The Earring and the Jesterbell

The Earring and the Jesterbell

By Hippy Gypsy

Disclaimer: Disney and Victor Hugo own their characters, I own mine. Get it? Got it? Good.

Chapter 3: Some Shall Fall

Tragedy struck three weeks later.

Clopin had been writing (not to Genevieve, just in general, stories and such, it was his favorite pastime) when his mother called him downstairs. When he turned the corner, her face looked grave.

"Clopin," said Rose, "have you seen your father?"

"He went into town this morning and said he'd be back this afternoon. Why?"

His mother tried to look confident. "Oh nothing. It's just, it's getting late and I was beginning to wonder."

"Do you want me to go look for him?"

"Oh, no! No, of course not. It wouldn't do any good. Besides, Jack is already out there."

"Okay," Clopin said a little unsure. He turned to go, then turned back. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well," she said glancing at the ground, "would you go keep watch up in the graveyard?"

"Sure," he replied. He kissed his mother on the cheek and headed out the door. He went up and took his usual seat in front of the angel statue.

The sun was falling in the sky. It was setting. It set. It was dark and the stars were shining. No one came the whole time. Clopin began to wonder. Did he mistakenly pass up his father and Jack in the Court of Miracles and hadn't noticed? No. Someone would have come out for him by now. Clopin shook his head and got up. He took one last look at the angel, and then walked back down into the Court.

As Clopin walked down the tunnel, he spotted three skeletons lining the wall. Clopin knew they were guards in disguise, so he spoke to them. "Hey, have you seen my father or brother?"

The first skeleton stepped forward. "Nope. Sorry Clopin."

The second skeleton stepped forward. "Your father went out this morning. Isn't he back yet?"

"No," Clopin replied. "Not that I've seen."

The third skeleton stepped forward. "We haven't seen him, but if we do we'll let you know."

"Thanks guys."

The skeletons nodded and took their places again at the wall. Clopin suppressed a shiver. They looked almost real. He stepped back into the Court and searched the crowds for Pierre and Jack, but there was no sign of them. Clopin went back to his house. When he opened the door, he found his mother sitting at the table. She looked up instantly.

"Well?" She looked worried.

"I waited up in the graveyard until the sun went down, but no one came," he explained to Rose. "And I just asked the guards if they've seen him, but they said no."

Rose looked down and said, "Thank you Clopin."

Clopin smiled timidly at his mother. "Come on, Ma. Don't worry. You know Pop's been in worse scrapes."

Rose simply replied, "Hmm."

Clopin crossed to the counter and picked up a deck of cards. "How about a game?"

Rose thought a moment and sighed. "You deal."

There weren't enough people to play Spears and Daggers, Clopin's favorite game (this comes back later in the story), so he and Rose sat through a game of Gin. They were into their seventh hand, when the door opened. Jack stepped in, looking very pale. Pierre didn't come in behind him though. It was Marque Chat, Genevieve's father. He looked grave.

Clopin looked at his brother. "What is it Jack?"

Jack walked right up to his room and shut the door without a word.

Rose stood up. "Marque, what are you doing here?" she asked politely, yet confused.

"Sorry to intrude Rose, but there's been a problem. You better sit down."

Rose sat down weakly. This is going to be bad, Clopin thought. He got up and stood behind Rose's chair, holding her shoulders.

Marque stared down at the ground and hesitated. "Umm…I don't know if you heard…but there was an incident in front of Notre Dame cathedral today. There was a Gypsy who was surrounded by Frollo's men. He was outnumbered five to one. There was a scuffle, but the guards dragged the Gypsy away…no trial…no nothing…and… and they hung him."

Tears were showing in Rose's eyes. Somehow she knew what was coming.

"I'm sorry, Rose," said Marque, his voice trembling. From behind his back he produced Pierre's purple hat, the Gypsy crown. "We didn't know it was him until it was too late."

Clopin went numb. He gaped as Marque gave the hat to his mother. Pop is dead, he thought blankly. He's dead…

Rose suddenly burst into tears. Clopin came around and put his arms around her. She cried and cried. Clopin wished she would stop. He hated seeing her like this. He watched her for a moment and suddenly thought, How come I'm not like this? How come I'm not crying? He couldn't. For some reason, he just couldn't.

Rose pulled away. She wiped her eyes and looked at Clopin. "You're the eldest."

Clopin's mind blanked again. "What?"

His mother held out his father's hat. "You're older than Jack."

Three words shot across Clopin's mind: I'm the king… He stepped back from his mother.

"Clopin…," she said holding it out to him.

He shook his head. "No," he said quietly.

Marque stepped forward. "But Clopin…"

"No. I'm the Prince. I don't want it."

"But Clopin…," said Rose.

"I'M NOT THE KING!"

Clopin suddenly burst out of the room and went to his own. He slammed the door and sat on his bed. His heart was pounding, his face was sweating, and his hands were trembling. And they wanted him to be king! A king? In a crisis like this? What did he normally do in a crisis? Run to Genevieve. But Genevieve was in Calais.

Clopin pulled out parchment and a quill, and quickly began scribbling a letter.

Dear Genevieve,

I'm the king now…

As hard as he tried in years to come, Clopin couldn't entirely remember how the week after that went. He was with his mother. He was with his brother. He was with Marque Chat. He was with other Gypsies. He was by himself…

Clopin sat in front of the statue of the angel. It was after sunset and it was pouring rain, but he didn't care. He sat there thinking of his father's words.

"One day, Clopin, you're going to make a great Gypsy King."

No I won't, thought Clopin. He was still refusing the Gypsy crown. He didn't want it. Despite his father's words to him, he didn't feel capable. On top of that, Clopin still wasn't able to cry. He was sad, but he just felt like there was nothing inside him. What's wrong with me?

Through the mist of the rainy night, Clopin could hear slopping footsteps heading towards him in the graveyard. Clopin buried his head in his arms and made no effort to move. For once in my life, he thought, I hope that's Frollo. Come and get me Claude. Go ahead and kill me. It's better than living, feeling like this. He didn't look up as the sound of the footsteps stopped in front of him. He just sat there with his head down, waiting for the first blow. But it never came. Instead, a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Clopin glanced up, and he was suddenly looking into the most familiar eyes he knew.

"Genevieve…," he breathed.

Genevieve was soaked from head to toe, like Clopin, but she didn't seem to notice. A mixture of rain and teardrops ran down her cheeks. "Hi," she choked. She sat down next to him. She touched his cheek with one hand and ran a hand through his drenched hair with the other. They stared at each other.

Clopin suddenly felt a lump in his throat. "They want me to be king," he whispered.

Genevieve nodded, even more tears streaming down her face.

It suddenly became too much for Clopin. "I CAN'T DO IT!" he screamed. Suddenly he just burst into tears. He and Genevieve held each other and cried, with only the angel to watch them.

Clopin couldn't go back to the Court of Miracles, so Genevieve took him back to her room at the inn where she was staying. As they were climbing the stairs, drenched and sopping wet, Clopin asked, "Why aren't you staying with your father?"

Genevieve looked at him. "Well, because I'm Jerome Chateau now. Jerome Chateau, the son of a rich lord, doesn't know Marque Chat, a poor gypsy. It keeps from having people be suspicious."

Clopin nodded a little. "Good point."

Genevieve opened the door to her room. Clopin's eyes widened. It was huge! Two elegant armchairs sat under the window and in the middle of the room was a couch that was mounded with pillows. Beyond the other doorway was a large bed with curtains around it. "Gen, how can you afford this?!" Clopin asked stunned.

"Probilo," she answered.

Clopin nodded.

Genevieve walked over to a large trunk in the corner and pulled out a new

tunic, leggings, a towel, and a blanket. She threw the clean laundry at Clopin. "Dry yourself off, put those on, and wrap yourself up before you get sick."

Clopin eyed the male clothing. "Gen, where did you get these?"

Genevieve looked at him. "You forget I wear them now."

Clopin shook his head and glanced at her. "You see? I told ya. You left and I lost my mind."

She giggled a little. "You lost it long before I left."

Genevieve grabbed her own set of clothes and went into the other room. Clopin dried off, changed, and threw the blanket around him. He was feeling better now (or at least drier and warmer). He sat down on the couch and tried sorting his thoughts out again. Well, you were right Pop. Gen and I are best friends, he thought. I really needed her and she came back. He rubbed his face.

Genevieve came back in the room rubbing the towel on her wet hair. That's when Clopin noticed. It was cut very short above her ears. Clopin gaped. Genevieve noticed.

"Don't like the haircut?" she asked.

"It's gone," he said distantly. "It was so beautiful, and so long, and now it's gone."

Genevieve nodded. "You look tired," she said. She walked over to the side table and poured Clopin a glass of wine. "This will help."

"Wait a minute," said Clopin. "You, Genevieve, drinking wine?"

She looked over at him. "I'm in college now. What else did you expect me to drink?"

Clopin laughed softly through his nose. Genevieve poured some wine for herself and sat down next to him. "Wanna talk?"

Clopin nodded.

"That's what I'm here for."

"Well, here's what I found out from the rumors," said Clopin. He took a sip of wine. "There's a Lieutenant, Roché, who caught Pop. Roché was after him for some reason. People say he suspected who the Gypsy King was. Well, he tracked Pop down, chased him, cornered him, and hung him."

Genevieve looked down at her glass. "Sounds like a classic game of cat and mouse."

"Mmm-hmm," he nodded.

"Clopin," she said looking up, "do you know which soldier Roché is?"

He nodded again. "Tall, dark, greasy hair, thin mustache, sinister smile."

Genevieve thought for a moment, then took a sip from her glass. "I'll send word to Probilo in the morning, see what his men can dig up."

"Probilo? Gen, tell me who this Probilo guy is. You've kept me in the dark about him."

"I'd tell ya," said Genevieve, "but then I'd have to kill ya."

Clopin decided not to pursue the matter. He leaned back into a pillow and rubbed his eyes. "I'd hate to repeat myself," said Genevieve, "but you look tired." Clopin closed his eyes.

It was pouring rain again and Clopin was in the middle of it. He was walking the deserted streets in the night when he heard a scream. The voice was all too familiar.

"Pop?" said Clopin. "POP!"

Clopin followed the scream, but he couldn't catch up. He suddenly found himself in front of Notre Dame. Before him stood a man in a dark hooded cloak. Behind the man was a platform, but Clopin couldn't see what was on it.

Clopin looked at the hooded figure. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

The figure removed his hood to reveal the evil smiling face of Roché. "Long live the king," he hissed. He threw his head back and laughed loudly.

Lighting suddenly flashed illuminating everything and Clopin got a good look at what was on the platform. Pierre Trouillefou's figure hung there in a noose.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!…"

Clopin's eyes shot open. His head and heart were pounding in anger. He tried to sit up, but something kept him in his place. He looked down and found Genevieve, wrapped up in her blanket, sleeping with her head on his chest. They had both fallen asleep while they were talking. Clopin normally would have loved to stay there with her in his arms, but anger overruled him.

He shifted trying his best not to wake Genevieve, but her eyes blinked open and focused on him. "What's wrong?" she asked seeing his face.

Clopin got up and didn't answer. He walked over to his pile of wet clothes and pulled out his dagger.

Genevieve's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done a week ago," Clopin growled.

"What's that?" she asked sitting up.

"Kill Roché."

"What?" Genevieve jumped up. Clopin was heading towards the door, but she caught his arm. "Clopin, no, don't do it," she pleaded.

"Why?"

"Because he already killed your father. I don't want him facing you."

"Oh, so you're saying I can't take him?"

"No, I'm saying I don't want to see you hurt…or worse."

"Gen, don't you get it? He already is after us. He'll be coming after us until we're all dead!"

"That doesn't mean you have to go looking for trouble!"

"Well, someone has to have courage and go face the savage beast!" He pulled his arm away. He walked out the door slamming it behind him.

Genevieve was dumbfounded. What should I do? she thought desperately. She went to her trunk and dug out her cloak. She wrapped it tightly around herself and brought the hood up to hide her face.

She soon found herself wandering the deserted streets. She had no plan, but only one thing mattered at the moment: find Clopin before he found Roché. She had been all over the city and there was no sign of Clopin or Roché. Well, at least she thought there was no sign of Roché. She had never seen him before. But all that changed when she bumped into a solid figure in a dark alley.

Genevieve was about to apologize when a hand jutted out and grabbed her by the collar of her cloak.

"Well, look at this," said a voice. "Gypsy trash."

Genevieve looked up and saw a sneering face with a thin mustache. Oh no, she thought darkly. Clopin, where are you?

"Do you have anything to say wench?" spat Roché throwing Genevieve to the ground.

She straightened up quickly. "I'm not a wench and I'm not Gypsy trash," she said defiantly.

"That's not what that ugly haircut and pathetic earring say," said Roché, now towering over her.

"Since when does the way I dress affect who I am?!"

"Since Frollo and I began ruling this town!"

"Frollo and you?!" Genevieve shouted. She was hoping someone would hear her and come to her rescue. "You have a big head, don't you?!"

"Shut up Gypsy!" He slapped her across the face.

"Hey! Roach!"

Roché turned to find a dark figure standing in the shadows. He couldn't see his face, but Genevieve knew instantly who it was. The silver gleam of a dagger could be seen.

"You're one of the King's noble men," said the figure. "Don't you know how to treat a lady?"

"Who are you?" Roché spat.

"I am the son of the man who was innocent and hung last week," said Clopin.

Roché thought a moment. "The son of the man…? Ah! So you're the Gypsy Prince!" He smiled evilly. "So what brings you here, your highness?"

"I came to repay you," Clopin said darkly.

"You're going to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, I see," the lieutenant replied in a mocking tone. "Well, I'm sorry, son. That's just not on my agenda tonight."

"CLOPIN! WATCH OUT!" Genevieve suddenly screamed. She was a moment too late.

Clopin felt something heavy smash against the back of his head. He went sprawling and his dagger flew out of his hands. He grabbed his head in pain and rolled over to see a soldier holding the shattered remains of a flowerpot in his hands. The situation was bad, and all Clopin could think was, Ah! Ma tête!

"Good work," said Roché. "Drag him over here and put him next to his wench."

Clopin allowed them to him next to Genevieve. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his dagger lying there abandoned. On his other side sat a fearful Genevieve. In front of him stood Roché and the other soldier. Clopin quickly formulated a plan. He turned to Genevieve and winked quickly. She almost didn't catch it, but she knew what he meant.

Roché pulled out his sword and pointed it at Clopin's throat. "Prepare to die, Gypsy Prince," he said darkly.

"Not tonight," Clopin replied sweetly.

"NOW!" Genevieve screamed.

Clopin and Genevieve instantly brought their legs out and kicked Roché and the soldier in the shins, pulling their feet out from under them. They were instantly up and running like lighting, Clopin quickly stopping to pick up his dagger and stuff it in his belt. Behind them, they could hear the pounding of boots on cobblestones and the soldier shouting, "Come back here!"

Oh yeah, thought Clopin. Like we're really gonna! "Keep running! Don't look back!" he shouted. He grabbed Genevieve's hand.

They turned a corner and Clopin began to climb a rain pipe trying to get to the roof. He thought Genevieve was behind him, until he heard her scream.

"Clopin!!"

He turned and found her below him. She was hanging onto the pipe a good six feet off the ground. Roché was grabbing her foot and pulling her back. Without thinking, Clopin jumped down and drew his dagger. He punched Roché in the face and turned his wrist at the last second, sending the blade across his cheek. In one piercing shriek, it sliced him from ear to nose.

Clopin grabbed Genevieve's arm and they took off down the alleyway again.

Roché grabbed his injured check, soaked with fresh blood. The soldier came running.

"Sir, what…?"

"THEY WENT THAT WAY YOU MORAN!" Roché screamed pointing violently.

The soldier checked the alleyways, behind crates, and behind barrels, but there was no sign of the two Gypsies. He gave up and walked off. If only he had checked behind that one last crate…

Clopin poked his head out, saw the coast was clear, then straightened up. "Come on Gen," he whispered. She came out and they both started heading towards the graveyard.

End of Chapter 3