Chapter 23 #2
“Say, Jehan,” Oste probed. “Before we get into the thick of it, might you humor me for a moment?”
He straightened his hat. “You know how to get my attention.”
“Then stand with me.” When Jehan continued to crawl ahead at a walk and offer nothing but a questioning stare, Oste huffed out a breath and stayed planted. “You’re poor at following orders, for someone who likes giving them.”
He stopped and lifted his chin. “I’m standing now, and a little nervous about what your idea of humoring you is.”
“Don’t be. I’m just sentimental enough for the both of us, I suppose.”
He slid his hand into his hip satchel and easily closed it over the whimsically-shaped colored brooch inside. Oste presented the Saint-Mitre grapevine on the palm of his hand, then moved to the fastening once he eyed recognition on Jehan’s face.
“What’s this about?” the lieutenant started. “I’m not—is this about getting more membership fees?”
Oste laughed. “No. You never have to come to a meeting again, if you don’t wish it. It’s honorary.”
“Honorary?” Jehan blurted. Despite his deflections, his cheeks became brushed with pink. “But why?”
“Because you’re a friend, Jehan, and I’ve been able to count on you.
You’re good with a blade and have excellent tastes in wine, so you have the ideal requirements down anyway.
Really, it’s a nuisance sometimes that you’re the only fellow from our old band of brigands not to have become Saint-Mitre, but it’s important to me for you to know that you are still in possession of our fondness and trust.”
Jehan said nothing right away. His lips parted, poised like something would come out, but nothing did until Oste paused with the brooch hovering in front of his friend’s jerkin. The same realization seemed to possess them at the same time.
The lieutenant blinked down at it, then blurted without his usual composure, “You know I’d not be permitted to make an obvious show of wearing it—”
“Pin it to your undergarments,” Oste suggested.
“I hope Dorotèa keeps you in line at home,” scoffed Jehan, but after a swivel of his head and fluttering of his lashes, he plucked the brooch from Oste, gingerly kissed it, then slipped it into his own small satchel.
He let his fingers linger where he placed it, tenderly offering some reverence and appreciation. “I may wear it on a chain, or my belt?”
“Some members do.”
“Thank you,” Jehan added quickly. His low timbre he’d taken on had ordinarily only come out during their prayers at church. His humble gravitas was an uncommon treasure. “I do mean it.”
Oste clasped Jehan’s upper arm with a smile, then released him and resumed their walk.
He offered a moment’s respite for his friend to rein in his fluster and adopt, again, his policing swagger.
“Do the men not think it odd that a physician is assisting with kit inspections?” Oste asked Jehan after they made a turn.
“What they think doesn’t matter. They still need to oblige.
” When Jehan turned his head and caught his friend’s tight-lipped visage, he softened his voice and carried on.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ve had civic physicians concern themselves with the watch before, and the departments cross over so often that it’s some wonder that we have departments at all.
Besides, plenty of these men respect you. Most, I’d say. They won’t mind.”
He snorted in surprise. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m quite serious.” Jehan’s glittering eyes and lofted brows were convincing. “I’m not the only one.”
“Why in God’s name would they?”
“Over half of these men were delighted by someone facing down Flassans. Even Catholics. They dream of it, but doing it is another thing. I know, I know, it’s not like you up and dueled him, but nobody forgets the fellow who stares down the barrel of the devil’s musket and lives.
” Jehan shrugged and dislodged a cobweb they passed by with his polished boot.
“You also have the benefit of your work. Hard to dislike a man who will treat you, your child, or your mamie for free, and still would even if the city wasn’t paying his stipend for it.
You’re in the same well-regarded ranks as charitable nuns and people who save kittens and the like. You’re respectable.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m honest.” Jehan shook his head and straightened a dreadful old portrait as they strode further. “And, besides, the people who hate you will always hate you. There’s no point in convincing them, so it’s best to just let that be. Conduct yourself for the people who tend to be agreeable instead.”
“You underestimate the depths of my detestation and depravity—”
“You’re entirely too dramatic, and delusional besides.
You fret. You’re a fretter. My stallion is the same, you know.
Snorts and prances until he realizes the leaf was only a leaf.
That’s not to say that sometimes it’s not a badger, but the risk of badgers is much lower than that of foliage. Ah, a leaf.”
“What?”
Jehan came to a halt in front of one of the volunteer watchmen coming down the hall.
Oste did the same, but his sharp transition came slower and clumsier than that of his counterpart’s on the right.
He raised his chin just as the young man slid to stillness himself and offered a clumsy salute.
From under his cap, he glanced between the two with rounded blue eyes that couldn’t have exceeded one-and-twenty years.
Poor fellow. Doubtless at his age either the Catholics or Huguenots would snatch him up by summer’s end.
“Kit inspection, Monsieur,” said Jehan smoothly.
He was so made for his role that Oste found amusement out of it.
The lieutenant’s noble countenance and lilt translated into it far too well, and it was like watching quality theatre.
“Might you present your weaponry? I am accompanied by the esteemed—”
“Docteur Lézin?” the young man finished.
Oste quite nearly flinched.
The boy presented his plain sword, which Jehan took. The lieutenant carried on as he drew it and let Oste glance it over. “You’re familiar?”
He took it back, then procured his dagger.
This one was even more dull than the sword.
It wasn’t remotely what they were looking for, all curved edges and wideness.
“You helped my baby sister with a cough, Docteur. I know i-it was only a cough and all, b-but those often turn worse. Your treatment turned her around in d-days.”
“Oh!” Oste remarked. “You are familiar—did she have a pink hair ribbon when she came in?”
“Yes! She’s never seen without it.”
“Good girl. She’s kept on well?”
“Quite. Hasn’t h-had trouble once.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. You’ll come to the hospital if anything changes, yes?”
“Of course, of course. If I g-get knackered myself, I’d hope you would be around.”
Jehan handed the dagger over at that. “Very good, Monsieur. Give these an oiling, and you’ll be right where you ought to be.”
“O-Of course, Lieutenant,” said the young man. He set his hand over his heart and bowed politely. “And it is a p-pleasure to see you, Docteur Lézin.”
“Likewise,” Oste answered, at a bit of a loss for words.
The young watchman carried on down the hall.
When his footfalls grew quiet, Oste finally allowed himself to peer at Jehan.
He found his friend hardly managing to conceal a grin, the sides of his eyes bearing crow’s feet from the tautness of his muscles there for joviality.
Such a sight made Oste huff out a breath from behind his front teeth, which led Jehan to clap his hand down on his shoulder.
Alas, it was the bad one, and Oste’s hastened wince made Jehan withdraw it and shove his hands behind his back.
“Oh, no…” Jehan said with a whistle. “The scary voyageur progressive, Docteur Oste Lézin…”
“Jehan,” he growled.
“I am gripped by terror.”
“Jehan.”
“Petit-Lézin. Let’s carry on. I want to tuck in with some spiced wine before dawn.”
Lieutenant de Filhou stopped a couple other men on their way to the armory.
Neither of them had any degree of suspicion, same as the eager watchman at the start, but passing over every man permitted to use his sword for the city would have made their task appear routine and pointed. Better to not raise any alarms.
Jehan’s assertions that the city had few men to spare and that authorities had them prioritize concerns going on outside of the Gate was presented to Oste through sight alone.
The Cordeliers Gate was manned by far fewer militiamen than he’d have anticipated, especially when it faced west, where he heard rumors flying of deep dissent.
And those who were assigned were largely made up of volunteers or second-choice citizens—the men either barely out of boyhood, or the old and grizzled who were no longer in a state to march with the armies.
Training and competence were uncommon commodities in the city watch when the country was strangled by greater troubles.
No one earned glory patrolling Cordeliers.
The duty was only there to move on to greater things or pass the time.
Few of these watchmen could have pulled off the crimes they were trying to put an end to, and Oste clung to that string of confidence.