CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

In the dim light of the early morn that oozed through a narrow gap in the clouds above lay the alleyway. It was the underworld of Paris, gloomy, unpleasant, and Monsieur Clopin Trouillefou, its King of this Underworld.

The vines that crawled up windowsills of the small folks' homes and the crumbling decay that envelopes the old stone bricks appeared somewhat romantic at first but became daunting as the sun rose beyond the horizon, casting shadows this way and that. Darkness lurked in every corner inside his own personal labyrinth of narrow passageways and dead ends, advantages he often used when outrunning Frollo's guards.

Waste was dumped on the cobblestoned street and birds and rats nestled amongst the sprawling rot, the stench filling his nostrils as they wafted, and Trouillefou crinkled his nose in disgust and tried not to pull a face. Though as the air grew colder, Clopin could feel his strides grow stronger, more confident as he sauntered through the alleyways to remain undetected. His contact was late, not like him at all.

Furrowing his dark brows into a frown and toying with the ends of his sleek black ponytail, he pursed his lips into a thin line as his eyes befell a figure shrouded in darkness, sticking to the shadows, cloaked. He snorted, and this time, Clopin really did roll his eyes.

This person was attempting to remain inconspicuous, and as a result, had done the exact opposite, and was doing a rather horrible job at remaining in the shadows undetected.

"Father," he remarked smartly, not bothering to hide his grin of satisfaction as the handsome younger priest startled at the remark and jumped.

Seeming thoroughly disgruntled, the King of the Romani people watched as Notre Dame's youngest and perhaps, in Clopin's opinion, the best, priest the entire cathedral could ask for, given his previous history as a soldier, lowered the hood of his dark cloak and scowled, knitting his brows together.

"You are late," Clopin answered airily by way of a formal greeting.

"Was I really that obvious?" Darius Barret grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, and shrinking into his thick black cloak for warmth as much as he could. His cobalt sky orbs had darkened, almost cerulean in color, as his disgruntled annoyance with Clopin increased whenever he was around the flamboyant king's presence, though this little arranged meeting hadn't come lightly, and certainly not without great risk to either of them.

The King was risking arrest from Frollo if one of the men's loyal soldiers were to spot him. It was a risk, according to Monsieur Trouillefou, the man was willing to take, though it was not something that put the self-proclaimed King in a necessarily good mood. Clopin smirked and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Of course, Father. Who else would it be? You are the only one in the entire cathedral that seeks me out whenever you have a problem but…why is that?" Clopin knitted his brows together, unable to stop himself from asking. "This wouldn't perchance have to do with a certain young mademoiselle, would it?" he smirked, feeling the edges of his lips turn up.

The priest blinked, and without even having to say a word, the Romani king knew that he had his answer, as was evident in the handsome priest's shimmering cobalt blue orbs as his mouth dropped open slightly, and he stuttered, trying to think of a response, though Clopin held up a tanned hand and quickly put the poor man out of his misery, saving him the trouble of responding.

"I thought as much. Don't even think of lying to me, Father, you are terrible at this. I take it that not everyone is so happy with the news of her…rather unorthodox engagement to your cathedral's bell ringer, yes?"

Darius scowled, a gesture that created lines upon his forehead and a deep groove near the edges of his mouth as he lowered the hood of his dark cloak and raked his fingers through his thick tuft of dark hair.

"You could make that argument, yes," the priest sighed, and his gaze drifted downward. "I cannot prove it, but…I think that someone is after her still, though her…husband. She does not leave the cathedral ever, unless with him or an escort," here, the dark-haired priest spat the word as though it were poison that had lingered and settled upon his tongue, "is no longer a concern. She is…nervous and is hiding something from myself and the Archdeacon. Something has happened to her recently, but she will not tell me what it is."

Clopin nodded in understanding, thinking what a week of gossip that had been for the streets and slums of Paris, there were rumors that the bell ringer himself had killed the girl's husband, running his fingers over the two-day stubble that graced his jawline as he furrowed his dark brows in quandary. Well. Given what he'd seen of the boy's ten-fold strength when he'd broken from his chains to free Esmeralda, he didn't doubt that aspect of the rumors for a single second.

"Well. I can honestly reassure you, Father, that given what I know of this Dupont girl, which is admittedly very little, that she does not seem like she poses any kind of threat. Therefore, it is beyond my capability to understand why someone would seek to do her harm unless this is less so about her, and more about your cathedral's bell ringer. Perhaps they would harm her in order to enforce an intended message, Father? It is a crude suggestion, but it is the best that I can come up with," Clopin scowled, pursing his lips into a thin line. "So, I guess you could say I am quite…ah, confused, then, Father. Why me? Why have you come to me for help in…whatever it is that you seem to think I can do for you?" he asked, turning to face the priest, and was quite surprised to see a look of concern intermingled with that of rage upon the man's pale features.

"Why not you?" Father Darius shot back, turning to regard Clopin with a look of incredulity upon his handsome features. "There is no one better, my friend. These streets, as you are fond of saying, are 'yours', are they not?"

As if to prove his point, the priest spread his arms out in front of him and gestured to the dank alleyway in which the pair of men were conversing.

The Romani King could not necessarily argue with Notre Dame's priest's point. Though as Darius Barret moved to fold his arms across his chest once more, he caught the all-too-familiar yellow gleam of the former soldier's gold wedding band he still wore on his left finger.

"Have you said anything?" Clopin asked the priest, gesturing to the man's ring with a jerk of his hand, pretending not to notice the light pink blush speckling on his cheeks. "Don't try to worm your way out of talking about this either," Clopin snapped, his tone hardening. "Have you told the girl of her?"

Clopin did not think he needed to emphasize whom he spoke of. He wasn't at all surprised when Father Darius Barret violently shook his head.

"If she really reminds you of Han…of her," Clopin corrected himself quickly, knowing how the mention of his deceased wife's name could oft provoke the man's temper, "then should you not say something to her? I can see it in your eyes even now and don't skirt around this. You should see it."

As the distant clanging of the cathedral's bells echoed in the distance, Darius's cobalt orbs darkened, almost cerulean in color.

The image of Belle's face flitted to the front of his mind, distraught, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as he recounted the young girl's confession of dark thoughts towards that of her deceased husband, and how, she wasn't quite certain if she would grow to love the growing child within her. It chilled his insides.

She had refused to speak further of the incident and had gone to a nearby tavern of all places, insisting that she needed a drink. Alice had informed him only a half-hour ago of this and Darius sought to bring her back to the cathedral, kicking and screaming if he had to.

It was dangerous for her to wander the streets alone, though her husband, Monsieur Gaston was no longer a problem for her, he could not shake that man's voice from the other side of the confessional screen a few weeks ago. "She's in danger."

Darius scowled, raking his fingers through his tuft of thick dark hair. "She should have stayed by me. I could have…I could have protected her, so could Quasi, but she's wandered off again." Belle. Even the mention of her name caused his heartstrings to give a painful lurch.

Her dark hair. Her dark brown eyes the color of a million hues. Hers were the forest and the autumnal leaves, the soil in summer, and after the rains. How could he ever reduce something so spellbinding to one word such as brown, when the colors invited him to marvel in their simplicity? Her eyes were beautiful.

With a frustrated shout, he balled his hand into a fist and struck the wall behind him, catching the Romani King off-guard. He wasn't concerned.

Clopin was the first to recover. "I think, given everything, Father, that might be the first time I've ever seen you truly lose control over another woman since…her. You care for this mademoiselle. For the lady Belle."

He was careful to mind his choice of words, not knowing how Darius would react.

Darius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was getting a damned splitting headache and this topic of conversation was not helping. "More than you know," he answered quietly. "She—she means more to me than I can put into words, Monsieur," he snapped.

Darius sighed, closing his eyes, though it seemed no matter what he did, this woman, she who was the spitting image of his Hanna from another life, a happier time, she always managed to seep into his thoughts.

Belle, the strange material of beauty with the beautiful dark, warm brown hair the color of mahogany. Her sharp eyes that never missed a thing, capable of counting the flaps in a hummingbird's wing, and steadfast determination.

Darius closed his eyes and tried to push away the pain of an oncoming headache. Pain, either physical or psychological, was all he felt these days. Heartache at losing his baby girl, and now faced with the thought of losing the only friend he had left. He couldn't bear the thought.

He tried to numb it with alcohol, with wine back at the cathedral, usually when he would drink with Alice, but to no avail. It never left him. His memories kept ripping at him, tearing into his heart and mind and very soul, always whispering the same name repeatedly, whether he liked it or not.

Belle. She's all you have left of Hanna and this is killing you. He heaved a strangled, choking sob and struggled, as it turned into a coughing fit. Reaching out with a shaking hand, he grasped onto the wall behind him to steady himself and felt his shoulders relax as he felt Clopin come up behind him and support him, helping him to stand.

"What's your story, Father?" Clopin asked, quirking his brow at the priest. "It's obvious you're hiding something from me, you've been in Paris a while and still, we know so little about you. It's clear to me, you and this girl, Belle, there's…something there, and judging by the look in your eyes, you can't imagine life without her."

Darius felt the last of his strength give out as he collapsed into a chair, rubbing his temples wearily. Dare I tell Clopin the truth?

One look at the man's lined and tanned face was more than enough. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and choosing to focus his gaze at a spot on the wall behind Clopin's head. "I had a wife once. Hanna. And a baby girl. The only good thing in a bad life that was taken away from me. When they were gone, I—I didn't know what to do, so I joined the French army, and one day, something in me changed. I don't know…"

"The girl," nodded Clopin quietly, agreeing. "If there's one thing that will make men give up acts of violence, it's a woman. So how did you become Darius the Destroyer, then? Don't you give me that look, you're famous all throughout Europe, Father."

Darius fell silent for a moment, thinking. "You know, it's funny, now that you say that," he murmured quietly. "Before, before I was a soldier, I would often go for rides on my horse when my…when Hanna died. It was the only way I could clear my thoughts. And I'd get this—this feeling that…something was behind me, a presence. Almost as if…as if it were waiting for me to become it. Darkness." Darius shot Clopin a dark look but continued. "This girl reminds me so of Hanna, Belle does, and in some way, I guess, she is now all I have left of my old life, and…" he hesitated, unsure if he should continue. "You're right in that there is…something there, but I can never act on it," he admitted, looking pained. "Not now."

"Why not?" challenged Alice hotly. "You have a choice."

"I don't want to ruin what she and our church's bell ringer have," he confessed, averting the sisters' piercing gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. "If I were to ever act on my urges one day, everything would change, and I can't risk losing her friendship. I just can't."

"No offense, Father, but that's a bunch of bullshit." Clopin snapped, not bothering to mind his language around the priest, considering they weren't on Holy Ground. "You will never know how this young mademoiselle feels unless you take a chance and ask her. If you don't, don't come crying and complaining to us if she marries your bell ringer one day because you were too much of a coward to confess your love," the man added, as an afterthought. "Oh, look at that, I have made you jealous," snorted Clopin, rolling his eyes and draining his wineskin of wine. "It's charming."

"I won't have Belle in harm's way any longer," growled Darius darkly, standing shakily to his feet. "She means too much to me to ever have her put her life at risk again. I can't lose her too. Our friendship is…unique, I'll give you that but I..." His voice trailed off, and he did not complete his thought.

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Clopin.

He fixed the Romani King with a hard stare. "Not let her go." His piece said, he pulled the hood of his cloak back up over his head and pursed his lips into a thin line. "I called you here to use those eyes and ears of yours, King. Use whatever resources, your little spies, I don't care. But the girl is in danger, and I cannot protect her on my own. Neither can Quasi, considering the boy almost never leaves his damned bloody towers," he scowled. "The girl frequently travels to the marketplace and about town in the mornings, her nose always stuck in a book, and as such," Darius sighed exasperatedly, "does not always mind her surroundings, nor the people around her. I don't know who could want to hurt her, but someone is after her. I need you. Help me," he pleaded. "You will let me know if you see or hear anything."

It was not a request coming from the former soldier, and Clopin knew better than to argue with Darius.

He did, after all, owe Darius a life debt after the man had saved his life one day after he'd gotten into a drunken brawl with some ruffians in the very tavern that he could have sworn he saw the young brunette mademoiselle head off towards earlier, a distraught look in her eyes.

Clopin nodded, though the Romani King made no move or gesture of farewell as he watched the priest swiftly exit the alleyway and head towards the tavern, fully intending to bring the young woman back to the cathedral.

The King could not help the sardonic little snort that escaped through his nose as Clopin too, made to turn away and head back towards his Court.

He did not know what exactly it was that Darius was expecting he would find, though the Father had been right on one account: he did have a vast disposal of resources—namely, his own people—to act as his eyes and ears, given that he himself could not be in multiple places all at once.

It was tiring his job. Being King of an entire race of people. Clopin rarely helped people that were not his own, but it seemed he did his job rather well.

Time and time again he had seen disappointment etched in the faces of his own kind following their persecution and arrest at the hands of none other than Frollo, and though this woman, this Belle Dupont, was not one of his own, if the rumors of this child's beauty were true, Clopin could not quite explain it but he knew he did not wish the girl to be in turmoil, though he did not know this girl for himself, though that needed to change.

If Darius wished for him to help her, then like it or not, Clopin wanted to be able to look at this Dupont widow in the eyes and judge her character for himself. To learn if Belle was even worthy of his efforts of a King's help.

The young woman was unlike any other creature in the entire city of Paris if he were to believe the rumors of his people and the other smallfolk of Paris for himself. She was said to stick out like a sore thumb and was the object of everyone's attention, whether the people liked her or not.

And yet…it was rumored that this Belle was quite a clever little minx, much smarter than those in the villages gave her credit for, and Clopin wondered what on earth would compel such a beauty to take an interest in the cathedral's deformed bell ringer. He pondered over this troublesome idea.

Though he did not know her yet, he could not turn away Darius's plea for help, and now, with things seeming to be escalating as quickly as they were, first with the girl's husband's death, and now her rumored pregnancy and pending marriage to the cathedral's bell ringer, and then there was the matter of this strange threat that Darius had received, though the man dared not speak of it, lest he faces ex-communication, though the man had always been a terrible liar. It was those glistening sky-blue orbs of his. They always spoke the truth. The girl was in grave danger, and Clopin had to help.

Though he was bothered by the idea of helping someone, much less a young mademoiselle, that he had never met before. He had to see her.

Clopin furrowed his dark brows into a frown and mulled over his options. Sooner or later than naught, he wanted to meet this stranger for himself, and it was then that a plan began to take root in his mind.

He did not bother to hide the small smirk that tugged on the corners of his lips as he knew just the very person to lure the girl out of her comfort zone and bring this she-stranger, this young mademoiselle, to Clopin.

Clopin shuddered as a tremor went down his spine as he cut through the side alleyway towards the Rat Hole to talk to his intended person of interest. He knew just the person to escort Belle to his Court of Miracles.

Though as he risked one last glance over his shadow before disappearing into the shadows, the Romani King could not help the grim expression that formed on his face. He could not shake the feeling of dread that traveled down his spine.

For better or worse, everything was about to change.