A/N: Disclaimer from chapter one still applies. Anachronisms coming thick and fast now..! I would have put this up sooner, but holidays got in my way.
Kocho leaned against a wall for a moment to catch her breath. A street vendor had informed her that the carnival was on the outskirts of the city, near the south gate. Feeling that time was of the essence, she had been running most of the way. She was nearly at the gate now. She patted the front of her tunic to make sure the money was still there, and was reassured. Now she could walk the rest of the way.
As she made a move to continue, she heard a man's voice shout, "Hey! Gypsy girl!"
She looked toward the voice and her heart constricted. A soldier! She turned and began to run again, and collided with another of Frollo's men. He grabbed her by the arm and held on. She struggled and cried out in protest, "Let go of me! I'm not doing anything wrong!"
The soldier who had shouted at her hurried up to them, followed by yet another man in armor. Kocho gulped. She was in trouble.
"Where are you going, gypsy girl?" growled the man who had hold of her.
She thought fast. "Uh...my mother is sick...I'm...trying to find some herbs for her, sir."
She tried to make her eyes look wider and more innocent.
"You're not looking for a gypsy man?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"We stopped a man last night. A gypsy. With a feathered hat. Long black hair. One gold earring. He knocked me down and ran off. We're looking for him. If you can tell us where he is, we'll reward you."
"How could I possibly know who you're referring to, sir?" answered the girl, "You just described about half the gypsy men in Paris." Including Clopin, she thought, but was careful not to say this aloud. She wondered if she could get any information out of these soldiers by pretending to help them. "Did you notice anything else about him, sir?"
The soldier gave her a look that was somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "It was too dark to see much," he replied, "But he was quick. Maybe a sorcerer, too. I cut him across the ribs before he ran off, but he managed to get away even though he was bleeding like a stuck pig."
Kocho tensed and resisted the urge to punch the soldier. That would not help her or Clopin. And if he was wounded, it was even more imperative that he be found quickly.
"Oh, my!" she managed to say, "How did he do that?"
"Hid on a roof. We thought we had him cornered, but he jumped from rooftop to rooftop and gave us the slip."
One of the other soldiers elbowed him. "She doesn't need to know all that. Shut up."
She raised her eyebrows at the soldier, "Jumped from roof to roof? Are you sure you weren't drinking last night, sir?"
The man glowered at her, and she flinched a little. Oops, she thought, not a good thing to say. She hurriedly continued, "Well, sirs, if he was hurt as badly as you say, surely he couldn't have gotten very far. Perhaps he claimed sanctuary at the cathedral," she suggested, knowing that was the last place Clopin would have gone.
"We looked there. No luck."
The other soldier sighed and said, "She doesn't know anything. We're wasting time."
"Should we take her back to the Palace?"
She prepared to fight. If they decided to arrest her, she would not go peacefully.
"And say we caught a mouse but let the rat go free?" replied the other soldier, "I don't think so. Let her go. We need to keep looking."
The soldiers released her and walked away without even looking back. Kocho dusted herself off and spat on the ground. Cowards, she thought. If I ever see them again, I'll scratch their eyes out. But where was Clopin? Had he really run away over the rooftops? She wouldn't put it past him. But if he was wounded...she shivered. He had to be found. Quickly.
She began to run towards the south gate.
"How are you feeling, M. Trouillefou?" asked the Dog-Faced Man.
"Much better, thank you," answered Clopin and smiled.
Gannick, from within a wooden cage, played a convincingly wild Dogman in front of an audience, baring his teeth and roaring, but in private he had a soft, mild voice and gentle blue eyes. He was now crouching comfortably on the floor near Clopin and occupying his hands with weaving straw into a basket. He wore only a sleeveless green tunic that reached his knees, leaving his legs and arms bare to show off the thick brown hair that covered his body from head to toe. Even his face was hairy, with only his eyes, lips, and the tip of his nose showing. He had a nice smile, though. It lit up his whole furry face.
"Have you met everyone?" he asked Clopin.
"Everyone except Joffrin. Well, I only sort of met Pierre. He was asleep."
"He sleeps most of the time. He can sleep through anything."
"Is he really the World's Oldest Man? How old is he?"
"No one really knows. Jorg just bills him as that. You should see his show. Its sort of funny, really. He just lies in a hammock and sleeps for a few hours while lines of people walk through the tent and stare at him. Jorg will stand in there, or get one of the others to, and just recite some of Pierre's life story."
"Everyone should have such an easy job."
Gannick laughed. "Well, he's been working so long, he deserves it. He's been involved with carnivals all his life. He still helps us sometimes, when he's awake. He's pretty spry, too. He can still hammer tent stakes into the ground."
"And what can you tell me about Joffrin?"
"The Tiny Titan," grinned Gannick, "Joffrin's really something. He's only about three feet tall, but he's tough as nails. He's the strongest of any of us, you know."
"How is that possible?"
The Dog-Faced Man shrugged. "People get strange talents, I suppose. Joffrin could pull the wagons along if we ever lost our horses."
"Does he lift weights in his show?"
"Part of it. The second part."
Marcel, who was perched on a stool behind Clopin, laughed. "Yes. The first part of Joffrin's show consists of him challenging the men in the audience to different tests of strength. He always wins."
Gannick nodded. "If he tries to make a bet with you, M. Trouillefou, don't take it. He looks little, but he's all muscle."
"Well, I'm stronger than I look, myself."
"Obviously," muttered Henri, "Or you wouldn't be out of bed and walking yet."
"That's fine," said Gannick, "And you could maybe beat any of us in a fair contest, too. But Joffrin is…I don't know…almost supernatural."
"Oh, don't be weird, Gannick," sighed the carnival manager.
"I'm sorry, Jorg, but I can't help thinking. Do you know the legends about elves and leprechauns and things, M. Trouillefou?"
"I've heard stories of that sort, yes."
"Sometimes I wonder if Joffrin is one of them, or related somehow. You know, in all the stories they're always tiny, but they're cleverer and quicker than all the people they run across."
Jorg shook his head. "Don't mind Gannick, M. Trouillefou. He's…very sensitive and imaginative. Sometimes he gets carried away with his fantasies."
"Fantasy is better than reality," replied the Dogman serenely.
"Speaking of fantasy and reality, Clopin," said Marcel suddenly, "I've heard rumors that there's someone living in the belltower of the cathedral. A monster. Is it true? Do you know?"
Clopin grinned. "The bell ringer is one of the great mysteries of Paris. He exists, but no one knows much about him. He came into Paris with his mother—who was a gypsy, by the way—but she was killed by Judge Frollo, and he has raised the boy ever since."
"Is he a monster?"
"I suppose that would depend on your point of view. I've heard he has a hunched back, and that his face is deformed, from the one or two people who have dared to venture in to see him."
The last comment seemed to catch Jorg's attention. "Really, M. Trouillefou?" he inquired, "How interesting. And you say he rings the bells in the cathedral?"
"Yes," replied Clopin. "He is immensely strong."
"And he has no family to miss him, other than this Judge Frollo?"
"I'd scarcely call Frollo 'family'. Knowing him, he probably bullies and terrorizes the boy."
"So it would be safe to assume he's discontent where he is?"
Gannick's nimble fingers stopped weaving the basket and he looked up at his manager with a frown. "I know what you're thinking, Jorg," he said, "and you can just stop right now."
"What?" said Jorg innocently.
"You leave that poor boy alone," continued the Dogman.
"Oh, Gannick!" protested Jorg, "So righteous, so naïve! But just think of it for a moment…The hunchback has no one to miss him, nothing that he should stay here for. So we invite him to join us…He has the strength to help us transport our equipment, set up our tents…And we provide him with food and shelter and attention…And maybe, in time, we set him up as our newest attraction…The Man Without a Face!"
"Jorg! You're horrible!" gasped Gannick, "How can you?"
"It makes sense though, doesn't it? You have to admit it. We belong together…human oddities like he and you and I. We'd be doing him a kindness."
"A kindness?!" exclaimed Gannick, "I wouldn't wish this life on anyone!"
Jorg scowled, "I had no idea you were so discontent, Gannick. You're free to leave any time you like, you know."
"It's too late for me and you know it, Jorg. I was born the Dog-Faced Boy, and I'll die the Dog-Faced Man. But you can't just drag an innocent into this! You can't ask someone to put himself on display for hordes of…of voyeurs to come and stare at him and leave thanking God they're not him! It leaches the humanity out of you." His voice softened suddenly. "Day after day, people looking at you like you're not a person at all. You are not going to do that to anyone, Jorg. I forbid it for his sake, and I forbid it for yours!"
"You forbid it?" Jorg raised his eyebrows. "Who are you to forbid me anything? I'm the one who runs this carnival, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't. We're not talking about the damned carnival, Jorg. We're talking about a life! A person's life!"
Jorg began to make an angry reply, then paused. "Alright, Gannick…we're talking about a person's life. But whose life are we talking about? The hunchback's? Or yours?"
Gannick's eyes flashed and he rose to his feet. Clopin realized for the first time then how large and strong he was. He advanced menacingly toward the manager. "Maybe I see myself in him. Maybe I think his chances are better where he is than here with us. Maybe I'm wrong. But I won't sit and watch the crowds steal a person's humanity. And I won't watch you lose your own soul by letting it happen."
He and Jorg stood facing each other for a moment, Jorg's three fists clenched, muscles tensed, Gannick's furry body drawn up to its full height and towering nearly a foot over the manager. Then suddenly Jorg gave way with a sigh. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Gannick," he said a bit wistfully, sitting down, "You've never threatened me before."
"There was never a need before."
"I know your life has been hard, but it wasn't my fault. I wasn't there…"
"I know you weren't, and I don't blame you for what happened when I was little. That's why I won't let you do to someone else what my family did to me."
Jorg sighed again. "I don't want to fight, Gannick. I don't understand what you're saying, but I don't want to fight."
"Doesn't it ever get to you, Jorg? The way people stare at you like you're some kind of freak?"
Jorg smiled. "It's the easiest job imaginable, my friend. You just stand and smile, and people pay you for it. I feel lucky that I have the ability to make my living that way."
"I guess that's the difference between us."
"Exactly. You see horror in the eyes of the people who come to look at you. I see envy."
Gannick smiled, suddenly all softness again. "I wish I were more like you."
Kocho stared ahead of her at the forest of multicolored carnival tents. There were ten at least, plus a wooden stage and a brightly painted wagon which bore the insignia 'Jorg's Human Oddities.' Peasants of various ages, genders, and appearances were gathered in a large circle among the tents. It appeared that there was a show going on. She attempted to join the crowd, but she was too short to see what was happening and no one would move aside for her to get closer. She glanced around her and spotted a tree a short distance away. She hurried toward it and began to climb. She needed to know who was in the center of that crowd. If it was one of the carnival rom, maybe she could get his attention after the show.
She settled herself on a sturdy branch near the top of the tree. From her perch she could see the show below her. She was disappointed. The performer was not a gypsy. He was a little gadjo in leather armor and he was gesturing at a large rock to the left of him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he was saying, "Despite the fact that none of the men in the audience have been able to move this rock, I, Joffrin, the Tiny Titan, will be able to shift its position with ease."
Sure, thought Kocho. That rock's almost as big as he is.
She watched as the man stooped over and bent his knees. He encircled the end of the rock with both arms and with a sound like an animal's growl, he hoisted it into the air. After a moment, with a look of intense concentration on his small face, he shifted the weight of the rock so that is rested entirely along one arm. The crowd applauded loudly, and Kocho nearly fell off her perch in amazement. The man lowered the rock to the ground and bowed.
"And now, for my next feat," he began, but Kocho did not bother to listen to what his next feat was going to be.
She had spotted Clopin.
The gypsy king left Gannick's tent accompanied, as before, by Marcel, Henri, and Jorg.
"I don't know what got into him," Jorg kept saying. "Gannick's never acted like that before. Never."
"Do the two of you get along well?" asked Clopin.
"Gannick adores Jorg as if he were his father or his big brother," replied Henri. "I would never have believed Gannick would threaten him if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."
"I hope my presence didn't have anything to do with it."
"None of you understand him at all," sighed Marcel softly. "He's afraid. He's always afraid that anyone he gets close to will turn out just like his family."
Clopin looked at the boy, puzzled.
"Gannick was born covered with hair," explained Marcel. "He was the third child in his family. He says his mother used to tell him that she must have been cursed while she was pregnant with him. He lived in a little town, and his parents kept him inside most of the time. When he did show himself, the town decided that he was a werewolf and they threatened to turn his family out. His uncle came and took charge of him and traveled around with him, showing him for money. He kept him in a cage so no one would be afraid he would come after them. Then Jorg ran into them and he sort of bribed Gannick's uncle into letting him go."
"I wouldn't phrase it that way," said Jorg coolly, "I compensated the man for the loss he was certain to suffer after he permitted me to hire Gannick, a skilled performer, for my own carnival."
"Right, Jorg. Gannick told me you said that first day he was with you that he didn't have to stay in the carnival."
"Oh, don't make me sound charitable, Marcel. You'll ruin my reputation as a businessman. How did you learn all this, anyway? I know I never discussed Gannick's past with the rest of you."
"I was talking to Gannick one time and it all just sort of came out. I was telling him about how my life had been, and I guess he just felt like he could trust me, since we'd been through such similar things."
"What sort of similar things?" Clopin asked the boy gently.
Marcel just shrugged and gave him a wry half-smile. Then he glanced up ahead of them. "Oh, look," he said, "Joffrin's begun his show."
"Ah," replied Clopin, "A distraction." He studied Marcel, and the boy blushed and looked away.
Ahead of them they saw a large number of peasants clustered around the little Joffrin, who was just setting down a large rock. The Tiny Titan was dressed in brown leather armor and a white shirt, and he had leather tape wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His face was broad and friendly, his eyes small, blue, and bright, and his hair was a blond so pale it was nearly white.
"And now," he was saying, "For my next feat I will need a volunteer from the audience…You, sir," he pointed at a large, heavy man standing close to the front of the crowd. "Perhaps you'll be willing to come here and assist me?"
The audience watched curiously as Joffrin bid the man sit on a swing-like apparatus, then climbed onto a rock so that he was above the man's head.
"If you'd be so kind as to lift your feet, sir?" the Tiny Titan asked the volunteer, then he slowly lifted the apparatus into the air so that the man was suspended off the ground and began to swing the man in a slow circle.
"Amazing," said Clopin, "I've never seen anything like it. How does he manage it?"
Jorg chuckled, "He doesn't know himself."
Kocho stared. Yes, that was definitely Clopin there, on the outskirts of the crowd. Next to him was a man with three arms, obviously one of the carnival gypsies. She uttered a brief prayer of thanks to whatever god or gods might be listening and started to climb down the tree. Suddenly she saw a flash of sunlight reflecting off of something. She paused in her descent to determine what had caught her attention. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Shoving their way through the crowd of peasants were the three soldiers she had run into earlier. The three soldiers who were searching for Clopin. She bit her lip and clenched the branch so hard her knuckles turned white. They were headed straight for him. It was only a matter of time before they saw him and realized who he was. She had to warn him…but, no, she was helpless. If she shouted out to him or ran across the field to warn him she would only draw the soldiers' attention. She shifted nervously in her perch and waited.
Clopin started as a familiar, rough voice shouted, "You! So we've finally caught up to you. You miserable rat, you won't give us the slip this time…"
He tensed as he noticed the three soldiers hurrying toward him and glanced around him for a direction in which to run. Henri placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered, "Don't move…you're too weak, you'd never get away in time."
He started to protest, but Jorg nodded in agreement, "Act as if you don't know what they're talking about. We'll deal with them." He raised his voice and addressed the soldiers. "I beg your pardon gentlemen, but were you talking to me?"
The armed men paused in front of them. One of them scowled at Clopin and replied, "You know who we're talking to. Give up quietly, gypsy, or we'll cut you open the rest of the way."
Jorg raised an eyebrow. "I believe you've mistaken this man for someone else. He doesn't have any knife wounds that I'm aware of."
Another soldier glared at Jorg. "That man attacked us last night…And you'd better think twice before defending him. There's a penalty for harboring criminals, you know."
The third soldier sneered, "Aye, that's right. Is it still fifteen lashes or has it gone up now?"
"It's twenty, plus a day in the stocks," chuckled the second soldier.
Jorg crossed two of his arms and slowly reached toward his dagger with the third.
Marcel looked sharply from Jorg to the soldiers to Clopin, then carefully slipped between the gypsy king and his aggressors. "Forgive me, sirs, but this can't be the man you're looking for. He was here with us last night."
"Is that so, boy?" sneered the first soldier, "And what was he doing here?"
Marcel blinked. "He—he works with us. With the carnival."
"As what?"
"Er…He's my partner. In my act. We're acrobats."
"Ah," the soldiers exchanged a skeptical look.
Marcel continued quickly, "We've worked together ever since I was little. He's my…er…cousin. Taught me everything I know." The boy smiled nervously.
"Did he now? We'd like to see some of those acrobatics, if you don't mind."
"You can't!" said Marcel. "I mean…he's sprained his hand. That's why we aren't performing today."
The first soldier shoved Marcel aside and roughly grabbed Clopin by the wrist. "Doesn't seem sprained to me."
Clopin grimaced with pain but managed not to wince or gasp. The soldier tugged on his arm again. "Let's see some of these acrobatics, eh, gypsy?"
Kocho dropped silently out of her perch in the tree and to the ground. She picked up a large dead branch and tested its weight in her hands. She wasn't used to fighting. But she was not going to just stand there and watch as they arrested her rom baro. If they took him, they'd have to take her, too. And she wasn't going to make it easy for them, even if there were three of them.
Clopin jerked free of the soldier's grasp and glowered at him. Henri's face was turning a vivid shade of red. "Look here," he spluttered, clenching his fists, "You can't just come in here and—"
Clopin raised his hand. "It is alright, mon ami," he said coolly, dusting off his sleeve, "The gentlemen came to the carnival for a show, as do all our patrons. Marcel and I will give them what they ask." He turned his black eyes on the boy in a warning look.
Marcel nodded. "Whatever you say…cousin."
Clopin linked arms with the boy and led him to a clear space a short distance away.
Marcel hissed, "I'm sorry…this is all my fault…How are we supposed to pull this off?"
"Relax. Your instincts are solid. Clopin has done gymnastics before now. Just cover for me if I stumble from the wound."
"Oh god…"muttered the boy.
"Calm down, lad. It isn't your head on the block. Handsprings."
Marcel gave Clopin a panicked look, then instinctually balanced himself and leapt into a flawless back handspring. Clopin quickly followed suit, heading the other way. For several moments, they performed the exact same moves in the exact opposite directions--handspring, flyspring, planche, diveroll--perfectly in sync with one another, giving the impression that they were mirror images. Then Clopin bent slightly and held his hands out to Marcel, fingers interlaced. The boy gave him a questioning look, as if to say 'Are you certain you're up to that?' Clopin merely gave a short, grim, nod, and the boy took a running start, stepped into the gypsy king's outstretched hands, and propelled himself into the air. He did a double somersault and a half-twist before he hit the ground in a graceful crouch. Clopin winced a little, but without missing a beat, placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and somersaulted over him, landing in front of him in the same elegant final stance.
Jorg was the first to applaud. Henri joined in, giving the soldiers a defiant look. Then a similar sound went up around them, and they realized that Joffrin's audience had transferred itself to them. Marcel stood, smiling triumphantly, and helped Clopin to his feet. The gypsy king crossed his arms and looked to the soldiers.
They advanced toward him. "Think you're clever, don't you?" hissed the first. "Well, a fine gymnast you may be, but that doesn't mean…"
Clopin threw back his head and laughed, interrupting them. He leaned forward with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "Just try arresting me in front of this lot." He nodded his head toward the applauding peasants. "Think they'll let you?" he glanced at Marcel. "What do you think, cousin? Will our adoring fans let me be carted off to the Palace?"
Marcel grinned, "Never."
The soldier scowled. "Maybe not. But just let me catch you outside this carnival…"
Clopin smirked.
The armed men turned and left reluctantly. "This isn't over," the third shouted over his shoulder. "We'll be watching the streets for you!"
The gypsy king snorted. "Enjoy yourselves."
Kocho dropped her branch, leaned against the tree trunk with a sigh of relief, and grinned adoringly in Clopin's general direction. She should have known he would never let himself be caught that way. And what an act! She had seen him do flips at the Feast of Fools, but nothing like what he had just done. Of course, he had other things to attend to at the Festival and just now he had been concentrating on acrobatics alone. She watched him with shining eyes as the guards shuffled off. As soon as the crowd had cleared a bit, she would go to him, find out where he'd been, and tell him what she knew about Pylades. She hoped he wouldn't be angry with her for disobeying Esmeralda…
Jorg and Henri hurried up to Clopin and Marcel, followed by a grinning Joffrin. They all began to speak at once.
"Brilliant, M. Trouillefou!" exclaimed Jorg, "I am truly impressed. If you ever feel like a change of career, you'll certainly be welcome to join us."
Henri said, "I can't believe you did that! You just got out of bed this morning…How on earth--?!?"
"Wasn't he fabulous?" raved Marcel, "I wish he really was my partner!"
Joffrin laughed heartily, "That was a piece of work, I have to say. The expressions on those idiots' faces…absolutely priceless!"
Clopin smiled wearily at them, then gasped and sagged as the adrenaline wore off. He felt a stabbing pain in his side. Marcel caught him and supported him. "Clopin--! What…?"
Henri grimaced and hurried to the gypsy king's other side. "I was afraid of that. The wound must have reopened while he was jumping around. We have to get him back to my tent…Damn those soldiers!"
Clopin shook his head. "No, no, 'M fine, really…"
"No you're not, you're bleeding again."
They half led, half carried him back into Henri's tent, and Joffrin posted himself by the door, glowering defensively.
Kocho straightened and stifled an exclamation of horror. What was wrong with Clopin? She remembered one of the soldiers saying they had cut him in the side the night before. The wound must have gotten worse somehow with all the movement of the gymnastic act. She wrung her hands with worry as she watched him being led into a tent, then hurried impulsively after him.
"And just where do you think you're going?" a voice interrupted her as she reached the tent's entrance. She looked down to see the Tiny Titan blocking her path.
"I…I need to see Clopin," she stuttered, "He's…"
"Now, now, then," replied the man, "A wounded man's tent is no place for a sweet young thing like yourself. You just run along and wait…"
"You don't understand! I'm his…I mean, he's my king and…"
"I don't care if he's your brother. They're stitching him up, and the last thing we need is to have a fainting girl on our hands. Besides, he's a mighty popular man today. Maybe he knows you. Maybe he doesn't. After what I just saw, I'm not taking any chances. Now, move along."
Kocho scowled at the little gadjo. She briefly considered shoving past him. Then she remembered the rock. She sighed in angry defeat and paced away, thinking furiously. What to do now? She groaned to herself as the answer came to her. She would have to run back to the Court and fetch Esmeralda. She at least had Clopin's Skeleton Guards at her call. Kocho sighed again, picturing those emerald eyes glaring at her. Esme was going to be furious with her disobedience. She shook her head in resignation and began to run back the way she had come.
Thus ends chapter 3 of 4, which may end up being more than that as I am getting continuation ideas now. Thank you to my reviewers: Guille, once more 3, Sunatic (more injury in this chapter, hope you like ;-) ), morph, and Kinzoku.
Must warn you all: next chapter you will see Clopin as you have (probably) never seen him before.