Chapter 4

It was way too easy to reach the mansion. Just as it had been too easy to enter the city. Courfeyrac would want to believe fate was on their side, but he couldn’t trust that kind of optimism. He would be able to breathe when they were safely with the others. Until then? Until then he would keep his guard up.
Speaking of guards… There were plenty surrounding the mansion. Well-armed, the uniforms plenty. For the protection of the mayor, Courfeyrac was sure. Or as a prison. Maybe Javert suspected they would return here. Maybe he knew of Jean Valjean’s help. Maybe this was to punish the ruler who had allowed the pirates to triumph. Or maybe, maybe, their mission was never destined to succeed.
He looked at the guards, to Jehan and Éponine, back at the guards. “It’s too well guarded. We can’t risk it,” he said. Courfeyrac felt the knot in his stomach tighten.
“But Feuilly- he'll- he'll die,” Jehan said. Courfeyrac swallowed. Jehan was right of course. Without the medical supplies, there was no way Feuilly was gonna make it.
“If we get caught, they'll all die,” he whispered, more to himself than to the two persons standing next to him. Seven people, perhaps eight if Gavroche was there, were gonna die if they screwed this up. And they were gonna screw it up if they would try this. That didn't mean Courfeyrac didn’t hate himself for the choice he had to make. He couldn’t save his friend, not without risking the lives of everyone who was left.
He hated this choice, and he hated that he was the one who had to make it. The one who had to look at Jehan and Éponine and tell them they were not continuing their journey. Right before the finish, they were defeated.
It felt like he shot Feuilly himself.

Neither Jehan nor Éponine protested, and maybe that was the worst. Courfeyrac had suggested a terrible option, not getting the medical supplies they needed for Feuilly, meaning he would die. They had no choice, but he had preferred it if they had argued with him. If they had called him a monster for even thinking they would abandon their friend like that. If they had hated him, just like he hated himself. Just like he deserved.
But both his friends held their tongue (quite unique for Éponine), and just bowed their heads. Courfeyrac saw tears glistering in Jehan’s eyes. He wanted to hug his friend, wanted to take their hand and squeeze it. But he didn’t.
Every step felt like a struggle. He knew what he was walking away from, and it wasn’t just a mansion. And even now he couldn’t let tears fill his vision. They were fugitives, and he had to be focussed. He had to decide which streets were the safest, what way would get them out the quickest. Avoid the guards, act natural when they couldn’t hide. Act natural, act natural, act natural.
The silence behind him was deafening. The words unsaid were spoken in the way Éponine’s shoulders were tensed, the way Jehan kept biting their lip.
“I’m not the one who is going to tell Feuilly,” was what Éponine eventually said. They had walked the same block twice already to avoid the patrols. He heard the defeat in her voice, but also the defiance. Try to make me.
“I don’t want to either,” was what Jehan whispered.
Me neither. Please, don’t make me do this. Please.
Courfeyrac nodded slowly, then pretended to be very interested in the merchandise of one of the merchants. If he was just a buyer, then the guards would pass without noticing him.
Once the guards had passed, he continued walking, knowing Éponine and Jehan would follow. It felt safer to blend in with the crowd.
“Of course you won’t be the ones to tell,” was what he said. It had always been Enjolras or Combeferre who had to share the bad news. How had his husband managed that? How had he been able to look his crew in the eyes, and just tell them everything that had gone wrong? Even thinking about seeing Bahorel and Feuilly made Courfeyrac felt sick. Again, or maybe he had never stopped feeling sick.
He wished he could ask Combeferre this. He wished he could ask his husband how to continue, how to talk to the others, to give him some sort of direction, please. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was here in Nassau, the city they were trying to escape, to get medical supplies they would never get. He was risking lives in a foolish plan that was meant to fail.
Where was Combeferre when Courfeyrac needed him?
But he kept his back straight, kept searching for a way out of this city - and unknowingly led them to the main square. There were people walking around in the streets, too many patrouilles to be able to walk straight out of the city. The old soldiers knew Les Amis too well, and there was no way of knowing whether the masked soldiers were new or old acquaintances. They had sold their stock to the soldiers many times. Had drank together. Had laughed together. Had made up stories about where they had bought their stock. But in the end, they would answer to Javert.
The main square was not as crowded as usual. People walked by quickly, trying to spend as little time as possible there. Javert had build the gallows there, had tried to sentence Enjolras there once already. Only yesterday they had stood here, waiting for Javert to pass by. Only yesterday their revolution had started.
Only yesterday their revolution had ended.