Present 1

The streets of Paris bustled on this bright January morning. The citizens of Paris hurried this way and that way trying to complete their morning chores. Hidden among them was a little gypsy boy who had given himself a mission. The boy peaked out of an alley way, an egg clutched in his hand, looking for his target. Finally the boy spotted him, a solider in Frollo's army of thugs. The boy's older brother was out juggling for coins the other day when the soldiers chased him away. The brother lost his money and was just barely able to outrun the soldiers. This soldier in particular managed to slice his arm as he was getting away. Now the little boy was out to avenge his older brother in the only way he was capable.

The boy waited for the soldier to pass his hiding place before prepping himself for the assault. He waited until the soldier was a reasonable distance away and his back was turned. Once the boy was sure the soldier was not paying him any attention, he lined up his aim and threw the egg. It sailed through the air heading straight for the soldier's head and…

Damn! The soldier turned his head at the last moment and the egg cracked off of the brim of him helmet and splattered pathetically on the ground. The boy stood there gaping at his failure.

"You there! Stop!"

It seemed the boy gaped a second too long. He turned on his heels and fled as the soldier and his companion rushed toward him. He darted down alley ways. His direction seemed aimless, but he knew exactly where he was going. The Janvier Inn came into view. He felt a twinge of relief in his heart, but the clamor of soldiers' boots reminded him that he was not finished running yet.

The bell above the inn's door clanged wildly as the boy burst through. The startled innkeeper looked up from her ledge as he dove to floor and slid behind her desk. "Bonjour mademoiselle," he whispered to the innkeeper as he tucked himself into the cubby hole in her desk.

The woman barely had time to react when two soldiers burst into her inn as well. "The gypsy boy," the soldier demanded, panting for breath "Where did he go?"

"He ran through the lobby and out the back door," the innkeeper answered in a rushed gasp. She decided to make her surprise work for her. The soldiers nodded and ran out the back door as she went back to her work.

Once he was sure the soldiers had gone, the boy crawled out from his hiding place. "Merci," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. The boy fancied himself a charmer. "I must be going now."

"Octavian…"

The boy stopped dead in his tracks at the innkeeper's warning tone.

She didn't bother to look up from her book. "That was the third time this month you've hidden under my desk, and it's only the 5th."

"I'm never running from the same guards," Octavian argued.

"That doesn't matter." She turned to him and gave him a stern glare. "The guards talk. Do you want them to find out about this place?"

"No…" he looked down at his feet sheepishly. "So, what? You want me to find new places to hide?"

"I want you to at least try to stay out of trouble," she replied. "You think I didn't see the yoke on the soldier's helmet? Trust me, you will find yourself in plenty of trouble without having to seek it out."

"Fine," Octavian sighed. "Can I go now?"

"That's another thing, you need to lay low for a while. You can't go back out there with the guards looking for you now."

"But…"

She put out her hand, silencing him. "I don't want to hear it. You need to wait for the guards to give up the search and forget your face. Here, you can hide in my office for about an hour."

She opened the door behind her and went in. Octavian followed, but he did not hide his displeasure as he let out an agonized groan. His aggravation was short lived, however, for when they entered the room, they found Clopin Trouillefou. He was leaning against a wall near a window, curiously inspecting his gloved finger tips.

"Clopin!" Octavian exclaimed as he dove to hug the man.

"Someone's gotten into some mischief I see," Clopin said as he affectionately patted the boy's head.

"Too much mischief," the innkeeper stated as she closed the door behind her. "He's going to attract the guards to this place if he keeps hiding here."

"Hmm, that is true." Clopin knelt down to the boy's level. "There are hiding places all over Paris. Make sure you know where they all are. Outrunning the guards becomes easier when you know every corner of the city. Now, off with you." He gave Octave a light shove toward the window. "Noelle and I have things to discuss."

"Oh no, the soldiers are probably still looking for him. He needs to stay here until they give up."

"Once again you are right, ma belle chère."

Clopin flashed her a smile as she regarded his flattery with suspicion. He wanted something. She let her withering stare linger on him for a moment before turning her attention back to Octavian. She reached into a pocket in her apron and gave it to the boy. "You, slip up to my room and wait there."

"But-"

"Now," she cut him off. "I will come get you when it's safe."

The boy sighed as he took the key and sulked away. Noelle watched from the door to make sure he went up the stairs and not out the back door. Once he disappeared to the next floor, she turned her gaze back to Clopin.

"Come now, don't give me that look," Clopin said, noting her stern expression. He put a hand on her chin and used his thumb and index finger to force her cheeks into a smile. Her lips fell back to a hard line as soon as he pulled his hand away.

"You're a terrible influence, you know," Noelle said, pulling away from him. "That boy is a lot like you were at that age; always getting into trouble."

He stroked his beard in faux contemplation. "I seem to recall a little red-headed girl acting with me for many of my childhood antics."

"Yes, I remember being dragged into your schemes." She rested her back against the door, arms crossed in front of her. Clopin braced an arm on the door above her head and leaned over her.

"And the schemes which were your idea? Did I drag you into those as well?" he asked as he ran her long braid between his fingers.

Noelle batted his hand away and took her braid back. "Let's just get to the point," she said breaking away from him. "Why are you here?"

"Just making sure that everything is prepared for tonight."

"Of course. You ask every time and every time my answer is the same. I have been doing this for six years and I have watched my father do it for much longer. Have I ever once been unprepared?"

"No, and I expect nothing less from you. Still, you can't fault me for being vigilant about the safety of my people."

"Then I suppose we have nothing more to discuss."

"I suppose."

Clopin sighed and returned to inspecting his gloved fingertips. Occasionally, he'd glance over to her then go back to his non-visible nails. Noelle rolled her eyes. The so called 'King of Gypsies' was craving attention again. She knew he was lingering for a reason. He had more to say but he wanted her to ask. Though she knew she'd have to play his game eventually, (few creatures on earth were as stubborn as her Clopin) she let the silence go on just a bit longer.

After a pause at least long enough to make him fidget, she finally gave in. "There's something else."

"There is," he answered, snapping out of his nonchalant pose. "The festival is tomorrow."

"I know"

"You did not go last year."

"True."

Clopin was nearly jumping out of his skin in anticipation and it brought a smirk to her lips. He wasn't the only one who could play games. "I should like to know why," he grumbled in irritation.

"I can't remember," she answered with a bit of sarcasm in her voice. "Maybe it's because I was here fighting off drunkards with a fire poker and keeping them from destroying my common room."

"Ah yes, inebriates from here to Spain quake in fear at mere tales of the innkeeper and her dreaded fire poker" he teased.

"Are you mocking me?"

Clopin gasped and slapped a hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture. "You think I dare to invoke your wrath?"

Noelle rolled her eyes. "Why is it you bring all of this up now?"

"Is it not obvious?" He slid behind her desk and into the chair. He leaned back, gracefully balancing the chair on its back legs, as his own legs rested on the desk in front of him. "I want you to go this year."

"Go? To the festival? Who's going to watch the inn while I'm gone?"

He leaned back, gracefully balancing the chair on its back legs, as his own legs rested on the desk in front of him. "You employ a cook, serving girls…"

"None of whom could keep this place together on such a hectic day" Noelle argued.

Her arguments fell on disinterested ears. "Close up then."

"Close? The inn?"

"Just for a day. Isn't it better the drunks revel in the streets rather than your common room?"

"I have guests you realize. Besides, do you have any idea how much ale I sell on the 6th? Why are you pushing this, anyway?" She knew he had his reasons. Clopin always had his reasons. If he wouldn't divulge them voluntarily, she was going to make him say them.

"Is it not enough for me to want my friend to have some fun every once in a while?" Clopin took his feet off of the desk and the chair came down with a thump. "You trap yourself in this dusty old inn day after day. It makes me sick. Perhaps if you took some time to lighten up a bit, you would be more pleasant."

"I can be pleasant!" Noelle slammed her hands on the desk across from him. "Just the other day, I saw Fleur-de-Lys de Gondelaurier in the market, and I smiled at that frigid bitch before I could stop myself."

"I'll agree that exchanging pleasantries with that woman is no easy task." CLopin said slowly getting up from his seat. "Very well, my most pleasant friend, you have me. But I still expect to see you at the festival tomorrow." He leaned in to her and slid a finger down her cheek. "I know how difficult it is for you to refuse me."

She let out a sigh. "Fine, I will go on the condition that I won't have to speak to anyone."

"Splendid!" He took her hand and gave it a kiss. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"I will see you tonight," she reminded.

"Ah, of course." He straightened and bounded toward the window. "My wait will be that much shorter then. I shall behold your beauty twice in one day. I am a lucky man."

"Flatterer." Noelle rolled her eyes at Clopin's exaggeration. True, she was no hag, and she did not lack for suitors in her younger years, but she was hardly the type mistrials wrote songs about.

"Until then, my flower." He swung his legs out of the window and in an instant he was gone.

Noelle let out an exasperated sigh, but still a smile tugged at her lips. "Au revior, Gros Nez."

[-]

Au revior, Gros Nez

The words flitted in and out of his mind throughout the rest of his day. He wasn't sure why. In fact, he couldn't even be sure he'd heard correctly. He was nearly out of earshot, and they had been faint, but he could have sworn she'd said them.

Gros Nez. She called me Gros Nez. She hasn't called me that since…

In truth, he couldn't remember how long. The instances were too many to count. Their childhoods were littered with exchanges of "Gros Nez" and "Carottes"(his name for her). At least, this was their way in their youngest years together. When they grew slightly older, and obtained a more vulgar vocabulary, they turned to exchanges of "Salaude" and "Garce". Always in jest and never in moments of true anger. Why spoil their special pet names by tainting them with malice?

Dwell on this later, you fool, he reprimanded himself. He had more pressing matters to attend to than an offhand nickname. He stood on the river bank with his back pressed against the base of the bridge. He kept his eyes on the water, waiting for a boat to cut through the fog. His ears were open to the stillness of the night, listening for footsteps.

Over the years he'd become a master at identifying people with only the sound of footsteps. Guards were easy. Their hard, clunky footsteps were all the same. Identifying individual people was trickier, but not impossible. Tonight, the ones he listened for were steady and certain.

He heard the footsteps approach as he spotted the silhouette of a small boat down the river. He kept his eyes on the boat as the footsteps stopped beside him.

"I see them," she whispered. "It's all clear."

Slowly, he came out of his hiding place and stood beside his friend. They watched silently as the boat drew closer. Neither one of them spoke until the boat stopped in front of them.

"Welcome to Paris," Clopin said as he greeted the boat's passenger. One woman and one baby, just as he expected. "I am Clopin, and my friend here is Noelle. You will be staying with her for the night." He gestured to Noelle as she gave the boatman a sack of coins.

The woman held her baby tighter and gave Noelle a wary look, understandably suspicious of the stranger. "Who is she?"

"As I said, a friend," Clopin answered. "She is an innkeeper. She'll give you a room for the night and in the morning you'll be just another face in the crowd."

"Come with me," Noelle said, appearing beside them. "We mustn't linger here."

She led them across the street, into an ally, and to the back door of her inn. Once inside, she quietly showed the woman to her room. "Tomorrow, I'll take you out the back again and Clopin will show you the way to the Court of Miracles." Noelle explained as she handed the woman the key to the room. "In the meantime, I can bring you something to eat if you like."

The woman smiled, her suspicions seemingly eased by her relative safety. "Thank you. You are very kind."

Clopin had to fight back a snicker, but he let some escape. "Yes, she is quite the saint."

Noelle shot him a quick glare before turning her attention back to the woman. "If you need anything, I'm here. My room is one floor up. Don't be afraid to ask."

They left the woman and her baby alone to rest. Noelle closed the door behind her and turned to Clopin who flashed her an amused grin.

"Shut up." She brushed past him and began making her way down to the kitchen.

"Is that any way for a saint to talk?" he said as he followed her.

"Salaude" she groaned in response.

"Oh, Salaude now is it?" he laughed. "That quite the change from this morning, Carottes."

"Ah, so you did hear me." Once in the kitchen, she lit a fire beneath a pot of stew.

He sat on stool by the fire to warm himself after standing out in the cold night for so long. "It was a surprise, though not an unwelcome one."

"I suppose I allowed myself a flicker of nostalgia this morning."

"I would not mind if those happened more often." He watched her, waiting for a response. She looked at him over her shoulder, but said nothing. "Well, I should be off."

He was almost out the door when he heard her say "Clopin, wait."

"Yes?" he turned around to see her back still toward him, her silhouette stark against the glow of the fireplace.

"You know, my father always kept a spare mattress hidden in his office," she said, still tending the stew. "Your father would sleep there some nights."

He smiled then, a soft smile. "Yes, I remember."

"It's still there, if you'd like."

"Thank you, but I don't think I can," he said, though he wasn't sure what held him back from accepting.

"Well, it's here if you need it." She finally turned toward him "It's here for you and I expect you to use it."

"I know."

"I mean it, Gros Nez. It's only going to get colder from here on out. It would not look good if the gypsy king froze to death two feet from my door."

"Fine, fine. I will make use of it.

"I know you will," she said walking up to him. In an echo of his earlier gesture, she slid a finger down his cheek. "I know how difficult it is for you to refuse me."

"Of course, Carottes." He removed her fingers from his face and brought them to his lips. "Do not forget, tomorrow."

She gave him kiss on his nose in return. "Tomorrow."