part 11

A/N: Please let me know (via review, of course) if you think my summary is misleading. I had a couple people say they thought they wouldn't be interested in this story, then read it and found it completely different than expected. So if you think I should change my summary, I would really appreciate it if you, my beloved readers, could tell me so. Thank you!!! (PS. if anyone has an actual suggestion for a summary, don't be shy about sharing it! ^_^)

January the 6th, known to the peasant-folk as the Feast of Fools, or the Festival of Fools, or any number of other derivatives, dawned with a frosty mist which would on any other day have been a great discouragement to anyone with a desire to go out of doors, but not on this day. For the lower classes, of which there was a significant amount, this was a day on which all rules of society and decorum could be safely and totally violated without need for repentance or accountability. For the small percentile that was the noble class, it was a quaint form of entertainment in which they could watch the veritable freak show of foolish and sometimes vile common folk. "Ann" and Johann attended with an entourage of other local nobles and even some diplomats from Austria. Ann contemplated how successful this year's festival would be, since the gypsies were under threat. But surprisingly enough they turned out en force and, luckily, the law seemed content to allow them the day.

It was a strange thing to Ann to see Clopin as a performer once again. She had almost forgotten how she'd originally noticed him, since in the last several months she had come to see him as a sharp strategist, a man of shadows and disguises, and an adventurous lover. It struck her as extremely comical now to see him as the clownish compère,* playing a caricature or an exaggeration of himself. He was effortlessly able to keep the crowd warm with his wit and humor, and he had made his entrance by sliding through the legs of one of the flag-bearing monks. Perhaps her dread that this event would turn particularly ugly was unfounded.

Only a short time after these thoughts had crossed her mind, however, a dancing gypsy woman was already tempting fate by becoming rather too bold with authority, teasing the Judge Frollo in a way that was clearly mocking. Her eyes shot over to Clopin and she could see his eyes taking on that familiar wariness. It seemed a possibility the woman would get a scolding for her risk.

Clopin certainly hadn't meant for the crowd to turn ugly on Quasimodo. In his mind, it was only in good fun putting him on the spot. He'd thought that given the day of the year, no one would object, at least not enough to do the dehumanizing acts that occurred soon after his crowning of the King of Fools. And then Esme, his cousin, had done yet another thing that made him simultaneously beam with dastardly pride and furious with the risk she put herself in. Openly defying Frollo, she'd cut the poor thing loose and spoken far too freely to the Judge himself. He'd hoped that today of all days they could live without fear of the law, as they always had. Obviously now that was impossible, and giving a gypsy signal of retreat, he dashed.

Ann's heart sank in her chest as she heard Frollo's shout to the guards and suddenly, there was chaos. Between gypsies trying to escape, soldiers in pursuit, drunks and ordinary citizens trying to get away from the anarchy, Ann was separated from Johann and the others. A noblewoman alone in a rampaging crowd was no safe thing, and the next thing she knew some heavy, drunk man was practically on top of her, his hands roaming all over her, smelling of sweat, dirt and beer and before she knew what she was doing she shoved him away and began slapping him in the face in her rage and fear, shouting Godless words his direction. Suddenly, someone else grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the crowd. A glint of purple and golden-yellow and she knew it was Clopin. "Excuse me, good rapscallion, but by tradition I get first choice!"

The drunk staggered, trying to find his balance. "Of course, Clopin, take her. She likes it rough." The surrounding crowd laughed wildly. Ann was about to give a furious reply when the gypsy answered, "I thank you," removed his mask and kissed her hard. More laughter, whoops and jeers. He saluted them with his feathered hat, wished them luck in avoiding guards and with his hand firmly around her waist, hurried her into a deserted alleyway. As he'd expected, she had words for him.

"What in God's name makes you think you can humiliate me like that?" she gasped. "Especially in front of such people!"

"Ah…'such people.'"

"Did you not see the wine-besotted drunk with his hands all over me? Those 'such people'!" She was furious, and he understood.

"Ann! Cherie, listen! I have no wish to humiliate you, but unless I convinced them that I was merely taking my share of the spoils, there would be questions! It's bad enough my own people suspect me for my association with a noble woman; I don't need all of Paris wondering why I'd bother to save you!"

She still fumed, but merely sat down on an old wooden box and said nothing. For a few moments there was silence. Clopin sat down next to her. "Ann, I am sorry I had to do that."

She shook her head and replied quietly that she understood.

"Besides, I guarantee you they're all too drunk to remember."

She scoffed.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and she did not object. It was a strange thing to see her vulnerable and he couldn't help feeling protective. "Peace now, no one will dare approach you when you're with me."

She let out a humorless laugh. "I had no idea you had such power over the commonwealth."

"Over the lower class, the underworld, yes, I have some influence."

"It disquiets me; how little power we have once we step out of our respective circles."

"I know the feeling." He kissed her forehead and gently pulled her away from his embrace. "Come. I will go with you to find your people."

After some time, Clopin spotted Merta and saw Ann meet with her safely. A common man might question Ann's ability to physically resist him, but one stony look from the serving woman was enough to deter anyone.

***

Then began the Burning of Paris. Frollo laid siege to the entire city in his obsessive search for gypsies and Esmeralda. More and more Romani poured into the Court of Miracles seeking security from the relentless sounds of marching soldiers, fire, and horses. Clopin spent hours in his tent, scouring his brain for what could be done. Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his two forefingers, he asked himself over and over. No one dared approach him on the subject, as the last person to do so got an entire trunk hurled at him. It infuriated him how helpless they were, how helpless he was, to deter this threat. However formidable the lower class was capable of being, they were disparate and clung to their tribal allegiances. He had only a short time ago consulted with other underworld leaders, but they were either of the mind that this was purely a gypsy problem or they were yet too fearful to take action. For now, they were alone in a fight against a macrocosm of Europe's elite, money and military. He thought back more than once to Ann's words: It disquiets me; how little power we have once we step outside our respective circles. He could fight many things in many ways, but how did a band of gypsies stand against a man in whom Rome itself had placed its faith? These were foreign waters, and he needed someone to tell him the way of the current.

Cursing, Clopin made his way back through the catacombs, having just wasted his time in trying to meet with the Baroness. He couldn't say he blamed the owners of the estate, given the current circumstances, but there were now guards posted all over the property. And what was worse, dear Johann was home. He eased his bitter attitude with the thought of Ann's bored countenance while her husband attempted lovemaking. He did feel pity for the woman, but it was a funny picture.

As soon as he arrived within the Court's walls, he was immediately accosted by Emilian, who had news.

"What did you hear? Speak quickly!"

"It is only some small matter, Chief…"

"Every detail matters at this point, my friend. Say on."

"It was Frollo and his friend, von Bergen, conversing at Frollo's house. At first they were discussing religion and such stuff, but they were arguing about much of it. Von Bergen brought up the subject of Frollo's hunt for Esme. He didn't like how irrational it was making Frollo look and threatened to back out of their arrangement if less destructive measures weren't taken. They argued for a long time about this and Frollo threw him out."

Clopin was a little disappointed that it wasn't more useful, but dissent in the ranks gave him at least something to think about exploiting. Frollo did appear rather mad these days. Could Rome support the acts of a madman? After a few moments contemplating this, Clopin asked Emilian coolly, "What manner of Christian is that bastard von Bergen? What did you gather from their conversation? Did they mention anything about, say…an Inquisition?"

Emilian stared at hearing the feared word. "Inquisition? …Not specifically, but they did make mention of certain procedure for the conversions. They fought most fiercely about this. Von Bergen is a true Papist, chief; he seems to like everything done very procedurally and by the book." He could tell Emilian was struggling to remember anything useful.

"Yes? Yes?" Clopin goaded.

"Well…ah…"

"Did Frollo do anything after von Bergen left?"

"Yes, he went angrily to a large chest and took a large book from it, started reading. That's all I saw."

"What did it look like?"

"Leather-bound, rather fancy-looking."

"What about his other books? Did you see any of those?"

Emilian didn't understand what his king was looking for and stammered whatever he could think of. "Uh…well…they're all about the same size…all black or brown, some new, some old…not like the fancy one."

Clopin nodded and patted his comrade's shoulder. "Rest easy, Emilian; you have done well. Now go warm yourself at the fire and get something to eat."

Now Clopin was certain he had to meet with Ann, somewhere somehow. At some point, all of this would blow over and there would be an opportunity for someone to accuse Frollo of any number of things. It didn't matter what was true; this was a society of hear-say and if gypsies were to be brought down by rumors of devilry, then so would Frollo. The key was being able to penetrate the circles of the upper class and there spread his venom.

***

Clopin knew that Merta at least, if not the Baroness as well, must come out to the marketplace for goods every few days. Positioned near an alleyway and dressed as a hooded beggar, he watched for her. Finally one morning he spotted her, arguing as always with every vendor about the declining quality of the produce. Once she turned his corner, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the alley. She would have screamed but for the hand over her mouth. She struggled and kicked and successfully landed an elbow in Clopin's ribs. He steeled himself against the pain, though he gave a low grunt, and was finally able to turn her around and show his face. Once she saw who he was, she calmed herself but her face was set in extreme irritation and she slapped him across the face. "What the devil's got into your head? What you think you're doing, attacking old ladies? Serves you right."

"Listen, Merta," he rubbed his face where she'd hit him, "I had no other way to get your attention without the guards taking particular interest in me. I need you to give a message to your Lady that I must speak with her urgently."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, now that chaos is spreading through the land and we all have a hundred other things to worry about, you need to get into her sheets?"

His patience was wearing severely. "Merta, these are no bedroom matters. Now will you tell her?"

She scrutinized him and replied dryly, "Fine, then. I shall. No guarantee she'll risk her neck for you, coming out here."

"That's all I ask."

With a curt nod, she continued back on her way, leaving Clopin to wonder if his trump card would give him his winning hand.

***

Despite his concern that she indeed might not dare to leave her estate, she did come out to the marketplace with Merta. Down a deserted street, Clopin, still dressed as a hooded beggar, relayed all he had heard regarding Frollo and von Bergen. She listened contemplatively. "It seems they may have been arguing over procedure. It seems likely from all that we have heard, that Frollo is attempting to create his own Inquisition. He may have acquired one of the books on inquisitorial methods and standards. If that is the case, von Bergen would most certainly object to it."

"You know him?"

"Of course. He is a German nobleman; it goes without saying."

Clopin was irritated. "Why did not say so before?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Because you never asked."

"Fine, fine," he relented.

"Von Bergen, as your source said, is indeed a very Papal man. He has strong connections to the Vatican and it's there his loyalty lies; however, he is not a fool and does not usually listen to hearsay, especially when it deals with his colleagues. He is a man of proof when it comes to earthly things. If you want him to turn on Frollo, some manner of evidence must be presented."

"What about other Barons? Are they as immune to hearsay?"

"It's very possible they aren't. I know their wives aren't, in any case." She understood what Clopin was suggesting. "I will do my best to spread ideas around. But these things sometimes take a little time; I cannot be obvious."

He looked at her gravely. "Do what you can."

She looked at him reassuringly. "Naturally."

***

A week later, the rumors were spreading. The best thing, in the Baroness' eyes, was that the ideas planted by her intertwined gracefully with the other dozen or so rumors regarding Frollo's sanity, his obsessiveness, and even his particular fixation on the gypsy woman. The problem was, it would take much longer for the rumors to reach the Vatican and she doubted Paris could afford to wait. Presently, the Baroness gazed out a grand window in the dining hall of her estate, staring at the glow of yet another fire. Her husband was mulling over his wine behind her.

"Does it not bother you that you place so much faith in a man who is burning his own city?"

Johann looked up. "You mustn't trouble yourself with such, my wife. It is not for you."

"Do you think he means to begin an Inquisition?"

Johann sighed. "Of course not. Frollo is a devout man; he would not be so bold."

"I heard he has one of the Inquisitorial Books."

"My dear, you mustn't listen to gossip. Besides, I have been to his house and seen no such book. It would be very distinct as I'm sure you could guess; much richer than any of his humble books. Put it out of your mind. As I said, it is not for you to worry over such."

"Even so, I do not like the sight of fire on the horizon."

He stood and came near her, looking out the window as well. "Nor do I, I must admit. But Frollo's supposed madness may yet be an act of God. Is he not smiting down those who threaten our Corpus christianum?"

"Fire chooses no specific race, nor does it know the virtuous from the fiend."

Johann seemed merely to sip blithely at his wine and after a few minutes of silence, merely said, "I'll come to your bedchamber this night. My astrologer says the moon is well placed for conception." With that, he headed upstairs.

Loathe to follow, the Baroness' face contorted slightly with contained resentment and rebelliously continued her stare out the window, feeling trapped and powerless. Suddenly, she tore herself from the window and went to the kitchen, where Merta and a servant girl were cleaning up.

"A word, Merta."

They moved down the small servant's corridor where the Baroness whispered, "I need you to deliver a message to Clopin."

Merta sighed, "My lady, it bothers me none that you and this man are having it off, but in these times-"

"I have not yet told you what the matter concerns." Her voice was unusually steely.

Merta silenced her objections. "Yes, Madame. I'm sorry, t'was too bold of me."

"I need you to tell him, if you can find him, that he must make sure that Frollo's book is found. I am sure that it is what we need."

"Is that all, then, Madame?"

She nodded. "Go to market tomorrow."

Merta clearly did not like this idea whatsoever. Having been put down by her mistress, she would not object further, but she had to ask, as one used to being in the Lady's confidence, "My dear, forgive me for asking, but to what end is all this wheeling and dealing? You risk everything by these acts!" she whispered, a rare concern in her face.

The Baroness was quiet, but it was a strained quiet telling of louder things happening in her mind and body, simmering under the surface. "For every night that I must go to bed with the man I had to marry, for every day that I must sit in peace and quiet and waste my life, I tell you…this one time I will act on my will, and I will do what is supposedly barred from me. This one time I shall have power over Men's fates."

"A soul might think you seek revenge for your sex."

With a cocked eyebrow and a curt nod, she responded coldly, "Let a soul think that."

*A/N: compère – a host or master of ceremonies