A/N: As promised, here is the next one. Thanks for all the wonderful responses to the last chapter. I really appreciate your feedback :-)
Chapter 61: Deconstruction of stars
"We are all slaves to our histories. If there is to be a .. bright future, we must learn to break those chains."
The assembly was slowly dissolving into separate groups, workers and grisettes vanishing into the darkness of the night in threes and fours, trying to avoid attracting the attention of authorities to what happened here.
They had met in the hall where the porcelain was painted. It was huge, filled with tables upon tables, which during daytime hoisted numerous painters and artisans, spread out in equal lines; and the revolutionaries had assembled between them.
Charles Jeanne, not being the tallest of men himself, had stepped onto one of these tables to address his audience, and he had informed them of what he knew about the incident at the Corinthe – although Adelaide, via the Friends of the ABC, considered herself somewhat better informed on the subject than him - and then on a demonstration, that would take place due to the death of a revolutionary of the name Evaristide Galois. He had perished the day before under dubious circumstances, and it seemed that the Universite was livid.
Charles did not request them to attend the funeral, but he informed them that a spectacle was planned, and that, indeed, after all that had happened, the time for caution might be past.
Adelaide could not help agreeing. She was restless enough and longed for change.
That had been better when she had still been loosely associated to the Friends of the ABC. There was more of a driving spirit in Enjolras than there was in Jeanne.
Who, granted, had his own advantages. Such as being a member of the National Guard himself, which gave him access to some information the others would not have.
A secret not known by many, but for reasons unbeknownst to her he had shared it with her and Elodie some time ago. And Adelaide, if anything, knew how to keep a secret.
Nodding to Elodie beside her, Adelaide pushed through the leaving crowds towards Jeanne, who was in discussion with an elderly man in a simple brown jacket, trousers and a worn cap barely containing a set of black curls that showed only few streaks of grey. The discussion spoke of a certain familiarity as well as a certain caution, and something about the older man seemed odd to Adelaide.
She put aside the thought for further reference and stepped closer, not trying to intrude on the conversation, but making her presence known none the less.
Jeanne acknowledged her with a nod and finished his conversation calmly; but at length, the man took his leave and gave a slight bow in a gesture of good-bye.
"Mademoiselles", he greeted Adelaide and Elodie as he passed them, lifting his cap, and again Adelaide felt something about him was slightly off-kilter although she could not put her finger on it. She responded with a nod of her own before she turned towards Charles and gave him her greetings as well, a nod and a small curtsey fulfilling the dictates of courtesy easily.
"Adelaide", Charles Jeanne greeted her with the hint of a smile, shining through his moustache. "Elodie. I am glad you came."
Elodie gave him one of her brighter smiles.
"But you know that we always come when we can", she said, sweetly and honestly, and Jeanne's face softened slightly in response.
"I know and I appreciate it", he answered with a slight deference to her. Adelaide huffed in amusement. Her friend had – much like Barthélemy, come to think of it – a gift of setting people at ease, of including them and making them feel welcome. It was a gift that Adelaide was lacking indeed, and sometimes this was a point of envy on her part. And yet, Jeanne turned back to her, not Elodie after a moment. "What can I do for you? I assume you sought me out with a purpose."
Adelaide nodded.
"First, maybe I can give you a few pieces of information when it comes to the Amis of the ABC." In brief words she relayed the events since the last evening, the conclusions they had drawn and the casualties that she knew of. She concluded with the news that Enjolras was trying to find a new meeting place, one, that was better protected than the last one, and Jeanne nodded slowly.
"I see", he said. "This is probably wise. I… would appreciate to remain informed."
"And I would not be surprised if you would get a visit from one of them soon", Élodie added cheerfully. "It seems as if everyone is interested in joining forces."
Charles' face hardened slightly, his eyes growing cold. Adelaide did not know what had happened between Enjolras and Charles Jeanne, but it seemed to have been grievous indeed,for despite all his efforts on revolution, Charles had never been keen of getting in contact with the Amis de l'ABC.
"I see", he repeated, coolly. "There is a certain sense to the reasoning. I will hear them, of course, if they come."
Adelaide heard what he said, as much as what he didn't say. He would not seek them out on his own accord, something she was sure Elodie had secretly been hoping for. Yet, there must have been a severe quarrel between Jeanne and Enjolras, to move the older man to such breathtaking irrationality. It was not like him, and suddenly Adelaide found herself wondering what it was.
Yet she was fairly certain that at the moment Charles Jeanne was neither in a position nor willing to offer more on the subject than he already had, and while Jeanne did not share Enjolras' liking for blunt offensive, he could be quite as unmoving and cool – with no Combeferre and Courfeyrac to temper him.
All the more reason to let it pass. She had come here for another quarry.
"I have been wondering, Charles", she began, and a frown appeared on Jeanne's face at her tone. "Some months back… I have been told that there was an issue with someone from the group. Someone who had…", she gave a helpless shrug. There was very little she actually knew. "… well, someone who had committed some sort of offense… that made him banned from the meeting?"
Jeanne's face closed like a door slamming into lock. For a very brief instant, something flashed through his eyes that might have been anger or even rage, but he contained it very quickly.
"Where… did you hear that from?" he asked instead.
Adelaide shrugged somewhat uncertainly.
"To be honest, I am not sure I remember. I even do not remember the exact tale, but I was… speaking to some of Les Amis the other day", and that earned her a quick raised brow from Elodie, part in amusement, part in surprise, "and during this discussion I remembered I have been told something along these lines. You see…" She could see she had his attention at least, if nothing else, and that was a good sign. Carefully she continued to lay out her reasoning. "Most of the substantial groups involved in the planning of an upraising have been the target of a number of attacks these last days. Les Amis de l'ABC. La Courgoude d'Aix. The sections in Picpus and Saint Antoine. Le Globe." She frowned. "I have been wondering… of course some of the other worker's associations have not been attacked, I'm thinking Faubourg Saint Germain, for example, or the group that is gathering around the weaver's shops in town, but on the other hand they are nowhere near as stringent as the other ones… or as we are." She could barely refrain from pacing, folding her fingers in front of her to avoid gesticulating too much.
"They have attacked groups with a clear goal, mannerism and habit. Those who have meeting places and agendas… but apart from the fact that our group does not contain any students, I would have said that we are, in goal, composure and behavior, similar to some of those who have been attacked." Jeanne frowned and Adelaide shook her head softly, talking more quickly as she tried to guess his thoughts.
"I know that you say we have been more cautious than the others but… that is true for Les Amis, or – especially – le Globe, but what about Saint Antoine? Their actions have been much as cautious as our own. So…", she took a deep breath as she reached the end of her reasoning, "I was wondering… I know little of this story, but could the man that we removed have been the one who, originally, was supposed to take out one of us? You, probably?"
Jeanne's face was a masque, stern, forbidding, and completely hiding any thoughts the man might have had behind it. Adelaide caught herself almost fidgeting and curled her fingers into fists to stop herself.
"As far as I know"; Jeanne said neutrally, "the attacks have come from outside the groups, is this not true?"
Adelaide shrugged.
"It seems as if it were not as simple as that. It seems that the knife was wielded from outside the groups, yes, but it seems to be likewise clear that they must have had some sort of help from the inside of the groups. One leak – although a fairly small one – has been identified, but everyone is convinced that there are more that we do not know of yet."
"What sort of leak?" Jeanne asked, and Elodie answered instead of her friend.
"A gamin", she said. "A friend of Navet's, as it seems. He did not know what he was doing."
"This is what they always say", Jeanne responded , lips thin and pressing together between phrases., "although I am inclined to think that Navet and the likes of him, for all the cheating and stealing that their lives are concerned with, would consider themselves honest men of sorts at their heart of hearts." He took a deep breath and turned to Adelaide again.
"You do raise a few valid points", he praised and Adelaide gave a curt nod in response. "And your question is valid and merits an answer, of sorts." He gave a quick nod of his head towards the end of a hall, where in a small office, the foreman would work during daytime, although now, the box was of course deserted. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me for a few moments? I would prefer this to be discussed where there are… less curious ears."
Adelaide and Elodie, intrigued, exchanged a gaze and followed.
In the foreman's box, some of the mask that had been coating Jeanne's features seemed to dissolve and, to a certain extent, reveal the man who was underneath. And that man was worried, and to a certain extent confused.
"It is curious", he said, frowning, "that this subject is being brought up by you two, of all people. Take no offense at this, please. I do know of your valor and value to the group, but is this your initiative or that of your current", to Elodie, "or former", to Adelaide, "friends and their associates?"
Adelaide frowned at the strange question.
"Well. I've spoken to Courfeyrac about it, yes. But…" She shook his head. "I was the one who brought up the subject of the leak in our group. However, he was the one who suggested to inquire further."
"And it seemed news to him?"
Adelaide grew more confused by the minute.
"Very much so", she answered, somewhat taken aback. "Why are you asking?"
Jeanne ignored her question and took to pacing, his hands behind his back, his posture rigid and erect.
"There was someone who seemed to have traded information of our activities indeed. I…", he hesitated for a moment, his gaze wandering to Elodie, and he stopped himself.
"Mademoiselles, it must be absolutely certain that unless we all agree, this conversation must remain under the veil of secrecy. You will understand why in a minute."
Again, Elodie and Adelaide exchanged a gaze, confused and with mounting worry.
"Of course." Elodie was faster, her assurance so sincere. Wide, clear eyes and an errant red curl that was falling into her face gave her the epitome of honestness. The appearance was so perfect that Adelaide would have doubted it instantly, had she not known that Elodie would not be able to deceive. She was a weaver of dreams and stories, a bender of reality to seem brighter and more cheerful, but a lier she was definitely not.
Charles nodded, obviously satisfied with the display.
"All right", he said. "The reason why I was very convinced about this betrayal was, that indeed the betrayed stories reached my person in my… professional life."
Adelaide coughed briefly. What a coincidence, for Jeanne in his garb of an officer of the National Guard, to learn of his own – unlawful – assemblies via a spy. The story was almost comic – but she understood the need for Jeanne's cover.
No one liked revolutionaries, but the government was being particularly hard if it concerned one of their own.
"Was your name revealed?" she asked and Jeanne slowly shook his head.
"No. We were lucky in that aspect at least."
Again a proof for his caution – the name of the man who was calling the assembly was known to an inner circle only, and this decision proved wise for now. Adelaide released a breath she hadn't known she had been holding.
"So you retraced the information and found the leak", Elodie guessed and Jeanne nodded.
"This is the essence of it. It turned out to be a young fisherman who had been at the assemblies fairly often; a quiet man of middle age. In his youth, he claimed to have gone to Russia, and he likewise claimed that the France he had fought for was not the France he was living in now. A sentiment that I can sympathize with."
His smile was delicate.
"And then you threw him out?" Adelaide asked, and Jeanne weighed his head.
"Not at first. I was considering letting the conspiracy run its course – I was certain that he was working for someone, reporting for someone – how else would the news have reached me? I would have liked to get my hands on whoever was behind this, but when the vote came up in the inner circle, we decided against it in the end. Finally, some of us – I did not involve for fear of revealing myself – caught and interrogated him."
Adelaide nodded.
"Understandable." Charles valued discipline as much as democracy. It was only too like him to bend to majority opinion because he thought it to be the right thing to do. "And what did you learn?"
"He said a lot", Charles answered, "and a lot that was not true. However, one of the things he said before we threw him out, telling him never to contact us again, has been haunting me ever since."
Elodie placed a careful, understanding hand of Charles' shoulders.
"What was it?"
He shrugged the gesture off almost bluntly.
"You must know", he began, "that this event occurred shortly after a dissent that had fallen between myself and one of my brothers in spirit – Sebastien Enjolras. We had… disagreed on the way of bringing change and a revolution about. As you can probably guess, he – especially not knowing why I have to move cautiously in the position I am – opted for more openness, less caution and I disagreed. This had been a common point of discussion between us, a road well travelled, so to speak, but I am afraid that particular argument had rather a feeling of a falling-out."
Adelaide frowned. It had not been difficult to guess that this sort of disagreement was at the heart of the bad blood between Jeanne and Enjolras.
"So?" Elodie asked, apparently unfazed by his blunt gesture before.
"So I was still fairly surprised to hear that this man said he had acted in accordance with Enjolras; in fact, at his bidding."
Adelaide coughed, trying to catch her breath.
"What?!"
Charles Jeanne's smile was delicate and somewhat bitter.
"You can rest assured that my first reaction was something similar to this."
"But…"; Elodie began, exasperated, "but have you spoken to him about it? Confronted him?"
"Naturally", Charles Jeanne shrugged. "It was a logical continuation of the events."
Adelaide shook her head, still trying to digest the information.
"And…?" she asked. Charles Jeanne almost laughed, a huff of bitterness and false amusement.
"The argument was very, very unpleasant. Let us leave it at that. Things were said that probably today we both regret, but words once spoken cannot be taken back easily."
Elodie frowned, worried.
"Did any of the others know? Bahorel… Courfeyrac…?"
"I confronted him alone", Jeanne said. "What Enjolras has or has not conveyed to his Lieutenants is no business of mine."
"But", Adelaide pressed, "did he confirm it? Deny it? What did he say?"
Jeanne sighed.
"Of course he denied it, Adelaide. What would you think he did?"
"In all honesty", Adelaide answered soberly, "if he had done anything of that sort – which is difficult to believe – he would not have denied it. He would have confirmed it. Given you his reasons, perhaps."
Charles Jeanne shook his head.
"That is noble of you to believe, Adelaide. But despite his apparent – and well known – valors, Enjolras also carries a number of faults. Vanity, and a certain lust for power not the least among them. He is a man of strong spirit and strong intentions, and never mistake – he is the most ruthless person I know. So, in the end, doubt remains."
"So that is it?" Adelaide could not help sounding incredulous. "That is the source of why you don't talk to Enjolras?"
"Doubt remains", Jeanne repeated. "And doubt is one of the strongest drivers of history. It can lead to the right questions, or even the right actions."
"Or it can stop a revolution"; Adelaide said bluntly. Charles sighed, and for a long time gazed into the void before him, eyes unblinking, unseeing.
"Yes", he finally admitted, almost soundlessly. "Or that."
Night had fallen over the Préfecture, but he was still there and did not feel inclined to go home. There was too much to do, and sleep seemed an unlikely prospect anyhow, as things were. In the half-darkness of his room, Javert opened up a large parchment and spread it out on his working table, securing the ends with a number of files that he took from Giubet's table. His aide, seeing that his superior was still working, had offered to stay, but Javert had sent him home to his family. He needed time and calm to think, and for all the appreciation he carried for Giubet, he was not sure that he wanted the man to be privy to his musings.
Taking a coal pen, Javert began to assemble the facts he knew.
Starting with the Barriere du Maine.
Fact was: Antoine and Jacques Virille were killed; according to witnesses by a man with the looks of a boy: rosy cheeks, blue eyes, blonde hair.
Javert had been in charge of this attack in the beginning and collected the information, but had had no time to pursue it in greater detail since then. No further sightings of the attacker were reported.
A dead end, for now.
He collected the names and informations in one corner of the parchment and moved on to the next incident he knew of: Issy.
Fact again was: A group of students had been attacked by a man in the costume of a jester.
And now began the speculations.
Stephane Barilou, troublemaker and friend of the attacked had provided Javert with the information that the attacker belonged to the gypsy family of Roussata.
The same family Javert had sprung from.
Why had Barilou told this to him? Because he wanted to help? Because he wanted to find out what Javert knew? Because – to make it clear that nothing should be excluded from taking it into account – because he knew of Javert's origin?
All seemed possible, and yet none even remotely confirmed.
He wrote the name ROUSSATA in the middle of the parchment, drawing a line to the incidents in Issy.
Next, the phuri daj he had spoken to: another speculation. A confirmation that the jester was Roussata, together with the information that the gypsy family was not. Roussatas were blood traitors, banned from the gypsy community. The jester had killed one of the family that had hosted him, or at least allowed him to be at the fair.
Why? To cover his tracks? And why and how had he been there in the first place?
Next: Rue d'Olivel.
Death of another troublemaker.
Alexandre de Cambout – somewhat older than a student and noble-born owner of a newspaper of the Saint-Simonian kind… never revolutionary enough to allow censorship, but always bold enough to inspire a certain amount of unease.
At the site of the incident: Patron-Minette, a band of city-wide known criminals, cutthroats, cutpurses and burglars. And an unknown man described as a "dwarf", small like a child.
Not at the site of the incident: The newly widowed Hélène de Cambout.
He wrote her name separate to the facts of the incidents, added a few notes on her background and occupation.
Patron-Minette had been brought to the prison, where one of their numbers vanished together with the mysterious dwarf, and Javert had been severely discouraged trying to find them on the argument that they had been police informers. Instead, his suspicion had been directed to Hélène de Cambout.
He drew a line from Hélène's name to that of Patron-Minette, and after a moment's hesitation added the commander of La Force at one corner, connecting him with both. Another line linked Patron-Minette and the Roussata, which were connected via Babet.
Then the incident in Rue de Chanvrerie. A machine infernale of this kind required resources and a certain kind of engineering knowledge, but he had no face or name to put to the culprit of this attack, so he added a question mark and circled it, linked it to the Chanvrerie incident and looked at the picture for a while.
Officially, the case had been taken from him, no matter how much it refused to leave him alone; taken from him and assigned to Vreve, a man without notable talents in the way of investigation and probably only in the position he was due to his connections to… someone.
Javert added his name and connected him to the Prefect.
The picture was completed by the numerous other incidents that he had not been connected to – the death of another troublemaker going by the name of Marcel Devereux; reports on an incident that had happened at a market, prominently featuring Sebastien Enjolras and a hustle of which no reliable accounts were to be had.
Sebastien Enjolras appearing in la Force to question Patron-Minette, in the company of a lady that Javert did not know. Hélène de Cambout being in prison and violently proclaiming her innocence. Enjolras' friends visiting her.
Lines and connections and questions in abundance.
In the light of few candles, Javert hesitated and stared at the picture he created as if there were a revelation therein.
A patchwork including numerous players.
How many? How many fractions?
On one side, there were the revolutionaries. He hesitated for a moment to create a separate fraction for the journalists of Le Globe but ultimately decided against it. They may exhibit more caution, may even be aiming for reformation instead of revolution, but both were elements opposing the state and thus probably treated in the same manner.
Second were the assassins. The acts were too synchronized, too coordinated to ignore that they must have had a planning mind behind, who orchestrated all of the incidents. There were 4 at least: the dwarf, the jester, the young man who killed the Virille brothers, the murderer of Marcel Devereux. Maybe the man who had unsettled Enjolras and his friends at the market. The man responsible for the attack in Rue de la Chanvrerie might be one of them or an additional person. And after a moment he also added the man to the list who had vanished from the prison together with the dwarf. The member of Patron-Minette: Montparnasse.
Third: The Roussatas. Linked to the jester and Patron-Minette, and still dubious in their involvement in this.
Fourth: The faces behind the assassins.
Javert stared at his parchment for a long while, and he felt his blood go cold. Looking at the complete picture, there was no way to deny it.
The rottenness had wormed its way into the heart of the right. He stared at it incredulously. The prefect of Paris. The commander of La Force. They must have known. They must have. There was no other explanation for the pattern in front of his eyes, no other way to explain the way they had tried to discourage his investigations.
And that might be only the beginning of it.
Slowly, Javert took up his pen and with trembling hand wrote the names, letter by letter, word for word.
The lines were drawn, crooked and pale, but black ink on parchment spoke clearly of the pattern, clearly and unambiguously.
Javert stared at his notes as minutes passed by.
And minutes. And minutes. And minutes.
The printing machines had started to run when the editing committee of Le Globe finally met for a last proofread of the first issues, a final coffee and a smoke. Combeferre lit his pipe methodically, as he usually would, the smell of tabac comforting and calming in his nostrils.
He was tired, but it was a good weariness, the kind of exhaustion that came with a job accomplished, and he felt spent, tired, but cautiously hopeful that they were following the right path.
Rodrigues and Chevalier seemed to have arranged themselves with the situation, and from the way that Chevalier was already again sifting through the paper, frowning at this, smiling at that, it seemed like an almost normal night in this editors' room that he had spent so many hours in.
Hélène, Combeferre was sure, would be pleased.
There was the ever present nagging worry about her, about the way she was imprisoned in Saint Lazare, but the gnawing feeling was nothing to the burning pain of yesterday night. After having spoken to her during the day, after having seen the light returning to her eyes as she ripped apart his article, he remembered something that he had only temporarily forgotten.
Hélène, in her own way, was impressive. And fierce. And in full shape a force to be reckoned with. As much as he would want to help her – in may ways she was very capable of helping herself.
That was a very calming thought.
"So", Rodrigues looked up from his paper, his own cigarette hanging in a corner of his mouth as smoke flowed freely from his nostrils. "Are you satisfied with your edition?"
Combeferre gave a fine smile.
"I am never satisfied, as you well know"; he gave back. "But I think it will match the occasion, yes."
Chevalier nodded.
"I think so too", he said, paying a high compliment indeed. "When things are coming into motion, as they are now, it is the truth which is the first victim. And that is why we indeed have to be the calm in the storm, and be more diligent about our information than we ever were. The truth speaks for itself."
"It does", Rodrigues answered. "And we would appreciate if you could write the main article tomorrow. The one… on Lamarque." The news of the general's death had reached the headquarters late – early enough for a short notice, but by far not early enough for a full scale article. "It will take very careful tempering, and that I see fully within your expertise."
"And", Enfantin interjected smugly, "he's the one man in this room who can probably pull out all the facts on the man at the slightest whim, as opposed to the rest of us barbarians."
"I highly doubt that", Combeferre contradicted, part flattered, part embarrassed. "But if it is the common wish I will write the article." A secret, ugly, vain part of him even tended to agree with Rodrigues. It did take tempering, especially, if the result of the matter should be what was intended. In addition, writing the article himself would allow him to harmonize his writings and position with the message Enjolras was certainly already devising in response to this event. Another matter in his advantage.
Chevalier nodded.
"So it is settled. I would appreciate you pass it by Madame, though."
That, Combeferre thought, was a wholly unnecessary suggestion. Apart from the fact that he would not publish an article about a delicate matter without the approval of le Globe's now remaining chief strategist, he personally valued Hélène's opinion too much to let it go unwarranted.
"Of course", he answered. "I will do that."
Chevalier exchanged a glance with Rodrigues, and silent words passed between them before he turned back to Combeferre, gaze more intent than before.
"And while you are with her, you might want to lay another matter before her. We have discussed", and his hand wave included both Rodrigues and Enfantin, "amongst us and have come to a conclusion. With Alexandre… gone and Hélène currently not available, we are too few to keep this paper running efficiently. We have known both you and Pontmercy to involve in a reliable and constructive way, and therefore, for the moment, would propose to include you both into the committee as acting members for now. It is not an official decision, of course, for those can be taken by the owner only, and ownership is currently…", his smile was thin, "a bit vague. I would like to have Madame's explicit approval on the subject, but I have no doubts on the subject itself."
Combeferre, feeling a mixture of surprise, worry and exhilaration, took a deep breath of his pipe. Before, he had been working as a freelancer, selling articles as he wrote them. Le Globe was part of the slightly delicate mixture of teaching at the Polytechnique, taking shifts in the Necker and selling articles that kept him afloat since the final argument with his father, but he had not thought to associate himself so closely with it.
And yet, these were times of panic.
He inhaled and exhaled deeply, before he spoke.
"I am honored by the offer, and I am certain, so is Pontmercy. To be honest, I have by far not expected such a proposition… and therefore I have no definite answer for you. I understand the need and the argument, yes, especially in these uncertain times where it is vital to keep the paper running, despite everything that is going on. I am not sure if I can commit on a long-term employment… without further thought; but as long as the situation is as unstable as it is, I am willing to step in."
He took another breath of the pipe.
"But there is another matter to consider. We are at a crossroads of history, and we all know it. The next days will bring about change, and it is impossible to plan further than a few days in this climate. Both Pontmercy and myself have sworn oaths before we involved ourselves with Le Globe. You have all the support that I am able to give. But if the barricades arise, I will be on them, aside Enjolras."
"We would have expected no less from you, lad."
Enfantin, obviously, was in a paternal mode, but for once, he seemed in agreement with his colleagues, and that was something to be appreciated.
"True"; Rodrigues confirmed, "we have suspected an answer like the one you have just given, and we appreciate the honesty of it. So we will proceed in this way. Help us as long as you can. And if the barricades arise, we will see what will happen to Le Globe."