The Marquis de Carabas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
turnwiddershins) wrote2016-08-13 03:45 am
turnwiddershins) wrote2016-08-13 03:45 am
WHY THIS FIC? WHY THIS AU? I DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND
Title: Paris d'En Bas et la Cour des Miracles [working title]
Fandoms: Disney - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen or M/M, I'm not sure yet
Relationships: None yet
Characters: Richard Mayhew, Marquis de Carabas (Neverwhere), Clopin Trouillefou, maybe more to be added
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Crossover, AU
Summary:
The marquis de Carabas thinks he might have a lead on where to find Ingress, so he takes Richard to Paris Below, to ask for help from a... "friend." It goes fairly well, all things considered.
***
"My lady." De Carabas bowed deeply to Door, who was already frowning, watching him with some measure of apprehension. Richard couldn't blame her. Only a week into his new life in London Below and he was starting to realize that when de Carabas showed elaborate respect, it was either sarcastic or cajoling or both. At least he was getting ignored, so it wouldn't have anything to do with him, but he didn't want Door getting into any trouble, either. "As fun as this is, doing detective work in an uncaring London Below, chasing every loose end and false lead that we can get our hands on..."
"You're going." She sounded defeated. It had been, by Richard's admittedly confused measure, less than two months since her family's murder, maybe one since she'd received the news that her little sister was still alive. She hadn't stopped searching since. Richard wasn't sure how much she'd slept since. Her foxfire eyes were still bright, still sharp, but hidden in dark circles, and she hunched deeper into her coats now as if withdrawing, shadowing her face further.
"You can't be giving up already..." Richard tried protesting, but the marquis's gaze turned to him, eyes more piercing than Richard would have expected from de Carabas's apparently-bored expression. It lasted only a moment before he looked back to Door, as if dismissing him from any further thought, as if the glance had not returned anything interesting. If he wasn't getting used to this, he might feel vaguely offended.
"Nothing of the sort," he waved a hand, one filthy sleeve trailing through the air. "But I do have other business to attend to. I am a busy man, you know that very well, and I'm sure you wouldn't want this favor to run out too quickly?"
Door sighed. "If you're asking permission to leave... I'm surprised, honestly. You can do what you like, de Carabas, you know that."
"Yes." He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the low light, looking as if he was privy to some private joke. "I know. But no," he turned brisk then, dusting his gloved hands together. "I am telling you -- I'll need to borrow the Warrior for a time."
"Richard?" Door looked startled, but not half so startled as Richard felt. Wouldn't have anything to do with him, huh?
"Me?"
"It will be a learning experience." De Carabas looked as pleased as if things had already been decided upon, beginning to pace the room, prowling with his usual catlike tread. "I am traveling far, and I have reason to suspect that he will be of more use to us both at my side."
"How could I possibly--" Richard began, and nearly swallowed his tongue when de Carabas whirled on him, resisting the urge to step away. He had paced much closer than Richard had realized.
"Have you really not yet realized when not to ask questions?" The marquis snapped his fingers directly in front of Richard's face. Then, suddenly, he smiled, and stepped back himself, adding cheerfully, "This is exactly why you would benefit from new experiences."
"Richard isn't mine," Door spoke up then, and Richard breathed a sigh of relief when the marquis turned away from him again. He didn't dislike the man -- he'd learned recently just how loyal the marquis de Carabas could be, and as uncomfortable as he was about the idea of owing him any favors, he knew he owed him more than just a favor, the marquis had saved his life -- but his intensity still made Richard feel on-guard around him. "He can make his own decisions."
"Well, then." De Carabas straightened his cravat, the one he wore high on his neck, to hide the still-angry scar. "It's decided. I know would be too much to expect you..."
"Excuse me? I didn't--"
"...to give the searching a rest while we're gone..."
"--I didn't agree yet--"
"...but we'll only be a month or two-- Will you stop fussing, Richard?" The marquis waved a hand at him, irritably.
"I'd almost think you were concerned." A faint smile played at Door's lips, and the marquis rolled his eyes at her.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he asked dryly. "Just remember, you have other duties, and those who would be the most danger to your sister are gone. If she isn't dead yet, she'll keep."
He ignored the angry, pained flash of Door's eyes, turning away from her and walking quickly towards the door. Richard watched him with his mouth open, speechless.
"Come along, Richard. We need to make an early start on this," de Carabas called over his shoulder, and Richard shot an apologetic look at Door, hesitating.
She smiled at him, faintly. "Go," she agreed, sounding tired. "Whatever this is about, I'm sure it's important. Just don't be too long. And try not to let him die again," she added, as Richard was stepping out the door, and he didn't have a chance to answer her.
It also took him until about halfway down the street to realize that he still hadn't actually agreed to go with the marquis, and that in the end, they'd both made the decision for him anyway. The thought didn't frustrate him, didn't make him feel as helpless as it might have before, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that.
He decided to just go along with it, which was how he'd started approaching much of his new life in London Below. He sped to catch up with the marquis, who had a quick stride and was apparently unconcerned about Richard actually managing to keep up with him.
"Okay," he said, trying not to sound out of breath, not to seem like he wasn't up to the task or his new role. "Where are we going? And why are we really going?"
It was a shot in the dark, but he wanted to get through that impenetrable shell the marquis seemed to have, to see him impressed or satisfied or at least disgruntled. The marquis was, he was starting to realize, pretty much the poster child for someone who had not only managed to survive in the World Below, but also thrive there, to make this life his own and to be exactly what he meant to be.
The marquis slowed just enough to draw alongside Richard, and he lowered his voice. "I have a lead," he murmured. "Just a rumor, but from a reputable source. We may be able to find Ingress."
Richard was dumbfounded. He looked at the marquis, trying to read his expression. De Carabas, for his part, didn't look at him, scanning the tunnels ahead of them instead. Intent enough that after a moment, Richard looked away again, back down the tunnel, suddenly worried that they might be walking into dangerous places.
Another moment, and he managed, "Why didn't you say that to Door? If we can find her sister..."
"Think, Richard," the marquis spoke more sharply. "I did say it was a rumor, that we may be able to find her. If it leads to nothing, yet again, why get her hopes up? Besides," he grew a little less sharp, then, but still brisk, "if she knew, do you imagine she would let us go alone?"
"Well, why can't she come?" Richard's head was starting to spin a bit again. He'd been wondering when that would happen; it had been almost a full day since the last time London Below had made him feel like this, a new record. The marquis rolled his eyes again.
"You may know almost nothing about the World Below," he said, "but I should think even you would have picked this up. With the tragic murder of her father, mother, and elder brother, Lady Door is now Lord of House of Arch. Just because Croup and Vandemar and the angel are gone doesn't mean she is without enemies. She's already dangerously close to neglecting her duties in favor of this search; how do you think it would look if she left London now, so newly instated? Abandoning her seat."
"She wouldn't be abandoning it," Richard argued, slightly stung on her behalf.
"Would that her political enemies would take such a generous view," de Carabas said, glancing sideways to Richard. "Try to keep up; even your World Above has politics."
Richard thought back to the political sound bites he'd heard all his life. "That's... true."
"Then you see why London needs her. Unfortunately, she's gotten it into her head that her sister needs her as well, and she is unable to delegate one and unwilling to delegate the other. I hardly make a habit of doing things for others' own good," he added dryly. "But I have my own reasons for wanting to avoid things destabilizing. She's already unpopular for wanting to continue work towards her father's mad ideas about uniting London Below, we don't need an actual war."
Richard still wasn't sure he was satisfied. "But if we can be really sure that we've found Ingress," he pressed. "Then we'll let Door know. Right?"
De Carabas sighed. "If we need Door, in order to secure her sister's rescue, or save her life," he said. "Then we will contact Door. She'd never let me live it down, otherwise," he muttered.
It was obvious that would have to do. Richard stuck his hands in his pockets, antsy, one hand fidgeting with the handle of Hunter's Knife-- his knife, the Warrior's Knife. "You never did say where we were going," he pointed out, and felt a shiver of dread when de Carabas turned his head to grin at him, smile wide and bright in the dark.
"France."
***
They did not, as Richard was worried about, walk all the way to France. Impossibly, they took the tube; after taking a circuitous route that Richard realized at this point probably was necessary for the journey, they wound up on the All Saints platform on the Docklands Light Railway. Richard was actually vaguely surprised, since All Saints definitely was part of the DLR, and he'd gotten used to things being more out of place and wrong than that.
He didn't ask how All Saints would get them to France, even though it was tempting; he had a feeling that any answer the marquis would give him would be less than helpful, and probably impatient. As they sat the marquis tossed him an unopened soda can and a bag of crisps that he'd apparently gotten from one of the vending machines. How was anybody's guess, and it felt like vaguely patronizing positive reinforcement, but Richard was hungry and thirsty and so he had it anyway.
He dozed, one hand still on his knife, and woke with a start when the marquis grabbed his arm, lost and confused for a moment until he heard the voice over the intercom announcing, "Saint-Michel - Notre-Dame. Attention à la marché en descendant du train. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform..."
"Saint-Michel," he said fuzzily. "Is that why we boarded at All Saints...?"
De Carabas looked grudgingly impressed, which cheered Richard up a bit. "Possibly," he allowed. "In any case, it's the only way into Paris. Now follow me, stay close, and by the Temple and Arch's sake, don't wander off. I'm not going to search very hard for you."
Well, the cheer was nice while it lasted. "You don't need to worry," he rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard and trying to wake up more fully as he followed the marquis out of the train car. "I don't speak any French."
"Good," the marquis said brusquely. "Don't speak to anyone." He stopped to look at one of the RER maps on the wall, drumming his fingers against his leg.
"Where are we going?" Richard hovered close by, feeling kind of childish, like he might as well be saying are we there yet?
"To the court of a-- friend."
Something about the way the marquis said that set off alarm bells in Richard's head. "A 'friend'," he said, dubious. "Like the Earl was a friend?"
"Not quite," the marquis said. "I'm not going to be kicked out, at any rate."
Or kippered, Richard thought.
"Though if you're not careful, they may hang you."
"Wait." De Carabas had set off again, fast-paced, and Richard hurried after him. "Excuse me?"
"Just don't be insulting," de Carabas advised. "Don't make them think you're a threat. And do exactly what I tell you."
"Are you ever going to take me somewhere that won't potentially get me killed?"
"Don't worry." De Carabas flashed him a grin. "You'll be there under my recommendation. If you mess up badly enough, they'll have us both killed."
"That's not reassuring."
The marquis sighed. "As amusing as this is, I did mean it when I said not to worry. If you follow directions, we'll both be perfectly safe. Do you really think I'd risk my neck again so soon?"
Richard remembered the bloodstained cloth around de Carabas's neck, remembered the look in his eyes. They killed me, he'd said.
"No," he admitted.
It was a long and winding path, sometimes leading them into the streets above, sometimes back down into the tunnels. Every time Richard thought he was getting more used to walking for miles at a time, twinges in his legs after only an hour proved him wrong. It was more like two before de Carabas stopped, apparently satisfied.
It was dark. The torch that de Carabas was holding -- an actual torch, nothing electric, fabric wrapped around wood and burning steadily -- barely lit up the tunnel. Richard was surprised when de Carabas passed him the torch, taking it carefully, and the marquis felt around in his pockets with both hands, muttering.
"If I recall correctly... Which I always-- Ah. Hold still."
Richard remembered what the marquis had said about following directions and doing exactly as he was told. He still jolted and almost dropped the torch when the marquis reached up and wrapped a length of cloth around his eyes, tying it behind his head. "What are you doing?!"
"This is important, Richard," the marquis said, audibly annoyed. "Possibly the most important thing I will tell you in this city. Do not untie this cloth. Do not peek. If it slips, or you feel at all like you may have some idea of your surroundings, close your eyes."
"Is this really necessary?" Richard's heart was hammering. Yes, all right, he trusted the marquis... mostly, anyway... but he felt exceptionally vulnerable like this. His safety was basically entirely in the marquis's hands now, and he was being told to let it happen, to not even try to take any semblance of control back. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Would I be doing it if it were optional?" There was quiet, for a few moments, more rustling cloth. Richard listened closely, but couldn't really figure out what was going on. Then he felt the marquis groping for the torch again, and he heard him blow it out.
He'd thought he was functionally blind with the cloth around his eyes. As light totally disappeared, leaving everything pitch black, he realized how wrong he'd been.
His second thought, a little more disbelieving, was, Does de Carabas have a blindfold on too?
"How are we going to get anywhere...?" he started to ask, slowly, but he was getting the idea at this point.
"How do you think? I don't know where the Court is. No one who is not a member of la Cour des Miracles knows how to get there. If anyone finds out, they don't survive it." De Carabas sounded more tense than Richard thought he'd ever heard him. "So," he repeated, "don't peek."
"But who's going to take us?" Richard was tense now, too, turning his head slightly, even though he couldn't see. He couldn't hear any movement, couldn't sense anybody. He almost felt like he was being watched, but he couldn't be sure that was actually true, or if he was just on edge now.
"They'll be here eventually," came the marquis's answer. "I doubt it will be long. People don't come here unless they want to be found by the Court, or want to find it. They'll want to decide if we're intruders or visitors quickly."
"And you said one of them is your friend," Richard repeated what the marquis had said earlier, trying to reassure himself.
"After a fashion."
That was not reassuring. Neither was it reassuring that, after only a few minutes, someone grabbed him by the arms and forced them behind his back, another figure tying them there. He nearly jumped out of his skin; he hadn't heard any approach so who knew how long they'd been there or how they'd gotten so close without them noticing? They each grabbed an arm and pulled him along, and he could only trust that the marquis was along for the ride as well, feeling more alone than he had since rejoining the World Below.
The men around him talked back and forth in French, completely unfamiliar words, which didn't do anything to help the feeling. When he heard the marquis's voice speak up in response, sounding as French as a native, he relaxed a little, even if the men didn't sound especially receptive.
There was, at least, a little light again now, though Richard was possibly a bit too worried about the warnings de Carabas had given, and shut his eyes behind the blindfold. The light wouldn't have been any help, truth be told; he wasn't very familiar with Paris, even the streets above, and every so often he was stopped and spun around a few times before they set off again. He was starting to wonder how long their trip could last, when he started to hear the sound of running water, and murmuring echoing off in the distance. He hoped fervently that they weren't heading into the sewers.
Fortunately, they didn't seem to be. To his surprise, the sounds of people laughing and talking suddenly solidified from distant echoing to a dull roar as they stepped into a space that felt much more open, and he blinked his eyes open again. It seemed much brighter behind the blindfold, and then it was being whisked off, and he flinched, squinting as his eyes tried to adjust and unsure if he should be looking around yet or not.
He glanced over at the marquis in time to see his own blindfold removed, and felt relieved when he saw him look around, rather than closing his eyes. They were past that part, then...
"De Carabas!" It was called out in obvious greeting, the voice cheerful, and Richard looked over quickly to see... well, someone who he would have called odd before his experiences in London Below, but now he just looked strangely normal, compared to much of what Richard had seen. His clothing was old fashioned, true, in shades of purple, with a huge yellow feather in his hat and a large gold earring in one ear. He had a dagger at his belt, and that wasn't unusual, either, but with his own hands bound, still surrounded by the men who had escorted them here, Richard couldn't help feeling nervous. "Quelle surprise! Je ne savais pas que tu venais."
"Je n'ai pas eu l'occasion de prévenir à l'avance." The marquis shrugged, his own hands, Richard noticed, also bound behind his back. "Tu es aussi accueillant que d'habitude."
"Et qui est cet homme? Encore un malheureux qui te doit une faveur?" The man looked amused. Richard tried not to look too lost.
"Le nouveau Guerrier de Londres d'En Bas. Richard Mayhew," de Carabas said, startling Richard. "Richard, this is Clopin Trouillefou, the King of Truands and leader of the Court of Miracles."
Clopin was giving him a quizzical look. Richard felt embarrassed. "Je suis..." he tried, then tried again, "Pardonne..." and then, not sure if he was on the right track at all, he gave up. He'd never known how to apologize in French. He'd never bothered to learn, after Jessica; he was starting to think that he should. "Pardon me. I don't speak French. I'm sorry."
Clopin made a see-sawing, so-so gesture in the air, and said, to Richard's chagrin, in English, "A little wetter behind the ears than I like in my Warriors. But times are hard for us all."
De Carabas didn't look terribly amused, though Richard had half expected him to. "Are we going to be untied, Votre Majesté?"
"I suppose you did come petitioning properly." Clopin shrugged expansively, then waved his hands to their 'escort', a gesture which apparently did mean 'untie them'. Richard gladly rolled his shoulders, then started to rub a little feeling back into his wrists. "Though it's been a long time since you've called on me, de Carabas." The odd king walked over to lay a hand on the marquis's shoulder, practically leaning against him. "Why, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me!"
"How could I?" de Carabas asked dryly.
"Well-- come with me. We shall talk," Clopin decided. He added slyly, "And drink, if your Warrior can hold his wine."
"I'm Scottish," Richard joked weakly, and Clopin laughed, slung his arm around the marquis and steered him over to drape his other arm around Richard, as well.
"Then if you can't hold it, at least you'll enjoy it. Tonight, you are my guests. Come and tell Clopin your troubles."
***
The conversation that Clopin and de Carabas have in French goes thusly:
"De Carabas! What a surprise! I had no idea you were coming."
"I didn't have a chance to call in advance. You're as welcoming as always."
"And who is this? Another poor soul who owes you a favor?"
"The new Warrior of London Below."
Then, of course, the introduction, and then Richard tries to apologize in French. At first he was trying to say je suis désolé, which would have been a little too on-the-nose, being actually pretty formal and not something often used. He actually gets much closer with pardonne, but second-guesses himself out of it.
Fandoms: Disney - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen or M/M, I'm not sure yet
Relationships: None yet
Characters: Richard Mayhew, Marquis de Carabas (Neverwhere), Clopin Trouillefou, maybe more to be added
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Crossover, AU
Summary:
The marquis de Carabas thinks he might have a lead on where to find Ingress, so he takes Richard to Paris Below, to ask for help from a... "friend." It goes fairly well, all things considered.
"My lady." De Carabas bowed deeply to Door, who was already frowning, watching him with some measure of apprehension. Richard couldn't blame her. Only a week into his new life in London Below and he was starting to realize that when de Carabas showed elaborate respect, it was either sarcastic or cajoling or both. At least he was getting ignored, so it wouldn't have anything to do with him, but he didn't want Door getting into any trouble, either. "As fun as this is, doing detective work in an uncaring London Below, chasing every loose end and false lead that we can get our hands on..."
"You're going." She sounded defeated. It had been, by Richard's admittedly confused measure, less than two months since her family's murder, maybe one since she'd received the news that her little sister was still alive. She hadn't stopped searching since. Richard wasn't sure how much she'd slept since. Her foxfire eyes were still bright, still sharp, but hidden in dark circles, and she hunched deeper into her coats now as if withdrawing, shadowing her face further.
"You can't be giving up already..." Richard tried protesting, but the marquis's gaze turned to him, eyes more piercing than Richard would have expected from de Carabas's apparently-bored expression. It lasted only a moment before he looked back to Door, as if dismissing him from any further thought, as if the glance had not returned anything interesting. If he wasn't getting used to this, he might feel vaguely offended.
"Nothing of the sort," he waved a hand, one filthy sleeve trailing through the air. "But I do have other business to attend to. I am a busy man, you know that very well, and I'm sure you wouldn't want this favor to run out too quickly?"
Door sighed. "If you're asking permission to leave... I'm surprised, honestly. You can do what you like, de Carabas, you know that."
"Yes." He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the low light, looking as if he was privy to some private joke. "I know. But no," he turned brisk then, dusting his gloved hands together. "I am telling you -- I'll need to borrow the Warrior for a time."
"Richard?" Door looked startled, but not half so startled as Richard felt. Wouldn't have anything to do with him, huh?
"Me?"
"It will be a learning experience." De Carabas looked as pleased as if things had already been decided upon, beginning to pace the room, prowling with his usual catlike tread. "I am traveling far, and I have reason to suspect that he will be of more use to us both at my side."
"How could I possibly--" Richard began, and nearly swallowed his tongue when de Carabas whirled on him, resisting the urge to step away. He had paced much closer than Richard had realized.
"Have you really not yet realized when not to ask questions?" The marquis snapped his fingers directly in front of Richard's face. Then, suddenly, he smiled, and stepped back himself, adding cheerfully, "This is exactly why you would benefit from new experiences."
"Richard isn't mine," Door spoke up then, and Richard breathed a sigh of relief when the marquis turned away from him again. He didn't dislike the man -- he'd learned recently just how loyal the marquis de Carabas could be, and as uncomfortable as he was about the idea of owing him any favors, he knew he owed him more than just a favor, the marquis had saved his life -- but his intensity still made Richard feel on-guard around him. "He can make his own decisions."
"Well, then." De Carabas straightened his cravat, the one he wore high on his neck, to hide the still-angry scar. "It's decided. I know would be too much to expect you..."
"Excuse me? I didn't--"
"...to give the searching a rest while we're gone..."
"--I didn't agree yet--"
"...but we'll only be a month or two-- Will you stop fussing, Richard?" The marquis waved a hand at him, irritably.
"I'd almost think you were concerned." A faint smile played at Door's lips, and the marquis rolled his eyes at her.
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he asked dryly. "Just remember, you have other duties, and those who would be the most danger to your sister are gone. If she isn't dead yet, she'll keep."
He ignored the angry, pained flash of Door's eyes, turning away from her and walking quickly towards the door. Richard watched him with his mouth open, speechless.
"Come along, Richard. We need to make an early start on this," de Carabas called over his shoulder, and Richard shot an apologetic look at Door, hesitating.
She smiled at him, faintly. "Go," she agreed, sounding tired. "Whatever this is about, I'm sure it's important. Just don't be too long. And try not to let him die again," she added, as Richard was stepping out the door, and he didn't have a chance to answer her.
It also took him until about halfway down the street to realize that he still hadn't actually agreed to go with the marquis, and that in the end, they'd both made the decision for him anyway. The thought didn't frustrate him, didn't make him feel as helpless as it might have before, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that.
He decided to just go along with it, which was how he'd started approaching much of his new life in London Below. He sped to catch up with the marquis, who had a quick stride and was apparently unconcerned about Richard actually managing to keep up with him.
"Okay," he said, trying not to sound out of breath, not to seem like he wasn't up to the task or his new role. "Where are we going? And why are we really going?"
It was a shot in the dark, but he wanted to get through that impenetrable shell the marquis seemed to have, to see him impressed or satisfied or at least disgruntled. The marquis was, he was starting to realize, pretty much the poster child for someone who had not only managed to survive in the World Below, but also thrive there, to make this life his own and to be exactly what he meant to be.
The marquis slowed just enough to draw alongside Richard, and he lowered his voice. "I have a lead," he murmured. "Just a rumor, but from a reputable source. We may be able to find Ingress."
Richard was dumbfounded. He looked at the marquis, trying to read his expression. De Carabas, for his part, didn't look at him, scanning the tunnels ahead of them instead. Intent enough that after a moment, Richard looked away again, back down the tunnel, suddenly worried that they might be walking into dangerous places.
Another moment, and he managed, "Why didn't you say that to Door? If we can find her sister..."
"Think, Richard," the marquis spoke more sharply. "I did say it was a rumor, that we may be able to find her. If it leads to nothing, yet again, why get her hopes up? Besides," he grew a little less sharp, then, but still brisk, "if she knew, do you imagine she would let us go alone?"
"Well, why can't she come?" Richard's head was starting to spin a bit again. He'd been wondering when that would happen; it had been almost a full day since the last time London Below had made him feel like this, a new record. The marquis rolled his eyes again.
"You may know almost nothing about the World Below," he said, "but I should think even you would have picked this up. With the tragic murder of her father, mother, and elder brother, Lady Door is now Lord of House of Arch. Just because Croup and Vandemar and the angel are gone doesn't mean she is without enemies. She's already dangerously close to neglecting her duties in favor of this search; how do you think it would look if she left London now, so newly instated? Abandoning her seat."
"She wouldn't be abandoning it," Richard argued, slightly stung on her behalf.
"Would that her political enemies would take such a generous view," de Carabas said, glancing sideways to Richard. "Try to keep up; even your World Above has politics."
Richard thought back to the political sound bites he'd heard all his life. "That's... true."
"Then you see why London needs her. Unfortunately, she's gotten it into her head that her sister needs her as well, and she is unable to delegate one and unwilling to delegate the other. I hardly make a habit of doing things for others' own good," he added dryly. "But I have my own reasons for wanting to avoid things destabilizing. She's already unpopular for wanting to continue work towards her father's mad ideas about uniting London Below, we don't need an actual war."
Richard still wasn't sure he was satisfied. "But if we can be really sure that we've found Ingress," he pressed. "Then we'll let Door know. Right?"
De Carabas sighed. "If we need Door, in order to secure her sister's rescue, or save her life," he said. "Then we will contact Door. She'd never let me live it down, otherwise," he muttered.
It was obvious that would have to do. Richard stuck his hands in his pockets, antsy, one hand fidgeting with the handle of Hunter's Knife-- his knife, the Warrior's Knife. "You never did say where we were going," he pointed out, and felt a shiver of dread when de Carabas turned his head to grin at him, smile wide and bright in the dark.
"France."
They did not, as Richard was worried about, walk all the way to France. Impossibly, they took the tube; after taking a circuitous route that Richard realized at this point probably was necessary for the journey, they wound up on the All Saints platform on the Docklands Light Railway. Richard was actually vaguely surprised, since All Saints definitely was part of the DLR, and he'd gotten used to things being more out of place and wrong than that.
He didn't ask how All Saints would get them to France, even though it was tempting; he had a feeling that any answer the marquis would give him would be less than helpful, and probably impatient. As they sat the marquis tossed him an unopened soda can and a bag of crisps that he'd apparently gotten from one of the vending machines. How was anybody's guess, and it felt like vaguely patronizing positive reinforcement, but Richard was hungry and thirsty and so he had it anyway.
He dozed, one hand still on his knife, and woke with a start when the marquis grabbed his arm, lost and confused for a moment until he heard the voice over the intercom announcing, "Saint-Michel - Notre-Dame. Attention à la marché en descendant du train. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform..."
"Saint-Michel," he said fuzzily. "Is that why we boarded at All Saints...?"
De Carabas looked grudgingly impressed, which cheered Richard up a bit. "Possibly," he allowed. "In any case, it's the only way into Paris. Now follow me, stay close, and by the Temple and Arch's sake, don't wander off. I'm not going to search very hard for you."
Well, the cheer was nice while it lasted. "You don't need to worry," he rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard and trying to wake up more fully as he followed the marquis out of the train car. "I don't speak any French."
"Good," the marquis said brusquely. "Don't speak to anyone." He stopped to look at one of the RER maps on the wall, drumming his fingers against his leg.
"Where are we going?" Richard hovered close by, feeling kind of childish, like he might as well be saying are we there yet?
"To the court of a-- friend."
Something about the way the marquis said that set off alarm bells in Richard's head. "A 'friend'," he said, dubious. "Like the Earl was a friend?"
"Not quite," the marquis said. "I'm not going to be kicked out, at any rate."
Or kippered, Richard thought.
"Though if you're not careful, they may hang you."
"Wait." De Carabas had set off again, fast-paced, and Richard hurried after him. "Excuse me?"
"Just don't be insulting," de Carabas advised. "Don't make them think you're a threat. And do exactly what I tell you."
"Are you ever going to take me somewhere that won't potentially get me killed?"
"Don't worry." De Carabas flashed him a grin. "You'll be there under my recommendation. If you mess up badly enough, they'll have us both killed."
"That's not reassuring."
The marquis sighed. "As amusing as this is, I did mean it when I said not to worry. If you follow directions, we'll both be perfectly safe. Do you really think I'd risk my neck again so soon?"
Richard remembered the bloodstained cloth around de Carabas's neck, remembered the look in his eyes. They killed me, he'd said.
"No," he admitted.
It was a long and winding path, sometimes leading them into the streets above, sometimes back down into the tunnels. Every time Richard thought he was getting more used to walking for miles at a time, twinges in his legs after only an hour proved him wrong. It was more like two before de Carabas stopped, apparently satisfied.
It was dark. The torch that de Carabas was holding -- an actual torch, nothing electric, fabric wrapped around wood and burning steadily -- barely lit up the tunnel. Richard was surprised when de Carabas passed him the torch, taking it carefully, and the marquis felt around in his pockets with both hands, muttering.
"If I recall correctly... Which I always-- Ah. Hold still."
Richard remembered what the marquis had said about following directions and doing exactly as he was told. He still jolted and almost dropped the torch when the marquis reached up and wrapped a length of cloth around his eyes, tying it behind his head. "What are you doing?!"
"This is important, Richard," the marquis said, audibly annoyed. "Possibly the most important thing I will tell you in this city. Do not untie this cloth. Do not peek. If it slips, or you feel at all like you may have some idea of your surroundings, close your eyes."
"Is this really necessary?" Richard's heart was hammering. Yes, all right, he trusted the marquis... mostly, anyway... but he felt exceptionally vulnerable like this. His safety was basically entirely in the marquis's hands now, and he was being told to let it happen, to not even try to take any semblance of control back. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Would I be doing it if it were optional?" There was quiet, for a few moments, more rustling cloth. Richard listened closely, but couldn't really figure out what was going on. Then he felt the marquis groping for the torch again, and he heard him blow it out.
He'd thought he was functionally blind with the cloth around his eyes. As light totally disappeared, leaving everything pitch black, he realized how wrong he'd been.
His second thought, a little more disbelieving, was, Does de Carabas have a blindfold on too?
"How are we going to get anywhere...?" he started to ask, slowly, but he was getting the idea at this point.
"How do you think? I don't know where the Court is. No one who is not a member of la Cour des Miracles knows how to get there. If anyone finds out, they don't survive it." De Carabas sounded more tense than Richard thought he'd ever heard him. "So," he repeated, "don't peek."
"But who's going to take us?" Richard was tense now, too, turning his head slightly, even though he couldn't see. He couldn't hear any movement, couldn't sense anybody. He almost felt like he was being watched, but he couldn't be sure that was actually true, or if he was just on edge now.
"They'll be here eventually," came the marquis's answer. "I doubt it will be long. People don't come here unless they want to be found by the Court, or want to find it. They'll want to decide if we're intruders or visitors quickly."
"And you said one of them is your friend," Richard repeated what the marquis had said earlier, trying to reassure himself.
"After a fashion."
That was not reassuring. Neither was it reassuring that, after only a few minutes, someone grabbed him by the arms and forced them behind his back, another figure tying them there. He nearly jumped out of his skin; he hadn't heard any approach so who knew how long they'd been there or how they'd gotten so close without them noticing? They each grabbed an arm and pulled him along, and he could only trust that the marquis was along for the ride as well, feeling more alone than he had since rejoining the World Below.
The men around him talked back and forth in French, completely unfamiliar words, which didn't do anything to help the feeling. When he heard the marquis's voice speak up in response, sounding as French as a native, he relaxed a little, even if the men didn't sound especially receptive.
There was, at least, a little light again now, though Richard was possibly a bit too worried about the warnings de Carabas had given, and shut his eyes behind the blindfold. The light wouldn't have been any help, truth be told; he wasn't very familiar with Paris, even the streets above, and every so often he was stopped and spun around a few times before they set off again. He was starting to wonder how long their trip could last, when he started to hear the sound of running water, and murmuring echoing off in the distance. He hoped fervently that they weren't heading into the sewers.
Fortunately, they didn't seem to be. To his surprise, the sounds of people laughing and talking suddenly solidified from distant echoing to a dull roar as they stepped into a space that felt much more open, and he blinked his eyes open again. It seemed much brighter behind the blindfold, and then it was being whisked off, and he flinched, squinting as his eyes tried to adjust and unsure if he should be looking around yet or not.
He glanced over at the marquis in time to see his own blindfold removed, and felt relieved when he saw him look around, rather than closing his eyes. They were past that part, then...
"De Carabas!" It was called out in obvious greeting, the voice cheerful, and Richard looked over quickly to see... well, someone who he would have called odd before his experiences in London Below, but now he just looked strangely normal, compared to much of what Richard had seen. His clothing was old fashioned, true, in shades of purple, with a huge yellow feather in his hat and a large gold earring in one ear. He had a dagger at his belt, and that wasn't unusual, either, but with his own hands bound, still surrounded by the men who had escorted them here, Richard couldn't help feeling nervous. "Quelle surprise! Je ne savais pas que tu venais."
"Je n'ai pas eu l'occasion de prévenir à l'avance." The marquis shrugged, his own hands, Richard noticed, also bound behind his back. "Tu es aussi accueillant que d'habitude."
"Et qui est cet homme? Encore un malheureux qui te doit une faveur?" The man looked amused. Richard tried not to look too lost.
"Le nouveau Guerrier de Londres d'En Bas. Richard Mayhew," de Carabas said, startling Richard. "Richard, this is Clopin Trouillefou, the King of Truands and leader of the Court of Miracles."
Clopin was giving him a quizzical look. Richard felt embarrassed. "Je suis..." he tried, then tried again, "Pardonne..." and then, not sure if he was on the right track at all, he gave up. He'd never known how to apologize in French. He'd never bothered to learn, after Jessica; he was starting to think that he should. "Pardon me. I don't speak French. I'm sorry."
Clopin made a see-sawing, so-so gesture in the air, and said, to Richard's chagrin, in English, "A little wetter behind the ears than I like in my Warriors. But times are hard for us all."
De Carabas didn't look terribly amused, though Richard had half expected him to. "Are we going to be untied, Votre Majesté?"
"I suppose you did come petitioning properly." Clopin shrugged expansively, then waved his hands to their 'escort', a gesture which apparently did mean 'untie them'. Richard gladly rolled his shoulders, then started to rub a little feeling back into his wrists. "Though it's been a long time since you've called on me, de Carabas." The odd king walked over to lay a hand on the marquis's shoulder, practically leaning against him. "Why, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me!"
"How could I?" de Carabas asked dryly.
"Well-- come with me. We shall talk," Clopin decided. He added slyly, "And drink, if your Warrior can hold his wine."
"I'm Scottish," Richard joked weakly, and Clopin laughed, slung his arm around the marquis and steered him over to drape his other arm around Richard, as well.
"Then if you can't hold it, at least you'll enjoy it. Tonight, you are my guests. Come and tell Clopin your troubles."
The conversation that Clopin and de Carabas have in French goes thusly:
"De Carabas! What a surprise! I had no idea you were coming."
"I didn't have a chance to call in advance. You're as welcoming as always."
"And who is this? Another poor soul who owes you a favor?"
"The new Warrior of London Below."
Then, of course, the introduction, and then Richard tries to apologize in French. At first he was trying to say je suis désolé, which would have been a little too on-the-nose, being actually pretty formal and not something often used. He actually gets much closer with pardonne, but second-guesses himself out of it.