A/N: Hmm.. they're reading it but not reviewing it... I'll take that as a cue to go on, but feedback would be appreciated.
So, here comes the next chapter, and since it's late and I'm tired I can only hope I managed to find all the bugs. And yes, I know. It's odd that there is no real E/E or M/C interaction yet. Give me time. One of it will certainly be there in the next chapter. Any preferences in what order I should spread the things out?
Thanks to judybear236 for corrections
Have fun reading!
Spirit
Chapter 4: Shadows lurking
"'Sure' is for people with nothing on the line. You and me, we just get on with it."
For a few moments, the assembly in the back room of the Café Musain was stunned into silence. Combeferre, who had been on the verge of asking something, let his hand sink back to his side as his gaze followed their vanishing comrade and shook his head slowly.
Eponine had fallen mute, all of a sudden, and it seemed to Enjolras, as if she were, without a single movement, retreating into the shadows from which she had come, shrinking and coiling into herself without moving so much as a finger. Her body seemed to lose all its tension, and the revelation that struck him at seeing this scene explained in detailed and unmerciful clarity, why Eponine today had acted the way she did at the market.
Love made fools of the brightest of minds. Even if in this peculiar venture, something good may have come out of it as well.
Enjolras could not decide whether he was annoyed at Marius' behavior, or whether it did not really matter – for clearly, the events of the day had changed the perimeters they had up to now been operating in. The attack on one of their number – it was ultimately insignificant, whether the attack had been directed at Jehan, Marius or himself, for the intention remained the same – represented a significant escalation. Before, there had of course been arrests, questions, the usual oppressions of a regime taking its people as a hostage, but it had all seemed harmless then, almost a game.
He had deluded himself into believing that they were playing an exquisite match of hide-and-seek, of whispers in the night and make-believe during the day, and that they alone were in the position to turn that game into a deadly war, to decide when the time for play was done and the time for blood had come.
Today, if nothing else, showed that he had been wrong.
And yet, Enjolras was not fully dismayed at this revelation. His personal – and finally insignificant – fears aside, this escalation showed all the more, that someone inside the government they sought to overthrow had finally begun to take them seriously. Things were coming into motion, and that, ultimately, was a good thing.
It might be put to good use, he quickly reflected, this fear that apparently had risen, and that spurred rash actions, that – as if he still needed proof, that what he was doing was right and just – did not work out as planned. Just a few moments of thought, an adaption of strategy, and this whole event might even turn out to their advantage, in the end.
"Ahem…", Feuilly broke the silence with an almost respectful cough. "Is that clever…?"
"What do you mean?" Joly inquired, turning his head towards the fan maker who stared after Marius with a deepening frown.
"Him running off alone, while there has just been an attack on his life?"
"Dammit!" The exclamation showed clearly, that this connection had not been aware to Eponine as well, but the implications of this sudden revelations spurred her into action. With a speed, that surprised both him and Combeferre, who was standing much closer to her, she pushed herself off the table and onto her feet.
All things considered, she managed three steps towards the door, before her step faltered, and she stumbled.
She would have almost fallen, but even hurt, deprived and weakened, her reflexes were lightning quick, and she grabbed at what she could take hold of, first the chair – which slipped – then a table – providing a much sturdier handhold already – and finally one of the wood colums that supported the roof of the back room, and the last one did the trick. Panting, she tried to regain her footing.
"Easy", Combeferre soothed. His voice was sober and calm, bereft of the pity Enjolras knew he would be feeling, and he stepped closer to the young woman. "You are far from recovered."
"I am fine", she hissed, her eyes breathing fire, and for a fickle moment, she reminded him of a magnificent animal, trapped, but still proud.
Combeferre raised his hands, again in a peace offering, and, the moment gone, Enjolras stepped in. These were times of panic, and times of panic were his. He quickly looked around in the room, estimating the virtues of those present, and made a decision.
"But still weakened", he added soberly, "and therefore probably endangering both yourself and Marius by throwing yourself headfirst into this situation. And yet, you are correct, something needs to be done, and immediately. Feuilly, Lesgles, Joly." He looked at the three comrades in turn. "Would you follow him? See, that he comes to no harm?" The most street-wise working man, the doctor-in-training, and Lesgles, to temper enthusiasm with sense. "They went in the direction of… Rue Plumet?" The last was directed as a question to Eponine, who, after a moment's hesitation, nodded reluctantly. "Rue Plumet it is, then."
"But", she began again, only to be cut short by Courfeyrac. He was still lounging comfortably in his chair, but his eyes were clear and earnest.
"We all worry", he said. "Look. We're his friends, too, and yes, we all worry. But, honestly, you are not really in a condition to follow him right now, are you?" She glared at him, but did not contradict him, which was probably a good first step. "You going would make one more person to watch, and that certainly will not enhance the probability of success, don't you think."
"You don't need to watch me", Eponine replied, still suspicious and angry, but still clinging to the column and not readying herself to run off with Feuilly and the others.
"Oh… but we do." That was Jehan speaking up, now, which in itself was an unusual feat. His eyes were not quite meeting her gaze, but he was obviously making an effort of it, the inevitable blushes on his cheeks already forming. "We owe you our life, you see? Marius, Enjolras and myself. What kind of gratitude would this be, to let you run into danger right now?"
Enjolras internally winced at the statement. After all, it was Marius Pontmercy, who had rushed out of the room a few minutes earlier, but he chose not to comment on it. Best not make an unpleasant situation even worse.
"Gratitude." Eponine retorted, drily.
"Yes, Gratitude. Is that so hard to believe?" Courfeyrac shook his head. "Come on, Mademoiselle. Indulge us. How about we order some food and get you back to your feet? Medics prescription." He looked to Combeferre, who nodded, with only a hint of a smile on his face. "See?"
"We'll bring him back safe and sound", Feuilly added. "Don't you worry, Mademoiselle."
She eyed him suspiciously, tense and mistrusting. And yet. She had not loosened her grip on her precarious handhold, and the quick fluttering of her lashes showed only too clearly, that she was still battling unconsciousness.
"All right", she answered, softly, her voice betraying what this admittance cost her. "All right."
And yet, as she watched them go, and as she then started her careful movement towards the table, in her eyes there were a thousand words of misery that she would never say.
Gavroche raced into the front door of the café, not minding either the frowns of the owners nor the curious looks from some of the current customers. May they think what they will – the patron of the Musain usually took care anyhow, that the customers of his café did not bother those overly, who made its backroom their customary haunt, and his news was far too important to be delayed. He had no time to put up with appearances.
He passed through the corridor and skittered into the back room, only narrowly coming to a halt before he crushed into the nearest chair with full speed.
A small crowd sat there, assembled around a tray of bread and cheese and a few carafes of wine. They had been talking before, but apparently were now lost in one of their heated – and mostly incomprehensible – discussions, and all speech stopped, when he entered the room.
"Hello, little one", he was greeted by Courfeyrac, who gave him a friendly smile, and Gavroche could not shake the feeling of having come home. The elephant was probably as much a house as he would have, but his home, his true home was here in the Musain, with his friends. Yet, this was definitely not the hour of sentimentality.
With Courfeyrac, there was Enjolras – naturally -, Combeferre and Jehan. The fifth person of the assembly, however, let Gavroche freeze in his tracks for the moment.
Because sitting on a chair, looking slightly uncomfortable, worried and out of place, her left arm bound to her body in a tight sling and her shoulder bandaged, sat his sister Eponine, holding a piece of bread with her good hand.
She stared at him, almost as surprised as he was, but after a split second's surprise pressed her lips together in a silent sign – don't you dare tell – and Gavroche gave a minuscule nod. No need to complicate things. Dealing with Eponine was difficult enough as it was, and there was time to sort out the situation later.
"I got news for ya", he therefore announced, shifting his focus back to the rest of the friends and was greeted with a smile from Combeferre.
"No doubt", he replied. "Let hear."
Gavroche waited a moment for silence to fall, before he made his announcement.
"Marcel Devereux", he explained, "is dead."
"What?!" The reaction was as expected, a mixture of horror and surprise. Marcel Devereux was, as far as hierarchies went, the leader of a circle similar to that of the friends of the ABC, in Faubourg St. Antoine. He was a young carpenter – unsurprising, given the quarter he lived in – and had loose contacts mainly to Feuilly, but was known in person by most of those present, and in name by all.
Hence, the reaction.
"Come in, Gavroche", Courfeyrac invited, both with words and a wave of his hand. "And tell us what happened."
Gavroche, though certainly not needing the invitation, followed and grabbed up a chair of his own.
"Difficult to say", he reported, dangling his legs as he enjoyed the attention of all present. "Didn't do no big questioning, but came straight here after I heard it from Jean. Thought you'd want to know right away. But word has it, 'twas some sort of knife attack or summat like."
"A… knife attack."
It was definitely not often that Enjolras needed repeating of something that had been said. Gavroche could not help rubbing his nose in it.
"Yeah, you know. Pointy things, you stick it in someone else, they bleed, and such."
"We've had one of those as well", Courfeyrac commented and gave a pointed look to Eponine. "Coming almost as much as a surprise as that bit of news of yours. If not for Eponine here, we would likely be a leader short as well."
Gavroche felt an unexpected surge of gratitude towards his sister, immediately followed by confusion. While Eponine was not Azelma – and certainly not her mother or father – throwing herself into harm's way for someone she barely knew was not exactly in her character.
But then… if it involved Pontmercy… that would be a different story.
"What happened?" he asked, curiously, and Enjolras raised his head to Eponine.
"I think, Mademoiselle, this is entirely your story."
And Gavroche could barely keep from smirking, because he knew how much she'd hate that.
And just like that, they were sitting around the table. Four students, well-clothed and proper, a gamine in a dress that had passed its prime probably a few years ago, and her unexpectedly reappearing young brother, dirty, but cheerful, digging in at the bread and cheese that had been placed on the table, as if he might never eat again.
Which, sadly, was probably not so far from the truth.
Even though her little brother seemed to be fending for himself pretty well since he had been on his own, there was still a part of her that worried for him.
Eponine herself tried to be more restrictive with respect to the food. Of course she was hungry and weak, and the opportunity at a free meal should never be turned down, but it would not do to appear in front of the students like a wild animal, starved and completely ungroomed, and therefore she made an effort to go slowly, go easy, and let Combeferre press for her to drink and eat more to account for the blood loss.
In the end, it was all the same.
And between bites, she recounted the story of the man she had seen, first at Rue Plumet, and then later at the market, attacking Marius (or Enjolras or Jehan), and her own involvement in it.
"Blimey", Gavroche said, when she'd ended. "You're a hero."
"She is." Jehan had stayed mostly out of the conversation, and also now he was not directly looking at her, but at some detail of the table, his eyes blinking a trifle too quickly in embarrassment. "She surely is."
Eponine was not sure what to make of that statement. True, she had thrown herself into the line of fire, but for Marius, and Marius alone. And yet, he was the one who seemed to think least of it.
She pressed her lips together and willed the thought away.
"Whad'd that guy look like?" Gavroche asked, his mouth full of bread.
"Normal", Eponine started, but then she closed her eyes to conjure up a picture of the man she had encountered. That was one of the things she had always been good at. Recognize guests in the inn… recognize people you've worked with and people you tricked. Police officers you already had a run-in with, people you've crossed, people you've helped.
It would not do well to quickly forget a face.
And so the features of the man came to her fairly easily.
"His hair was black", she began, thoughtfully. "Short, closely cut. Receding at the temples, but not too far yet. Fairly tall, but no giant, slender, more lithe than strong. A gaunt face, deep lines, sunken cheeks. He may be twenty-five, or forty-five, depending on the life he's had. A prominent nose, no hook, but slightly curved. Lines around his mouth and along his cheeks. Work-rough hands." That last detail brought back unpleasant memories of him trying to grab her to get a clearer stab at her, and so she stopped her description and opened her eyes again only to find the four friends watching her curiously.
"Impressive memory", Enjolras commented, and nodded a respectful salute of which she was not sure if it was meant as mockery or not.
For the sake of the peace of the moment she chose to disregard it.
"Next time someone tries to stab you, you'll probably also fairly clearly remember that man", she commented instead, not without sarcasm but without menace.
"Unless you're there to step in", added Gavroche grinning. "But anyhow, I've seen that guy."
"You have?" inquired Combeferre, and the boy nodded eagerly.
"At the café, a couple 'o days back. He was just leaving. Didn't think much of it at that time."
"Well, that concludes it then!" Courfeyrac slammed his hand on the table. "Someone – and a few people come to mind first and foremost – has been watching us. Spying on us. And is now trying to kill us. This is atrocious!"
"It's not so wholly unexpected as that, is it?" Combeferre asked.
"Indeed not", confirmed Enjolras. "And if we use this well, it may even be to our advantage. It is at least a sign that they are starting to take us seriously, us, our associates and those that we inspire. It is the first sign of them being afraid."
There were preciously few people, Eponine thought, who would rejoice at an assassination attempt. But for the moment, everything that she might have to say about this, would probably not sit well with the group she was currently with, and therefore she held her tongue and followed Combeferre's advice of eating and drinking some more.
"This is not the case of rallying another dozen supporters for our cause, Enjolras", Courfeyrac contradicted, shaking his head. "I'm trying to point out that you might be killed, even before we get to do something."
"If I die, then someone else will take up the cause, Courfeyrac. I am nothing but a vessel. The spirit may find other hosts, too, and it will. It is much too powerful to be quenched thus. It lives in all of us."
"Well, then we'd better find out who did that, right?"
Gavroche had not lost his sense for the practical and looked around between the students, as if he was talking about the easiest thing in the world.
"Technically, yes." Combeferre thoughtfully put his fingers together. "Although, young friend, I fear that this may be easier said than done."