and frantic signing. He can feel a cramp growing in his fingers but he has to ignore it, if only to sustain this conversation. 'Who knows when we'll get a chance like this again?' he muses. All the confusion aside, the view from the deck is beautiful. The river runs through the oldest parts of this city, past a hodgepodge of buildings still bearing remnants of Art Deco days, and churches of mossy stone and coral bricks. It is a strange contrast to the glass spires that loom further away in the commercial districts and downtown, but one that Jehan cannot spurn if only for the inspiration it always brings to his verses.
Before long the boat slows down as it approaches the pier fronting the Flying Saucer Gastropub. In short order a dozen more passengers hustle onto the roof deck, treading on toes and elbowing for seats. In the middle of this crush Jehan espies a young man with an amiable face and brown hair that flops in his eyes. He would be non-descript in his white t-shirt and black jeans, but Jehan remembers his face all too well from days gone by. "Hello Ffoulkes."
This newcomer is caught up short only for a moment before a smile of recognition spreads over his face. "Prouvaire! Finally I get to actually see you instead of just online," Andrew Ffoulkes greets. He smiles when he sees the child on Jehan's lap. "You must be little Darren. Your dads and their friends keep posting about you."
Jehan quickly translates this for Darren, who nods trustingly. "How are Suzanne and the kids doing?" Jehan asks as he makes room on the seat for Andrew to join them.
"Fantastic. Our eldest is entering the first grade, and at the top of his kindergarten class," Andrew replies proudly. He looks around and his brow furrows. "Can you help me out, Prouvaire?"
"I will," Jehan replies.
Andrew nods. "Have you seen a Chinese girl, about eighteen years old, with black hair in a bob-cut, and slightly protruding teeth?" he asks in an undertone.
The poet looks around and shakes his head; there is no one on deck who matches this description. "Try the lower deck?"
Andrew shakes his head. "She's the niece of a friend."
Jehan nods, not sure what to make of this information. Normally he would just let it slide, but not if it's coming from Andrew Ffoulkes, one of the people he knows to be committed to the causes of the least and the lost. "She's missing, isn't she?"
Andrew nods almost imperceptibly. "Last seen with a ticket for this ferry line." He brings out his phone to show a picture of a missing persons notice. "That was two days ago. You know what they say about the golden period for these situations."
These words are enough to make Jehan feel sick, most especially when he has to keep a grip on Darren's arm to keep him from wandering around the deck. He tries not to imagine the vivacious young girl in this picture, lost at a dockside, standing forlorn by a road or worse. 'She'd just be one of hundreds though,' he realizes, and it's a thought that pinches at something in his chest. "Who's helping you look?"
"Some of the guys," Andrew says. He puts a hand on the armrest and gets to his feet as the boat draws up to another pier. "Excuse me for a moment."
Jehan has to keep a hand on Darren's shoulder to keep the boy from running off after Andrew, but all the same he stands up to get a better look at what has caught his friend's attention. He sees Andrew disembark and quickly weave through the crowd, apparently on the trail of a group of old women whose faces are muffled by scarves. However he is forced to give up the chase once the women disappear into a restroom near the ticket booth, and so he is left standing outside while making a phone call.
Suddenly Jehan feels Darren tugging on his sleeve. "Why, what do you see?" Jehan asks. His jaw drops when he catches sight of Enjolras entering the dockhouse to speak with Andrew. 'Will wonders ever cease?' he muses as he sends a text message to Enjolras.
Just as he expects, his cellphone rings after a minute. "Jehan? At what station are you and Darren stopping at?" Enjolras asks.
"The one after this, at the center of town," Jehan replies as he checks his ticket.
"That's good. Could you please do me a favor and get a picture of the ticket booth there?" Enjolras asks.
"What for?"
"There's a theory that Ffoulkes and I need to test," Enjolras replies. "I hope this time, we're wrong."