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I sighed as a guard led my siblings and me into the Palace of Justice, a large, dark, evil looking building. Keeping pace I stayed in front of everyone, taking in everything we passed, finally we came to a stop in front of a tall silver haired man, keeping stone faced, sighing as he took in our appearances.
Pulling lightly at the rope tied around my wrist I couldn't believe we were stupid enough to get caught, we are nothing more than performers, we are not gypsies; we get paid a good sum of money to perform in front of huge political figures. But we had only been in Paris two hours before getting captured.
"Gentlemen, and lady, I believe we can come to an arrangement that will keep you alive. I would like to talk to your leader in private."
I sighed again as my brothers were lead away from me. I glared at the man in front of me, yes I was the leader, but I was also the only female in the group, and I was the youngest.
"What is your…proposal minister Frollo?"
He smirked as he approached me.
"I need a problem takin care of."
"What kind of problem?"
"I need you and your brothers to discover the Court of Miracles, and report back to me."
"What will happen after we report back?"
"Why, I will kill the gypsies, of course."
I starred at him in shock for a second before composing myself, as he circled me like a hawk.
"Is that all sir?"
"No."
I sighed as he stopped behind me, ghosting his fingers over my bound wrist and forearms.
"What else do you want from us?"
A shudder ran down my spine as he ran his hands over my slight stomach.
"I want you to be mine."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I won't think twice about killing your beloved brothers."
I gasped as one of his hands traveled south beneath my skirt and the other grasped my throat.
Letting out a whimper when he cupped my core.
"No."
With a growl he shoved me to the ground, pressing his knee in the middle of my back.
"Fine, if you won't be mine, I'll make it so no man wants to be with you."
I let a shriek escape my lips as he landed a punch to my back, making him roll me over and start punching my stomach, face, and chest. Letting out a whimper when he stood up and grabbed a knife, placing it against my face, drawing a little blood.
"Either you find the Court of Miracles, or I will kill your brothers, and you will wish you were dead."
I nodded frantically; with a sick smirk he dragged the knife from my right temple across to my left shoulder. Screaming in pain I tried to cover my face and make the pain stop.
That was two months ago, since then I've had to keep my two brothers inline from killing minister Frollo.
Looking into the looking glass, I sighed as unshed tears welled up as I examined my face; the dark pink scar that will never heal, hard blue eyes, thick lashes, pale skin, littered with freckles across my cheeks, plain brunette hair pulled into a low pony tail. Changing my gaze to my outfit I figured it would do for a stroll around town, a simple light blue dress that I had cut the sleeves off to make it more functional, grabbing my navy blue cloak, tying it around my neck, pulling the hood up, I slipped a white and black mask over my face, hiding most of the scar. Nodding to myself, I told my brothers goodbye as they were just getting out of bed.
Skipping down the stairs, I exited the inn and walked around the square. Keeping my head down, I tried to focus on the cobblestone walkway, after obtaining some breakfast I smiled when I noticed the orange caravan was in its usual spot, every morning for the past few weeks I've tried to reach the square, just to listen the story teller. Leaning against a building I realized he had just started to set up for the day. With a small smile I watched him, making sure my mask was still in place; looking away when he looked in my direction. Hearing footsteps approaching me I lightly grabbed the knife that I kept in a hidden pocket in my cloak. Glancing up I sighed and released the dagger as the story teller looked down at me with a look of curiosity and mischief in his black eyes.
"Can I help you monsieur?"
He smirked as I kept my hood up, bending slightly, we came face to face; me staring at his purple and gold mask, him looking at my black and white one. His black eyes searching mine for a few seconds.
"Why the mask mademoiselle?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"It matches."
I laughed as he grinned and motioned to his bright jester costume.
"Fair enough. But maybe I'll tell you mine later. You should be starting your show."
Glancing behind him, he noticed the children that had gathered around his caravan, taking a deep overly dramatic bow he grinned up at me.
"Until next time mon cher."
I laughed as he waltzed back over to the children.
Staying where I was I closed my eyes to enjoy the sounds of the bells from Notre Dame.
As the storyteller started one of his tails;
Morning in Paris, the city awakes
To the bells of Notre Dame
The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes
To the bells of Notre Dame
To the big bells as loud as the thunder
To the little bells soft as a psalm
And some say the soul of the city's
The toll of the bells
The bells of Notre Dame
Listen, they're beautiful, no? So many colours of sounds, so many changing moods. Because, you know, they don't ring all by themselves.
I let out a light chuckle as the storyteller pulled out a hand puppet that looked like him.
They don't?
No, silly boy. Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower, lives the mysterious bell ringer. Who is this creature?
Who?
What is he?
What?
How did he come to be there?
How?
Hush!
I laughed a bit harder as he hit the puppet with a sick.
Ohh…
And Clopin will tell you. It is a tale, a tale of a man and a monster!
'So his names Clopin, huh?'
Dark was the night when our tale was begun on the docks near Notre Dame
Four frightened gypsies slid silently under the docks near Notre Dame
But a trap had been laid for the gypsies
And they gazed up in fear and alarm
At a figure whose clutches
Were iron as much as the bells
The bells of Notre Dame
Judge Claude Frollo longed to purge the world
Of Vice and Sin
And he saw corruption everywhere except within.
I found myself leaning in a bit, like the children, pulled in by the way Clopin told his story, never missing the look of malice when he said minister Frollo's name. I smiled as he explained the chase, and how Frollo killed the gypsy mother, being forced to take in the child.
And Frollo gave the child a cruel name. A name that means half formed…Quasimodo!
Now here is a riddle to guess if you can
Sing the bells of Notre Dame
Who is the monster and who is the man?
Sing the bells, bells, bells,
bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,
bells of Notre Dame!
Pushing off the wall, I walked over to the caravan, smiling when Clopin flipped his purple hat with the two yellow feathers sticking out of it over, for the children to leave him a tip. Reaching into a small pouch I pulled out some coins and dropped them in his hat, making him look up in surprise.
"That was very good monsieur Clopin."
He laughed as he realized how I knew his name.
"Thank you mademoiselle, what is your name since you know mine?"
"My friends call me Liz."
Slipping back outside the caravan he smiled down at me, tilting his head to the side.
"Where are you from mademoiselle Liz?"
"Ah, now, if I told you that monsieur Clopin, that would take away the mystery."
He laughed and agreed with me, the bells on his jester outfit making a light joyful noise.
He was about to say something else until someone interrupted him.
"Liz!"
Spinning around I spotted my two brothers, who did not look happy. Turning to Clopin I gave a slight smile.
"Looks like I have to go."
"Who are they?"
"My older brothers, twins."
He made an oh sound that had me laughing again.
"I will see you around monsieur Clopin."
He shook his head, a smug grin on his face.
"Clopin, no need for formalities, will I see you at the festival Liz?"
"Maybe."
With a hop to my step I waltzed up to my brothers who looked more curious than irritated.
"Who was that Liz?"
"His name is Clopin."
"He's a gypsy."
"So?"
"You know what we were hired for."
"How can I forget?"
All I did was jester to my face, as both my brothers looked away in embarrassment about bringing that up.
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