Author's Note/Disclaimer: The characters of Clopin, Esmeralda, Frollo, and Quasimodo are based on Disney's version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. They don't belong to me, and I have a feeling if they did there's be a zillion fangirls attacking me for Clopin in particular, so I'm grateful. I wrote this story for my adopted sister, Kocho (not her real name), a few years ago(1999, to be exact), and I haven't edited it since. I like to think my writing has matured since then, so the style may not be quite what you're used to from me (assuming, of course, you're used to anything at all from me), but I think it's still entertaining. All characters in the story save the abovementioned four belong to me and should not be used in anything without my permission. Oh, also beware of anachronisms and inaccurate portrayal of gypsies ahead. It's based on Disney, after all.
Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,
With hempen cord go bind me,
And, of your mercy, leave me there,
Nor tell them where to find me.
Oh, lock the portal as you go,
And see its bolts be double….
Come back in half and hour or so,
And I will be in trouble.
---Dorothy Parker, "Portrait of the Artist"
Paris, 1481. A mild winter had faded into a soft spring. The night air still bore a bite from the north wind, but the turn of the season had begun to coax a few wildflowers from their below-ground sanctuaries. It had managed to coax a few gypsies from their safe haven, as well. The Court of Miracles was always less crowded in the spring and summer months. The more nomadic residents began their wanderings anew after a winter's stopover, and, despite the warnings of the rom baro, Clopin, there were always a few adventurous youths that dared to sleep outdoors in the pleasant weather. Some would be picked up by Judge Frollo's soldiers for loitering. It was an inconvenience, and occasionally a detainee would get roughed up on the way to prison, but the penalty was never more than a day or two in jail, even for the persecuted gypsies, so Clopin rarely worried about missing persons until he heard definitive news on them. On this occasion, however, the missing person was special.
Clopin had missed Pylades early in the morning, and had spent the day searching the Court for news of him. No one knew where he had gone. No one had seen him. No one had heard rumors of an arrest. He had vanished without a trace. There was something sinister in this, reflected Clopin. Men don't just disappear. Especially not when they're Pylades. That was the main thing that worried him. If it were anyone else, he could have safely assumed the absent party had met a pretty woman willing to show him a good time. But Pylades was not that sort. Responsible, stolid man, Pylades. And loyal as death. That was why Clopin relied on him, why he had made him his right-hand man, why he had put him in charge of the Skeleton Guard, the men who stood perpetual watch over the secret entrances to the Court of Miracles. And that was the other thing that worried him. That Pylades might betray him never occurred to him. But that Pylades might himself have been betrayed, that was a possibility. And Pylades knew everything Clopin himself did. Everything. The names of the guards, the locations of every entrance, every twist and turn of the Court tunnels. And if he had been captured--hideous thought--he would be a real Christmas present in April for Judge Claude Frollo.
At last, the rom baro could no longer stand the suspense. He sought out one of the only other persons he trusted implicitly. He found her in a side tunnel, practicing a new dance step.
"Esmeralda," he called out softly.
She whirled gracefully on her toes and dropped into a split before him. "Hello, Clopin. Any news about Pylades, yet?"
"No one knows anything."
She looked up at him sympathetically. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon."
"Are you really? I am not. I don't like this at all."
The pretty dancer nodded soberly. "I know what you mean. But what can you do about it? You'll drive yourself mad if you keep fretting like this."
"I'm going out to look for him."
Esmeralda started and struggled to her feet with less than her customary grace. "No, Clopin, don't. You can't be serious. It's too dangerous!"
"I go out every morning, do I not?"
"Performing puppet shows in front of the cathedral is entirely different from skulking through the streets at night. If they catch you..."
"They won't. They never have."
"Clopin, please!"
"You are in charge until I get back." And before she could utter another word of protest he was gone.
It was nearly midnight, and the streets were silent except for faint strains of music floating up from the taverns. Clopin drew his dark cloak closer around him. He planned to head quietly for a bridge near Notre Dame under which he knew there were always a few gypsies sleeping. When he had talked to all the gypsies he could find, he knew a few gadje he could turn to for information. Some were actually allies. Others were such sworn enemies of Frollo that they might as well be. Still others would find out anything for you if you paid them enough. At any rate, the Clopin had no intention of returning to the Court of Miracles before he found out what he needed to know.
He should have stayed among the back streets. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been so foolhardy as to step into a main thoroughfare at night, when the soldiers were most actively on the lookout for gypsies, but he was in a hurry. He was also distracted. Otherwise they would never have gotten the drop on him.
"Stop! You, Gypsy!" shouted a rough voice suddenly.
Clopin whirled to face the voice, and in just that fraction of a second the soldiers were upon him. There were three of them, each one nearly twice his size. The closest struck at him with a dagger, and he instinctively flung up his right arm to shield his head from the blow. The blade slashed deeply into his exposed side.
He covered the bleeding wound with his left hand and, cursing with pain, flung himself at his attacker. The man was already off balance from striking the blow, and he fell over backwards with a yelp of surprise. Clopin somersaulted over his fallen enemy and, dodging between the other two soldiers, sprinted into an alleyway.
For the briefest of moments he stood panting, watching a red spot appear on his tunic, then he heard the sounds of pursuit and was forced to run again. He was a swift runner, but he was bleeding badly, and he could feel himself weakening, even as he heard the soldiers gaining. With a vague sense of despair, he realized he needed to find a place to rest for a moment and stop the bleeding, even at the risk of being trapped by the guards. Otherwise he would soon fall from exhaustion.
He led his pursuers through a series of tortuous alleyways, putting forth a final burst of speed, then, with them out of sight for the moment, he doubled back on his trail. He cast about frantically for a place to duck out of sight. Glancing to the right of him, he became aware that he had paused near an abandoned tavern. Blessing his luck, he released his injured side for a moment, leaped, and caught the edge of the low roof with both hands. The effort he expended in pulling himself onto the tavern roof was so consuming he failed to notice the small pool of blood he left on the ground below him. He crawled to the center of the roof, his head swimming, his heart pounding painfully, and lay still for a moment to catch his breath, oblivious to his surroundings.
The voices of the soldiers brought him back to reality. "We know you're up there, Gypsy!" shouted one. "You have ten minutes to climb back down, or we'll get you down the hard way!"
He raised his head weakly. He thought he heard the twang of a bow being strung. Ten minutes. It was no use. He was too dizzy. They had him this time. No! He gritted his teeth. If he could just stop the bleeding, he might still be able to get away over the roof tops. As he struggled to sit up, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand helped him lean back against something that felt flat and hard, like a wooden box. Thoroughly confused now, he stared dumbly at the hand, then followed the arm it was attached to up to the shoulder, then the smiling face of a teenaged boy.
"Pardon me, sir," said the boy, "but might I borrow your hat and cloak for a moment?"
Clopin moaned despairingly. Now he was hallucinating.
"I'll take that as a yes." said the boy cheerfully, and gently removed the aforementioned items of clothing.
Was he being robbed, now? Clopin wondered as he watched the boy place the feathered hat upon his head. How humiliating. The king of the gypsies goes out to save his captain of the guard and ends up wounded, robbed, and in Frollo's dungeon.
As if reading his mind, the boy grinned at him and said, "Oh don't worry, I'll give them right back.."
The soldiers' voices floated up from below. "You've got five minutes, Gypsy!"
The boy glanced in the direction of the voices, then back at Clopin. "You really should be more careful who you go out at night with, sir. Shouldn't he, Henri?"
A different voice answered the boy from behind Clopin's head. "Marcel, if you're going, go. Before they set fire to the building."
The gypsy managed to turn his head enough to see the speaker, a man about his own age, with sharp, almond-shaped eyes and blondish curls.
"Alright, I'm going, I'm going," grinned the boy Marcel.
"Good," replied Henri, "And try not to get shot, will you?"
Clopin turned back to the boy, wondering what would happen next. Marcel crawled on all fours to the edge of the roof and peered over at the soldiers. Then he stood up.
"Hey!" he shouted, "Are you three coming up or not? Because I'm not coming down!"
Then he took several steps back, ran forward, and leaped over the alley and onto the roof of the next building.
The soldiers below gave a yell of surprise. "There he goes!" exclaimed one, "I didn't know he still had it in him to jump like that."
"After losing all that blood, he shouldn't," answered another.
"Witchcraft?" suggested the third.
Clopin, as well, stared after the boy in amazement. He himself was quite an acrobat, and he knew how difficult it was to make a leap of that magnitude. Marcel stuck his head over the edge of the other roof and called out to the soldiers again, "Catch me if you can!"
The youth then began to run across the rooftop in plain view of the soldiers. An arrow whistled past his head. "Watch the hat!" he shouted.
Clopin felt a sudden pang of fear for the lad. True, most of the soldiers were poor shots, but he was taking quite a chance all the same. And what on earth for? As he watched, Marcel made another tremendous leap onto another roof, this time somersaulting through the air as he leapt. The fear was replaced with admiration. He had seen spectacular gymnasts perform before, but never under such duress. At the same time he realized the shouts from the soldiers were growing fainter. They were following the boy.
"Who'd have thought he was such a quick little bugger?" the first soldier complained.
"Keep running!" snapped the second soldier. "We'll head him off somewhere. He can't keep that up for too long, the way he's bleeding..."
Clopin sat up straighter with a shock of realization, "He is leading them off!"
"Yeah," replied the other stranger, Henri, walking casually around to sit in front of the gypsy, "It's good practice for him. He's been bored lately. That's why we're out here tonight. Lucky for you, eh?"
Clopin stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you help me? I don't even know you."
"Wasn't my idea. You can ask Marcel. He'll be back soon if those soldiers are as dumb as I think they are. In the meantime, you'd better let me look at that gash in your side."
The gypsy eyed his savior dubiously. He wasn't accustomed to being indebted to gadje, and he didn't care for the feeling thus far. "I am fine," he said, "I just needed to catch my breath."
Henri snorted. "Horse manure," he scoffed, "Look at yourself, you're lying in a pool of your own blood. Its a wonder you haven't passed out yet. Now let me see." He pushed Clopin's arm aside, and the gypsy found that he hadn't enough strength to resist the examination, whether he would or no. The blond stranger grimaced. "Bad one. Looks deep. Still bleeding, too. You're going to need stitches. Hang on a minute, I have a roll of bandages with me, I think I can stop the blood, at least."
Clopin stared straight ahead sullenly as Henri bound strips of cloth about his ribs.
"There. Does it hurt?"
"Not much. It is numb now."
"Lucky then, aren't you?"
"Not tonight." Clopin sighed miserably.
"Cheer up," said a by now familiar voice, "I ditched the soldiers for you.. They'll be looking for you for the rest of the night. Here's your clothes back."
Marcel landed in front of them and replaced Clopin's hat and cloak, then sat cross-legged in front of him.
"How bad is he, Henri?" he asked his companion.
"Very. We're going to have to take him back with us."
Clopin scowled. "Look," he said, irritated, "I may be indisposed at the moment, but that is no excuse for you to talk about me as if I were not here. What do you want with me, anyway?"
Marcel turned to him. "Not very grateful, are you? We probably just saved your life."
"Thank you very much," snapped Clopin, "but I cannot help wondering why you are so concerned about me."
Marcel gave a little half-smile and leaned closer to the gypsy. "Can't you tell?" he asked, "Usually other rom can, even though I'm not full-blooded. Of course, it is dark out here. Tacho rat, my friend. True blood."
Clopin started and looked closer at the boy. He was paler than most gypsies, but his eyes and hair were black, and the bone structure of his face spoke plainly of a gypsy heritage. But if he was a gypsy, living in Paris, how was it that Clopin had never seen him? Even the rom that were banned from the Court of Miracles were well known to Clopin. And what was the boy doing with the gadjo, Henri? The gypsy king's pain and dizziness redoubled, the objects around him blurred, and he became aware that he was shivering. This was way too much for one night. He closed his eyes in protest.
"Henri!" exclaimed Marcel, alarmed, "what's wrong with him?"
"He's going into shock. We need to get him out of here. We'll take him back to camp."
Clopin could hear their voices, as if they were echoes from another world, but he felt too drowsy to respond, even to ask where 'camp' was and why he was being taken there. He felt them lifting him and transferring him carefully from the rooftop to the ground.
"What about the trunk?" asked Marcel's disembodied voice.
"We can't carry it too. Forget the trunk. We'll send Joffrin back to get it later."
Joffrin? thought Clopin, Is this another gypsy I knew nothing about? And with that thought, he sank gratefully into oblivion.
In her tent in the Court of Miracles, Esmeralda paced back and forth. First Pylades, now Clopin. Was this some sort of masterstroke devised by Frollo? No, it couldn't be, he wasn't that clever. But the fact remained that the king of the gypsies had not returned home.
What was going on?! Clopin had never been captured before. He was better at eluding the guards than all the rest of them put together. But surely he would have returned home by now unless something had happened to him.
She resisted the urge to go looking for him. That was what had gotten him into trouble, obviously. Last in the chain of command, she couldn't take the chance of leaving the Court leaderless. If only she knew who the spies were, she could send them out to look for him. But Clopin kept their identities secret. Pylades was the only other one who knew. Pylades! It kept coming back around to him. If she could find Pylades, maybe she would find Clopin, as well.
Hopefully, they were both alive.
A small, brown hand drew aside the flap of her tent, and a round face peeped in, "Esmeralda?" said a childish voice, "Tristan and Kocho are back. But I can't find Clopin to tell him. Do you know where he is?"
She turned to the little boy in her doorway. "Clopin went out last night, Felipe," she answered, forcing a smile, "He hasn't come back yet. He told me to look after things while he's gone."
"Oh. Well, Tristan says they have something important to tell him."
"Thank you, Felipe. I'll come out to see them right away."
The little face nodded and withdrew, and she followed it into the heart of the Court of Miracles, the open space before Clopin's tent. Standing there wearily were two teenaged gypsies, a girl and a boy, each surrounded by friends and well-wishers welcoming them. The girl was petite, with an air of suppressed energy about her. Her hair was in a single, tight, glossy black braid. That was Kocho. The boy next to her was Tristan. To call him skinny would have been a kindness. He was unusually tall and reedy, with legs as thin as twigs. His hair was dark brown and unruly, and his clothes were little more than brightly colored rags, but he had a good-natured twinkle in his eyes.
Esmeralda shoved her way through the throng and stopped before the arrivals. "Clopin's not here," she told them shortly, "I'm in charge. Where have you been, and what do you have to say?"
Kocho and Tristan looked at each other. "We'd rather tell you in private," said the boy quietly.
Esmeralda bit her lower lip. Secret news, she knew, was never good news. At the same time, a vague hope that they might have seen Clopin rose within her.
"Okay," she said, "Follow me." And she ducked inside the absent king's tent.
Kocho sat down on a folding stool in the corner of the room. Tristan remained standing, looking uncomfortable. Esmeralda perched herself on the edge of Clopin's cot and crossed her arms. "Talk," she said.
The boy glanced down at his bare feet. "Well, see, what happened," he began, "is we heard about the carnival and we wanted to see it, but of course we never got there..."
"Slow down," said Esmeralda. "What carnival?"
"I was out buying bread and I heard some women talking about it," said Kocho, "They said there were lots of trained animals there. And that one of the men had thirty earrings in his ears. But since some of the men were gypsies they wouldn't let them in the city."
"So," continued Tristan, "I thought we could go talk to them and if they were trustworthy maybe Clopin would let them stay here."
"And I wanted to see the animals," put in the girl.
"So we decided to go out and look for them a couple of nights ago."
"And did you find them?" asked Esmeralda.
"We headed for the city gates, but some guards stopped us on the way and we got arrested. We spent the past three days in the Palace dungeons, and--"
Kocho interrupted her friend, "Oh, Esmeralda, it was awful! There were spiders. And I could hear scratching in the walls. I just know there were rats there." She shuddered.
Tristan grinned at her. "Kocho, if there had been rats there, we would have seen them. Trust me. Rats are not shy."
"I hate rats."
Esmeralda shifted impatiently, "Did you find out anything other than the fact that there might be rats in the Palace of Justice?"
Tristan looked at her sorrowfully. "We found Pylades."
"What?! What happened? How did he get there? Was he injured?"
Kocho stood up and walked over to Esmeralda. "They keep the men and women in separate cells. And there were no other girls there, so I was all alone in my cell. One night I was trying to sleep, except I couldn't because of the scratching in the walls. And I heard voices coming from down the hall. I looked out through a crack in the door, and I saw two soldiers walking down the hall with Pylades in between them. I could just barely see his face. It looked a little bruised, like they might have hit him, but he was struggling against them and cursing at the top of his lungs, so he can't have been hurt too badly. Anyway, he told them that they would never be able to keep him locked up, that they had no just reason to arrest him. But they only laughed and said that they knew he was the Gypsy King's right-hand man, and that he wasn't going anywhere except the gallows. He struggled even harder then, and I almost thought he was going to get away, but they twisted his arm round behind him and made him be still. Then they dragged him the rest of the way down the hall and disappeared into another room. They came back out, but Pylades didn't."
Esmeralda wrung her hands. "Do you know what room it was? Did they lock him up? Do you think he's still alive?"
The girl shook her head. "I didn't hear any noises from the room, so I don't think they...hurt him. They might have locked him up somewhere secret."
Esmeralda's shoulders drooped. "If he tells them what he knows, we're finished."
Tristan sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He won't tell them anything, Esmeralda. They can threaten him all they want. He won't talk. You know how Pylades is. And they can't do any thing worse than threaten him. Rome forbids torture."
"And even Frollo isn't about to go against the Church," added Kocho.
Esmeralda shook her raven hair despondently. "It's still a terrible blow to us. Poor Pylades." After a moment she looked up at them with worry written plainly in her emerald eyes. "While you were gone...last night, especially...you didn't happen to...see Clopin?"
Tristan shook his head. Kocho turned pale. "You don't mean...he's not missing is he?"
"I'm afraid so. He went out to look for Pylades. He hasn't come back yet."
"Oh, no! Why did he go? Why didn't you stop him?"
"I tried," Esmeralda snapped, "Believe me."
"We have to go look for him! He could be hurt...Let me go out looking for him," pleaded the girl, "You won't miss me at all, and I can go on--"
Esmeralda cut her off, "Absolutely not. No one, but no one, is to leave this place without my approval. Especially after dark. Clopin can take care of himself. We just have to trust that he'll come home to us. Now I want both of you to go to bed and rest. You've had a rough time."
"But, Esmeralda---!"
"Hush, Kocho. You two have done quite enough in finding Pylades. Clopin will be very pleased with you if he...when he gets back."
Esmeralda shooed the two youths back to their tents, then returned to her own home. She didn't share her fears with any of the others. It was no use worrying them. She, on the other hand, would spend the rest of the day pacing.
So ends Chapter 1 of 4. I'll put up the rest over the next few days.