Chapter 3: Falling and Flying
"Oh dang," said Pierre, watching Clopin's hat waft downwards.
Clopin shrugged his shoulders, looking at his puppet with a blasé expression. He continued flying. "It was just an old hat," he said simply. "A keepsake. Something for memories."
He glanced surreptitiously down at the bridge so far below where he had carefully dropped his hat.
Farewell, La Esmeralda. Remember me.
La Esmeralda and Phoebus were once more in each other's embrace.
…And eat your heart out!
Suddenly, the air turned warmer as Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and Clopin flew through a cloud. Looking below, was Neverland.
Peter Pan pulled up and landed lightly on the edge of the cloud. The sky was still night dark, but the moon shone well. Clopin stood next to him and peered over.
"Oh la laa!" he breathed, in wonder.
It was a lush island in the middle of tropic blue water. A ship was anchored beside it, its sails shadowed. Clopin had never seen anything like it. Far from the cold and dirty streets of Paris, Neverland was paradise.
"Quick – get down!" Peter suddenly shouted. He dove at Clopin, who tumbled and rolled over.
There was a loud BOOM, and a large black something whizzed over their heads.
Tinkerbell recovered herself and began to scold at the ship below. Peter helped Clopin up.
"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized wryly. "I should've remembered."
Before Clopin could ask just what Peter Pan should've remembered, another ball sailed at them again. Clopin teetered on the edge of the cloud, wind-milling his arms. And fell.
He spread his arms to fly, but the magic was gone. "No! No no no NO!" With a scream stuck in his throat, he watched the water rushing closer and closer. Irrationally, he tried to pull himself up, thinking that by righting himself instead of aiming head first he might somehow never hit the water.
He hurtled in anyway. A deafening sound and a lot of white surrounded him. Eyes screwed shut, he struggled to the surface.
"Agh!" He spat out a fountain of water and flapped his hands and arms to stay afloat.
Pierre was gone. His hands were bare of puppets.
But then there was a little pop next to him and another thing surfaced, coughing and spluttering.
"Gah! I can't swim!"
"Pierre?" Clopin exclaimed, eyes widening in amazement.
Pierre turned to him. "Help!"
Clopin seized Pierre, more to feel if he was really what he was seeing than to save him from drowning.
"Whew, thank you." Pierre wiped his brow.
"Mon ami" Clopin shook his head incredulously "This is a magical night."
The Court of Miracles was still celebrating the fall of Judge Frollo's regime and their new freedom. A couple days had passed, in which those wounded in the Battle of Notre Dame had been treated. But afterwards, Clopin had issued a grand feast. Dancing, food, wine, music…the gypsies couldn't get enough of it. The people of Paris were celebrating as well. Celebrating Quasimodo, the hunchback who had saved Paris from Frollo's maniacal control.
It was nearly impossible to find someone sober who knew anything about Clopin Troillefeu. Everyone was sleeping off their festive hangovers. Esmeralda could find no one who had seen Clopin later than the dance earlier that night. None of her gypsy friends could comprehend her questions, or even stay awake to listen.
Quasimodo joined her and Phoebus, having spotted them riding double on Phoebus' horse, Achilles, up the Notre Dame steps.
"Esmeralda? What is it?" Quasi asked worriedly, noting her crestfallen expression. He looked at the hat she gripped in her hand and exclaimed, "That's his hat!"
Esmeralda slipped off Achilles' back. "I know," she said huskily.
"Quasimodo, I think I believe you." She lowered her eyes.
Phoebus dismounted and put his arm around her.
Quasi waited for her to continue.
"I – I just don't know how." She looked back at Quasi. "I've looked everywhere for him. Except – " She stopped and knit her brows.
"What is it, Esmeralda?" Quasi asked, holding her hand comfortingly. Phoebus dismissed this in light of their friendship and the circumstances.
Esmeralda turned around, gazing at the city.
"His wagon." She turned back to them and explained, "His puppet show. I didn't check his wagon." Her face lit with hope. She gripped the ragged rim of Clopin's hat determinedly and jumped back onto Achilles.
"Wait," Quasi said.
"We're going with you," Phoebus finished.
When they finally reached Clopin's wagon, the streets were quiet and dark. There was no light from inside the wagon.
Esmeralda broke into a silent run, her bare feet making only quiet slaps on the cobbles. She peered through the window. A flood of memories washed over her as she touched the wood where Clopin had staged his puppet shows. She smiled fondly at the memory. Then, remembering why she had come, she called softly, "Clopin? Clopin, are you awake?"
"No" he should've moaned, with his hand glued to his forehead in the unforgettable, Clopin-ish gesture of a bad hangover.
But he didn't. He wasn't there.
"Clopin!" She rushed around and went in through the back. The wood floor against her feet made loud hollow sounds, amplifying the fact that the wagon was empty.
The wagon was in a bit of a mess (it usually was). Smashed wine bottle, puppets strewn about…Where was he?
She knelt and brushed her fingertips against the broken glass, grazing her finger.
There was a footstep behind her. Phoebus.
Whatever he thought of Clopin's private sanctuary, he didn't say. Though if she had been facing him, she would've seen the expression he wore: slightly pursed lip, arched eyebrow, roving gaze.
"He's gone," Esmeralda whispered. She sat back against the wall, her knees drawn up. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she harshly brushed them away.
Quasimodo pushed past Phoebus. "Don't cry, Esmeralda," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Phoebus knelt on one knee in front of her, barely avoiding the broken glass. His arm rested dashingly on his knee.
"We'll find him," Quasi said softly, though he was thinking of Clopin flying who-knows-where.
Phoebus smiled gently at her and put out his hand to help her up. She took it and stood up, immediately swept into his tall embrace.
"We will," he said. He looked her in the eyes and grinned. "Trust me?"
She smiled back and put her hand in his. "Yes."
Quasimodo smiled, relieved.
Suddenly, the floor lurched beneath their feet. Quasimodo slammed against the wall and Esmeralda into the sideboard. Phoebus fell completely to the floor.
There was another wild lurch. This time up, not sideways.
Quasi and Esmeralda lost their balance again, then grabbed each other to stay on their feet. They both looked out the window at the same time.
Esmeralda covered a scream with her hand. Quasimodo leaned out further for a better look.
"No don't!" Esmeralda cried, pulling him back by his shirt. "Quasi – we – we're flying!
Notice that bit of "faith and trust"? It's supposed to be Quasi had faith and Esme had trust, which was what the old wagon and the pixie dust needed to get started flying again. Anyway! It's not too late! Please rate!
