Thief By Knight
CHAPTER FIVE
Pain was the first thing to invade his awareness. It gripped his head with a crushing weight and curled around his spine. He was lying on his back. Grantaire could feel light through his eyelids, which he kept firmly shut. He felt a hard wooden floor beneath him, no doubt the cause of the stiffness in his spine. He'd never learned to like sleeping on the floor. The strangest thing was that the floor seemed to be rocking gently beneath him. He was starting to feel queasy. He was used to waking up with the headaches, but he had never gotten sick -- not since his very first drunk. He groaned in dismay.
"Well, well. It lives."
It didn't take Grantaire long to place the mocking voice. "Felix," he mumbled. "What the hell are you doing in here?" He promised himself to have a talk with the inn-keeper. For what they charged for these flea-infested rooms, a man ought to be able to sleep on his floor in peace.
"Grantaire." He was surprised to recognize Enjolras's voice. He assumed the knight would be more polite than to barge into a man's room uninvited. He felt arms tugging at him, helping him to his feet. He tried to resist, but they were determined. They lifted him up and sat him down on something as hard as the floor had been. He had to be dreaming, but he thought he heard a horse whinny.
"Grantaire, open your eyes." The knight's voice was kind, soothing. "Do you know where you are?"
Without thinking, he obeyed. The sun was high and bright, stabbing at his eyes. He groaned again and hid his face in his hands.
"I'm in hell."
Felix snorted disdainfully. "Not yet."
"Felix, I would appreciate it if you would go stand with Ganelon. He's nervous and might kick someone."
Grantaire grinned. It sounded to him like Enjolras wanted the horse to kick Felix. He certainly wouldn't have minded seeing that. He felt the vibrations in the floor as the priest stomped off before Enjolras spoke again.
"You are on a ferry, Grantaire." Enjolras was talking to him slowly, as if he were a child. "We're crossing the Ducheyen River."
The last thing Grantaire remembered was making Enjolras agree to take him and Felix along on his little expedition. Why had he done that? He couldn't remember. It must have seemed like a good idea at the time. He did remember where they were going. They were supposed to hunt down a bunch of bandits.
"I've gone insane." He rubbed at his eyes with his hands, but it only made the pain worse. He heard the horse whinny again, and realized Enjolras must have brought his stallion along.
"Grantaire, look at me." Enjolras spoke in a firm, demanding tone Grantaire hadn't heard since he'd been a small child and his mother had been angry with him. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't resist it. He opened his eyes a little and looked up. The light wasn't quite as painful now. Enjolras sat before him on a wooden crate. Behind the knight, Grantaire could see the gray and white stallion toss its head fitfully as the ferry men scurried around him, securing goods to the deck with strong rope. Felix stood far away from the horse, and even from a distance Grantaire could tell he was scowling. They seemed to be the only passengers.
"Grantaire, I do not like to lecture," said Enjolras.
Grantaire stared at him, incredulous. Was he kidding? But no, Enjolras never joked. He really seemed to believe what he was saying.
"But I am afraid I must. You drank so much last night that Felix and I could not wake you this morning. I had to carry you from your room and onto this ferry."
Enjolras regarded him sternly. Grantaire guessed he was supposed to be shamed by this information. But he wasn't, and he was too tired to fake it. He just nodded and waited for Enjolras to get on with it.
The knight frowned, apparently disappointed by his lack of reaction. "Grantaire, have you never read the words of Saint Anselm? Drinking to excess is a sin. It robs a man of clear thought and ambition, leading to sloth and decay. You are living proof of that. As you yourself have pointed out how difficult it will be to hunt down these bandits, I would think that you would want to be sober and alert."
"I was already drunk before you told me about the bandits."
Grantaire thought it was a good defense, but Enjolras did not appear amused. He shook his head in dismay. "Grantaire, we have a difficult task ahead of us. I must ask that you not drink again until it is finished."
"So, you're telling me that unless I give up drinking, I'm not fit to join you on this hopeless quest of yours?"
"Our quest is not hopeless, Grantaire. Otherwise, what you say is true."
Grantaire didn't want to hunt to the bandits -- far from it. But after watching Enjolras keep his promises to everyone else, he wasn't about to let him back out on their deal.
"You're forgetting one thing," he said. "When you accepted my help last night, you didn't name any conditions. Don't you think it's a little late now?"
He watched the knight's face smugly, expecting some sign of surrender. Enjolras only frowned and shook his head.
"No, Grantaire. I do not. You agreed that I would be in charge of this expedition. I believe your exact words were, "I'm only coming along to watch your back." I don't think I need to repeat the adjectives. In fact, much of what you said didn't make a great deal of sense. But I do recall your last words -- "the decisions are all yours." I assumed that included decisions regarding the conduct of those in my command."
"You assumed a hell of a lot."
"Perhaps so. But I will not change my mind."
Grantaire wanted to laugh, but his head still hurt too much. "I can't believe this. I'm only doing this to help you. You already paid me enough for the tavern. What's to stop me from getting up and walking away right now?"
"You gave your word, Grantaire."
He did laugh then. He couldn't help it. "And if I told you it didn't mean anything to me?"
Enjolras frowned. "It means a great deal to me. As Saint Varden has written, a man's word of honor is the key to his soul."
Grantaire was getting tired of Saint Varden's words being thrown at him. The man had been dead for nearly a century, and he was still lecturing people through Enjolras. Now that was a miracle Grantaire could do without.
"Key to my soul, eh? I could still leave, you know. If I want to be damned to hell, I figure that's my business."
Enjolras was shaking his head again. "I couldn't let you do that, Grantaire. For your own good, I would have to track you down and see to it that you kept your word."
"Are you telling me you'd make me your prisoner?"
"It's for your own good, Grantaire. You did agree to help me find the bandits and bring them to justice. I must insist that you do so."
Grantaire knew he should have stayed away from the knight. He was better off with his own kind. Thieves might rob him, betray him, and even stab him in the back. But they wouldn't take him prisoner for his own good and preach at him while they were at it. Only a nobleman could get away with that kind of insanity.
"Fine. I surrender. I'll keep my word and help you find the damn bandits. Just promise me you won't tie me up. I don't want to be completely helpless when they slaughter us."
"Grantaire, you really must have more faith. I would never tie you up. Not unless it were absolutely necessary. And certainly not on a ferry -- you might drown."
"Thank you, Enjolras. That's very reassuring."
"You're welcome. Now, why don't you settle down and nap while we cross the river? We have a long trip ahead of us."
Grantaire sighed as he closed his eyes. He hoped the knight was wrong, and they found the bandits quickly. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
***
They spent the rest of the afternoon riding north along the banks of the Ducheyen River. Periodically, Enjolras would climb down from his big stallion to examine any tracks he found. Every time he did this, Grantaire would find Ganelon's reins thrust into his unwilling hands. He supposed he should have been flattered. The horse meant a lot to Enjolras, and he instinctively trusted him to Grantaire even though he had known Felix longer. But all Grantaire could think about was how big Ganelon's teeth were, and how a bite from the big stallion would hurt much worse than anything his mare could deliver.
For what must have been the hundredth time, Grantaire watched Enjolras get to his feet and brush soil from the knees of his fine wool trousers. He happily handed back the reins as soon as Enjolras had remounted.
"Someone crossed the river here," Enjolras informed them. "But I can find no tracks that speak of a large group of men, mounted or otherwise."
Grantaire sighed. It was the same story Enjolras had been telling them all day. Scores of people had traveled beside the Ducheyen, but not they ones they were looking for.
"The outlaws might not have come this way," said Felix. "Maybe we should turn back?"
Grantaire looked at the priest, who was nervously twining his gelding's reins around the palm of his hand. This was the third time in the past hour that Felix had suggested turning around. Grantaire had the feeling he was more worried about finding the bandits than he was about missing them.
Seemingly oblivious of Felix's cowardly nature, Enjolras considered his suggestion. "You could be right, Felix. But I'm not ready to abandon this course. At least not for two or three more days. After that, if we find no sign of the bandits, we can search along the river South of San Genevieve."
Grantaire didn't like what he was hearing. He watched Enjolras turn Ganelon away from the river seemingly without any signal. As soon as the pair started ambling north, Felix's docile gelding followed. Grantaire kicked his mare. Her ears flickered slightly, but she continued munching on the lush grass growing along the river. He kicked her again. This time she turned her head around, her teeth snapping on empty air as Grantaire deftly pulled his foot out of reach.
"I'm too quick for that," he told her. "Now get moving. I want to catch up to Enjolras."
Prepared to dodge her teeth, he kicked her again. This time, the mare started moving. She trotted, an uncomfortable, bouncy gait, until they caught up to the big stallion.
"Enjolras, let me remind you of something." Grantaire spoke quickly, anxious to get his words out before Enjolras could start lecturing him about his poor horsemanship.
"We have a very important schedule to keep. You have less than two months to get to San Sebastien, or the Archbishop will name someone else king. Are you sure you want to spend a week riding up and down this river?"
Enjolras nodded. "I am aware of the risks, Grantaire. But I am a knight, and the son of a baron. It is my duty to protect the common folk. These bandits have preyed upon innocent people, and I intend to bring them to justice."
"Even if it means losing your chance to become king?"
"He has a point, Enjolras." Felix called out from behind them. "I hate to agree with the thief. But the people will suffer more from a bad king than they ever will from these bandits."
Enjolras twisted around in the saddle to look at Felix and Grantaire. "I appreciate your concern. But I am very much aware of my obligations, and I must ask you to trust my judgment in this. And Felix, please stop calling Grantaire a thief. He has left that in his past, and it is unworthy of you to remind him of it."
Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire saw Felix blush in embarrassment. He smiled to himself, but controlled the impulse to gloat. Enjolras would only have lectured him for it. He decided to indulge his curiosity instead.
"So Enjolras, tell me something. Does your father the baron know about these miraculous abilities of yours?"
Grantaire tried to catch Enjolras's eyes as he turned around in the saddle. The knight avoided his gaze.
"No, Grantaire. My family is unaware of my abilities. I spoke to my parents only of the dream which sent me to Abbot Ryere. Even they were reluctant to believe I spoke the truth."
"Really?" Grantaire was honestly surprised. He couldn't imagine that anyone who knew Enjolras well would ever suspect him of lying.
"You must understand, Grantaire -- my father raised me to be a knight. My family had expectations of me that did not involve my running off to a monastery to study the scriptures."
"So why did they let you go?"
"They did not."
"What?" Grantaire pulled on the reins, dragging his mare to a sudden halt which she protested with a violent shake of her head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He sat there, staring at Enjolras until the knight turned around and faced him.
"My father forbade me to leave Grantaire. I left home against his wishes."
Grantaire looked at Felix. From the wide-eyed expression on his face, he guessed the priest hadn't known about this either.
"You mean, you just took off?"
Enjolras nodded stiffly, but the look in his blue eyes was sorrowful. "I had no choice, Grantaire. My dreams were sent from God, asking me to leave home and undertake this spiritual journey. At the time, I did not understand the reasons for it. I believed I was meant to seek only knowledge, and I would be able to return to my family before long.
"I was wrong. But even if I had known how drastically my life was about to change, I would not have altered my decision. I could not disobey God. And so I was forced to disobey my father."
"Why did you never mention this? Did Abbot Ryere know you came to him without your father's blessing?"
Grantaire could understand the note of reproach in Felix's question. Most barons would not think twice about using force to reclaim their runaway sons. Enjolras had put the entire monastery in danger when he took shelter from them.
"Yes, Felix. I did not speak of the matter to you, or to the other priests. Please understand, I felt very ashamed for the way I left things with my family. I still do. I lied to my father; he forbade my leaving, and I promised to obey him. Instead I sneaked off without saying a word to him or to the rest of the family. They must hate me for what I've done."
"But there was no danger to the monastery. I told my father only of my belief that I must study the word of God. I never mentioned the abbot's name. Even if I had, my father is a good man. He would never use violence against an innocent man, especially a priest."
"I'm sorry, Enjolras. I should have realized you would never have placed the abbot in danger. Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive, Felix."
Grantaire was having a hard time digesting Enjolras's confession. He just couldn't imagine him lying to his family. Even Grantaire had never lied to his own mother. But then, Enjolras claimed to be acting on a higher authority. Grantaire couldn't imagine it. Good and bad, all his choices in life had been his own. He'd never been forced into anything. Even now, he was here of his own free will, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Enjolras had already lived the kind of life Grantaire could only dream of -- a home, family, wealth, the respect of everyone around him. He'd walked away from it all to do what he felt was necessary. Grantaire didn't think he could be so strong.
They rode without speaking for a long time. Felix seemed lost in thought (about what, Grantaire had no idea). The reason for Enjolras's troubled silence wasn't hard to guess. Grantaire felt a little guilty. He was only curious when he'd asked Enjolras about his family. He hadn't meant to dredge up unpleasant memories.
Grantaire was relieved when they finally ran across another person. The shepherd boy lay on the ground beside his black and white collie, rubbing the dog's ears and staring up at the clouds. Grantaire doubted very much that the boy would know anything about the bandits, but it couldn't hurt to ask. He pointed him out to Enjolras.
"Why don't you ask him about the bandits? He's bound to know something."
Enjolras raised his hand to shade his eyes against the afternoon sun and peered in the direction Grantaire was pointing. He frowned.
"He's just a child."
"Children see a great deal," Felix declared sagely. "Don't worry, Enjolras. We can't endanger the boy by speaking to him."
The shepherd got to his feet and watched them as they rode up. He was a tall, skinny child, not more than twelve, with red hair and a nose sprinkled with freckles. He kept one hand on the head of his dog, as if for reassurance. The dog, a pretty animal with thick black and white fur, watched them without concern, wagging its bushy tail.
"Good afternoon, son," said Enjolras.
The boy tugged at a forelock. "Good afternoon, sir."
"I am Sir Enjolras. My companions here are Grantaire and Father Felix."
The boy nodded. "I'm Denys. Can I help you, my lords?"
"Perhaps you can, Denys. A few days ago we came across some good merchants who were robbed by bandits. There were twenty or thirty of them, all with swords and horses. We'd like to find these bandits."
"You mean to kill them?"
"We will bring them to justice, yes."
The boy nodded in approval. "Them are bad men, my lord. They burned my aunt's village. I've heard tell their leader is the devil himself, with glowing eyes and a sword of fire."
Grantaire rolled his eyes. He'd never understand why peasants had to turn these cut-throats into supernatural forces of evil. Wasn't being preyed upon by simple thugs bad enough?
"I don't supposed you've heard tell where they might be now?" Enjolras frowned at him for the interruption, but Grantaire ignored him. Someone had to take control of this discussion before a certain miracle worker starting believing this prince of evil shit. He was already obsessed with hunting down simple bandits. His enthusiasm at destroying pure evil was bound to get out of hand.
Denys studied Grantaire, his scowl betraying disappointment at having to talk to the only adult here who didn't come with a title.
"No, sir. They hit Vallon -- that's my aunt's village -- three weeks ago. Before they robbed your merchants. Haven't heard nothing since."
"Then they haven't come this way?"
The boy shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. But I couldn't say for sure."
"I believe," said Enjolras, "the bandits must have gone south. Felix was correct. We should turn around."
"Wait a minute." They were going to have to turn around. But Grantaire wasn't prepared to run off in another random direction. Not when they had Denys at hand."
"Denys, where is your aunt's village?"
"Where was it, you mean. It was Vallon. Just south of Mortain, close by the Assebroek River. 'Bout a day's ride from here, I'd say. You won't find anyone there. All the people ran off. Except Grandfather."
Enjolras looked down at the kid in horror. "Your grandfather stayed in a burned-out village all by himself? Did the others abandon him?"
"No, no. He's not my grandfather. His name's Karsi. But everyone calls him grandfather because he's so old, and he always gives good advice. He knows how to read signs, and tell the future."
"Guess he forgot to warn everyone about the bandits." Grantaire couldn't resist the gibe, though both Enjolras and Denys glared at him for it. He had never believed in fortune tellers. That sort of nonsense was for people who were so afraid of life they'd take anything, even lies from a stranger, to make them feel more secure.
"Grandfather's a good man," Denys insisted. "He tells people true things, things that help them. But he likes living by himself. He has a little hut; been there for years. He wouldn't leave, not even after the village was gone. But he'll be all right. People come to him from miles around, and they always bring him food and gifts."
"And information I'll bet." Grantaire ignored the kid and directed his comment to Enjolras. "If the bandits have attacked anyone around here recently, this old guy will probably know about it."
"We will seek him out. Denys, you have been very helpful. You have my gratitude." Enjolras fished into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, silver coin. He tossed it to Denys, who caught it neatly.
"Thank you, my lord."
"May God protect you, son." They turned their horses east, toward Mortain, and rode off. Looking back, Grantaire had to laugh at the look of awe in the shepherd's eyes as he watched them ride away.
"Tell me, Enjolras. Have you ever met anyone you didn't give coins to?"
"It was little enough thanks, Grantaire. The boy was very helpful."
"You're not answering the question. Really, Enjolras. Do you have an endless money pouch or what?"
"Really, Grantaire. That would be impossible."
"So is practically everything else you do."
Enjolras cocked his head, giving Grantaire a quizzical look. "You have a curious sense of humor, my friend. Come, let us find Grandfather Karsi."
***
Late the next day, they came across the place where Grandfather Karsi lived. Hut was a kind way to describe it. It was really nothing more than a patched together dome of mud and straw. Grantaire had seen bigger privies. A thread of smoke escaped through a small hole in the roof and lost itself in the breeze.
"Looks like the old man is home."
Nodding, Enjolras slipped down from the saddle and looped Ganelon's reins around the branch of a small ash tree. "Leave your weapons here. I don't want to frighten him."
Grantaire shrugged as he slipped his knives into the mare's pouch. "If this guy is willing to live out here by himself after the neighboring village has been burned out, I doubt he's frightened by very much."
"Perhaps," said Felix. "But then he hasn't met you yet."
Before Grantaire could answer the priest's taunt, Enjolras turned to him with a stern frown. "That's enough, Felix! Please get some biscuits from the saddle bags. I would like to offer this man some food."
"Why don't you just throw coins at him? You do it to everyone else."
"Grantaire, you exaggerate. And from what Denys told us, the man is a hermit. I doubt he has much use for coin."
Felix glared at Grantaire as he shuffled up to them with a sack of biscuits in his hand. "Coins would only tempt thieves and scoundrels. He is better off without them."
Grantaire decided to ignore the implied insult. He stepped up behind Enjolras. A crude knocker made of straw and mud had been woven into the thatch door. Enjolras lifted it and let it fall. It made a soft, rustling noise, barely audible above the breeze.
"Looks like the old hermit has a queer sense of humor."
"Perhaps. But we will not demean his home by barging in." Enjolras leaned closer to the door. "Hello, Grandfather Karsi. Are you home?"
Grantaire pointed to the smoke still rising from the make-shift chimney. "If he's not, somebody should go in and put out the fire before this hut joins the rest of the village."
Enjolras waited a few moments. Behind them, Felix put the sack of biscuits on the ground. There was still no sound besides the wind.
"Grandfather Karsi," Enjolras shouted. Just as he did so, the door swung open.
A very old man stood before them. He was almost Grantaire's height, yet he seemed like a dwarf next to the towering form of Enjolras. His brown robes hung on his skinny frame like rags on a scarecrow, and deep wrinkles lined his face. Gray hair choked with brambles spilled down past his shoulders like the mane of a wild horse. His long fingers gripped the door with obvious strength, and his brown eyes flashed as he scowled up at Enjolras.
"I can hear you just fine, son. There's no need to shout."
Completely taken off guard, Enjolras took a step back, nearly bumping into Grantaire. "I apologize, sir. I thought -- "
"Hmph. You didn't think at all. You were just getting impatient. An old man doesn't answer his door fast enough for you. Well, come on in then. You're letting in all the cold air."
With surprising speed, the old man turned around and disappeared into the dark hut. They followed him. Enjolras forced to duck under the make shift door. Felix came last and carefully shut it behind them.
The air inside the hut was thick, despite the smoke hole carved above the fire. Grantaire wiped his tearing eyes and looked around him. The only furniture was a single wooden chair and what looked like a soft, feather mattress. Straw covered the floor, and a tiny, black dog lay sleeping beside the fire. It didn't even flick an ear at their approach.
The old man sank into the chair and waved a hand impatiently at them. "Sit down, sit down. I'll get a stiff neck looking up at you."
No one even considered disobeying him. They all sat down upon the straw floor, which was surprisingly clean and fresh smelling. Felix put the sack of biscuits down beside the bed.
"Forgive us for the intrusion, Grandfather Karsi." Enjolras couldn't quite bow from the floor, but he tried. "I am Sir Enjolras D'Cheval. My companions are Grantaire Matrice and Father Felix Billaud. We were sent to you by a young shepherd named Denys."
Karsi nodded. "Denys is a good boy. What is it you want from me? Did you come to have your fortunes told?"
Grantaire didn't think he made a sound to betray his amusement. But suddenly, the old man's piercing gaze was fixed on him.
"What's this? Don't believe in fortune tellers, do you, young man?"
Everyone stared at him. Grantaire felt like a rabbit, looking up at the talons of a hawk closing fast upon him. He met Karsi's gaze steadily, prepared to condemn his so-called profession, but something about the old man made him reluctant to offend him.
"I've never met an honest one," he said. It was the most neutral response he could think of without telling an outright lie.
Karsi slapped his knee and gave a barking laugh. "You've got a quick wit, son. I like that."
The old man leaned over in his chair so that his eyes were just inches from Grantaire's. Then he pointed at Enjolras. "But tell me this. How can you travel with this one and still not believe?"
They stared at Karsi in amazement. Had news of Enjolras's miracles spread so far? The merchants were still back in San Genevieve.
"Who told you about him?" Grantaire asked.
Karsi chuckled. "I never heard the name until you knocked on my door. But I know a man of power when I see one. And I'm not talking about your title, Sir Enjolras D'Cheval."
Grantaire didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Enjolras tossing around miracles the way he did coins was bad enough. He could be trusted. But this Karsi was another matter. Grantaire wasn't naive enough to think the man harmless just because he was old.
"This is a mistake, Enjolras. We shouldn't have come here."
Karsi raised his bushy eyebrows. "But you are here now. Would you disturb an old man's rest for no good reason?"
"Grantaire, don't be rude. We have no cause to mistrust this old man."
"We've no cause to trust him either."
"Forgive him, grandfather. He is a thief and a scoundrel, and he expects the same qualities from everyone else."
"Felix!"
"Enough of this!" Karsi's deep voice rose with unexpected strength. "I will not have you bickering in my home. I would have expected better from you, priest. Your past mistakes have made you bitter. And you, Grantaire, take care lest your suspicious nature lead to your downfall."
Karsi turned to Enjolras, and his angry scowl softened into a kind smile. "You have chosen a difficult path, and difficult companions to travel it with. I fear your sacrifices are not over, Enjolras. Tell me, what can an old man do to help you?"
Enjolras told him about the bandits, and the news they'd heard from Denys. "Please, sir. These are wicked men, and I am pledged to bring them to justice. Can you help us?"
Karsi gave a weary sigh. "I am not sure I should help you in this. These bandits may be more than even you can handle."
"I am prepared to take the risk."
"And what of Cambrai? She needs her king."
"She will have one."
Grantaire watched Enjolras and Karsi as they locked gazes. He wished Enjolras would back down for once. Though common sense told him he was being foolish, he couldn't help wondering if Karsi really knew something. It was certainly no stretch of the imagination to think that hunting the bandits would be disastrous for them.
"Very well," the old man said at last. "You have your own destiny, and you must follow it. No matter what it costs you. Go to Mortain. You will find what you seek there."
Enjolras got to his feet and shook the old man's hand. "Thank you, Grandfather."
Karsi snorted. "You thank me now. But I fear you may curse me in the end. I have done you no great kindness today."
"Wait a minute!" Grantaire leaped to his feet. "What's going on here? Why should we go to Mortain? Are the bandits there? What are we supposed to be looking for?"
Enjolras took Grantaire's arm. "Come, Grantaire. We have disturbed this good man enough."
"We've disturbed him? Let me go, Enjolras. I want some answers!"
Grandfather Karsi smirked at him. "Are you sure of that?"
"Yes, damn it!"
Enjolras only gripped his arm tighter and dragged him to the door. "Grantaire, trust me in this. Karsi has helped us all he can. We must be going."
Grantaire tried to resist. But Enjolras was strong, and he soon found himself standing outside. Felix followed without comment and shut the door behind them.
"What are you doing, Enjolras? That old man is some kind of lunatic. Why are you so ready to believe him?"
Enjolras grabbed him by the shoulders. Grantaire found himself staring into a pair of steely blue eyes.
"Grantaire, do you trust me?"
There was only one answer to that question. "Yes. Of course I do."
"Then come with me to Mortain."
"All right. All right." Grantaire jerked free of Enjolras's grip. "I just hope we don't all end up regretting this.
***
It took them the rest of that day and most of the next to reach Mortain, a small town just inside the border to Essai. Grantaire still wasn't sure he trusted Grandfather Karsi, but it was as likely a place as any to find news of the bandits. Though he'd never admit it to Enjolras, he'd be just as happy if the old man was wrong and they never caught up to their quarry. It wasn't until the town was in view that Enjolras divulged his plan for finding that news. Despite his promises, Grantaire had to protest.
"Let me make sure I understand you." He yanked his fingers aside just in time to dodge the mare's attempt to bite him. "You want all three of us to march into town and start poking around for news of the bandits."
"Yes, Grantaire."
"Enjolras, don't you think that's a little dangerous? We're not exactly your typical group of traveling merchants. People are going to notice us, no matter how much we try to blend in. We need to be a little more subtle."
Troubled, Enjolras frowned. Absently he stroked the muzzle of his stallion, as if seeking comfort. It occurred to Grantaire then what an impossible thing he was asking. Enjolras be subtle? Never.
Unexpectedly, Felix came to his aid. He stepped up to Enjolras and touched him lightly on the shoulder. He offered him a kind smile.
"Enjolras, if I might make a suggestion?"
"Of course, Felix."
Felix looked at Grantaire, who nodded. He wasn't quite sure what Felix was going to suggest. But anything that could talk Enjolras out of his present course of action was okay with him.
"Perhaps we should divide our efforts. Of the three of us, Grantaire is the most adept at gathering information. Let him mingle with the townsfolk and see what he can learn. You and I can visit the local priest."
Grantaire caught Felix's eye and smiled. It seemed the priest had a few lessons he could teach on how to manipulate honor-bound knights.
"It's a good idea," he said before Enjolras could ask him. "The day is already half over. We'll waste less time this way." With relief he tossed his mare's reins at Enjolras, who caught them even as he stared at Grantaire in surprise.
"Leave a message for me at the stables so I know where to meet you."
"We'll do that," said Felix.
Grantaire hid a smile as he walked away. Letting Enjolras make all the decisions might not be so bad, he realized. After all, he only had to think he was making the decisions.
Support from Felix had come as a surprise, though. The priest had consistently disapproved of everything Grantaire said and did. Grantaire felt pretty much the same about him. But they could put their feelings aside for Enjolras's sake -- they had just proven that. God knew it was going to take the both of them to keep the knight out of trouble. His trusting nature was going to get him killed otherwise.
Grantaire found the local tavern without even trying. Maybe it was the scent that drew him -- he could smell the sweet aroma of wine and ale before he even opened the doors. He licked his lips, already thirsty. He had deprived himself for too long.
He found an empty table in a corner and settled down at it, his back to the wall. Leaning back in the chair, his eyes half-closed, he breathed in the familiar scent of stale pipe tobacco and unwashed bodies. Grantaire heaved a sigh of contentment. Ever since he'd been old enough to make enemies, it was only in places like these he really felt at ease.
He caught the scent of roses and opened his eyes to see a waitress smiling at him. Dark hair hung heavy down her shoulders and spilled into her ample cleavage. He smiled. She smiled back. Full, red lips, white teeth and sparkling eyes like moonlight on the water. No matter that she was paid to be friendly. It was still a little bit of heaven.
"Hungry, handsome? We've got some pretty good rabbit stew. There's even a bit of rabbit in it."
Grantaire rejected the food and ordered an ale. He admired the gentle swing of her hips as she walked away, then turned his attention to the others in the tavern. A few older men sat hunched over the bar as if they had sprouted there and grown to fit its contours. They wore patched linen, drab and brown, the colors of earth and mud. Probably local farmers. Doubtless they would be full of the rumors Grantaire had already heard. Nearby, a young boy sat drowning himself in ale. His doe-eyed look of grief seemed out of place for one so young. No doubt his girl had left him or rejected him. Either way, he would not be good for much conversation, even if he did know anything useful.
The other customers sat at another corner table, playing cards. Grantaire tossed a coin to the waitress as she brought his ale. He sipped it, judged it a little bitter, and watched the card players. There were five of them. The youngest was a fresh-faced, sandy-haired kid. The oldest, a broad-chested man with a gnarled scar running across his fore-head, looked strangely familiar. Two of the others were muscular giants, the kind any man would want on his side in a brawl. The last one was tall and almost dainty-looking; the delicate, long-fingered hands that held up his cards looked like a woman's. All of them wore leather tunics and heavy cloaks well seasoned by hard travel.
A curious group. Grantaire was here to satisfy his curiosity. He took a healthy swig of ale and left his tankard on the table. The older man was gathering in the pot of coins as he walked over. He looked up at Grantaire warily.
"You want something?"
"Just to join your game, if you'll have me." The older man frowned, and his friends eyed Grantaire suspiciously. With a smile, Grantaire fished a handful of coins from his pocket and held them out for inspection. They were all ducheyen gold, courtesy of Enjolras.
They exchanged glances, a mix of greed and appreciation their eyes. Then the stocky one nodded to the empty table next to them. Grantaire guessed he was the oldest man here -- his dark hair was streaked with gray.
"Pull up a chair."
They made room for him between the two big guys. It was a none too subtle attempt to intimidate him. Grantaire ignored it and smiled broadly as he sat down.
"My name's Grantaire."
The older man stopped in the middle of shuffling cards and stared at him. "Grantaire?" He studied his features closely for a moment. "Well, what do you know. You've changed, kid."
Grantaire took a closer look at the face across the table from him. He didn't recognize him at first. Then his memory conjured up an image from long ago. The town was Mechant, and Grantaire had been fourteen years old. It was the first time he'd gotten caught picking a pocket. He'd never forgotten his terror when that hand suddenly snapped shut around his wrist and dragged him into the alley. That's no way to steal a man's purse, the man had said. If you want to live, you'd better learn how to do it right.
"Jarle?" Grantaire couldn't believe his luck. He and Jarle had stayed together for almost two years, and they'd parted on good terms.
"Glad you remember me. My friends, meet Grantaire -- the first person I ever taught to be a proper thief." Jarle introduced the others. The kid was Soren. The dandy called himself Reine. The two giants beside Grantaire were brothers -- Louis and Renaud.
"You're looking good, Jarle," he lied. Jarle only had six years on him, but the lines on his face and the gray in his hair made him look a decade older.
Jarle smiled. "I've been living right. What have you been doing all these years, kid?"
"I've been getting by. It's like you always told me, Jarle -- the big score is always just out of reach."
"Maybe not always."
Grantaire met Jarle's gaze, hoping he would explain his enigmatic remark. Jarle grinned at him, enjoying his curiosity.
"Come on Jarle," Louis said. "Deal the cards."
Still grinning, Jarle dropped his gaze to the deck in his hands and shuffled it. He handed it over to Grantaire to cut.
Grantaire tapped the top of the deck with a finger. "Deal. I trust you."
Jarle didn't comment. He picked up the deck and dealt out the hands, his nimble fingers flinging the cards across the table without a single one turning over. Grantaire began to wonder if Jarle had really changed that much -- his skill at cards had always been impressive.
Grantaire was very careful with his card playing. He kept his bets small and made sure he lost them. He wanted to put them at ease, and he could afford the loss. But he wasn't extravagant. Enjolras might not approve of his method of research, and he didn't want to throw away too much on expenses that wouldn't be reimbursed. After all, he still had a tavern to buy.
He studied the pots as they swept buy him. The coins tossed onto the table were ducheyen gold, lierre bronze, essai silver. Coins from all over Cambrai were lost and won with the fall of the cards. It was a mixture to be expected of merchants, perhaps. But these rough men were not merchants. All of them, even the dainty Reine had calluses on their palms; the kind born not of hard work, but of long years of living with a blade in hand. The combination left only two possibilities -- they were either mercenaries or bandits. Grantaire was pleased to have found his target so soon, but part of him was disappointed. The Jarle he'd known had never been one to run with thugs, and he'd always drawn the line at murder. Had the years changed him so much?
Grantaire tried not to let his misgivings distract him. He played cards and waited until the profit they enjoyed and the ale they were sucking down made him seem like an old friend even to the men he'd never met before. He laughed with them, even told a few jokes. He forced a smile when Jarle lit a pipe and covered them all in smoke like a foul-smelling fog.
"You're all right Grantaire," said Renaud. The big brute slapped him playfully on the back. He laughed as Grantaire choked on his ale, then leaned over to rake in the pot. It was his first big take -- Renaud was a lousy card player. The three queens he'd held seemed to wink at them from the table, as if to remind them all that even a fool could get lucky.
Grantaire chuckled. "Thanks a lot, Renaud. Maybe, since you boys are taking all my money, you could do me a favor?"
He pretended to look sadly at the pile of coins disappearing into Renaud's lap, but he kept an eye out for their reactions. The others seemed oblivious, but he caught the look of suspicion passing between Jarle and Reine. He'd have to be careful. Old friendships only counted for so much.
"What kind of favor?" asked Jarle.
He gave the older man a guileless smile. "I need money. The coins I lost tonight were all I had."
He looked away, trying to appear embarrassed as they digested that lie. "I've got a job. But the guy I'm working for thinks I'm not fit to do much more than lick his boots."
"And you're hoping we could turn you on to something better?" This comment came from Reine. His voice was soft and pleasant, reminding Grantaire of a minstrel he'd met once.
"Can you?" He looked at Jarle when he asked, trying to look hopeful. He'd guessed his old friend was in charge here. Jarle was the kind of men others looked up to. That made him the only one Grantaire really needed to convince.
"Maybe." Jarle puffed his pipe, his shrewd eyes measuring as they studied Grantaire. "You still light on your feet?"
"Light as ever. I've learned a few things since I stopped hanging around with you. I know my way around, and I carry accurate maps of every inch of Cambrai." This was an exaggeration, but not much of one. "I hired myself out as a guide."
Jarle shrugged. "A guide, huh? Funny, the Grantaire I used to know would never work for anybody. I think maybe you sold out. Maybe you lost your edge."
Grantaire had been prepared for resistance. They would be fools to welcome him with open arms without giving it a deal of thought. Grantaire knew Jarle wasn't a fool. He met the older man's eyes steadily. If he wanted to impress, it was time to take a little risk. With barely a glance to betray his intention, he leaned over and snatched Renaud's dagger from his side. Renaud reached for it, dislodging the coins in his lap and sending them tumbling to the floor where they rolled off in a dozen directions. Renaud scrambled after them. Grantaire stood, catching Louis' chair with his foot and sending him crashing to the floor. Reine was standing, drawing his dagger. Grantaire leaped onto the table and kicked him hard in the chest. Reine fell backward, landing on his ass. His dagger flew out of his hand and landed on the floor among Renaud's spinning coins. Grantaire lifted his stolen blade and tossed it. It caught Reine's dagger in the open handle and stopped it in mid spin.
Jarle puffed his pipe. Grantaire smiled. He leaped off the table and sat back in his chair. Renaud was still gathering his coins. The others were getting to their feet. Every eye in the tavern was on them. Grantaire took the single bronze coin still in front of him and rolled it along his knuckles, the picture of calm assurance.
"I haven't lost my edge, Jarle. I've only gotten sharper."
Renaud took his seat, his recovered coins clutched against his chest. Louis frowned at him, and Reine smiled, amused. Grantaire tried to read Jarle's expression. Was that interest he read there, or doubt? He wasn't sure. His old mentor had never been easy to read.
Jarle broke the silence. "What the hell. You were worth it the last time I helped you out. We might know someone who could use you." Jarle smiled and blew rings of smoke up towards the ceiling, where they slowly stretched apart and floated up to join the waiting cobwebs. "Maybe we could arrange an introduction. See if he likes you. If he doesn't.. Well, if he doesn't like you, you might wish you'd never sat down to play cards with us."
Grantaire's answering grin was cocky. "And suppose I don't like him?"
He caught Reine's frown. The others shifted nervously. Jarle chuckled. He started to answer Grantaire, but his attention shifted. He frowned at something over Grantaire's shoulder. Grantaire turned to see Felix standing there. The fat priest was wringing his hands in obvious distress.
"What the hell do you want, priest?" Jarle demanded. "The church is down the road a ways."
Felix ignored him. "Grantaire, you have to come quickly. Enjolras needs you."
"Damn." Grantaire's irritation was half real, half for the benefit of his audience. He couldn't show it, but Felix's nervousness was affecting him. What the hell kind of trouble had Enjolras gotten into now? He scowled at Felix and turned back to Jarle.
"Meet my employer," he said bitterly. "Never work for a priest, my friend. Especially the old ones. They can't move quick enough to fend for themselves. Guess I gotta go take care of him -- for now at least. But the sooner I can meet this boss of yours, the better."
Jarle chuckled. "You'll hear from us," he promised.
They didn't know where he'd be staying. For that matter, Grantaire didn't know. But as long as he was with Enjolras he should be easy enough to find. He nodded at Jarle and left, leaving Felix to shuffle along behind him.
As soon as the door swung closed behind them, Grantaire rounded on Felix. "This had better be good. Don't you realize who I was talking to in there?"
Felix backed away from him. "I'm sorry," he muttered, much to Grantaire's surprise. "But Enjolras ... I couldn't get to him. There were too many people."
Felix was trembling and wringing his hands again. Grantaire forgot his anger over the ill-timed interruption. He was getting worried now. He took a deep breath, trying to be calm.
"Too many people where, Felix?" He tried to sound patient and reassuring. It wasn't easy, not when he really wanted to grab the priest by the shoulders and shake the information out of him.
"The bazaar," said Felix. "A man was stabbed, so Enjolras healed him. Right there. I was at another stall. By the time I realized what was happening, there were so many people around Enjolras, I couldn't get near him."
Grantaire rolled his eyes in disgust. "I warned him about this, didn't I? He could have at least dragged the poor fool somewhere else and healed him in private. But no, not Enjolras. He's got to make a scene. I say we should just let him get himself out of this mess."
He started to turn away, thinking to go back inside the tavern. It wouldn't hurt to hang out with the bandits a little longer and pretend he enjoyed their company. Felix grabbed his arm. The priest's grip was surprisingly strong, almost painful.
"No, damn it." He jerked his arm out of Felix's grasp. "I'm not helping him this time."
"Grantaire, you don't understand." Felix's voice took on that whining tone Grantaire so despised.
"Don't understand what? I was hired to be a guide Felix. A guide. Do you know what guides do? Well, I'll tell you what they don't do. They don't baby-sit down-and-out merchants. They don't chase down bandits. And they don't charge into a bazaar full of people to rescue crazy knights who ought to have known better than to get themselves into so much trouble in the first place."
"Grantaire, please. I'm worried about Enjolras."
"You ought to be. I really think he's insane."
"Damn it, Grantaire, listen to me!"
He blinked at Felix in surprise. He had never heard a priest curse before. Felix's face was turning red.
"Enjolras didn't stop with healing that one man. Others came to him; I don't know how many. Word spreads fast in a place like this. When I left him, he could barely stand. Grantaire, we have to help him."
They did, Grantaire realized. Because Enjolras wouldn't help himself. He was too damned noble.
"All right, all right. Let's go."
They practically ran to the bazaar. Felix struggled to keep up. By the time they got there, he was wheezing.
Grantaire didn't need the priest to point Enjolras out to him. He was sitting on an overturned crate with scattered feathers clinging to it. He held a small girl in his arms. As they watched, Enjolras released the child to her waiting mother, who kissed his hand in gratitude. Enjolras looked up then, searching the crowd for more needy. Grantaire felt fear twist inside him when he saw the knight's face. His eyes were dull and glazed. He didn't even seem to see the people who surrounded him, reaching up and calling his name.
They had to get to Enjolras and drag him out of there. But how? He wasn't ten yards away, yet a sea of bodies separated them. Most of them didn't even look ill. They were just here to satisfy their curiosity. They'd be content to stand there and watch Enjolras kill himself -- it was just an afternoon's entertainment.
If they wanted to get to Enjolras, they were going to have to distract the crowd with something more interesting than miracles. There was only one thing Grantaire could think of that qualified. Turning around, he grabbed Felix and pulled the priest close to him; he wanted to be sure he could be heard over the excited crowd.
"I have a plan," he said. With a deep sigh of regret, he pulled out the pouch full of ducheyen gold. He started to hand it to Felix, thinking the priest could scatter the coins among the crowd.
Then he realized what he was doing. He'd be throwing away his tavern to this pack of vultures. There had to be a better way.
"Hurry, Grantaire," Felix wheezed. "We have to do something."
"Give me a minute. I'm thinking." There had to be something, besides greed, that would draw those people away from Enjolras.
Grantaire grinned wickedly when the solution came to him. He grabbed Felix by the collar of his robe and pulled him close.
"Felix, I'm going to get these people out of here."
"How?"
"Never mind that. You just get ready to grab Enjolras when they run."
Felix nodded. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Grantaire could see his hands shaking. He hoped the priest was up to this. If his plan worked, all hell was about to break loose.
Grantaire slipped away from the crowd and hopped onto a crate to take a look around. He needed to find a good spot for this, something high up where he couldn't get trampled. There it was -- a cart full of hay leaning against the potter's stall. The front wheel was broken. Its owner must have just gone for help -- a mule was still yoked to the front.
There was no time to waste. Grantaire ran over to the cart and hopped onto it. Turning it head, the mule peeled back its lips and bleated a protest.
"Be quiet, you. I'm not stealing your cart." Grantaire turned to face the crowd and cupped his hands to his lips.
"Bandits! There's bandits heading for town. Run for your lives!"
An old woman standing at the potter's stall shrieked and dropped the bowl she'd been inspecting. It hit the ground and shattered.
"Bandits!" Grantaire's cry spread through the crowd like a plague. Vendors scrambled to pack up their wares while their customers fled in every direction at once. Two men collided in the middle of the bazaar and fell in a flurry of curses. The potato stand toppled, sending its produce rolling among the fleeing shoppers. Grantaire held his breath as a little girl tripped and fell. She lay sobbing, oblivious to the people about to run over her. Just in time, A big man in a baker's apron grabbed her and lifted her onto his shoulders. He ran past Grantaire's perch and out of sight.
The crowd was starting to thin out now. Grantaire looked around, trying to spot Felix or Enjolras. He didn't see them anywhere. What if his brilliant plan had gotten them hurt?
The cart shuddered beneath him. Grantaire turned to see the mule bucking. It lashed out with its hind legs, rocking the cart with a powerful kick. Grantaire lost his balance and tumbled over the edge. He hit the ground, tasting dirt. He pushed himself up, getting a rat's-eye view of feet running past him. One tramped on his fingers. Grantaire yelped. The feet moved on, their owner either unaware or uncaring. Grantaire pulled his throbbing hand to him and scrambled to his feet.
Only a few stragglers remained in the bazaar. Trampled potatoes, broken pottery and various other goods had been scattered about like leaves in a thunderstorm. Grantaire spotted Felix and Enjolras at the edge of the maelstrom, huddled in the dubious safety of an abandoned stall. Relieved, he raced over to them. Felix was shaking Enjolras, who drooped against his shoulder like a plant at the end of a dry summer.
"Enjolras, speak to me. Are you all right?"
The blue eyes slowly turned up to look at them. There was no recognition there, no sign of life really. It was like talking to a rag doll.
Grantaire looked around. The bazaar was empty. They had to get Enjolras out of here before the townspeople figured out they'd been duped.
"Come on Felix, help me get him to his feet."
Enjolras sagged to his knees as they pulled him of the crate. He was heavy, and taller than either Felix or Grantaire. But once they lifted him to his feet he managed a clumsy walk. He seemed to have no sense of direction, and followed their lead blindly.
They wasted no time getting out of the bazaar. Once in the streets, they attracted only curious stares from passersby. Enjolras seemed to be just another drunk, helped along by his comrades. They took him to the closest inn, a tiny shack of a place with four rooms to rent, plus cots in the stables if you didn't mind bedding down with the horses.
Felix heaved a sigh of relief as they dumped the knight into the bed. It was too short for him -- his feet dangled over the edge -- and it creaked under the sudden weight. Grantaire half expected it to come crashing to the floor. But it held up, somehow. Enjolras was oblivious. His eyes closed before Felix had finished checking the bed for lice.
Grantaire leaned over Felix's shoulder as he inspected the sleeping knight. He looked well enough. He was breathing. But Grantaire had heard of people dying in their sleep when they'd looked perfectly healthy. What if Enjolras had really hurt himself?
"Is he going to be all right?"
Felix frowned. "I hope so. It's hard to tell, but I think he's just exhausted. He needs to rest."
Grantaire looked doubtfully at the priest. His thick eyebrows were turned down with worry, and he was wringing his hands again.
"You don't seem too sure of that. How do we know he didn't hurt himself somehow? He was out there trying to heal the whole damn barony."
"I don't know." Felix moved Enjolras's legs over and sat on the corner of the bed, which creaked in protest. He sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
"I don't know. I don't know how he does it, or what it does to him. I don't have his powers. I'm only a priest."
Grantaire looked from the sleeping Enjolras, who seemed oddly contented now, to Felix. The priest's face was lined with anguish. He realized it wasn't just Enjolras's collapse that was upsetting him -- it was the ability that had caused it. Felix was a priest, but Grantaire suspected that, until now, he hadn't believed in miracles.
"You can't deal with this can you?" he said to Felix. "You can't take it that he can work miracles, and you can't."
The priest glared at him. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you're trying to say."
"Sure looks that way from where I'm standing."
Grantaire expected an angry retort from the priest. It occurred to him that he was starting to enjoy provoking Felix. It was a little petty, maybe. But it was fun.
"I'm not jealous," said Felix. He said it quietly, without anger. It seemed the priest lacked either the strength or the inclination for an argument right now. Grantaire hid his disappointment.
"I just don't understand it. He's a knight, a baron's son. When he came to our monastery, Abbot Ryere told us he was a student of God's word. He wanted to become a priest. . I thought he was some spoiled nobleman with delusions of holiness. But then I met him. I knew at once that this was no spoiled nobleman. I don't have to tell you what it's like to look into those eyes and know you can't hide anything from him."
"No," Grantaire agreed, wondering what it was that Felix would want to hide.
"I'm not jealous, Grantaire. Really I'm not. I'm not worthy of the gifts he's been given. And even if I were, I don't think I would want them. Look what they're doing to him. I just wish I could understand. It's been nearly a century since this world has seen anything like him. But Saint Alexandre was..."
"A priest?" Grantaire finished. His mouth twisted in a wry smile as Felix looked up at him.
"I guess working miracles doesn't require any formal training. Look, Felix. I don't know if you can bring yourself to take advice from a thief. But trust me on this -- some things aren't worth trying to understand. It's like trying to figure out why the sun rises in the morning. It's not really important why it happens. But it sure is nice that it does.
"You don't need your abbot to tell you Enjolras is headed for some special destiny. Hell, he wouldn't be Enjolras if he weren't. But be realistic, Felix. The man has no common sense. If he's going to live long enough to be king, he needs us to keep our wits about us. For every saint written down in your books there were a dozen who died before they could do anything special. All because they were too wrapped up in holy wonder to pay attention to the real world."
Felix scowled at him. "You have a very unique perspective."
"Things look different from the gutter." He grinned at Felix, whose eyes flickered in surprise to hear his own words turned against him. If Enjolras had left him in the gutter, as Felix suggested, who would the priest have turned to for help? Grantaire figured he had the right to gloat.
He was about to point out to Felix just how useful a degenerate thief could be when someone knocked on the door. Frowning in irritation, he opened it. A boy stood there. He was even smaller than Claude.
"Are you Grantaire?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Jarle wants you. Right now." The kid turned and ran off, without even waiting for his reply.
Grantaire turned to Felix. "Will you be all right here?"
He nodded. "There's nothing to do but let him rest. We'll be fine here. Just try not to get yourself killed."
"Well okay, Felix. But only for your sake -- I know how upset you'd be if I didn't come back."
The priest didn't answer and Grantaire left, laughing.
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