A/N: astoryinred! So nice to hear from you! And the other reviewers jumping into this little story of mine as well, welcome.
I'm sorry I'm not updating as quickly as I should. Adulting and all, but the fire is still very much burning.
So, without further ado, back to Paris, 3rd of June, 1832. And drop me a line if you like where we are going :)
Chapter 85: Past days drawing closer
You cling to the memory of your sacrifices, of all the things you have lost or left behind. They drag behind you, like chains of your own making. They can have a terrible power over you. The power of grief, and loss, and regret. Yes, you have let go of the people, the places, the things, but you have not let go of the pain.
It was in the first, grey light of the early morning, when a lithe, nimble shadow slowly, quietly took his way down the statue of the elephant that was home to a whole tribe of rats and a few gamins. Agile as he was, he barely made any sound, his feet and hands finding the familiar nooks and crannies almost without looking, and the old, decaying companion that provided them shelter was mercyful and did not respond to his motion with any of his usual creaks or cracks.
Sylvain, who did not remember if ever he had had a last name, left behind his home and took to the streets of Paris, his steps silent as around him the city awoke and the silence of the night gave way to the sounds of the first, early trades. He passed bakeries smelling deliciously of freshly baked baguettes and carts carrying produce to the markets. The smoke in chimneys indicated fires being lit in homely stoves and breakfast being prepared for those lucky enough to have one.
He himself only had the last of the apples they had stolen yesterday. He had purposefully not eaten it in the evening but saved it for today, to make sure that hunger was not clouding his wits.
He would certainly need them about him as time progressed.
He made his way across the river and into the harbor district, which was one of the earlier ones to rise. Here, the unloading of some ships already produced quite some activity, although it was restricted to the immediate surroundings of the Seine.
And the place he was aiming for was a few streets away from that.
Of course he was not sure he would find the man in the cellar that he had met him, but it seemed the best guess he had to go on, and it was a starting point, at the very least.
But indeed, he found himself lucky, for as he took down the steps into the half-darkness of the basement, sliding to the small side door that was apparently kept unlocked, he found a shadowy figure lying on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. For a moment, Sylvain was wondering what he should do – wake the figure in the hope he had guessed right, or quietly step closer to first check if this was indeed Joseph.
But it was not necessary.
He woke the moment Sylvain opened the door, street's reflexes apparently finely honed, and sat up, alert immediately, and Sylvain found himself under the scrutiny of the clear blue eyes of Joseph Sicar.
„My word", Sicar said, his voice only slightly colored by sleep, pulling himself to wakefulness seemingly effortless. „What a surprise for an early visitor."
Sylvain stopped, suddenly somewhat shy and uncertain, almost afraid of his own courage. But Joseph, wiping sleep out of his eyes, seemed not to notice or, rather, to deliberately ignore it.
„Well don't just stand there", he quipped, waving a careless hand to motion him closer. „You looked for me, you found me, I guess you bring news then." He sat up fully to lean against the wall, legs propped up in front of him, arms folded before his chest. „So, Sylvain. What's going on?"
The gamin took a deep breath and descended the last steps into the dimly lit cellar, taking a seat on the ground at some distance to the young man who had once been a student, folding his hands in his lap and wondering where to begin
„I've heard a few things about the assassins from my friends", he began somewhat disjointed and in the middle of the story. „One of them was badly hurt by some of the Amis de l'Abbaissé some time ago."
Joseph nodded slowly in an appreciative manner. „Is that so? Kudos to Enjolras then", he acknowledged. I am assuming that he is very proud of himself. And Jacques is probably fuming it wasn't him."
Grim satisfaction in his voice, mixed with mockery. Maybe his current circumstances had relieved him of the necessity to stand on ceremony and play nice, when he rather felt like scratching and biting.
That was something that a gamin understood.
„I don't know", he answered none the less, not feeling in the position to gauge the reaction of the leaders of either revolutionary group with any confidence. „But that's not what I came to tell you. I came to tell you I know where he is."
That, on the other hand, immediately got Joseph's attention.
„Is that so?"
Sylvain nodded.
„He's in number 3, Rue de la Texanderie", he explained. „In a small apartment on the first floor. That's right at the end of the road, close to the police station."
„Ah", Joseph said, and it was impossible to gauge whether he recognized the area or simply acknowledged the information.
„He's pretty badly hurt", Sylvain said, „so I don't think he's going anywhere any time soon."
Joseph nodded , rubbing his chin thoughtfully. „That is interesting information indeed", he admitted, and Sylvain could not help feeling a beaming crawl onto his features. „Although the proximity to the police station is quite unfortunate. Also", he added thoughtfully, „probably not coincidential."
Sylvain nodded.
„I think they all think they are at least protected somehow by officials."
„That is not surprising", Joseph admitted, looking thoughtful.
„So, that's the one that was in Picpus, right? The one hiding in plain sight? The monk?" Sylvain nodded, for a moment surprised at how well Sicar was still informed. But then he realized that not only had he himself told the man a great deal of what was going on, but he should also not delude himself to be the man's only source of information. He probably had many more.
For am moment, Joseph fell silent, thinking over what he just heard, and then, coming to a conclusion, he nodded.
„Very well", he said. „It is a risk, but sometimes, risks must be taken. That information was valuable, little Sylvain, but I have one more favor to ask of you."
„Just one?" he retorted, and Joseph smiled.
„The one for now. And depending on its success, it may be the only one I still need from you."
That was encouraging, Sylvain thought, although he would not trust his luck just yet.
„I want to pay the man a visit", Joseph said, „and see what information I can pry from him. But as you can probably know, this is not an easy task, and with a certain amout of risk as well. So, I will need reinforcements. Are there any you could give?"
Sylvain briefly considered.
„I could always ask Gavroche to ask the amis", he answered, but Joseph shook his head. „No. It has to be without the others. No Enjolras, no Jacques de Morier. This is the whole point of the excercise. I need something they do not have, Sylvain, and I cannot rely on them to get it. That would defy the purpose of the excercise."
The gamin frowned, not fully understanding, but Josephs voice was hard, determined, and absolutely final, so he did not pry or suggest any further.
„But you have your little friends, is that not so? How many are you?"
„Four", Sylvain answered, hesitatingly. „Although Pucet is still really little. I wouldn't want him there."
Joseph mustered him, then nodded. „I will take your word for it. Three then. Three gamins. That could be something to work with."
Sylvain frowned.
„I'm not sure the others will come", he said, but Joseph shook his head, and all of a sudden, there was an edge to his smile.
„Be persuasive, little Sylvain", he suggested, and suddenly the boy became aware that Joseph's posture was much less one of relaxation or return to wakefulness, but much more that of a resting predator, curled up comfortably, but ready to jump if necessity should arise. There was something subtly dangerous about this man. „Think about the prize I offered you. And be persuasive. I will expect you on the quais around the height of Texanderie 3 around 5 in the afternoon. Be sure to make it. And be sure to leave your student friends out of this."
That left quite some time to harmonize with Gavroche, and convince the others. But none the less, Sylvain felt a certain unease settling in his stomach.
For all that he had intended with his visit, for all he had hoped that it might be for the greater good.
But he was not really keen on explaining to Gavroche and Jean that he had known where Joseph was all along. Or what he had asked of him.
It was a different part of town, a very different lodging, and a very, very different sort of person from young Sylvain, the little gamin, but the hour was almost as early, and, in comparison, the deed was almost as dreaded. Maybe, all things considered, even more.
Standing at his dressing table, methodically scraping away unwanted hair from his chin, upper lip, and cheeks, Javert had to admit to himself despite his appreciation for a job methodically and well done, that he was taking more time for his morning groomings than usually. In fact, he was stalling.
The cool morning sun shone through his window. Javert had always been an early riser, and the window looking east was one of the many reasons why he had come to appreciate the appartment he lived in. Waking up to clear, unobstructed morning light was a luxury that he and learned to allow himself.
He took a deep breath, carefully hidden as if even here, in his sanctuary, he would always be under scrutiny, always be measured to the high standards he applied to others, and picked up the speed of his ministrations.
The night before had brought many thoughts and worries, an unreasonable, but somehow much needed fortifying second glass of wine, but at the end of all this, before sleep had finally claimed him, a decision had stood in front of him as clear as new glass.
There was no way he could avoid contacting the Erables. In fact, it was not only the logical next step, but worse, the necessary one.
It was where his investigation led him. He knew the rules of the Roma too well, the closely knit family bonds. He knew what it had cost him to extract himself from them, to sever the bonds for good, and so, there was a very good chance that the Erables, for however much they seemed to try to be citizens, would still have contacts with the other members of the clan.
Which, ultimately, could lead him to the juggler.
His personal perferences of staying away from anyone Roussata as far as possible were, ultimately, insignificant.
He dressed meticulously – made sure that his neckcloth was pristine and impecabbly bound, checked the position of his coat over his shoulders and even polished the brass buttons with a soft, white cloth and bound his graying hair back into a severe braid. Finally, he gave his appearance a last, critical appraisal in the mirror before he declared himself fit for the deed he was about to undertake. Modest, severe, reliable, serious.
The city was waking up to another early summer day as he left his lodgings and called for a carriage – it would not do for him to arrive on foot, dishevelled after a walk in the already rising morning heat. No, his image had to be that of the inspector. That was the only armor that he was able to wear against what he was going to find.
The carriage crossed the pont du Jardin du roi and moved towards the Bastille, turning right at the Elephant unto broad Rue du Faubourg Sant Antoine, crossed the quarter, which, unlike the areas around the Seine, still seemed somewhat tired and subdued, the busy dealings of the craftsmen more restricted to the side streets and places.
The carriage brought him almost up to Place du Trone before it turned right and, to his surprise, did not come to a halt in front of one of the many tenements of the quarters, but instead a small house wedged between other buildings of similar nature, two stories only, but in good shape, well thatched and kept. The house was set slightly back from the street, a little court and an elm tree valiantly braving all the stones of the city seperated it from the passer-by.
A shop and workshop were covering the ground floor, doors already wide open, hopefully inviting the errand customer, who, if capable of reading, was told that this was the shop of „A. Erable, household goods, tools, repairs." A picture showing a set of tools indicated the nature of the shop to the illiterate and through one of the two opened doors he could see a small smithy, currently not in operation, as well as a workshop with a wide assortment of tools.
Two children were playing in the courtyard, a girl of about six years of age and a boy of three, each of them running a wodden horse toy over the ground, laughing and calling to each other as they chased round and round the tree. They seemed reasonably fed and dressed, not in fancy clothes, but clean and in good repair. Both of them had black hair and pale, delicate skin, and it was the coloring that gave him a strong, hard shove into the stomach. The same coloring that his mother had always been proud of, ebony and ivory, black and white. She had claimed that this had been characteristic for their family, the Roussata clan, and even the boy Javert had been then understood, that it was a deficiency in her eyes that he had not inherited the colors of her side of the family, but the ordinary brown straight hair of his father and a complexion that was neither extraordinarily bright nor dark.
The grown-up Javert, of course, was glad for this, another point that seperated him from the family he would have so much liked to forget, from his beginning in crime and sin and deprivation.
He had stepped closer towards the house without conscious thought, and the girl interrupted the children's play with a short „Julien, wait", before she turned to him, straightened her dress and adapted a posture that he could only describe as „businesslike."
„Good morning, Monsieur", she greeted him politely with a smalll curtsey and a smile. „What can we help you with?"
And even as he wondered how he should respond to the girl, she turned around and called into the house behind her „Maman! We have a customer."
„Not a customer", he said curtly. He realized he was being abrupt with what seemed to be a wellmannered child, but every nerve on edge, he did not find it within him to even be civil. „But yes. I would like to speak to your mother."
The girl frowned in obvious confusion, but before she could even inquire, Javert saw a motion in the door to the shop, and a woman of indiscernable age emerged. Her appearance was nothing like the Roussata colors, the ash blonde hair held back in a bun, and a face of sharp, deep lines, slim and narrow, not beautiful, but, as Javert realized with a life long experience of dealing with all sorts and shapes of human beings, interesting in a memorable sort of way. She was tall, almost reaching level eye to him, but as she approached him he realized that she walked with a slight, almost indiscernable limp. There was something about the shape of her eyes that he recognized in both girl and boy, and concluded that he was indeed standing before „Maman."
„What can I do for you, Monsieur?" she asked politely, and if she had heard the last exchange between himself and her apparent daughter, she did not show any concern because of it.
„Marie Lefaivre?" Javert asked, and the woman's brows rose in slight surprise.
„Erable, these days", she answered directly. „But one time, yes."
Javert nodded and felt the motion to be jerky, slightly uncontrolled. He gritted his teeth and called his racing nerves to order, but all that he managed was to regain some semblance of control of his reactions again. His stomach was still churning.
„Inspector Javert of the Paris police", he quipped, a sentence he had said so often that there was safety and familiarity with it.
Two distinct lines of a frown added to the cavices already present in Marie Lefaivre's face as she studied him for a moment.
„I see", she said then, and took a quick look around, appraising the surrounding buildings before turning her attention to him.
„I think this is a conversation best had inside", she suggested and invited him in with the motion of a hand. Javert, who had no intention of being associated with a gypsy business, be it on a professional or private level, nodded and followed the motion, hearing how, behind her, the mother tasked her daughter – obviously going by the name of „Madeleine", to watch out for customers and call her in case.
Madeleine and Julien. Good, strong french names. Not a hint of gypsy in them. Small graces.
He entered the tinker's shop and looked around. Like the sign on the entry had promised, he could find all sorts of household goods here, tools, wooden and metal crockery, kitchenware, tablecloths and dropcloths, an assorted mixture of goods that took skill, but not mastery to make.
She led him through into a small cabinet in the back, where a pot of herbal tea stood and a newspaper – Le Moniteur, as he could see with a furtive glance – lay open. She offered him a glass of tea – which he accepted – and motioned for him to sit while she took the stool across from him.
„So", she said directly, folding her hands in front of her. „I guess this is about him."
Javert frowned and wondered on earth she would know what had brought him here
When he did not answer immediately, Marie Erable pressed on, impatience ringing in her voice.
„Emilio. My husband?"
Of course. He could barely suppress the anger at his own lapse. Everything about the gypsies brought out weakness in him.
Perhaps, he thought, coming here was a mistake.
She had reported him missing quite some time ago. Four years ago, to be precise, which fit achingly well with her being pregnant with little Julien outside. As the notes Guibet had dug out for him indicated, she had been quite pushy and adamant that investigations were made, first because of worry, then, later, in anger.
Looking at the hard, cold look in Marie Lefaivre's eyes, he could well imagine that.
„Is he dead?" It did not sound as if this news were specifically unwelcome.
„I have no reason to think so", Javert answered promptly, eliciting a snort from Marie Lefaivre.
„In prison then?"
He shook his head.
„Not at the moment. He served a little time recently, but managed to escape only a couple of days later."
Marie nodded curtly.
„What for?" she inquired.
„A housebreak." Javert wondered why he was answering her, but there was no real reason not to. He did not think that Madame Erable was under any illusions when it came to the nature of her husband. „Maybe more."
„I see", Marie answered. „So, if you do not know where he is, why are you coming to me? Surely you cannot expect to get that information from me. I came to you in the first place because I was unable to find him. And he still owes me money. Lots and lots, for raising his children.
Javert wondered why no one had ever thought of informing the woman about the things the police had found out – the times Babet had been arrested, the information about their gathering grounds in La Salpetrie. It might have been possible, for all that he could tell, to at least provide her with the means of seeking him out herself.
Apparently, no one had thought it important enough to.
That was not a pleasant thought at all.
He briefly entertained the thought of asking whether her parents in law could provide some assistance, but discarded the thought. Them being gypsies he would not have put it past them to keep the truth about their son from Marie. But they had taken her in, and that did not make any sense in the grand scheme of things.
So he, as was his nature, discarded the coward's exit and moved on, forcing himself to a stance of confidence and calm.
„I am not here for your husband", he said. „I am here for one of his potential associates."
Marie took a short moment to digest this and shook her head.
„Apologies, Inspector", she answered. „But I wouldnt know how to help you there. I only learned who he really was when he left, and left me to deal with the damage." Bitterness colored her voice. „I did not know anything about his accomplices."
„Not an accomplice", Javert continued. „This may be more a matter of... family."
If he had thought that Marie Erable's face had been reserved before, it now became downright forbidding.
„I think you should leave", she said coldly. „There is nothing I could tell you here."
This was more familiar territory, he felt. No one liked to be interrogated, and the guilty often tried to deter him with that kind of display.
„No", he said coolly.
Marie crossed her arms before her chest and leaned back.
„Then, i suspect, you are in for a boring morning", she retorted. „For I have nothing more to say."
„That remains to be seen", Javert gave back. „I have not even gotten to ask you any questions, and rest assured, we can hold this conversation here or in different quarters if there..."
„Marie? What's going on?"
The voice was warm, dark, distinctly female and came from the entry of the shop. Marie unfolded her arms and gave up some of her forbidding stance, and Javert turned to see who had entered.
And felt he was staring into the face of a ghost.
„You look better."
He meant it. Given that he had not seen him in two days, Jacques de Morier looked indeed much improved. Less pale and without the feverish gleam in his eyes he seemed much more himself, and only the careful way he still moved was a reminder of the serious injurly he was still convalescent from.
For all that he had learned during the last days about Joseph – none of which he intended to convey to the leader of the Cougourde immediately – he was glad to see Jacques back to his usual energy. He was missed, and the next days would require all the strength and leadership that he could get.
„I feel better", de Morier answered jovially and offered him a seat in their round which at the moment consisted of Sylvain Rachette, leg propped up on and Robert Velu. Apparently someone – probably Robert – had gone out to get a simple breakfast of bread and cheese, and he helped himself to a sizeable portion.
The way his life was going lately, you never knew when your next meal would be.
„I heard that you have almost become an Ami de l'Abbaisse by now, so I guess you will be the one to give me the news in detail."
Considering the discussions they had had a few days ago – the confrontation with Enjolras, the harsh words exchanged with Lamarin – that was surprisingly mellow. Not fully without bite, of course, but still. He was improving, that much obvious.
„Gladly", Stephane answered and helped himself to another bite of baguette before he leaned back. „What do you know?"
As it turned out, Robert Velu had faithfully already reported the majority of it – the new meeting place, the funerals, that were supposed to lead the way towards revolution. Stephane filled in the blanks and carefully omitted anything that might even remotely touch the little side occupation that he had busied himself with together with Lamarin – who was at the courthouse to support Madame de Cambout – Joly and Bossuet: The whereabouts of Joseph Sicar.
„So, today we mourn Devereux and de Cambout", Jacques mused. „I am being told that Armand's parents are coming to Paris. Judging from what I know about them they will not be happy to have their son's funeral be made a spectacle." He fished for another piece of cheese with long, delicate fingers, carefully looking at it. „Depending on how things go they may not have a choice, though."
He looked around.
„We have been tattered and dormant too long. I think it is time that we went back on stage again."
Stephane raised his brows
„Are you that well again?"
Jacques winced.
„I would not call myself fit again. And, in all honesty, I do not quite feel up for a long walk yet. It will have to be carriages, and we have to be clever. But things are moving, Barilou, and they will not wait for us. The time is now, and I cannot sit here, idle, and wait for flesh to mend and pain to subside. If we are successful, there will be time for that afterwards. If not, it does not matter."
He sounded calm, collected and utterly determined, and Stephane felt a rush of relief, chasing away a worry he only felt now, that it was subsiding. With a sentence or two, Jacques reminded him again of what they had been, and why, despite some of his shortcomings, he had been and still was, their leader.
Because while he undisputably had a temper, was ambitious and sometimes ruthless, he was unmerciful first and foremost to himself, and at the end of the day, utterly convinced at what he did.
„This goes for you as well, Rachette", he said almost off-handedly, but if the man with the leg thickly bound in bandages was offended by the address, he did not show it, but simply nodded.
„Of course", he said, and unconsciously straightened himself in his seat.
Jacques turned around to Stephane again, giving him a small smile.
„So, Stephane, will you find out from our friend Enjolras when we gather, how, and where? And what the plan for the afternoon's proceedings is? I would so hate to miss the celebrations."
