They had arrived at the old circus ground.

As its name suggested, it had been where many a traveling act had camped. The most notable of these acts had been the "Cirque du Sarousch," whose leader of the same name had actually been running a show full of theives. It had only been a year ago that Sarousch was arrested for his thwarted burglary of one of Paris' most valuable bells, named La Fidèle.

Along with that scummy "magician" went his ridiculous troupe, much to Natalia's sick pleasure. She'd always seen that traveling mess as competition, anyway.

Now that they were gone, the circus grounds were almost always empty. These grounds, which lay on the very outskirts of town, had now merely become a campground for travelers.

Natalia looked around as she strode through the campsite with Quasimodo at her side. A few of the merchants there looked up from their tasks and wares with questioning gazes, but none said anything. It was as if they were being paid a visit by the mighty landowners whose field they rested upon.

Quasimodo mumbled, "Do you see him anywhere?"

Natalia keenly scanned the area, hoping to catch sight of her brother among the lopsided tents and rugged carts which lay scattered about. She shook her head.

Suddenly, a voice from behind shouted "Monsieur, madamoiselle! Wait!"

The two turned around to see a rotund, brawny man hurrying toward them. His stubby black beard was ratty, like his hair, which stuck out awkwardly from beneath a red headscarf.

Natalia instantly recognized him. "Matteo!"

The fellow gypsy nodded at Natalia as he approached, then turned his attention back to the hunchback.

"Quasimodo…" he rumbled, his thick accent resounding through his throat, "… am I right?"

"Yes," Quasi responded, slightly nervous. "You've been looking for me?"

"Indeed. A little, yellow-haired woman came by our wagon, looking for you. Claimed to be your wife, and said that you were supposed to meet her there as planned."

"Oh no! Madellaine's already here?"

Matteo shrugged his broad shoulders. "I guess so…"

"Oh…" Quasi groaned, "I promised to meet her here and guide her to the tent."

Natalia cocked her head. "What tent?"

"The gypsies who were performing here are kindly allowing us to use one of their entertainment tents as our meeting place."

"Does Clopin know where it is?"

Quasi nodded.

"Well then," Natalia went on, "you go with Matteo and meet Madellaine, while I go find Clopin. Since he knows where we're meeting, I'll have him take me and we'll meet you there."

Quasi nodded eagerly. "That sounds great!"

Natalia turned to Matteo. "Do you know where my brother is?"

"Ah yes!" he said. "You remember the "Cirque du Sarousch," yes? Good. Clopin and a few others took a caravan wagon to the very center of the campground, where it's stony."

"You mean where the elephants used to be kept?"

"Indeed! That's where you'll find him." Matteo chuckled. "He had already attracted quite a crowd when I saw him last."

Natalia rolled her eyes. "He could attract a crowd even when he isn't performing…" She'd learned that in order to find Clopin, all one must to dois find a crowd, and there he'll usually be found.

"Yes, well, he's probably finished his show by now, so I'd suggest you hurry to fetch him."

"Of course. Merci, Matteo."

Then Quasi quickly cut in, "Oh, and Natalia! One other thing I need you to do…"

The gypsy raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Assure Clopin that this is a friendly, however urgent, meeting among friends. Tell him to think of it as a 'king to king' sort of meeting."

Natalia's raised eyebrows had slowly furrowed together upon hearing this unusual message. "What..?"

Quasi grinned. "Oh, you'll find out. I'm sure of it."

"Oh, no…" Natalia shook her head. "Do I want to know?"

"We'll see."

"Right… well, I'd better get going before what luck I have left today runs out."

"What?"

Natalia chuckled. "Nevermind, Quasi. You go and meet Madellaine."

So Quasi left with Matteo, and Natalia bolted the opposite way, farther into the camp.

She was still snickering about her previous comment. Although she had been prematurely pried from her "task" in town, the day hadn't turned out to be a complete loss yet.

She smirked as she glanced down at her belt, where a little red pouch jingled merrily. Maybe her luck wasn't completely lost.

* * *

When Natalia had reached the center grounds, she was relieved to see that no merchant tents or stalls awaited her.

Earlier, as she navigated through the camp, merchants seemed to pounce on her out of nowhere, showing her some of their wares and promising bargains just for her; a "lovely little lady," as they called her.

While a few of those wares were alluring, and the bargains just as tempting to accept, Natalia refused each one with as much courtesy as she could feign, even considering those "little lady" remarks.

Her new coin pouch seemed to jingle in protest as she walked past each stall and turned down offers before they were even vocalized. She grasped the bag, muffling its jingles and protecting it from wayward hands.

Now, as she stepped out into the open center of the campsite, that didn't worry her. She saw familiar figures scurrying about, taking apart a makeshift stage and depositing the parts into a horse-drawn cart.

Out of the five people there before her, the gypsy girl singled out the lanky one she'd been searching for; her brother.

She smirked, and trotting up behind the gypsy king who pulled on a jutting pole from the stage's side. As she approached, a few nearby men saw her and nudged each other, chuckling.

"Clopin! You have a little visitor!" one of them exclaimed.

The brightly costumed man, his arms still stretched up, craned his neck over, glancing about before finally looking down. His eyes locked with the little woman.

"Hello, dear brother..." she drawled.

Clopin tilted his head to the side. A dramaticly melancholy expression shadowed over his face.

"I'm so sorry little girl, but the show's over!" He turned fully around and crouched over a bit, placing his hands upon his knees.

He looked her in the eyes, and with all the sweetness of honey, cooed, "All the puppets are gone, my little cabbage..."

Natalia gritted her teeth, and with all the sweetness of vinegar, growled, "Come thee with me, or get thee beneath me!"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "You never could take such jokes, could you, Natty?"

"Never could, never will."

Clopin shook his head and again sighed loudly. Then, without warning, he turned and hopped up on the stage, using the pole he'd struggled with as a means of swinging up there. Being quite the acrobat —like his sister—he could make such a feat look as if he were being lifted up by some invisible puppeteer.

"Come one! Come all! And see the beast to be most feared!"

Some other gypsies looked up from their work. Some who were already leaving in their wagons stopped. Even a few foreign tradesmen set their focus upon Clopin.

Crazy, crazy Clopin.

"Yes, this awful creature stands among you! Why, there might even be more than one of it here!"

"And what do they call this creature?" called a voice.

Clopin glanced about theatrically. "My fine sir! Behold, they call it…" He swung his arms out so they pointed at the small, cross woman in his midst.

"The wet rag!" Immediately after he said that, bellows of laughter erupted from many in the crowd. Others, such as the gypsies who were leaving, just rolled their eyes and moved on, all too familiar with their king's gimmicks. Yet others just couldn't get enough of him.

But only one person did nothing but glare.

Clopin grinned at his glaring sister and leapt down before her. "Yes, this creature desires only one thing; to dampen all pleasure!" He stood erect, rubbing the scruffy goatee on his tipped chin.

"Shall I wring her out?" he asked, still using his his show-master timbre.

Some enthusiastic shouts of approval ensued, but Natalia didn't even blink. She was not in the mood for jests now that her entire "free day" was wasting away before her eyes.

They stared without blinking. Soon, Clopin's eyes softened and he shook his head. He only half-smiled this time, but it was more genuine that a full smile.

Natalia knew that, despite her brother's silliness, he still had keen intuition when it came to his jokes going so far as to hang on a tightrope over fire. He hardly let "far" become "too far." At least, not on purpose.

However, he still liked to get away with just one last joke.

He turned to his audience. "My friends; I would wring her out if she were not drenched in boiling water! But mark my words, I will when she's cooled off!"

Satisfied with his pledge, the crowd dissolved, all returning to the tasks they'd briefly escaped from. Only Clopin and Natalia remained idle.

"Now then, Natty..." Clopin said as he whirled around to face her. "What troubles you?"

"For one thing, that cursed nickname."

"Now why's that, Natty?"

"Because I'd rather not be compared to a tiny fly!"

Clopin grinned. "Hence, your perfect nickname."

Natalia shook her head at the futility of this arguement and went on to her next point. "Second of all, aren't you needed here to finish cleaning up?"

Clopin waved his hand as if the matter was but a fly in his face. "Eh, some else will do it, I'm sure. Yes, some noble gent will come along and do it for me."

His sister glanced about. She spotted a gawky, nervous-looking man, who carefully watched all the commotion from a safe distance.

Natalia chuckled. "You mean someone like him?"

Clopin's eyes followed her gaze. His cheeks pulled back into a sly grin.

"Why, yes…"

"What? No, I was only joking about– hey, wait! Stop!"

Natalia watched in horror as her brother ran off. He began speaking with the man as soon as he reached him, making a few dramatic gestures and once briefly pointing at Natalia's.

What's this! He was dragging her into it?

Natalia's eyes narrowed. This "wet rag" had been thrown back into boiling water.

The frazzled looking man held her gaze for a moment, then nodded at Clopin, who grinned like a dog.

Then, waving at the poor man behind him and loudly proclaiming him a "noble gent," Clopin lightfootedly bounded back to where Natalia stood. Her grimace stood in stark, stark contrast to her brother's wide beaming grin.

"I can't believe you just did that!" she hissed.

"Neither can I," he responded, still grinning, "but you really do have a good eye for a good worker! He was happy to oblige to the task."

Natalia growled, "And you mentioned me?"

"Of course! You're the one who so kindly reccomended him."

"But-- but you saw how awkward he was over there... hardly fit for something like that!"

Clopin feigned a shocked expression and slapped his palm against his forehead. "You mean to say... that's why you singled him out? And you had me send him to his doom? How cruel!"

His sister muttered. "Such a sadist…"

"I know you are, Natty… and I'm absolutely appalled!" he tsk-tsked.

"You know, sometimes I wonder which of us is really the eldest."

"Such a silly thing to wonder about!" he tsked again. "If you were the eldest, that would make you the queen of gypsies, right?"

Natalia popped her chin up a bit and smiled, taking quite a liking to the sound of such a fantasy. "Right…" she agreed wistfully.

"Wrong!"

Natalia raised an eyebrow and looked up, getting annoyed at her brother's absurd, though tiresomely expected, remarks.

"And why's that?" she demanded.

Clopin raised his finger in a somewhat enlightened manner, like a wise old preist explaining the meaning of life.

"For one thing," he quipped, "no one could stand you ruling for a day much less forever. Why, I'm sure they'd even overthrow you; if any were left surviving under your rule, that is."

Ignoring the menacing glare he was recieving from the midget beside him, he continued, "I'd still be king, even if you were the eldest." He grinned. "How could anyone resist…?"

"Resist what?" sneered Natalia. "Your 'tantalizing charm?'"

Her brother grinned even more. "Not what I was about to say… but now that you bring it up, yes! You simply flatter me!"

His sister shook her head and sighed. "Great. Not only are you sadist, but a narcissist, as well."

With sudden grace, he bounded toward a stray tent pole and leapt upon it, swinging 'round and 'round until he stopped, leaning back into one of his signature poses.

"At least I'm not a troublemaker. For that, you should be thankful."

Natalia smirked. "That depends upon your definition of 'trouble,' for it is you, if I'm not mistaken."

Clopin chuckled, "What I make is 'mischief,' not 'trouble.'"

"Is there really any difference between the two?"

"As a matter of fact, Natty, yes there is…" He leapt down from the pole like a sparrow from a perch. Such spontaneous acrobatics were, to him, as natural as walking.

Once again "enlightened," he placed his hands behind his back and went on to say this: "'Mischief' is playful. Coming with undesired results, maybe, but hardly ever intentional. 'Trouble' is different; 'trouble' is deliberate, along with its often nasty results. You're familiar with 'trouble,' hmm?" He stared at Natalia, who shrugged.

"Like what?"

"Impulsive stealing…"--his smile decreased-- "…especially when it's not permitted, much less needed."

Natalia stopped and turned to Clopin, looking him full in the face. " Listen. I was born a survivor, grew up a survivor, and remain a survivor! Survival is what has kept us gypsies alive for so long."

A bemused expression crept into her brother's countenance. "If that's the case, then you'd best perfect the most important survivor skill of all, which it seems you've neglected."

"What?"

From behind his back, he tossed up a familiar, red item and caught it in front with his other hand. "Retaining your prize, of course!"

With instant recognition, Natalia screeched, "My coin pouch!" Her eyes went ablaze as she jutted her arm out to snatch it. But her much taller brother held it high above his head.

"Give it back, you louse!" she growled between futile leaps. Each time she leapt, Clopin would move the bag a little farther from her reach. The coins inside jingled as merrily as his laugh.

Then Natalia tried climbing her brother like a tree, but to utter failure. She was no match for his other hand, which ruthlessly tickled just the right spot on her side.

She yelped like a puppy and let go, tumbling backwards to the ground. Above her, Clopin chuckled as he slid his prize into one of his many pockets. "Whatever ill-gotten, ill-taken." Then he extended his hand toward the girl in the dirt. His face fell somber as he hoisted her to her feet.

"But seriously, Natalia," he muttered, "Sometimes, I wonder if you want us to be shunned."

"We're not 'shunned,' but we're not totally 'accepted' either."

"I can assure you, we're more accepted than we were six years ago."

Natalia cringed. That was a bad time for the gypsies; a time when a nightmare incarnate roamed Paris, as he had in the dark recesses of every outcast's mind. That nightmare's name was Judge Claude Frollo.

His death six years ago marked the birth of a new kind of liberty for the Parisian gypsies. Though it started out shaky, many of the townfolk's trust grew over the years, but some remained skeptical. It was the shenanigans of gypsies like Natalia who only broadened that skepticism.

"So what, you want me to give up my way of survival?" It had become a natural part of Natalia's character throughout many a trying time, and she wouldn't give it up so easily. Like acrobatics were as natural to Clopin as walking, so was pick-pocketing to Natalia.

"That would be nice," Clopin replied, "for we do have other 'ways of survival' which have worked and are far less… destructive."

"Clopin, we can't just live off of dancing in the streets!"

"The rest of us do."

Natalia finally shut her mouth and looked away. She did not want to talk about this anymore. Some changes were better left unspoken of, no matter how prominent they had become in one's life, or how difficult they might've made one's life to be.

Not a word more, Natalia. Not a word… Natalia rest assured that her voice would one accursed day, if such a day came, be heard loudest in silence; a dumbfounded silence at those 'changes,' manifested in a way that has reverted things to the way they once were, wasting the world's time, its hope.

But for now, she'd say not another word of the matter. Not a word.

A few seconds drifted by when Clopin suddenly halted and broke the silence, as perky as if he'd just stepped out of a circus.

"So, where are we going?"

Natalia halted as well. She looked around.

"Good question…" Then she remembered. "Oh! We're supposed to be heading to your tent here, to meet Quasi and Madellaine."

Clopin turned around, leading this lost little goose the right way.

"Do you have any idea about this 'meeting?'" she asked suspiciously, "What's it all about? Or did Quasi just skirt around your wonderings, as well?"

Clopin just shrugged. "I guess we'll find out together."

"How very comforting."

But the day was still young; things could change, and Natalia knew it…