A/N: Finally the month from hell is over! Hope some less work is waiting for me now...

Anyone still reading this?

Anyone up for droppin me a line?

Love. Spirit

Chapter 63: Good morning Paris

"I swear, the next person around here who acts irrationally, I'm going to shoot in the head myself"

His sleep was uneasy, and his dreams were accompanied by the music of a strange orchestra, a symphony of thundering and klicking, sounds from another land interwoven into a carpet that stole easily into his rest.

From time to time he was aware of turning from one side to the other, a vague sound of creaking the only protest to his shift in weight.

He slept uneasy, and now and then he realized that it was the sounds of the print shop he was hearing, familiar melody, but rarely heard in his dreams none the less.

Other than that, night passed eventless and thanks to the heavy drapes that had been drawn in front of the curtains, they were woken only when two hours before noon, he heard the door to the room being opened, and the July sun found its way into their eyes.

And then he remembered.

Staying up late, finishing the next edition, and just on the verge of finding a place to sleep in the always populated headquarters of the newspapers, when Marius arrived in a hurry, full of news of the events of the evening past.

They came back in a blur now, the impending rallys, the articles to be written, the betrayal of Frater Antoine. There was irony, Combeferre thought, in the fact that the one out of their number who was working with the press was the least informed of them all. But of course it was not to be helped, given the fact that he had been locked up in the editor's room all evening and most of the afternoon. And with all the news impending, he could see another busy day ahead of them.

Sighing internally – and resigning himself to another night with too little sleep – Combeferre turned on the couch he was sleeping on. With a reluctant groan he pushed himself up on the couch he had spent the night on and turned his head towars the door.

It was Pierre Berat who had entered the editor's room of Le Globe. He remained standing in the door, unobtrusive as it was his nature, and yet with the underlying determination that Combeferre had known to be characteristic to him as well. And hence, his presence would obviously have a reason.

On the couch to his left, he heard Marius do the same, his voice still heavy with sleep when he addressed the xylographist standing in the door.

"Good morning, Pierre." He managed to sound friendly and jovial despite the early hour. One of the fortunate consequences of his nature, and for a moment, Combeferre almost envied him this. "Are there any news?"

Pierre apparently took that as an invitation to step into the darkened room and Combeferre realized that he was carrying a packet of papers under his arm, a stack of prints still smelling of fresh ink.

"The leaflets have just been finished", Pierre reported, placing the stack on the table. "A set of drawings of the man that attacked you in the market, and two stacks of leaflets from the ones on Place Notre dame during easter and the ones from two weeks ago."

"The first ones may be somewhat obsolete now", Marius groaned, rubbing his eyes – not quite as unfazed by the lack of sleep after all - and seeing Pierre's inquisitive gaze he precised: "The man's dead."

"We learned this only yesterday, late", Combeferre intercepted, seeing how the face of the xylographist fell slightly, not wanting to diminish the work he had done. "And I am not sure that they would be as obsolete as that, to be honest. We know one of his associates – Frater Antoine of Picpus – but we are still in the dark as to the others. It may be very useful to find out where this man has roamed or whom he associated himself with."

"Frater Antoine?" Pierre echoed, raising both his brows. "The Picpus monk that was in the Musain during the assembly?"

"The same", Combeferre replied. "Quite the surprise, to be honest."

Pierre scratched his head under the rim of his cap, putting slightly askew the headware in the process. There was some vague, desperate amusement in his air that Combeferre could understand very well.

"And all that since I left well after midnight yesterday", he commented drily. "Seems, as if Paris is not allowing any of her inhabitants any sleep right now."

"Indeed", Marius confirmed. "And it's not seeming to become any better. We will have a lot of work to do."

"Yes", Berat answered. "About that…" He sighed again and placed his hand against the backrest of one of the armchairs. "I have heard from some of the workers that there will be a demonstration today at the funeral of this student, right?"

Combeferre ran both of his hands over his face in an attempt to chase away the remnants of fatigue from his thoughts. It was not working very well. He had slept better during the two nights past than before, but a good four hours was nowhere near what a doctor would call a good and healthy rest.

Well, it was not to be helped.

"That is one of the events that are afoot." In quick words, he relayed what he had learned from Marius the night before. In the half-light, he could see Berat's face falling more and more at the list of events that spread out before him, and when Combeferre finally fell silent, he took his cap off his head and knead it in his fingers as a moment of silence filled the room. There was something about his countenance that alerted Combeferre immediately. He had known Berat for a long time, and a state of agitation was as far from the man as humanly possible.

"I see…", Pierre answered, taking a deep breath. "That is… a lot of news indeed. Messieurs… if I may", he took another step into the room. "I would ask one of the editors, but none of them have arrived yet. I know it is irregular, but might I be allowed to run a small errand before continuing with my work? I will have my men starting with the tasks of the day – they will take commands from you if there is anything in addition to be taken care of – but…" He broke off and Combeferre frowned.

"What is the matter?" he asked carefully, and Berat squirmed for a moment before he provided the answer.

"You will forgive my words, Monsieur", he finally conveyed, "but with all that you have reported me… there is no denying that things are afoot. And it'll get worse with every day past. And… my wife… the children… I would like to have them out of town when the storm hits. Do not worry; I do not intend to desert my work here, I have chosen my occupation carefully and stand by it. But I would rest easier if I knew Lisette to be with her mother in Carrières."

Combeferre did not hesitate for a second.

"Of course", he answered. "I understand."

Lisette was a willowy woman, frail and tender, gifted with a generous heart, but not a strong one. She did not take well to strain or agitation, and from what Combeferre could tell, Pierre did all in his power to protect her from his more dangerous dealings. Combeferre did not begrudge calm, steadfast Berat this weakness.

Would, that he had the right – or even the capability, for that matter – to send Hélène away from danger. But that was out of question, of course, and for a number of reasons. Her spirit not the least of them.

He pushed aside images of her, bloodied and scared.

Berat nodded in thanks.

"One last message, though, Monsieur, which is the actual reason why I wanted to wake you up."

Combeferre, sensing the tone, stepped closer to him, all senses alert.

"There has been a grisette a few moments ago, who claimed to come straight from Saint Lazare. She claimed to come with word from Madame, who requests you come as quickly as possible. Of course I could not confirm if this message is indeed true – it was relayed orally, no note with it – but she was at least capable of delivering an accurate description of Madame. Accurate enough to have seen her, at least."

Combeferre took a deep breath to steady himself. It might be wrong, a fake, a trap. It might be that Hélène de Cambout had, over night, come up with one of her rightfully infameous strategies.

Or there might be trouble.

In any case, it was time to find out. Such a request from her he would not ignore without good reason, and impatience and worry dictated that they reacted on the spot.

"Thank you very much", Combeferre answered, feeling the urgency creep into his voice. "I will follow that message immediately."

"There is some coffee down with the xylographists", Berat advised with a small smile. "You might want to make a quick stop there before you leave."

Marius groaned again and got up from his couch as well.

"You are a saint, I swear it", he answered, and the small smile widened a little before Berat took his cap again and bowed to leave.

Combeferre and Marius, trying to put their clothes and hair in order best they could with their meager means, followed only shortly after.

"Well. There's that."

Of course, there was no answer.

The room that had been full of activity and chaos just a moment ago had fallen silent and he was alone with the teapot and the remnants of a hastily swallowed breakfast.

Between his three companions of this night, there was preciously little patience to be had.

And with Éponine and Gavroche eager to see if the gamine that had been brought to the Picpus monastery was one of their street acquaintances, and Enjolras no less in a hurry to speak to Jehan at the same place, Courfeyrac had won the unfavourable task of keeping watch in the apartment. The temporary headquarters in Rue Pascal according to Enjolras had to be at least manned until he would leave for Place Notre Dame, and later then the funeral.

Which left him with about three hours of boredom in front of him.

With a sigh, he poured himself a cup of coffee out of the can that stood on the stove – half empty, but still enough to support a few hours of wait. There was little to do except what everyone was expecting of him anyway – to continue to work on the defense of Madame de Cambout.

With a mixture of a smile and a smirk, Courfeyrac mused that Marc Lamarin would be exasperated if he realized that since their last meeting he had not done anything to proceed in that respect.

There was a fire in the timid young man when it came to judiciary matters that defied his usual personality and gave hint to the notion, that he had indeed chosen the right profession.

Courfeyrac – not the most diligent of students himself – had still been surprised at how much the actual work, all that reading, interpreting, bending the texts of law to his will, had brought him closer to his studies in the end.

None the less – leave the tedious detail work to Lamarin. Courfeyrac was behind another goal.

He stepped towards the window and looked down towards the road, taking a sip now and then as he ran over their arguments and the way to present them. He did not need to watch Enjolras to know that charms were part of the game, and charms he had in abundance, he knew. So, apart from a careful assembly of all the facts present, success hinged not only on the what, but also on the how.

And that was more of Courfeyracs's domain.

He was lost deeply in thought – wondering how he might address this or that judge, depending on who would conduct the trial – when he saw a fairly recognizeable figure walking down Rue Pascal with determination.

Dark-skinned women were no uncommon occurrence in Paris, of course, but this one held herself with particular grace and poise, all the more charming because she was thoroughly unaware of it.

Also, he recognized the dark blue dress, which he remembered to have a particularly vicious assembly of hooks and ribbons to close - or rather open – it.

Knowing that Adelaide had avoided him since their quarrel, her presence here would have a reason, at least. He pushed aside thoughts both of her dress and Hélène's trial and prepared himself for the verbal sparring match that was to be expected in the presence of Adelaide.

It was the Concierge – on her post for once – who announced her with the slightly decided sneer that told Courfeyrac that she held no love for anyone from the colonies. He wondered briefly if she would have reacted the same way if Enjolras were present, and almost regretted having been robbed of that spectacle, but Adelaide had no inclination to wait for someone who was so obviously not in favor of her.

With a curt "Thank you, Madame", she stepped around her and entered the apartment, turning around to the door with a cool smile. "That will be all."

The Concierge, obviously taken aback, turned on her heel and left, and Courfeyrac had trouble hiding his smile as Adelaide turned towards him instead.

She had obviously passed at her employer's to pick up some new work, for the basket she was carrying was full of cloth seemingly not woven into a garment yet. She placed her burden aside and nodded towards him, dark eyes cool.

"Good morning, Barthélemy."

He managed a grin.

"Nice to see you, Adelaide. The unexpected visitor is sometimes the most welcome, as they say."

She watched him for a moment and Courfeyrac realized that his practiced ease was not working on her. Actually, he had known that for quite a while. But for some reason, he could not stop trying. Her brow rose slowly, calling his attempt at joviality without a single word, and Courfeyrac felt off-foot, but remembered his manners.

"How about a coffee? There's not so much left after the locusts have left the place, but it should be enough for the two of us."

Adelaide considered this for a moment, then shrugged and nodded.

"A coffee would be nice indeed", she answered with a dry smile. "As long as it's half decent, of course."

Being born to a place where coffee actually grew, for all the little money she had, Adelaide was choosy when it came to coffee.

"Enjolras made it", Courfeyrac answered as he poured her a cup and motioned for her to sit down. "If you don't like it, complain to him. And let me watch."

She gave him another hard look which he responded to with a smile. To see Adelaide come up against Enjolras would be a formidable spectacle indeed. But a sip had her nodding softly, and obviously the brew met with her approval.

"Thank you", she said politely, arranging her shawl around her neck. The one person in Paris to wear a thick, woolen scarf in the middle of summer.

"My pleasure", he replied smoothly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I am afraid, Enjolras has already left."

Adelaide nodded.

"Obviously", she gave back. "But that does not matter. I wanted to speak to you."

"I'm flattered."

She placed the cup on the table with a distinctive, clunking sound. Her gaze, as it met his, was freezing.

"Bartélemy stop this or I will leave right away. I came here to discuss something that I heard at an assembly with Charles Jeanne and his associates, but I have little time to waste. I have work to do."

He wondered if he could save himself by pointing out that old habits die hard – which was indeed the reason for banter, because teasing Adelaide had always been a wonderfully diverting pastime – but he did understand that she would have none of it.

They had not parted on good terms, and no attempt at levity on his part would remedy that.

And so, his response was a single nod as he schooled his face into a more serious expression.

"All right, Adelaide. No banter. What's going on?"

She took another sip of coffee before she began to speak.

"Do you know what exactly it was that caused the rift between Enjolras and Charles?"

Courfeyrac frowned. That had been a particular callous evening, and yet, he had to confess that he knew very little of what had actually happened. Enjolras and Jeanne had had a conversation, on the side notes of a protest, and harsh words had been exchanged between the two. Courfeyrac had realized the quarrel only when it was too late – otherwise he would have tried to intervene to calm things down – but by the time Enjolras came back, he was fuming and utterly unwilling to even discuss the subject.

The name Charles Jeanne had been rarely uttered by him any more, and never with sympathy or the notion of having him as an ally. Courfeyrac knew, that forgiveness was not one of Enjolras' strongest feats, but on the other side he tried to avoid for personal grudges to interfere with his goals. With Jacques de Morier, a cautious peace had been held over a long time, maintained by a common goal, if nothing else.

With Jeanne, Enjolras had not even been capable of doing that.

So, all things considered, Courfeyrac shook his head.

"I'll be honest; I always assumed that it had probably something to do with the rally we were at. I know that we had handed out some more daring leaflets, and I seem to remember that this was the day before Jehan and Marius wanted to leave these inscriptions in the Tuileries. I had assumed that Jeanne – being who he is – probably considered that inappropriate, or incautious, or generally a bad idea."

"It was", Adelaide commented drily. That had been a time when she had still had seen Courfeyrac, and she had been witness to that particular event. It had been a grand joke to them – but in hindsight, a very dangerous idea that only narrowly had them escape prison. Adelaide had called them boys and disapproved even then. "But no. That was not it."

Courfeyrac frowned, taking a sip of his own coffee. Leaning back in his chair he tried to adopt a stance both alert and non-threatening.

"Tell me then", he requested quietly.

"You remember what I told you the day before yesterday", Adelaide began, deep, rich voice warmer as she somewhat let down her guard, now that he seemed to have given up on banter. "About the fact that Charles removed someone from the group some time ago."

Courfeyrac nodded, and she continued.

"I have asked him about it, and he has told me the most curious of stories. It is true: They seem to have had a traitor in their midst, someone who has conveyed some of what he learned at the assemblies to the authorities in general." Adelaide ran her long, slender fingers – seamstresses fingers – along the rim of the cup. "That someone, if I gather Charles' words correctly, has been very careful and selective in what he conveyed, but he definitely has deliberately traded information about the assemblies."

"What do you mean by 'selective'", Courfeyrac inquired and Adelaide responded with a shrug.

"I have tried to get a clearer word out of Charles when it came to this, but the conclusion probably is that we are not sure. It seems, that in the end, Charles heard talk of his own assembly among the National Guard – which obviously made him curious. He had others inquire discreetly after what had happened, and in the end they found out that a young man, who had been attending their assemblies for a while, had been feeding the National Guard this information. It is in the nature of things, that they could not ask too deeply or directly what information had been conveyed. At least not with the National Guards. They let him spy for a while, gave him only limited or even false information, and in this way tried to probe where his information was going to, but according to Jeanne they stopped before they could find out too much that way, because they considered it being too risky."

"Naturally." Courfeyrac nodded. Indeed the group would have put themselves in danger, if they had asked too many direct questions with their opponents. At the very least, this would have warned the spy that he had been found out. "But I guess they have asked the spy himself, have they not?"

Adelaide gave a short, mirthless smile.

"That's what they did indeed. They caught him and asked all those questions. Naturally, the man was not too forthcoming, but after a while, they got at least some information out of him."

Courfeyrac placed his fingertips together.

"So?"

"He claimed to have worked for Enjolras."

For a moment, Courfeyrac stared at Adelaide, unwilling to believe that he had indeed heard what she had said. However, as if she had guessed his thoughts, she nodded slowly in confirmation.

Courfeyrac was not certain if he should laugh or cry and settled for a sound that was both and neither.

"That's ludicrous", the words finally burst out of him, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Enjolras? Why on earth would he spy on you? If he wants Charles' opinion, he can go and ask him! Or send me, for that matter."

Adelaide shook her head.

"It's not quite that what the man claimed to have been tasked to do. The information should not go to Enjolras, or to you, but to the National Guards. He suspected the reason was, that this would force our group into deeper secrecy, put us into more trouble, maybe even lead to us losing a few key faces. That… let's call it hole in the fabric of revolutionary groups… could have been filled by you then, taking on the followers that Charles lost, taking flesh from his flesh, so to speak."

Courfeyrac shook his head slowly.

"Adelaide, please, for all that's good and true… you cannot honestly believe such a story."

Adelaide shrugged. Her face betrayed nothing of what was going on behind her eyes.

"I am not sure yet what I believe. I am simply telling you what I learned when talking to Charles. "

"But why would he do that? What advantage would there be in for him?"

Adelaide pursed her lips and considered this for a moment.

"It depends on the angle from which one looks at it. You know that Charles and Enjolras have quarreled before. They don't even fully agree what a revolution should lead to, much less how it should be brought about. They never have. They claim to be allies, that is true. But they are rather united by the common enemy than common goal."

There was some truth in that statement, but Courfeyrac snorted none the less.

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think? I mean, even Combeferre and Enjolras don't agree on that to the fullest, and no one can say they were working against each other."

"Point the second", Adelaide continued, somewhat mercilessly, "Charles' group of follower is much larger than yours. If it ever came up to one against the other…"

Courfeyrac interrupted her, unable to listen any longer.

"We are not working against each other, for heaven's sake! Never have! I don't know where that thought is coming from. It would be stupid to think that we are all exactly of the same mind when it comes to the political system we are aiming at. What we are trying is new. Unheard of yet. Yes, of course, there was the revolution, and there is, as a comparison, of course America, but their history, their society is so different from ours that I am not sure it will be even comparable at all. What else do we have to go on? Greek myths and stories. Of course we disagree. Of course we need to find a common ground. But that's a bit of counting chickens before they're hatched, don't you think? Why would we endanger the one chance we have of giving the people free reign for a struggle for dominion over a price that's not even in sight?"

"It has happened before"; Adelaide reminded him coolly. "Although, mind you, I am not saying that it has happened here."

"It hasn't", Courfeyrac answered with conviction. "At least not as far as Enjolras is concerned."

"And yet, when Jeanne spoke to him, Enjolras apparently did nothing to alleviate his worries."

"He's brought the matter up to Enjolras? Alone? So that was what that quarrel was about?"

Adelaide nodded, and Courfeyrac groaned in despair.

"Sweet mother of God", he sighed, burying his face in his hands.

"Why would he not? Charles is not one to lie or hide behind a false smile. He wanted the matter clarified."

"Why would he not, indeed", Courfeyrac said, face still buried, raking his fingers through his hair. That was a situation he could picture only to easily. For a moment, he felt the need to go,find Enjolras and give him a good shake, and then continue to Charles Jeanne to do the same. It would be well deserved on both parts, that much was certain. "Adelaide", he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Enjolras is proud. Enjolras is stubborn. Enjolras… you know him." He looked up from his hands. "Do you really think Charles would have gotten a clear answer out of him after confronting him with such an accusation?"

Adelaide considered this for a moment, and then after a while, a grim smile ghosted over her face.

"I think I can see what you mean", she answered. "And Charles is proud as well."

"Can't you just picture the scenery?" Courfeyrac continued in exasperation. "Jeanne confronting Enjolras. Enjolras going up in flames, probably even refusing to discuss the matter further. Jeanne taking this as admission of guilt. Harsh words on both sides, fuelling previous disagreement. An attitude of 'who's not in favor of me is against me'. Both turning backs to each other and sulking ever since. Misunderstanding, pride and conceit in abundance. Why are people sometimes so stupid?!"

This prompted an almost honest chuckle out of Adelaide.

"One wonders sometimes", she answered with a shrug and drained her cup of coffee. "But if it wasn't you, what was it then?"

Courfeyrac shrugged.

"How about a government agent? Or even another of the group that has attacked all of us? Claiming he had been sent by Enjolras shows some devious planning on his part…", he trailed off as another detail came to his mind, "… and some significant insight into the characters involved."

"True, if one is operating from the assumption that he was indeed not sent by Enjolras. But if I gather correctly, infiltration was not something that the assassins have done which attacked you, correct? From what I understand, you have never seen one of them before."

"That was what we thought yesterday", Courfeyrac contradicted, with some resignation. "Today, the matter is not quite as simple any more."

In a few words, he relayed to Adelaide the matter of Frater Antoine, who had lived in their midst and yet betrayed them all so deeply.

Adelaide frowned.

"The Picpus brother?" she mused. "I remember him… he seemed to have been a kind old man."

"That's what he seemed, indeed. And he has planned this for a long time. Joined the Picpus order right after he was back from Russia, during the time the order became an official institution."

Adelaide frowned.

"Russia?"

Courfeyrac nodded.

"That's what we have been told. He seemed to have won some renown there in the war, then got caught behind the lines during the retreat. Much of what happened then seems to be unknown at Picpus, but..."

"The fisherman was in Russia as well", Adelaide interrupted him, and when Courfeyrac could not gather what she was talking about, she continued with some more information. "The fisherman. The one that tried to betray Charles' group. He was in Russia as well, with the army."

Courfeyrac raised his brows.

"So was half of France, of course, but still, it is an interesting detail."

He went to the stove to get the coffee, refilling Adelaide's mug. The gesture of politeness allowed him to think, to sort his thoughts with respect to what he heard.

"You want my opinion?" he asked, and Adelaide, gratefully cradling the mug, nodded.

"Please."

"Intuition claims that the man within the Jeanne group has been working together with those who attacked us. Maybe his errand was the same as Frater Antoine's. Maybe he was working with a different agenda. We do not know yet how many opponents we have, nor what their primary goals are. They seem to have been diverse in their methods, so to guess the errand is difficult to say the least. Anyhow, when he was found out he realized that his game was over. Therefore he either turned towards his alternative plan – or he made it up when the need arose – to sow some dissent between Charles and the probably most agile other group they had monitored – us. Which has worked fairly well, I might add. By the way, what happened to the man in the end?"

"They sent him on his way", Adelaide explained, and when Courfeyrac, surprised, looked at her with a raised brow, she shrugged. "They are no murderers. They gave him a beating and sent him on his way."

"Did they follow him?" Maybe there was some more information to be had.

"They tried", Adelaide answered. "They lost his track fairly quickly though, and at that time no one could guess how grave the situation would become."

Courfeyrac sighed.

"Not surprising, of course. We probably would have done the same." He took a deep breath, rallying himself. "I think I need to speak to Charles."

To his surprise, Adelaide gave a breath of deep relief.

"I am glad that you say this. I should add – Charles has given me the liberty to speak to you about the matter, but he does not want Enjolras to know just yet. He proposes that the two of you meet – probably after the funerals this afternoon – and discuss."

Courfeyrac, feeling something akin to despair, ran his hands over his face.

"I guess taking both their heads and knocking them together until sense arises is not an option?"

That indeed did call forth a small smile that seemed as honest as it was reluctant.

"Correct"; she answered, and Courfeyrac sighed.

"All right", he said. "Then we'll do the next best thing. Talk."

She nodded.

"Talk."

"Ah." He could not help twinkling at her, in a gesture of long forgotten camaraderie. "Finally something that I'm good at."