Chapter 12

The morning was a mixture of excitement and nervousness. People were buzzing around on the ship, sharpening their swords, checking their weapons. Making sure the cannonballs were in the right place. Everyone knew today was the day. The action they had waited on, would come.

Enjolras had left long before Grantaire, and Grantaire didn’t see a chance to speak to the captain. They merely ignored each other while passing, just as they had done the days before. It was like last night never happened.

A silent agreement to never mention it again.

It was almost weird, seeing everyone get ready. How Joly and Bahorel painted war stripes on their faces. Suddenly the friendly cook and cheerful bodybuilder were no longer the same. And yet it somehow fitted. Just as it fitted Jehan, cheery positive Jehan with the flowers in their hair, to braid their hair, to sharpen their weapons and to look ready for war. They usually looked more like a fairytale character who spoke with animals, but somehow this fiery way fitted too.

"What will you do?" Grantaire asked his old crewmates. He felt a bit out of place here now. Enjolras had kept his promise and none of the crew expected them to join.

Montparnasse looked up from the sword he was sharpening. "I'm joining them," he said. His gaze lingered perhaps a bit too long on Jehan.

"You're willingly joining the danger?" Marius asked.

Montparnasse shrugged. "If not, what is my purpose here then? I didn’t board this ship for their sense of fashion." He had made it clear the days before that he preferred his own almost captainlike-jacket above everything clean they had offered him, thank you very much.

"Yeah, but… I never thought it would be so soon, you know?" Grantaire understood the words Marrius spoke. Perhaps they had expected the ship to dock first, before all of this would come. So they had had the choice to stay on land, wherever that may be.

"Then you don’t fight, Pontmercy. Don’t come whining when you don’t get your share of the loot." It didn't matter what ship he set foot on, Montparnasse's empathy always stayed the same.

"Oh shut it," Éponine said. They could actually talk back to him now without repercussions? "Marius, you heard the captain. You don’t have to fight. You can stay here if you want to."

"That's what I'll be doing," Grantaire said. According to the look Éponine gave him, she hadn’t expected this. "I didn’t choose this. Apollo there can do his own chores." Still Apollo. Still the one who would lead his Icarus to their fall. Grantaire refused to fall with them.



With Grantaire and Marius not fighting, Éponine eventually chose to join them, leaving Montparnasse on his own. Nobody acted like they made a weird decision or like they were cowards. The only one calling them that was Montparnasse, but honestly, Grantaire had stopped listening to that man a long time ago.

They helped getting everything ready, helped everyone sharpen their weapons and stayed on deck while they waited for the ships to cross paths. As cheery and loud everyone had been before, as silent were they now. And when the sails were visible on the horizon, the three retreated to a place underdeck. All three were armed nevertheless. In case things went south they all felt safer this way.

Maybe the waiting was the worst part. Knowing with every second they came closer to the other ship. Knowing it was only a matter of time until the first cannon would be fired. Not knowing when that moment would arrive. Listening to every sound, hoping to find an indication when that feared moment would come.

Or maybe the worst of being underdeck was when that moment had finally come. Hearing the cannons roar, feeling the impact on the ship. Hearing the men shout, only hoping no one would come down here.

But for Grantaire the worst was yet to come. Nothing changed, but everything changed. There was still fighting. Still shouting. Everything sounded different, wrong.

"I'm going up," he said. He just knew things were going wrong. No one had told him, but he could feel it.

"But R-"

"I'm going up," he repeated. "Lock the door behind me." He knew that by leaving this room, he gave up his chance to pose as a prisoner if things went really bad. But he just knew he was needed up there.

And when he entered the deck, he knew his gut feeling had been right. Things weren’t just bad. They were defestating. They were outnumbered four to one, and Enjolras' earlier claims about a fully armed battalion were no exaggeration.

The captain himself was on the other ship, surrounded by five soldiers. He was holding them off, for now, but what man could fight them off, when a defeated one was merely replaced by another?

Grantaire saw it happening, while finding his way to the side of the ship. Enjolras was distracted by four of them, but the fifth one saw the chance to come close. To lift his sword. To strike.

Without further thinking Grantaire jumped on the other ship. His sword blocked the soldier's one, right before hitting Enjolras. Grantaire plumbed the pommel in his face, knocking the guard unconscious.

"I thought you weren't fighting?" Enjolras said while blocking another soldier's blow.

Grantaire merely shrugged, a bit busy with two soldiers. "'Thank you for saving my life, Grantaire. I appreciate it'," he mimicked Enjolras' voice.

"Don't get yourself killed by these foolish choices."

"Right, because that’s been working out for you?"

Enjolras didn’t answer.

They stood back to back, holding off the soldiers as long as they could. Retreating wasn’t an option, not while their path was blocked. Any attempt to get the others back to the Mussain would end in a slaughter.

"I'm no expert on warfare, but I'm pretty sure this isn’t what they call 'a smooth win'," Grantaire said. He just knew Enjolras was looking for a way to get his men (and women, and any other person of his crew) off this ship. Away from this trap.

"Thank you for this very useful addition."

Grantaire blocked another blow. "You’re welcome," he answered, a bit out of breath. He would not hold this position very long anymore. "Could you get me up there?"

He had noticed some barrels that definitely contained rum being tied up high. It was an old sailor myth, meant for a smooth sail (although Grantaire was pretty sure it was mostly meant to keep nightdrinkers away from it. You couldn’t reach it without being seen).

"Really? Now is not the time to drink."

"Oh shut it, Apollo. Alcohol burns." Even he wouldn’t be drinking in a moment like this. He really regretted not drinking beforehand, but then he just had to make sure there would be a moment to drink afterwards, right?

"I can give you a few seconds," Enjolras said. Grantaire wasn’t sure what his thoughts were about this so-called-definitely-not-thought-through plan, but it was all they had.

And so it happened. Enjolras bought Grantaire just enough time to climb the mast, to open the barrels. He grabbed a torch, threw it to Grantaire. Grantaire pushed it on the growing puddle of alcohol. A blowtorch drew everyones attention. The soldiers had a decision to make: win the fight or save their mast from the fire. The choice was simple.