Thief By Knight

CHAPTER FOUR

The next day the sky clouded over and began to spit fat drops of rain at them, as if they had somehow offended it. With only a few sad comments about how welcome the shelter of a wagon would be, the merchants gathered their things and moved on.
Grantaire rode alone, silent and brooding. Now and then he would look behind him and spy Claude peering at him wistfully from behind his mother's skirts. He pretended not to notice. He didn't know what the boy thought of him, or what his mother had told him. There was nothing Grantaire could do now to make things any better.
A cold rain drop slipped down the back of his neck and Grantaire shivered. He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter and stared resentfully up at the sky until another drop of rain hit him in the eye. He wiped it off with a damp shirt sleeve, wondering if things could possibly get any worse.
"Grantaire, could I have a word with you?"
He jumped a little, startled at the sound of another voice. The merchants had been ignoring him for so long, he'd almost forgotten about them.
It was Enjolras who rode up beside him. Despite the rain, he sat tall and straight on his white stallion. One stray black lock had come loose from his usually immaculate hair. It hung down past his left eye, dripping a tiny waterfall along his cheek.
"What do you want?" Ever since Enjolras's lecture on self respect, Grantaire had been avoiding him. He didn't want pity, especially from someone who claimed to be his friend.
Enjolras frowned at Grantaire and hesitated. Grantaire supposed he was waiting for an apology. Knights just weren't used to being snapped at by commoners. Grantaire looked away from him -- he refused to apologize.
"There's a shrine to Saint Genevieve up ahead," he explained, apparently deciding to ignore Grantaire's hostility. "It's about thirty yards west from the bend in the road, in a grove tended by local monks."
"So?"
"I would like to stop and pray at the shrine. If you could find a place nearby for the others to rest?"
Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Enjolras, these merchants are slow enough. At this rate it will be days before we get them out of our hair. Surely Saint Genevieve will understand if you pass her by just this once."
"Grantaire! Your lack of respect for the saints is appalling."
"Enjolras, it's just a shrine. A statue. That's not really Genevieve squatting out there in the woods."
Enjolras kneed his stallion, which sidled closer to Grantaire. The mare snorted nervously but didn't move. Enjolras stared hard at Grantaire, his blue eyes narrow and his mouth set in a firm line. Grantaire had never seen him so angry before.
"Grantaire, your insolence towards those in authority is understandable. You have not been treated well by those in power. In truth, many noblemen are not worthy of the title. But as long as you are in my employ, I will not have you blaspheme the Lord or his saints. Now, kindly find us a suitable camping spot. I will inform the others that we will be stopping."
Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled his stallion around and trotted back to rejoin the merchants. Grantaire stared after him, amazed. He had thought Enjolras incapable of losing his temper. Apparently, he'd pushed him too far.
He tried to shrug it off. Why should he care if Enjolras was mad at him? He'd pissed off lots of people before and never thought twice about it. But he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that making Enjolras mad wasn't something to be proud of. With a heavy sigh, he kicked the stubborn mare into a walk and started looking for a place to camp. He was still looking forward to reaching San Genevieve, but he was beginning to wonder how many regrets there would be when he and Enjolras finally went their separate ways.
The merchants didn't much care why they were stopping; they were just glad for a break. They settled down beside the stream Grantaire found to refill their water skins and talk quietly among themselves. With a sad look at Grantaire, Claude knelt down beside the stream to stir ripples into the water with a dry twig. None of the others even glanced his way.
Felix followed Enjolras towards the shrine. By the way he scowled and dragged his feet, Grantaire guessed he wasn't excited about the chance to pray to Saint Genevieve. Strange attitude for a priest. Curious, Grantaire decided to follow them.
Grantaire was used to being quiet. A thief who couldn't walk without making a sound had a tendency to get caught. As he followed Enjolras and Felix through the woods, he automatically stepped over dry twigs and ducked under low-hanging branches without disturbing a leaf. Even if he hadn't been so silent, the others never would have known they were being followed. Felix tromped along like a tired horse, leaving a trail of shaking branches and broken twigs loud enough to drown out an advancing army.
Finally, the two of them reached the shrine, a tiny clearing in the middle of the forest that held the statue of Saint Genevieve. To Grantaire it was unremarkable; a plain-looking woman in simple robes, carved rather poorly from a hunk of granite. But it clearly meant a great deal to Enjolras. From the spot where Grantaire hunched, well hidden by a fat oak tree, he could see the look on the knight's face, filled with awe as he stared up at the statue. Enjolras muttered something, his voice hushed and reverent. He knelt down before Saint Genevieve, his hands clasped, his posture as smooth and perfect as the statue before him.
Felix stood for a moment, looking down at Enjolras praying beside him. When he looked up at the statue, Grantaire thought the priest seemed unhappy. Did he regret coming here? Or did he feel he'd offended the saint somehow? If there was some dark deed in Felix's past that he felt guilty about, Grantaire would give anything to know about it.
There was no way to tell from watching this scene. Without a word, Felix sank awkwardly to his knees and joined Enjolras in prayer. Grantaire began to feel a little embarrassed. He wasn't a religious man himself, but he felt like something of a heel for spying on this ritual. Without making a sound, he got to his feet and went back to camp.
The sun was beginning to set when they reached San Genevieve. To Grantaire's eyes, San Genevieve was the perfect name for this town. After all, Genevieve was the patron saint of charity, and this place certainly looked like it could use some. Even from a distance, its poverty was evident. The stone wall surrounding the city spanned ten feet in some places; in others it had crumbled to heights a child could jump over. The front gate looked like someone had hastily nailed together a few pieces of rotting wood and propped them up against the opening in the wall. He peered at it distrustfully as he and Enjolras led their tired, little band up to it, hoping it wasn't about to fall on them.
When they got closer, two bundles of rags in front of the ramshackle gate suddenly sprouted arms and legs. Two men jumped to their feet and poked battered swords in their direction. Each man wore a much patched tunic that might once have been bright blue; time and dirt had stained them to a mottled gray. The tunics sported the city's coat of arms, an open hand on a green background.
The taller of the two men, who wore a new felt hat over his unruly hair stepped forward, puffing out his chest importantly. Unfortunately, the gesture did little to make the man look impressive and a lot to show of a nasty stain on the front of his tunic.
"Here now. You'll be stating your business before you enter the city." He nodded meaningfully at Enjolras's sword. "And we'll be knowing why you carry weapons."
Grantaire had never held much respect for city officials, and he had even less for these two slobs. He frowned at the man and pointed to a big hole in the city wall not ten feet from them.
"You've got some nerve challenging us like that. We could have walked through your damn wall if we'd wanted to."
"Grantaire!" Enjolras stepped in between him and the guard and smiled at the man. Unfortunately, he towered over the spindly guard by a good six inches. Terrified, the man lifted his sword and held it point first against Enjolras's chest. His hand shook, making the wavering blade seem like a hollow threat.
"Not one more step," he warned. The other guard looked around nervously and drew his weapon with some reluctance. He took half a step backward, and Grantaire had the impression that he'd run for his life, or maybe for help, if things got dicey.
"We mean no harm," said Enjolras. In a gesture of peace, he spread his hands out before him, as far away from his own sword as they could get.
"These good people are merchants from Tonerre. They were on their way to Savin when they were waylaid by bandits. We have brought them here to rest and recuperate before they continue on their journey."
The man frowned suspiciously, but he lowered his blade. "Who are you?"
"Forgive me. I am Sir Enjolras D'Cheval. My companions are..."
"A knight!" The guard threw his blade to the dirt and kneeled down before Enjolras. His companion stood frozen, watching them with wide eyes.
"Forgive me, my lord we did not mean to offend you."
Grantaire rolled his eyes. "What about the rest of us? We're offended, too."
"Indeed," added Felix. "You have offered these people, who have already suffered much abuse, a grave insult."
"Felix, you of all people should know that forgiveness is a heavenly virtue." Enjolras smiled down at the prostrate guard like a saint about to give a benediction. "Please, get up. There is no need for such base apologies. You were only doing your duty."
Grantaire watched in disgust as Enjolras helped the guard to his feet. It didn't make any sense. He lectured Felix for quoting the scriptures wrong and threw a fit when Grantaire maligned the saints. But a complete stranger was allowed to shove a sword at him and get away with it.
"You are very kind, my lord. The inn is empty today, and I am sure the owner will be pleased to see you. It's the Inn of the Full Moon, first building on your left. The owner's name is Harbin. Tell him Fitz sent you."
Enjolras thanked Fitz and took the time to formally introduce himself to the other guard (Fitz's cousin, Davet) before leading them into the town. Grantaire ignored both the guards as they bowed to everyone like the idiots they were. He was just glad to get off his horse and lead her along the dusty roads. The mare was so tired that, for once, she didn't even try to bite him. She just hung her head and plodded along without complain, as eager to find food and shelter as her rider.
When they got to the Inn of the Full Moon, Grantaire realized just how glad Harbin would be to see them. They were probably the first customers he'd had in months. The inn was a dump, with cobwebs clinging to the uncovered windows. A cat suckled her young on the front steps, right beneath the sign hanging crazily on one rusted chain.
"Nice place," Grantaire muttered.
"I am afraid it is the only shelter San Genevieve has to offer." Enjolras walked over to Jacques and handed the man a small sack. Grantaire could tell from the tiny, round bulges exactly what was in it.
"Jacques, I want you to take this. It should be enough to buy food and shelter for you here, and hire an escort to Savin."
Jacques stared down at the sack with wide eyes. "Sir Enjolras, I don't know how to thank you. But I swear to you, somehow we will repay you for this."
"You can repay me with kindness to others in distress. Take it. May God watch over you all."
Jacques nodded and accepted the sack of coins. His eyes brimming with tears, he took Enjolras's hand and kissed it. With that final, touching gesture, Jacques and his weary companions shuffled past the cat and into the Full Moon. Felix smiled at them and wished them well. Grantaire said nothing, not even when Claude turned around and whispered good-bye.
"I'm glad to be rid of them," he said. He stared hard at the ground, refusing to get sentimental. Those merchants were not his friends; they didn't like him or trust him. He wasn't going to miss them. Not even Claude.
Silence followed his remark. The three of them just stood there in the road. No one said a word. A cool breeze touched them, whispering of the winter to come. Finally, Grantaire looked up to see Enjolras staring at him, his blue eyes knowing.
"It would seem," said Enjolras, "that we will part company here."
"That's what we said." Grantaire glanced at Felix, who pursed his lips and looked at the ground. He wondered why the priest looked so uncomfortable. They'd both done as they'd promised. They'd helped Enjolras get his sheep safely into the fold. There was no reason for them to feel guilty.
So why did he? Grantaire looked at Enjolras, not quite meeting his eyes. Why did he feel like he was letting him down? Enjolras didn't need him. He could run off to San Sebastien and become king without Grantaire's help. He was probably better off without a former thief around to make him angry.
"So," said Grantaire. He paused as he fished for something to say that wouldn't sound foolish. "I guess you'll be going on to San Sebastien then."
Enjolras didn't answer. He turned his attention to Felix, who was still staring at the ground. "Felix, I will write to Abbot Ryere on your behalf."
Grantaire looked curiously at the priest. What was all this about? Felix nodded, still without looking at Enjolras.
"Thank you. I believe I'll go inside and ask direction to the church. I feel the need to pray."
Grantaire watched Felix go, amazed. It was the first time since they'd met that he'd seen the priest tend to his prayers without urging from Enjolras. One of the kittens batted playfully at the trailing brown robes as he disappeared inside the inn.
The jingling of coins brought his attention away from the Felix. Enjolras held out another sack.
"Do you have an endless supply of those or what?"
Enjolras didn't answer. He'd never ignored direct question before; he was too polite. Now he'd done it twice to Grantaire. It hurt.
"I think you will find this more than sufficient to purchase Talley's Corner."
Grantaire took the sack and held it. The answer to his dreams, right there in the palm of his hand. It felt lighter than he'd expected.
"Thank you."
"You are welcome."
"No, really Enjolras. Thanks. I..." He hesitated. What was he doing? He should just take this money, say good-bye, and leave. He'd earned it. It's all he'd ever wanted. So why did it feel so wrong? Somehow, there had to be something he could say to make it better.
He didn't get the chance. A man came out of the inn, his ragged clothing little better than what the gate guards had worn. Jacques had been telling stories. Stories about how Enjolras had worked miracles. This man had a sick brother. Could Enjolras please help him? The words were barely out of his mouth before he and Enjolras were gone, leaving Grantaire standing in the street, alone and forgotten. He watched them until they were out of sight. He tucked the money into his shirt and went into the Inn of the Full Moon.
As bad as the inn had looked from outside, it looked even worse when Grantaire went in. The tables wobbled on uneven legs, and the owner's mangy dog ran free in the place, sniffing at people's ankles and pissing all over the floor.
The swill they were passing off as ale tasted like the dog had been at it, too. Grantaire drank it anyway. He'd had worse. When he'd drained the tankard he pushed it aside and waved the waitress over. She tucked her blonde curls behind her ear and raised her eyebrows at the gold coin he tossed onto her tray.
"Keep the ale coming."
She smiled. "Anything you say." Snatching up the empty tankard, she spun on her heel and sauntered to the bar. Grantaire watched her squeeze past two customers perched on their stools and give the order to the bartender. Soon, Grantaire would be standing behind his own bar. It was hard to believe. His dream of owning his own place had begun to take shape when Brys had put Talley's Corner up for sale, but two years on the streets of Savin hadn't brought it within reach. Grantaire had almost lost it. In a few more months, Brys would have sold his tavern to someone else. Meeting Enjolras had changed everything.
A foaming tankard appeared in front of him. Grantaire looked up to see the pretty waitress frowning at him in concern.
"You all right?"
"Never been better. Why?"
She shrugged. "Just thought you looked kind of sad, that's all. You need anything else, you just ask. My name's Tavela."
"Thanks."
She nodded and walked away. Grantaire sipped his ale and thought about what she'd said. Why should he look upset? He'd just gotten his fondest wish handed to him in return for very little effort. Soon he would be back in Savin, making a real home for himself. He'd make room for Sydney and Perry too -- keep them safe and off the streets. He could picture it now -- himself pouring drinks, Syd waiting tables, Alain and Eliot coming over to play cards. Perry, for once in his life, would have time to play. It was a nice picture. So why did it seem so empty? His gaze drifted to the field hands at the far table. They'd been dicing for coppers, and it looked like the game had been uneven. The winner beamed over his pile while an opponent shook the dice and tossed them. This man was excited over half a day's wages. Grantaire had just been given more money than he'd seen in his life, and here he was sucking down bad ale and feeling restless. What was wrong with him?
He felt something touch his shoulder and clumsily brushed it off. This place was crawling with insects. The touch came again.
"Excuse me. Can you tell me where I might find Sir Enjolras?"
Grantaire turned. A man stood behind him, clothed in the patched, linen jerkin of a peasant. Desperation was written in the lines on his face. It shone from his brown eyes and hung heavy on his hunched shoulders. Grantaire had seen the look a lot in his life time. It seemed news of the miracle had traveled fast.
"You'll have to wait your turn," he muttered. "His holiness is out healing someone else."
The poor man looked like the news pained him. "Please," he begged. "My daughter, she is very sick. He must help her."
Grantaire shrugged and turned back to his ale. He didn't know what the man expected from him. He didn't know where Enjolras had gone, and he didn't care. He wasn't the knight's lackey. Not any more.
"Please," the man said again. Grantaire winced. He was getting tired of that word. "Please, when Sir Enjolras returns, will you send him to us? We are staying with my wife's brother, in a room above the stables. Please, will you send him?"
Grantaire nodded and waved a hand in what he thought was a reassuring gesture. His limbs were growing numb from the ale -- it was hard to tell. Apparently it satisfied the stricken father, who thanked him and left. Grantaire was glad to see him leave. He wanted to be alone.
As usual, Grantaire didn't get what he wanted. The doors hadn't finished closing before Felix walked in. Grantaire hoped the priest would ignore him. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since the incident with Claude's mother. The silence seemed to suit them both just fine.
Felix walked right over to Grantaire's table. He scowled and wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Celebrating your good fortune, I see?"
"What else should I be doing? Felix, we both know you're not here because you like my company. What the hell do you want?"
Felix's eyes darted to the floor, then back again. Grantaire could tell the priest was embarrassed. Whatever he'd come here about, he was reluctant to come out with it. This was getting interesting.
"You know you didn't earn that money," he said. "Enjolras didn't need a guide. He certainly didn't need you."
Grantaire shrugged. Felix's attempt to make him feel guilty amused him. "I don't care. I'm a thief, remember? I'm not interested in earning my money."
Felix frowned. "I haven't forgotten."
"Of course not. You've pointed it out to everyone we've met." Grantaire cursed himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He didn't want Felix to know how much his pettiness had upset him. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"I didn't come here for my sake," Felix snapped. "I want you to talk to Enjolras."
"About what?" Grantaire had nothing left to say to Enjolras, and he didn't need any more lectures. He couldn't imagine what Felix expected him to say.
Felix sighed. Grantaire could tell this was hard on the priest, whatever favor it was he was trying to ask. He was glad of it.
"You have to admit you owe Enjolras. He gave you a king's ransom to be a guide for a few days."

"It was hardly that. But I'll admit I owe him. So what? Do you want me to thank him? I'll leave a note."
Felix slammed a meaty fist down on the table. It creaked and wobbled dangerously before righting itself. Grantaire grabbed his ale before it could spill and looked up at Felix in surprise. He hadn't expected such anger.
"I'm asking for your help, curse you! For Enjolras's sake. His life could be at stake here."
"How? Is Enjolras in danger?"
"He will be," said Felix. "He means to track down the bandits who attacked the merchants."
"He's going to do what?"
"He means to hunt them down and bring them to justice."
"Alone?"
Felix nodded. "Alone."
Grantaire put his tankard down on the table and pushed it away from him. He felt sick. Who knew how many bandits there had been. Twenty? Thirty? And Enjolras meant to hunt them down alone? They'd cut him apart and dance on the pieces.
"He's insane."
Felix grabbed him by the shoulder and forced Grantaire to look at him. Grantaire was too stunned to protest.
"You have to talk him out of it."
"Me? Why me? You should talk him out of it -- you're the holy man. Isn't there some religious reason why he shouldn't do this?"
"He's a baron's son. He has every right to do this. But they'll kill him. You know it as well as I do." Felix sank into the seat across from Grantaire, which wobbled as badly as the table.
"I don't know what to do."
Grantaire was oddly moved by Felix's helplessness. He himself would never have admitted the same to someone who hated him. It was a sign, he realized, that the priest was desperately worried about Enjolras. He would never have turned to Grantaire otherwise.
He wanted to help. But what could he do?
"He won't listen to me," he told Felix. "Why should he?"
Felix frowned. "For some reason I can not fathom, he values your opinion."
"Oh really? More than yours?" He grinned at the icy glare Felix shot him. Even sharing his concern for Enjolras, Grantaire couldn't resist baiting him.
"All right. I'll try to talk him out of it. If he ever shows up. Where the hell is he anyway? Surely he's healed all the sick people in town by now. There aren't that many living here."
The priest's frown deepened. His expression was distant, thoughtful. Grantaire wondered if Enjolras's strange abilities disturbed Felix as much as they did him. What was a priest supposed to think of such things? He wasn't about to ask. The waitress came by, and Grantaire waved her away. He'd had enough ale.
"I don't know where he's gone. The priest at the church here told him of some sick children on the other side of town. I went to look for him there, but he'd already gone on to someone else."
"Well, we'll just have to wait for him. He has to show up here eventually. It's the only place in town where he can stay."
They waited there for hours, neither one saying a word. It wasn't awkward, this silence between them. They both understood Enjolras was the only thing uniting them. Beyond that, they had nothing to say to each other. Felix ordered some stew, which he ate without appetite. Grantaire watched the inn's few customers come and go, growing more impatient every time the door opened and Enjolras wasn't the cause.
"Damn it, Felix, where is he? Maybe we should go look for him." Grantaire started to get up, determined to follow his own suggestion. Anything was better than sitting here.
He'd barely taken a step when Enjolras appeared at the door. Felix gasped and lurched to his feet. His belly hit the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Grantaire rubbed his eyes and stared at Enjolras. It was almost like looking at a phantom, a shadow of the man Enjolras had been. He was horribly pale, with dark shadows under his eyes that made their blue light seem like the bright and impossible energy animating an otherwise lifeless corpse. He trembled, as if standing upright took enormous effort.
"Have mercy," Felix muttered. He shuffled over to Enjolras and put his arms around the younger man, as if to hold him up. Shamed into action, Grantaire hastened to the knight's other side.
Enjolras leaned on them heavily as they helped him to a chair. Grantaire righted the table and ordered wine from the waitress. When it came he had to help Enjolras place his hands around the cup. He seemed to have forgotten how.
"What happened to you?" asked Felix as Enjolras took a shaky sip of the red wine. Grantaire hoped it was better than the ale.
Enjolras smiled at Felix, perhaps touched by the priest's concern. "It is nothing. I am merely tired."
"Tired?" Grantaire shook his head in disbelief. "You look like hell. How many people have you healed today?"
The time it took Enjolras to consider this made Grantaire nervous. "Fourteen," he said at last. "But I was not able to help all of them."
He looked at Grantaire sadly. "I could not save the girl. She was very ill."
Grantaire remembered the look of pain in the father's eyes. He remembered how rudely he'd dismissed the man, and he felt sick.
Felix shook his head in bewilderment. "Fourteen people. Enjolras, has it never occurred to you there might be some limit to these miraculous abilities of yours? You shouldn't push yourself so hard."
"He's right," said Grantaire, agreeing with Felix before he could stop himself. "You didn't have to heal them all today."
Enjolras stifled a yawn. "It had not occurred to me," he admitted. "In truth, I could not tell how badly the people needed my assistance until I reached them. I could not in good conscience allow them to suffer another day."
He yawned again, this time failing to hide it. "I am weary," he said needlessly. "I am afraid I must bid you both good night and farewell. I shall be leaving in the morning."
Someone kicked Grantaire under the table (he didn't need to guess who). Steeling himself for the impossible task before him, he dared to meet Enjolras's eyes. They regarded him expectantly. Expecting what, he wondered? Gratitude, perhaps, or at least a wish for good luck.
"Felix says you're planning to go after the bandits."
Enjolras nodded somberly. "I am."
Grantaire sighed. He had entertained the wild hope that Enjolras would have changed his mind. He didn't know how he was going to talk him out of this.
"You're crazy, you know. What makes you think you can hunt down thirty or so bandits on your own?"
"The same thing that makes me think I can heal the sick and wounded. It is my duty. As Saint Varden has written, God gives us the strength to do that which must be done."
For a saint, Varden didn't seem very eloquent. Grantaire knew better than to mention that. As far as Enjolras was concerned, the saints could not be wrong. He had to find some other argument -- one that fit in with Enjolras's concept of duty.
It was easy enough to find. Smiling in triumph, he leaned over towards Enjolras, whispering so no one else would hear him. "You told me before it was your duty to become king. You only have three more weeks, you know. How can you expect to do both?"
Enjolras didn't even hesitate. "If I am meant to bring these men to justice, then God will provide a way. If not, I can always turn back."
Grantaire bit his lip in frustration. It wasn't just that Enjolras easily turned back every argument with that strange, mystical logic of his. It was the calm and pleasant way in which he did it that Grantaire found so damn irritating. He glanced at Felix, hoping the priest had an idea, but Felix was looking at him with the same kind of desperation.
The rational part of him wanted to give up. He had always refused to take responsibility for anyone else. Let Enjolras get himself killed. He could make his own decisions. But Grantaire knew he couldn't walk away from this. It was a strange feeling, and one he didn't care for. Always before he'd been able to walk away from anyone or anything. It was a requirement he rehearsed to himself every time he offered anyone the smallest measure of friendship. Any time he wanted to, he could get up and leave, with no guilt, and no looking back. No ties would bind him, never again.
He'd forgotten to make that vow when he met Enjolras. The knight's strange behavior must have unsettled him too much, or maybe it was the gold. However it had happened, Enjolras was part of his life now. He couldn't leave the knight behind any more than his own name. He couldn't let him ride into certain death, not without feeling guilty for the rest of his life.
There was only one thing left to do. He looked sternly at Enjolras, and his tone left no room for argument.
"All right. Hunt down the bandits if you have to. But Felix and I are coming with you."

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