Catrina: A Les Miserables Story

chapter 3: ang sobrang yaman

ang sobrang yaman : [sentence] the extremely wealthy

pictured above: a noble family from the 1830s

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Catrina's belongings were being loaded onto the carriage when Marcel came back. He looked much better after changing from his slept-in clothes to some fresh ones and a long coat fit for a pirate character that Catrina had read in the books Basile would send to her.

"Ready to leave, Mademoiselle?" He tipped his hat in greeting.

Catrina nodded, then turned to the boy just as he slotted in the last trunk on top of the carriage with a thunk. He hopped down with a grunt, standing up straight as he addressed Catrina.

"Well then, Señora. This is as far as I can go." Miguel bowed.

Catrina dipped herself into a curtsy. "If our paths do cross again, I would be delighted to tell you of my travels."

"I will be looking forward to it." He smiled, a single dimple appearing on his cheek. He then turned around with a wave and walked off in the direction of the Sirena.

Marcel cleared his throat, Catrina turning around to see him with the door open to enter the carriage booth. "Mademoiselle, shall we?" He still gave that same smile, one that always seemed as if he was conjuring a cunning plan. But Catrina assumed it was simply his nature to smile in such a manner.

Taking his outstretched hand, she let him assist her in getting into the enclosed space. Back home, because of the heat, the carriages were quite open. A simple box with no walls but a roof to let the air in. It was a minor relief from the bitterly cold wind, the padded inside displaying only a sliver of the Gillenormand wealth. She brushed the flurries of snow off her skirts as she sat down on the velvet plush seats. Marcel shut the door, and suddenly she was encased in darkness.

That was when it finally sunk in. Catrina was now completely alone, her last connection to her homeland far behind her wading in the wharf.. A stranger she had met not even an hour ago was holding her life in her hands.

"How're ya' feeling, Mademoiselle?" She heard Marcel call out, who was currently climbing into the driver's seat. Trying her best to focus on his voice, she gulped.

"Indifferent." She sighed mentally. "Just keep talking, I feel...isolated in here."

"Well at least you're out of the chill aren't you? I'm freezing my toes off out here."

Catrina breathed out a laugh, Marcel's carefree attitude was like a breath of fresh air when most did not even dare address her without asking for permission.

"Call me Catrina, Marcel. At least while we may be in each other's company for the day."

Marcel nodded, stopping himself when he realised she couldn't exactly see it. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but what's the use of refusing nobility. It was going to be a long day after all.

Marcel tightened the reins around his gloved fists, bringing them down swiftly to signal the horses to start moving.

"Allons y!!!"

Catrina pushed aside the curtain concealing the window, watching them leave the harbour with a slow trot. Taking one last look at the galleon, she didn't avert her eyes until it had disappeared behind a clump of trees.

"Tell me, Ma- Catrina." He cleared his throat, thinking of ways to keep his mouth blabbering. "Where is it you're from? Because here you are, speaking my native tongue. Yet, you don't exactly look like you're from around here. If that isn't overstepping.