Meeting Headquarters - The Court of Miracles -
"What's the point of this blasted meeting?"
"You can't expect us to act civilized with the celebration going on in the center!"
"Have you seen that La Esmeralda dance? Mon Duie! She has struck my heart."
"You're heart? Try aiming a bit lower!"
The chattering men clad in black gathered in a secluded area of the Court, where Clopin held intense discussions on the private matters of security.
The men were of all ages, but they had one thing in common; they were all a part of a bloodline that spanned decades. Each gypsy man, as crafty and elusive as the next, was a trusted and long-time member of the Court of Miracles.
One of the only men not taking part in the lighthearted complaints was the stoic Andre who sat alone at the table with his arms crossed.
Just then, Clopin made his entrance. He rushed in with his cloak flowing gallantly behind him and Le Roux at his heals. The king threw his hat on the table and room instantaneously fell silent.
They might have been a rowdy crowd, but they were devoted men all answering to the grand title; spies and protectors of Clopin's people and the Court.
Andre eyed Clopin, knowing in an instant the news he called them to hear was nothing but dire.
"Men," started the King standing before them, "As we welcome Le Roux , his family, and friends… we also welcome a terrible truth." He paused for a moment leaning over the long table they gathered at.
"Our Court is no longer the safest place for gypsies in Paris… in fact, it may soon become a caged death trap."
"What do you mean, Clopin?" questioned Andre as the others quietly exchanged glances.
"Why don't you share your news, Le Roux." Began Clopin stepping back so Le Roux had the center of attention, "Tell us nothing but the…" he rolled his eyes, "…holy, truth."
Le Roux looked to the men wearily, "Frollo, that devil of a prick, knows of the Court of Miracles and has made it his obsessive project to find it and destroy it."
The room erupted in a range of emotion. Some men denied his words as the others could only grab for their daggers, proclaiming their willingness to die for their home.
"Now, now, now, mon amis," said Clopin raising his hands, "allow our brother to finish."
He nodded to Le Roux who went on, "Unlike his scum brother, this Frollo is fond of torture. He had his men beat me. Over and over. Not enough to do any good damage, just enough to hurt. And, as Frollo had his dogs leap to his commands – he went on about his knowledge of the Court."
Le Roux shook his head, he was back on that damp cell, reliving it all again.
"This Frollo, he's off. He's mad! He has an agenda against us. I think if he had it his way, he'd spill every last Romany of his blood. Every last man, woman, … and child."
"How do you know for certain?" asked a voice.
"Does he know of our location?" questioned another.
Le Roux shook his head, "He said he knew of a place called the Court of Miracles where gypsies gather in the sewers like rats."
He could almost hear Frollo's voice in his head…
"Tell me the exact location of this haven or you will burn in hell's fire where your soul will be scorched by Satan himself!"
"Ah," interrupted Clopin with a flippant air of disinterest, "those bloody priests, or what have you, with their bloody hellfire."
"I, of course, said I knew nothing. He did not believe me…" Le Roux made a small humorless laugh, "The bastard straight out said he knew of the King himself."
Clopin's ears perked "Of little old me?" he asked with an innocent voice and hand placed on his heart.
"He think you a foolish fat pig, sitting on some tin throne, with a line of whores on bended knee… waiting for their chance to suck your co—"
"Such flattery!" Clopin said cutting him off. "And not too far off."
The group of men laughed.
Clopin took his position at the head of the table once again. He knew Le Roux was one for the dramatics, like himself. Alas, he also knew Frollo would eventually be a problem, but for the time being, he didn't see what he could do. After all, Le Roux didn't make it sound like Frollo had their exact location.
"Everything must change then," he began. "Frollo is old, he hasn't got much time left on earth, Dieu willing. But until then… until this whole matter blows over, we let no one in and trust only the few we already know."
The men looked to each other, nodding in agreement.
"And, Clopin," spoke up Le Roux.
"Yes?"
"Thank you, and your men," he said looking to the faces at the table, "from the bottom of my heart. A soothsayer once told me that my life would end at the hand of a white devil. I'm certainly glad that hand wasn't Frollo's."
Clopin would rather die than admit it, but he had not awoken this day with some grand feeling that he should look with empathy to his old friend's plight. It was not by divine chance either that he had saved Le Roux's life. He had done it simply because he would never be able to live with himself if he had turned a blind eye. He had high morals in only one section of his life. And that was when it came to the lives of his people and his close friends.
Although, if any of them had pulled such a ridiculously dangerous stunt for his own life, he would have sworn on his mother's life; he'd haunt them from beyond the grave. Or kill them himself if their foolish stunt actually worked.
The men shook Le Roux's hand and wished each other a goodnight before dispersing into the square where the celebration was still going on.
Still… Clopin seemed to not be in the highest of spirits.
After ordering the men to enjoy the rest of the night, he lingered behind, deciding to instead perhaps watch the festivities from a distance.
He gazed out the entrance of the tent, what he saw practically made his heart skip a beat.
Esmeralda had the crowd gathered around her as she passionately danced, hitting a tambourine to her hip.
He had known she was a talented dancer. As a child, she would constantly be enchanting whoever would take a moment to look up from their hectic life to acknowledge the small, skinny, girl with a mess of knotted black hair. She'd kick out her legs, swinging her hips, and jump to her own mystic rhythm as if it was what she was placed on earth to do.
He sighed running a hand through his hair…
His mind wandered years past. To the morning he had learned she had finally made good on her word. That she had gone somewhere far east with a few other hopeless wanderers.
Years previous – The Court of Miracles -
"You lied to me… you lied to me my whole life, Clopin!" she had yelled to him from outside his caravan, tears filling her eyes.
He had only just wandered home from the tavern, drunk and tired…
"You said nobody knew where I came from. You said you saved me! Just some poor orphan on the street…" tears rolled down her cheeks as he glances to her walking into his tent. He knew this was coming, he saw every move she made from a mile away. Not that he always knew how to handle said moves. "And, for years, I even believed you!"
"I don't know what you're talking about." He answered emotionlessly. "Go to bed, girl. It is late."
"NO!" she protested storming inside his room. "Not until you tell me why you demand to keep my lineage a secret!" He turned his back, removing his tunic and throwing it on his bed. "What?! Was my father, or mother, gadje? Is that why your father would never look at me as I passed? And what did that woman mean when she said that… that I don't belong here?"
"SHE MEANT NOTHING!" Clopin spat.. He was angry. Esmeralda had never heard such a voice come from the normally jovial man. "My father, he… what does it matter anyway?! He's dead! And that woman is a deranged whore!" He glanced to her from over his shoulder. She stood facing him silently still begging for him for answers.
What could he say? Nothing he could tell her would quiet her rage.
She had only just become a young woman. And he himself had known all too well of the restless feelings that occur at that age.
Esmeralda carefully stepped forward as he, half naked, rubbed the temples of his head.
She bit her lip, daring herself to step closer, and closer still to the handsome king.
"In all my years in this secret place," she began in her rough voice, "you're the only person who has looked kindly on me. You're the only man who has ever…. Ever…"
Clopin looked up. Even in his drunken state he sensed where she was going. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
She slowly raised her hand and began to reach for his bare skin…
He swiftly turned to face her, crudely grabbing her wrist.
"Esmeralda," he gasped.
"Yes… ?"
He searched her large eyes. He'd never say a word to hurt her. He couldn't. Not even if his very life depended on it.
They stood quietly in the dark for a long moment before he finally dropped her hand and turned back to his bed.
"I'm going to sleep."
She staggered backwards, her frown and tears returning with a vengeance.
"So. That's it?" she asked.
"Tomorrow is a new day. Put these thoughts in your past."
She bit her lip in order not to make her cries audible.
"I love you," she choked out in a whisper.
He closed his eyes, and painfully drew a long breath before uttering the last thing he had said to her.
"Don't."
Clopin was jolted forward as Andre put a friendly arm around his shoulders.
"A vision, isn't she?" he asked to his dazed King.
Clopin nodded coming into the present moment. Looking onto the cheering crowd clapping for the out of breath gypsy woman.
"One could say."
Andre looked to his remorse-ridden face.
"I didn't take you to be a man who lived in the past."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"Oh, you know what I mean by that."
Clopin agitatedly sighed, "If you are implying that I haven't forgiven that fiery temptress for a thoughtless ploy she pulled nearly a decade ago… well you are plain wrong, ami."
Andre shook his head, "I know you better than any of them think they do. And I still am clueless as to what goes on in your head most of the time."
"Well it's simple actually," he answered without hesitation, "women, wine, and my lady; Paris."
"Yes but it is the specificities of those certain things that will be the end of you, Clopin."
"Then I think I will die the happiest man in France!" he declared before stepping out of the tent and making his way into the party. And with one single long stride, he had returned to being the masked spirit – the center of attention.
*I was inspired to post this after a kind review was left! Thank you very much!
Please review lovely readers! (that's what they all say) (but you should do it, please c:)