Part I: rhetoric at 20 paces
"Officer Chauvert? Might I have a word with you?"
"Of course, cher inspector." Javert sighed, choosing to ignore the other man's grinning and completely unprofessional familiarity in favor of getting this over with.
"I need a favor. I have cause to participate in a duel. I ask you to serve as my second. Will you do this?"
The stunning sucession of words caused Officer Chauvert- better known as Merecule to all and varied, for his tendancy to make them happen- to raise his eyebrows in desperate flirtation with his hairline. He spluttered;
"Of course; Miseu L'Inspector; as you wish! But pray tell me... what in blue blazes..." Javert interrupted him with an irritated wave of the hand.
"I made the challenge. A young braggart and Septembrist by the name of Enjolras made grevious insult to a fine and well-respected lady. As the incident cannot be proven; there is no law by which i can try him save that of the foil." Merecule seemed ready to keel over; asphyxiated by some blend of shock and laughter that caused Javert to frown deeply. Would there were some other way... but he could think of nothing else; and furthermore, no one else would believe it of him. Let alone consent to serve as second to the dire inspector. He waited patiently with a sigh until Merecule had recovered enough to stammer,
"A... A lady? As in, s-someone of th-the Female pe-persuasion!?" And he keeled over once more. After some minutes, Javert replied with an iciness perhaps a shade cooler than his mean;
"Yes. In particular: our Motherland, France." This time, Merecule truly did collapse out of his chair in rolling peals of mirth; and Javert toyed briefly with the idea of calling him out as well. But no; Chauvert was a chronic offender and, for all his sloth and irreverence, really a harmless sort. Well, there was the incident of the rue Petit Pipcus; but Javert quickly pushed that out of his head as the other officer finally regained composure and his seat.
"V-very well, mon cher Inspector." He giggled, wiping a stray mirthful tear from his eye. "For the Glory of France indeed. Mais... you have called this revloting regicide to his feet-- this leaves the choice of weapon to him. What shall it be?"
"Rhetoric." Said Javert, daring Merecule to comment. "No jacket. Twenty paces." Merecule, for once, was speechless.
"What's that!?" Spluttered Grantaire, his eyes unfocused and dazzled, mouth obscenely dry, as Enjolras had claimed his beer bottle for a moment or two of serious speech.
"As I have said." Enjolras frowned, placing the bottle heart-rendingly out of sight behind him. "I would ask Combeferre, but even he concedes that you have the edge on him in matters of speech."
"He's wrong. I perhaps overpower him in affairs of talking, but that is all. A profusion of words is no great asset, and of less value. But you would entrust your back and your side to me! Tiens! By God, for you I'll do this thing, Enjolras; I'll face down this lion or this dragon or this king of fiends."
"It is only a police inspector, Grantaire."
"Ah! Then I will face this alley cat for you, this mongrel!"
"Save your ammuntion, Grantaire. Don't spend yourself before the battle." Enjolras stood, sparing the enraptured winecask a stern smile. "The time is dawn, two days from now, in neutral territory-- Saint-Antoine. I trust you can arrange to be there."
"Sober?"
"It does not matter. As long as you are Ready."
The emphasis on the final word quirked Grantaire's eyebrow, and he pressed his fist to his heart.
"You have my oath, my capitan, my Achilles."
"Just be there." Enjolras turned, and Grantaire halted him with a further splutter.
"A question, Enjolras. Your Helen is France, you have said, but what is your Breisis? You don't understand me... what prize is at stake, Achillè, between you and your Agamemmnon?"
Enjolras blinked only, as if surprised.
"What is Right, of course."
Grantaire continued to stare after him even after he'd gone, and then, as if waking from a dream, became real enough to reclaim his beer, which he then poured into an already fermenting concoction of brandy and absinthe. In such a way did Grande R induce night, pre-emptive to the anticipated dawn.
to be continued...