Chapter Text
The meeting was entering its second hour of silence. Javert sighed, but only inwardly; the first day of his new employment was hardly the time to show signs of insubordination. Still, he found himself to be less taken with the Chief Inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer than he had hoped. The man had been praised by the Paris Prefecture in past years for his diligence, but Javert saw now that their reports failed to mention the degree to which his diligence came at the expense of his efficiency. At the desk across the room, M. Deniaud turned over another leaf of paper and hummed between his teeth. At length he seemed ready to pronounce his verdict, mouth halfway opened and revealing the yellowed teeth of a habitual tobacco chewer; at length, his mouth closed again, with no sound having been emitted.
Javert gritted his teeth.
“Yes,” said Deniaud, solemnly. Like a dog upon the hunt, Javert’s ears pricked forward, straining to receive the command. Agonizing moments more ticked by, marked with resolute finality by the clock upon the wall. “Yes,” the man repeated, “That will do. Sergeant… Jaccoud, was it?”
“Javert.”
“Ah, yes.” Deniaud raised his greying head. “Sergeant Javert, your papers certainly indicate you to be an asset to our ranks here in Montreuil-sur-Mer. However, with this season upon us, I find we are more than usually short of experienced officers who might be tasked with guiding you through your first days here.”
“All due respect, Monsieur, I am a capable enough officer to make my own patrol through the town.”
“That I do not doubt. However, you are not an officer familiar with the others here in Montreuil, nor are they familiar with you. The nights are dark, Sergeant. The days are short and bitter. Some new prosperity may have befallen the town in recent years, but our people are yet to adjust. There is no cause to introduce a further unknown.”
Javert fixed his gaze upon the wall above Deniaud’s head and made no further comment.
“Yes,” repeated the Chief Inspector, looking once more to his papers. “Yes, I believe the best course of action would be to send you to Montfermeil.”
“Sir.”
It was a statement, though with enough of a question in it for Deniaud to take it as a cue to elaborate.
“There is a large winter market there, and a festival in four days’ time in celebration of Christmas. There has been trouble there in years past, with the festival proving itself a haven for pickpockets, fortune tellers, and other unsavoury characters. The police there have requested any available officers to assist in maintaining order.”
“Sir,” said Javert again, without question or hesitation. Although this was not how he had envisioned his beginning at this new post, a command was a command, and he would thus endeavor to carry it out to the best of his ability. Deniaud cast a final appraising eye over Javert, raking his eyes from his head to his toes as the younger man stood to strict attention.
“Dismissed.”
As Javert strode from the office and out into the cold streets of Montreuil, he allowed himself the sigh he had kept caged behind his teeth. It came with a hiss, and was whisked away in a harsh winter gust. The dismissal may have been merely a formality at the end of a meeting, but it felt somehow to be something more. All without once having been given the chance to prove his worth to the town.
Straightening his collar, he steeled his gaze and strode onwards. A fiacre from Montreuil-sur-Mer would take him to Abbeville, where he could travel much of the distance to Montfermeil by overnight coach. The old 5-sous carriages still ran certain distances, and it was the most efficient route. A few gamins scurried past, chasing a stray cat and whooping with laughter. Javert glared. Street children running wild were never far from some kind of criminal activity. Any other day he would have pursued them, but he had other tasks, and no evidence to justify the diversion. The dog’s hunting instinct bristled at the new, unwelcome handling of his leash, but he followed his orders, as always.
The streets widened as he approached the town square, skirting the icy puddles left by children splashing water from the fountain. It took focus, for the sun set early in the depths of winter, and the light was fading fast. A fiacre pulled up beside an inn across the way, the horses’ breath forming clouds and dripping down onto the cobbles. Javert quickened his pace. Loath to forfeit his place in the carriage to a drunkard, he made the mistake of taking his eyes from the frost beneath his feet. One stray step too hastily taken and the world gave a sharp jolt, sending the Sergeant to the ground in an undignified heap. Javert bit back a curse. The ice had cracked beneath his weight, and now the freezing water began soaking into his greatcoat. One of the gamins he had seen running past laughed, high and mocking.
“Some policeman, who can’t even control his feet! No hopes of controlling me, that’s a fact.”
Javert growled and rose cautiously to his feet, watching now for any more ice which could trip him. The muddy water began to trickle from his coat and onto the backs of his trousers. With gritted teeth he resumed his approach to the carriage, just as it pulled away from the inn. The discordant sounds of singing drifted back into the square even after the hoofbeats had faded.
Another fiacre pulled up soon after, and Javert was sure this time to be ready. As he made to step in, however, a hand reached out and caught him by the arm.
“C’mon, M’sieur, spare us a ride… I’m dying for a leak and the wife will have me in the kennel tonight if I don’t get home soon with the shopping.”
A man of middle age and ruddy cheeks was stumbling out from the inn, the scent of cheap wine sour on his breath. In one hand he clutched a bag of vegetables and a fresh loaf of bread, likely purchased from the morning’s market and the leftover coins spent on drink and cards. Javert’s lip curled in distaste as he threw off the man’s grip.
“Whatever quarrel you have with your wife is your concern, and not mine,” he said coldly.
“I’ll give you five francs, then,” replied the drunk, “or – hold on a moment – no, make that three.” He counted out the coins into his palm and offered them up to Javert. Rage flared.
“I am an officer of the law,” he spat, “and I do not know what kind of man you are used to in this town, but I do not accept bribes.”
“I do not know what kind of woman you are used to,” came the counter, “but you have not met my Odile. She has the temper of a man, and a face to rival any angel. I wish only to see her smile.”
Javert was about to bite out another scathing comment, but something made him pause. A low rattling sound, the murmur of distant voices. He released the drunk and turned to see the fiacre, his fiacre, driving away. There was one passenger, a man in a deep green overcoat. A noise of frustration tore from his throat and he turned away, striding down the street after the retreating cab. The drunk called after him, anger tinging his words.
“Only thing worse than a copper who takes a bribe is one who doesn’t!” he yelled at Javert’s back. “Serving the public? Or yourself?”
Javert glared at the street and kept walking after the long-vanished carriage.
*
It was truly dark by the time Javert arrived at Abbeville. In the absence of any other options, with no fiacre in sight, he resorted to a cabriolet, and the ride had left him chilled to his bones. The church clock read a quarter past six – no hope of making the six o’clock as he had hoped, then, but the next of the coaches would arrive at around seven. With his deadline not for four days, Javert tried not to mind the delay. Finding himself at a loss for something to do, he walked the streets, endeavouring to learn his way around the centre of town. The scent of something hot and rich wafted from a half open door and Javert inhaled deeply. His stomach growled. Perhaps some supper would be the best way to put his idle time to use.
The inn was a cramped, small affair with a long bench against each of three walls and tables spaced along its length. By Javert’s reckoning, around half of the places were occupied by fellow travelers, judging from the bags and suitcases tucked beneath their seats. One muttered something coarse-sounding, and his companion laughed and glanced at Javert. He forced himself not to rise to the remark. Upon approaching the bar, an older woman raised her head and nodded in greeting.
“What can I get for you, Monsieur?” she asked him, wiping her hands on a cloth before placing them emphatically on the bar. Javert peered a moment at the menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind her.
“The soup?”
“Certainly. And to drink?”
“No thank you,” he said, “The soup will suffice well enough.”
The woman nodded again before disappearing into a back room, leaving Javert to find a seat. He took up a chair in the corner of the room, a vantage point from which he could observe the rest of the patrons without making himself conspicuous. Most were absorbed in conversation, with only one other sat alone. Despite Javert’s scrutinizing gaze, he could make out very few features, as the man was intently focused on a large newspaper. All he could make out were broad shoulders and a few grey waves of hair curling down and around the man’s jaw. Beneath his table was a small cloth bag, and folded neatly on top of it was a green overcoat.
Javert paused.
A green overcoat, the precise shade worn by whoever had taken the fiacre while Javert argued with the drunk.
Annoyance shivered its way through him, bolstered by his hunger and the freezing journey in the cabriolet. The man had committed no crime, but perhaps a reminder of a civilian’s duty to assist law enforcement would not go amiss. He strode confidently to the stranger’s table and clapped one hand down firmly on his shoulder. The man leapt from his seat and twisted away with surprising strength, causing Javert to instinctively tighten his grip. For a moment they struggled.
“Monsieur, I am sure you know that harming or obstructing an officer of the law is considered an offence,” he began, layering his voice with stern authority. “A fiacre may be only a fiacre, but when you take mine and impede me in my duties –“
Javert’s voice died in his throat as he met the stranger’s eyes. The man was no stranger at all – not a man he had met, but one he knew well enough nonetheless.
“Officer?” asked Madeleine, voice rough and confused. Javert felt the vibrations travel up his arm and realised, belatedly, he was still restraining the man. He felt himself flush as he stepped back, the heat rising within him as though he’d been scalded.
“Monsieur le Maire, forgive me,” he managed to force out, keeping his voice steady with great effort. “I meant no offence nor impropriety, I was merely- It does not matter. I overstepped. Again, my deepest apologies, Monsieur.”
Monsieur Madeleine straightened, brushing at his shirt in obvious discomfort. Javert all but flinched at the movement. This was exactly what he deserved, letting his anger overtake him. He would begin writing his notice as soon as his current task was completed, and seek employment in some other city in the new year. He straightened his back and steeled his nerves as Madeleine spoke.
“My apologies, officer.”
Javert blinked. Seemingly oblivious to his confusion, the mayor continued.
“I did not mean to take a carriage from you – indeed, had I known our shared destination, I would have been happy to ride with you. When I saw you in Montreuil-sur-Mer I thought you to be detaining a petty criminal, or perhaps assisting the drunk man home; it was rather difficult to tell in the low light. Please, allow me to make it up to you.”
The natural order of things seemed, in that moment, to turn upon its end. Javert furrowed his brow and fought the urge to clutch the table for support against this upset.
“Monsieur le Maire, I do not understand.”
“Allow me to please make this mistake right. It is too bitter a night to be left in the cold through another man’s thoughtlessness.”
He smiled at Javert, then – smiled! Smiled graciously and with kindness at a subordinate, and one who had mistreated him so. The heat in Javert’s cheeks refused to dissipate. Still, with an effort, he shook his head.
“Nothing needs to be corrected, sir,” he said, at the same moment as the proprietor called “Your soup, Monsieur!”
“Please, officer. I will pay.”
Before Javert could protest, Madeleine was passing the woman some coins and taking the soup with a smile. The look did not falter as he passed the bowl to Javert.
“There. A little warmth, in return for the chill I inadvertently caused.”
Javert found nothing to do but mutter his thanks, and hastily retreated to his table with shame curling within him. What a foolish thing to do! The soup was too hot to drink but he paid it no mind, eating so quickly he barely tasted it. A burnt tongue might be the reminder he needed to hold it in future, lest he make a similar blunder again. As he ate, he found his gaze drawn back to Madeleine time and again, though he could not say why, and jerked away as though stung when he found Madeleine looking back. Not to recognize the mayor! He had seen the man only in passing, it’s true, but Javert still found it astonishing that he could have failed to notice. Monsieur le Maire was a striking figure, not particularly tall but broad and strong, with hair turned grey unusually early. The effect was pronounced; even in his short acquaintance with Montreuil, Javert had seen the way that women turned their heads towards him from more than deference, and the way that men seemed envious and enamoured by turns. With his grey hair and short-cropped, salt-and-pepper beard, Madeleine offset his imposing strength with a soft and easy countenance.
Perhaps, Javert wondered, he was spending too long on this internal audit of his superior’s appearance. But then, cataloguing features was a vital skill for a police officer. The opportunity to practice had presented itself; it was only right for Javert to seize it. Besides, he had made such apologies as he could, and now there would be no further mention of it. This thought was soothing and cool, a contrast to the sharp heat of humiliation. Like a rock, Javert held it tight to steady his nerves.
The calm lasted until the carriages finally arrived. Javert stepped aboard the second of the two, taking a seat near the door. It was cold aboard the carriage, though he knew it would soon warm from the heat of crowded travelers. He pulled his coat around him and placed his bag, containing a scant few possessions, between his feet, hoping to sleep for much of the journey. If he was to do his job well, he must be well-rested and prepared for the festival preparations.
For a time, all he heard was the shuffling of feet and the creaking of seats as the other passengers filed in one by one. It was going to be busy. At least he could hope his fellow passengers would have the same idea and would settle down to sleep.
“Excuse me,” came a low voice from the direction of the door. “May I sit here?”
Javert’s heart sank. He raised his head to see Monsieur Madeleine standing there, still with that damnable smile.
“Every other seat seems to be occupied,” he supplied, interpreting Javert’s silence as refusal. In truth, he was simply grossly unprepared for such a thing. What sort of bad luck must he have to be trapped here, again, with the man he had offended, had assaulted, and who he must yet work below? Yes, he must work below Madeleine. Javert shook himself from his thoughts and inclined his head.
“Of course, Monsieur.”
“Thank you.”
Madeleine began to divest himself of his coat, stowing it and his bag securely beneath his seat. Without the large green coat, his shoulders seemed broader still, muscles ill-used but clearly defined beneath his shirt. Javert found himself wondering how a gentleman and factory owner came by such strength. Only rarely had he seen men like that, and most were found in far, far less civilized occupations. Perhaps he would ask around, when he returned to Montreuil-sur-Mer, and see what he could learn of the mayor’s arrival in the town.
“What brings you to Montfermeil, officer?” he asked as he sat down. Javert shifted slightly away from him and replied simply “My work.” Madeleine relaxed and leaned closer, seeming remarkably good-humoured, though Javert could detect no sign that he had been drinking.
“Are my officers so superior to those in Montfermeil?”
“It is for the winter festival, Monsieur le Maire. They say it is a favoured ground for pickpockets and conmen. My assistance has been requested in managing the affair.”
“Please, if we are to travel together, at least call me Madeleine.”
Javert stiffened.
“That would not be proper, Monsieur, seeing as you are my superior and I simply a Sergeant.”
Madeleine lifted a hand in what looked to be surprise.
“Oh! Forgive me, you know my name and yet I have not asked yours.”
“My name is Javert.”
“I shall not forget it.”
There was a strange note to Madeleine’s voice, a faint clouding of his gaze. Had he somehow heard of Javert, found some reason already he should be unsuitable for his post? Surely not- if he sought to have Javert dismissed, the incident in the inn would be more than enough cause. Embarrassment twisted in his stomach yet again.
The air between them felt uncomfortably like silence, despite the noise of conversation around them and the rattle of wheels beginning to turn. Perhaps some conversation was expected? Javert was unused to the idea. Tentatively, he imitated Madeleine.
“Why are you traveling, Monsieur le Maire?”
“There is someone I must see. I would like to meet her for Christmas, and perhaps give her a present.”
The answer raised more questions, but each felt too personal for Javert to press further. Who was this person the mayor must leave his post to visit? Was she some family member, a mother or sister? Was she a lover? Madeleine was said to be a private man. Any further question must be interpreted as an intrusion. No, Javert would say no more.
Unfortunately, the mayor seemed to have other plans for the journey. He settled back against the seat cushion and began to talk about trivial items; the weather, and the likelihood of snow on Christmas, and then on to the seasonal foods he particularly enjoyed. Javert soon found it impossible to follow with anything meaningful, and instead merely nodded and absorbed the information as best he could. At times he nodded his assent or made some affirmative noise when he felt it seemed appropriate, which Madeleine seemed to appreciate.
As they rode on into the night, Madeleine gradually ceased his one-sided discussion and fell into a drowsy silence. Javert settled his chin against his chest and allowed his eyes to fall closed. The gentle sway of the carriage and steady rhythm of hoofbeats should have sent him easily to sleep, but Javert’s mind remained restless. He would be free of Madeleine come morning, and a mere Sergeant would rarely have cause to directly meet with the mayor even upon his return to Montreuil. Besides, a man’s personal life was his business alone, so long as it was lawful and harmed no other. Nonetheless, the mystery of who Madeleine might be traveling so far to visit kept his mind busy for an hour or more before Javert eventually allowed himself to succumb to sleep, the ghost of some unseen woman haunting him for reasons he could not grasp.