"Lift the pan!" Javert commanded.
Grace fumbled with the rifle and lifted the metal latch.
"Pour the powder!"
Her hands shook, spilling most of the gunpowder onto the floor. She swore under her breath and panic started to squeeze her heart.
"It's alright. Now the musket ball. Quickly!"
She placed the butt of the rifle on the floor and pawed at the bag of bullets on her belt. Her fingers felt thick. Double their size. And she pushed the ball into the barrel.
A shot crashed into the wood at Grace's back. She screamed aloud and shrank back from it. Javert grabbed her shoulder and looked into her eyes.
"Pack the barrel! Come on! Keep going!"
Tears of terror slipped from her eyes as she held the ram in her shaking hands, each agonising moment she couldn't get it into the small hole making her chest squeeze tighter.
Others on the barricade started letting off their first shots. Loud, deafening cracks sounded off all around her. She could hear screams down where the sappers were. Smoke plumed all around her in thick, noxious clouds.
She withdrew the ram and placed the rifle butt back against her shoulder.
"Good. Now take aim."
Grace swung the rifle out towards the advancing soldiers. Her guts twisted when she pointed it right at a uniformed man roughly twenty feet away from the barricade.
"I can't…!" She panted. "I can't…I can't…!"
"Yes you can!" Javert said firmly, a hand on the small of her back. "It's shoot or be shot now!"
She was sobbing as she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The kickback took her by surprise, but luckily Javert's steadying hand was there to stop her from tumbling back and off the barricade.
She breathed in deep, her streaming eyes wide and unblinking. And Javert didn't give her pause to think, or catch her breath, or even see if her shot had found a mark before his next order came.
"Now again! Do it again!"
It was easier the second time. She repeated the steps: grabbing another cartridge, tearing it open with her teeth and pouring the powder into the rifle once more. Her hands still shook as she packed the bullet and the paper down into the barrel, but there was a fluidity to it now. A series of movements. Like a well-rehearsed dance.
That's all this is. Grace tried to tell herself. Just a dance.
She cracked off another shot, feeling less of a surge of terror when the gunpowder smoke plumed up into her face.
"Again!" Javert barked.
Her ears were ringing as she packed the next shot. She couldn't hear much of the orders Enjolras cried or the shouts of agony from the men skewered by musket rounds below her. The world turned murky and distant. It didn't really exist. It was just a dance, after all. An act. A part that she was rehearsing.
Sappers were now at the base of the barricade. Grace could feel the strike of their pickaxes and sledgehammers as they smashed into the timber at the base. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw others on the ramparts dip their rifles low, directly down upon those men. She mirrored them, pointing the barrel of her gun directly down on top of their heads. She tried to turn their moving bodies into those glass bottles and jugs at the other end of the shooting range. Even when they fell away from the barricade, limp and glassy-eyed, she turned their bodies into smashed glass in her mind's eye.
"Retreat! Retreat!" A voice sounded out on the other side of the barricade.
The sappers and Guardsmen turned their backs and ran. Slowly, they receded back into the early morning mist, like evil spirits seeping back down into the dirt.
Cries of victory went up along the ramparts.
A symphony of triumphant shouts and taunting wails rippled through the revolutionaries.
"By God… We've won!" Grantaire cried, sounding more surprised than joyous.
Grace still held her rifle firmly in her tight fists. Still continued to repeat the movements of the dance, even though the danger was now passed. When she couldn't stop herself from reaching for another cartridge of gunpowder, she felt Javert's hand close itself around the gun barrel.
"Grace…" he said softly.
She carried on lifting the pan and tried to pour the powder into the small hole.
"Grace..!" He said more forcefully, trying to shake the gun from out of her hands.
The sharp tone of his voice made her finally stop. Her eyes crashed into his, still streaming with tears, but her expression was vacant and hollow.
"Stop. Stop now." He said softly.
Even when he pulled the rifle slowly away from her, she couldn't tell her hands to let go.
"It's alright. Let me have it now."
She let the rifle go. Her face crumpled and the sobs came like great bubbles of misery. Javert put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in close to him, letting her weep. Amongst the cheers and jubilation, no one noticed the tears and the pitiful cries she made against his chest.
He shushed her softly, stroking her hair as she felt her rock against him. Still, he cast his eye out towards the early morning mist. They would be back. And all of these hopeful cries and shows of victory would evaporate like a puddle in the sun.
"Degas! Come celebrate!" Courfeyrac shouted, scrambling over the barricade and slapping Grace hard on the back.
She wrenched her head off Javert's chest and watched as the boys from the cafe clambered back down the wood and timber around her.
Grantaire emerged from the tavern below with a bottle of something and they passed the drink around, all smiles and giddy delight. Grace breathed deeply and wiped her face. She moved to begin descending but Javert reached out for her.
"Grace?"
"I'm fine." She said shortly. "I'm fine…"
She carried on with her descent, and Javert watched her go with a heaviness in his heart.
Back on the ground, a few of the men had broken out into song. The tune of La Marseillaise booming out through the street.
"Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé
L'étendard sanglant est levé
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras
Égorger nos fils, nos compagnes!"
"Arise, children of the Fatherland
Our day of glory has arrived
Against us the bloody flag of tyranny
is raised; the bloody flag is raised.
Do you hear, in the countryside
The roar of those ferocious soldiers?
They're coming right into your arms
To cut the throats of your sons, your comrades"
Bahorel hung off Joly's neck, thumping his chest with pride. Combeferre punched the air with joy. Feuilly dried his tears of joy with his lace handkerchief. Even Enjolras permitted himself a swig of the drink Grantaire passed to him.
They were all breathless with joy. Half laughing, half singing the words of the revolutionary song. It was the first taste of victory that they'd had, and now they were all drunk on it.
Eventually, Enjolras's winning smile was turned to her, and he extended the bottle out towards Grace. She took it with a returning expression of deadpan shock, and drank deeply. The bite of the alcohol on her tongue was fresh and fierce. It steadied her frayed nerves, but did little to quell the roiling feeling of nausea in her stomach. Enjolras's gaze shifted to something over her shoulder, and she turned to see Javert approaching them.
"You have some explaining to do, Sir." He said to Javert sternly.
Javert went utterly still.
Anxiety roared in Grace's chest. She turned to Javert with fear now in her eyes.
"You said that they would attack at night. And here we are, it is barely ten o'clock!"
Thunder rumbled in the sky up above. Ominous and thick.
"Well…we survived their barrage just fine." Javert replied steadily.
"I'm afraid you miss the point, Monsieur." Enjolras bit back. "You gave us false information."
"It was a guess at their movements."
The air started to spit with rain.
"A guess or a misdirection?"
"Monsieur…" Javert tried to say jovially, but the easy smile on his face did not reach his eyes.
"If you knew the movements of the army so well, then why did you not anticipate their attack just now?"
The others around them began to halt in their celebrations, turning towards Javert and Enjolras with curious faces. La Marsellaise petered out to a pitiful halt. Sputtering out like a failing engine.
"Marcelin…" Grace breathed, putting herself bodily between him and Javert. "… it was a surprise attack. How was he to know-"
"I don't recall even seeing you pick up a weapon during that skirmish, Monsieur." Enjolras said coldly, utterly ignoring Grace's intervention.
"There were not enough guns and bullets, Sir. Ask your man." Javert replied, nodding at Combeferre, who stood nearby.
"It's true, Enjolras." The doctor said, nodding to the others. "In fact, with the way our stores currently stand, if they were to attack again, I'm not sure we'd have enough musket shots to see us all through…"
Enjolras stared icily at Javert. The two of them stood unnaturally still.
Grace's heart pounded against her ribcage. The looming darkness of the barricade spilled over them, casting its shadow of death on them all. Clearly Enjolras suspected something. Otherwise, why would he be making such a public fuss? She thought of how she could run. Grab Javert and get the both of them out of here. And she wished she'd taken the opportunity to flee with him when she'd had it…
Fuck being on the right side of history. It wouldn't matter what side they were on if neither of them lived to see the sunrise. Fuck the 'story' too. If this world really wanted an ending, then it could find its protagonist somewhere else.
"There's someone climbing the barricade!" A watcher suddenly cried out amongst the silence.
As one, the faces on the ground turned to the mountain of timber.
More shots rang out from the other side of the barricade. Grace couldn't see who fired them, or who they were firing at, but she felt her heart constrict with fear nonetheless. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. And it was all happening on the other side of the barricade…
"Who is it?" Enjolras roared above the noise.
"I don't know!" The watcher cried back. "It looks like a boy!"
"A boy?!" Grace asked.
She peered through the rain up at the ramparts. A deeply unpleasant feeling now squeezing her stomach. Without pausing, she found herself rushing back towards the barricade and climbing back up its rickety surface once more.
A sniper's shot cracked the wood near the watcher, and he cried out in alarm. "Go back, boy!" He shouted to the climber. "It's too dangerous!"
Grace scrabbled up the prickly timber, dread making her skin tingle.
"Grace…! Grace!" Javert called after her.
"Grace? Who's Grace?" Feuilly asked at her back.
"Get down!" Enjolras commanded the watcher. They have men trained upon this position!"
More gunshots smashed their way deep into the ramparts. Splinters sprayed their way down upon Grace's face as she climbed. But soon, she was at the top and she peered over the summit without a moment's hesitation.
"Grace!" Javert roared, running after her. "Get down!"
She felt bullets embed themselves in the wood close to her. The breeze by her face turned into a vibrating, hot whistle as a shot grazed past her ear. But peering over the ramparts, she saw the boy scrabbling up the other side of the barricade.
Eponine's face stared up at her, white and wide with terror.
She bent herself over the ramparts, reaching a hand down to Eponine and grabbing her coat with a fist of iron.
"Pull them back!" Javert screamed, his voice betraying more fear than he had ever let show in his whole life. "Now! Pull them now!"
Grace felt hands upon her legs. She reached out her other palm to Eponine, and she gripped her wrist tight, refusing to let her go. More hands enclosed around her ankles, her belt buckle, her coat.
"Pull them! Pull them!" She heard Javert cry again, one of the hands enclosed around her body.
They were both briskly heaved over the ramparts of the barricade, shots going off all around them. Grace dragged Eponine behind her, both of their bodies sliding over the jagged wood and timber. Until they all fell behind the protection of the ramparts. A tangle of bodies and cold sweat.
Eponine on top of Grace, Grace on top of Javert, and the others who had helped heave them back over the barricade.
The gunfire stopped. All that sounded out in the gentle patter of the rain were their collective, shuddering breaths. None of them moved.
"Oh, Jesus suffering fuck…!" Javert said huskily. "You morons!"
A few of the others who had helped pull them back to safety groaned and unwound themselves from the tangle of bodies on the barricade. They groaned their general agreement with Javert, but did not add any more as they went back to their positions or climbed back down the mountain of timber.
"Eponine…" Grace breathed out in a quiver. "What are you doing here?"
"What in the name of the blessed Virgin Mary were you thinking?!" Javert exclaimed. "A crack shot could have blown your head open like a dropped melon!"
"I had to come back…" Eponine panted.
"You should have stayed away! You aren't safe here! No one bloody well is…!"
"I had to. I had to…"
"Are you alright?" Javert asked, the first to move of the three of them. He began patting away at Grace's arms and legs, checking her for wounds.
She tried to shrug herself out of Javert's wandering hands, staring at Eponine with a harsh look. "Please tell me you didn't literally risk life and limb for-"
"Where is Marius?" Eponine asked, standing shakily to her feet.
"Ponine?! Is that you?" Cried a voice from down on the ground.
Grace and Eponine flicked their eyes down to find Marius staring up at them all. As well as all the other boys of the cafe.
"Oh God…" Grace mumbled. "Jesus Christ, Eponine. Do you have a death wish?!"
"Then what are you doing here?" Eponine shot back.
She paused for a moment, letting the heat creep up Grace's face. She didn't know what to say. Why was she even here?
"I'd follow Marius into the burning heart of Hell, if the Devil ever took him from me." Eponine said, a shudder in her voice. She stabbed her eyes into Javert too. "Just like you've done for him."
Grace opened and closed her mouth in dumbstruck shock. Like always, Eponine could see straight through her. Straight down to the core.
Eponine was the first to rise to her feet. Her legs trembled as she found her footing but she began the perilous descent without uttering another word.
Grace took a second to lean her head back against Javert before she got up. The rain patted against her face as she savoured the small moment of relief. He wrapped his arms around her, not caring who saw, and let go of the long, heavy breath he'd been storing in his chest.
"You will kill me, Mademoiselle..." He said sardonically, but the tenderness in his voice made her heart melt.
"I love you too." She whispered back to him.
Steadily, she got up. Her body too was trembling as she regained her composure, but she reached down a hand and helped Javert to get back up too. Grace cast a quick look down to the upturned faces of Courfeyrac and Bahorel and Joly and all of the others. Their faces were a mixture of shock and betrayal. And Grace groaned to herself.
She let out a deep sigh, knowing that the game was well and truly up, and started the descent.
Marius and Eponine were already in heated whispers, standing a few paces away from the others, when she reached the ground once more. But the boys all had their faces pointed squarely at Grace. They searched her features for the truth, and Grace didn't want to deny it to them a moment longer.
"That name Monsieur Bleuthielle called you-" Feuilly began, but Grace cut him short when she reached up and drew the boy's cap from off her head, letting them see her in the clean light of day.
There was a dreadful, deafening silence as she stood there. The rain crashed into her scalp, her hair, sending cool, spiking shivers through her skull. She let their gazes settle on her. Let them try to put together the last pieces for themselves.
"My name is Grace." She said flatly. "Grace Beaumont. I'm sorry I lied to you all. But…I thought it was for the best."
There it was. Raw and real. Now laid out between them.
Grace felt another weight lift off her shoulders, despite the disappointment she saw in their faces. She felt their eyes studying each and every part of her body. Looking upon all of her with this new realisation. All of her lumps and curves that she'd explained away before, they now took it all in for what they'd perhaps known all along.
"So…you aren't a castrati?" Joly asked cautiously.
"No. I'm a woman. With…all my bits intact."
"Oh, Christ in heaven..!" Bahorel grumbled. "All those times we boasted to you about our conquests..!"
"That night you dressed up for the Opera…" Courfeyrac said flatly. "You looked so… convincing…"
"But…but you've cavorted around with us!" Combeferre exclaimed. "In the cafe, out in the streets… Without a chaperone! A woman! Sporting about with men!"
"That's why we thought that it would be better if I adopted a disguise." Grace nodded.
"We?" Feuilly asked.
Grace's gaze flicked to Enjolras. His jaw was tightly wound shut, the muscles fluttering away underneath his skin. The boys followed her line of sight, that look of betrayal on their faces growing deeper.
There was a tense moment of silence. She wondered for a moment if she should say anything. If she should tear the hole in their faith in Enjolras. If she did, then would everything fall apart? Would this fight be over before it had barely begun?
Grantaire suddenly stepped out from behind Enjolras. Grace thought he was about to say something cutting and glib. Maybe something rude to try and divert the negative attention off Enjolras. But when his dark gaze settled on her, his eyes were not fixed on her face. But rather fixed on her stomach.
"Grace…Are you quite alright?" He asked delicately.
Grace scrunched up her face with confusion. She glanced down at her body, touching a hand to her simple linen shirt.
There was blood there. A red, angry stain smeared over the creamy whiteness.
For a moment, she felt dizzy and strange. She turned around to face Javert, silently showing him the patch of blood that Grantaire had noticed. She looked up at him with vacant eyes. He stared down at the stain with horror.
"Grace…" he breathed.
Javert lunged for her, tugging up the shirt and looking for the wound that had surely caused the bleeding. Red hot panic burned away at his insides as his shaking hands searched.
But he couldn't find anything. The skin of her stomach was unmarked and clear.
"But…" he uttered. "I don't…"
Grace shook her head softly. "I'm… I'm not hurt."
A gentle sigh went up from elsewhere in the camp.
"Ponine?! Ponine?! What's wrong?!" Marius cried out.
Grace's heart leapt into her mouth. She turned just in time to see Eponine crumble to the ground, collapsing into Marius's arms.
"Eponine…" Grace whispered. The crashing weight of realisation bearing down on her all at once. "Eponine!"
Grace's feet flew to Eponine's side, despite the dragging sensation of utter dread and horror weighing her legs down.
"Eponine, what's the matter?! What's the matter?!" Marius babbled, cradling her in his arms.
Grace came to a halt at their side. She looked down at her friend, who was shivering and grimacing on the ground, barely able to keep her eyes open. Frozen in shock, she couldn't think of what to do, how to put her thoughts into order.
That's when Eponine's coat fell away from her body, and waiting for her there was an even larger, deeper, wetter, redder stain.
"Oh God…" Grace breathed, glancing down at the stain on her own shirt.
It hadn't been her blood. It was Eponine's.
She crouched beside her, pulling away Eponine's clothes in a heated, panicked search. The wound was right in her stomach. Eponine's coat was sodden. Slick and sticky. And when Grace drew her hand away, her fingers were covered in her blood.
"She's been shot! Combeferre! We need your help!" she cried to the others.
"Don't… please don't…" Eponine quivered out.
"You're losing blood." Grace said, panic lacing every single one of her words. "Someone get me something to compress the wound!"
She placed her fingers on top of the seeping redness. Eponine hissed and tried to back away from her.
"It's alright, Ponine." Marius said soothingly, gently stroking her hair. "I'm here. Degas is here. You'll be alright."
"Combeferre!" Grace cried, both of her hands now oozing blood on top of Eponine's stomach. "For fuck sake, where are you?!"
"Grace…" Javert's soft voice sounded out behind her.
She turned around to see him standing at her back, a hand resting on her shoulder. The look in his eye was painful to see. There was acceptance there. Resignation.
Her eyes darted to young Combeferre too. He stood utterly still. Not even attempting to move to her side.
"No.. No!" Grace cried, shaking her head furiously. She pushed Javert's hand off her shoulder. "Help her. Someone, for Christ sake, help her!"
"Grace, if it's a gut-shot…" Javert tried to say calmly. "...then just… then just…"
He didn't know how to finish that sentence. But Grace still shook her head like a madwoman.
"No! No! I must be here to help her. Like I helped you!" she shouted at Javert, her honey-brown eyes imploring him for help. "I helped you! I saved you when you were hurt! I have to help her!"
"Grace…it's alright." Eponine sighed.
The sound of her voice, so withered and quiet, wrenched Grace's attention back on to her.
"It … it doesn't hurt. Please… just come and sit beside me."
Grace's brow furrowed with despair. She looked to Combeferre once again, and then to Javert. That dreadful, terrible acceptance slowly started to take root in her too. She fought against it, but one look at the patch of red now curling its way over the cobblestones underneath Eponine made her stop.
A hard lump formed in the base of Grace's throat, but she did as Eponine asked.
She stopped pressing her hands down on top of the wound and let it bleed freely. Eponine sighed with relief, her eyelids fluttering a little.
Marius looked across at Grace with tears in his eyes, but he opened up one of his arms to wrap around Grace's shoulders and she slipped into their gentle embrace. The three of them locked together, Eponine in the centre of them. Both of them cradled her close, rocking Eponine gently as the rain fell on her face.
"Are you cold?" Grace asked, fighting down the tears she felt pooling in her own eyes. She wouldn't let Eponine see her cry. Not now.
"No. Not with you both here." she replied softly.
Her voice was faltering. Getting quieter and quieter as the seconds passed. Grace gripped her tighter, hoping that if she hung on to her then it would stop her from slipping away. She looked down into Eponine's face, her wet hair hanging in dripping ropes. She brushed the wet locks out of Eponine's face too, readjusting her hat just the way she liked it.
"I like this…" she said with a faint smile. "I always liked walking in the rain."
"Take me walking with you." Grace said encouragingly. "Where are we going?"
"Down to the river… I like walking along the river…" she replied, her smile growing weaker and weaker. She closed her eyes, imagining that route in her head. "The water is soothing. It's green in the summer… slate grey in the winter. When it's dark…I can see the reflection of the trees and the starlight…"
"Then where?"
"Then…up to the Elephant…Say hello to Gavroche. His boys will want a few pennies for sweets from me. "
Grace laughed, nodding her head in agreement. "They'll all be glad to see you. Where we on to next?"
"Up towards…the hill of Montmartre… The whole city…is there…Spread out at my feet…And I can breathe… I can feel the moon in the sky…above me. And I don't feel…so alone."
Grace's bottom lip quivered as she watched her friend struggle to get her words out. Her eyes were closed. And Grace knew she wouldn't open them again.
"It sounds wonderful, Ponine." Marius said with a brave smile. "Can I come walking with you?"
"You always did…" Eponine whispered softly.
Her head sagged to the side. And she was gone.
The falling rain pattered faintly onto the cobblestones. The soft, gentle drumbeat the only noise in the empty stillness.
Grace finally let her tears fall. A black hole of grief opened up right in the centre of her core. It ate up everything. Every little bit of hope, of joy, of relief, of happiness that she'd ever felt in her life. Marius's face crumpled into a bitter, twisted sob, and he buried his face in Eponine's dark hair, crying silently.
Grace, however, screamed.
She turned her head up at the spitting sky and cried out all the air in her lungs.
It wasn't words. Wasn't anything she could begin to articulate. It was pure, crushing pain.
Great, gasping sobs made her already empty lungs burn. She only drew in another breath to scream again. The noise tearing through the air like a rip in the fabric of time.
Javert turned his misting eyes to the floor. His firm brow creased into an empathetic frown and the corners of his mouth drooped for the quickest of moments. He had seen death before. Felt its icy sting in his guts, but hearing Grace cry like that made his steely veneer crumble. He didn't go to comfort her; he knew that there was no comfort in the world that would help her.
She bent over, all the agony and terrible black emptiness inside her making her feel like she would die too. She picked up Eponine's limp, lifeless body. Burying her face in her warm chest. Crying coarse, fat tears onto her.
They both sobbed over Eponine like that for what felt like an eternity. The rain ran rivets down their faces, mixing with the tracks of their tears. Washing them away almost instantly. Like the rain was already washing away her blood.
She was gone. And soon she'd be wiped away and forgotten about. Her life flowing away into the gutters and down the sewer.
Grace raised her head from off of Eponine's chest to find Marius was staring at her empty face, silently brushing her cheek with the back of his thumb. His eyes were red and shining with tears. His face, unmoving and hollow. He kissed her once on the cheek and lay her head gently upon the ground.
Marius slowly stood to his feet, backing away from the lifeless girl on the floor.
Grace fought hard to control her sobs, but her heart was broken. There was a breathless, airless sorrow in her whole body. But she forced herself to look at Eponine's face one more time. So pale. So still. And she too leant down to kiss her on the cheek one last time.
"I hope the sky is always pretty wherever you are." she whispered into her ear. And with that, she let go of her, standing shakily to her feet too.
"Lay her out in there." Enjolras said, suddenly appearing at her side and pointing to the tavern.
Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bahorel and Feuilly all approached her reverently, bending low to lift her up into their arms.
"She is the first of us to give her life to this barricade." Enjolras said. He crossed himself and bowed his head respectfully to her. "Her sacrifice will forever be remembered."
The boys carried her away as if she was the statue of a great, revered goddess. Grace watched them go with that awful, agonising hole roaring away in her chest.
"She had a life that was marked by cold and hunger and misery and darkness…" Grace spoke levelly, her throat hoarse and ringing with pain. "...But she loved you Marius. And that alone turned her days into sunshine."
She had to tell him. It didn't matter now, but he had to know.
Marius did not appear to heed her. But she knew he had. He remained sunken-eyed and still. Looking at nothing in particular. He didn't even watch as they carried Eponine's body away. But Grace did. Grace watched every single second of the last journey her one and only friend in this place took. She thought of that terribly sad melody that she had heard when she'd first heard Eponine's name. The words too, that had slipped out of her mouth when she'd hummed it aloud. Grace found herself singing it softly. Maybe if Eponine could still hear her, then it would comfort her. She didn't want her to be frightened.
"…And rain will make the flowers grow."
And when Eponine's body finally disappeared into the darkness of the tavern, that's when she dipped her eyes back down to the already thinning patch of blood on the ground, and turned away.