In my sleep I dream of warmth. I dream of happiness at the pleasure of
rest. I dream of my fiddle, playing to the applause of hundreds, maybe
thousands. I dream of playing my fiddle for only myself, in a solitary
field somewhere in France.
A strange noise invades my playing. I pause and glance at the instrument. Nothing at fault with it...
The noise grates on my ears again. I listen carefully. It is a scratching noise, rough and abrasive. It begins to grow in intensity, hacking away at my ears.
Hacking...
I open my eyes, yawning and squinting at the sudden onslaught of light from a candle. The noise was not a part of my dream. Rather, it comes from the figure curled up next to me, that of Ferdain.
I groggily push myself up to see whatever is the matter with him.
Ferdain is shivering under the blankets, coughing and hacking into his hands, violently shooting his head back with every cough.
"Ferdain." I murmur, crawling over to him.
"Evalyne-"He manages to say before a spasm and another cough overtake him.
"I think I may have forgotten the chills that can frequent Paris." His voice is halting. I feel his forehead. He is not too hot, not horribly sick. I still feel a twinge of guilt at my harsh words to him the other morning now that he is not feeling well.
I sense that I will probably regret my decision, but I smile kindly at Ferdain.
"You might do better with some food and drink in you. Come, the evening has just begun. We'll go to the tavern." His eyes light up.
"And not a drop of liquor will you touch." I add, holding up a finger to his face menacingly. His face falls a bit. "The fire and the company will do you much better than that vile drink you're so fond of." He smirks.
"All right Evalyne, I promise." I help him up and get him a glass of water before exiting the tent to try and wake myself up.
I wander about the Court of Miracles. It is not horribly late, nearing the midnight hour. Gypsy encampments are never completely silent, but it is still much quieter than it would be during the daylight hours. My friend Antessa must be asleep with her husband and children. I pass her tent, wishing she were awake so I could talk with her.
I watch a couple flirting away in a hidden corner of the catacombs. I smile slightly at the young man's words of love to his lady.
I finally reach the "main square" as one could call it, of the Court of Miracles. I pause for a moment in front of the gallows, set up auspiciously at the edge of the area: not the focus of attention but could easily draw it.
Clopin must use these gallows from time to time. To execute the poor fools who find their way down here and fail to realize what they're discovered until it's too late. It's strange that such a man, a happy golden storyteller with a silly smirk could just as happily hang a man by his neck until he was dead to the great amusement of his subjects.
Mama. I only allow myself to think of her for a moment. I would not allow myself to think of her hanging; I forced myself to think of her smiles, her kind words and even gentle discipline. I couldn't miss my father in same way I often missed my mother. He had been a good father as far as he was able, but as was custom he busied himself with Ferdain, trying to make him into a man, showing him the ways of the world.
What kind of man would Ferdain have been if Papa had had a few more years?
"I'm waiting for my medicinal fire and company, Evalyne." I hear my brother's voice, a little more raspy than usual, behind me. I join him and together we make our way up into the city and towards the tavern. We are careful to avoid the guards, so as not to alert them to yet another gypsy gathering.
The tavern is, as usual, bright and welcoming. The gypsies converse, laugh and drink as if the other evening's raid had never happened. I get the feeling raids such as that are regular occurrences around Paris.
Ferdain and I seat ourselves at a table. We sit there in silence until Ferdain tries to sigh in exasperation and ends up coughing instead.
"I fail to see what your fire and company are doing for me, especially when it's only your company I have." He pouts. I narrow my eyes.
"If you'd rather never set foot in a tavern again, that can be arranged." He reaches for a mug near to him, completely ignoring me. I slap his hand away.
"Cherie, it seems you are more a mother than a sister, no? Keeping a man from his drink, shame." The King of the Gypsies sits down to join us, drinking from his own mug. Ferdain eyes it.
"Do not even dream of it." I say, staring at him. He eyes me for a moment and then deftly slips a pitcher off the tray of a serving girl walking by. Ferdain is so swift and silent that the girl never notices and continues to walk toward the kitchen with her empty tray. I paw wildly at the pitcher but Ferdain holds it out of my reach. Triumphant, he looks in it.
It is only water. Clopin and I laugh as Ferdain scowls and drops it on the table.
"I offer a toast to your magnificent skills of stealth, Monsieur Ferdain, despite your inability to steal that which you desire." Clopin says regally, holding his mug near Ferdain's nose and snatching it away to drink again before Ferdain can drink from it. Ferdain finally pours himself a glass of water and mutters away to himself amid coughs.
"What brings the King of the Gypsies to this humble tavern?" I murmur. Clopin shrugs and takes another swig.
"A sleepless night, Cherie. And a longing for other pleasures..." He trails off, watching the serving girl, who I now notice has a more than considerably gifted figure, serving drinks.
I suddenly feel much older, as if Ferdain is my unruly boy and the serving girl is the young girl I once was.
I reach my hand back behind my head to where the scroll of my fiddle pokes out of my pack. I run my fingers along the designs and pluck the end of the strings absentmindedly.
The serving girl wanders by Clopin and he steps on the trailing tie of her apron. It falls off and she turns to see Clopin, the golden swaggering king, holding it out to her, eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.
I feel for my bow, fingering the hairs for a moment.
The girl blushes, giggles, and reaches out for her apron. Clopin kisses her outstretched hand before handing it back to her. He and Ferdain exchange leers and knowing smirks as she runs off to titter with the other serving girls.
I absentmindedly fiddle a tune on the table with my fingernails. The girl reminds me too much of myself in younger days. I cannot blame Clopin for her foolishness, but a part of me wishes that she won't indulge him later, that I can maybe stop her from doing so.
Clopin tickles my fingers with the feather in his hat, throwing me off the tune.
"You're not bored, little fiddler?" He says in mock disbelief.
A drunkard behind me falls off his chair, cackling like a madman. I raise an eyebrow at Clopin.
He watches the man struggle to get back up and laughs.
"Your point is taken, Cherie. Come then, let's find excitement elsewhere."
"And what of your friend?" I murmur, eyeing the blushing girl in the corner. Clopin turns and winks at her, then turns back to wink at me.
"Oh, don't worry on my account. I assure you she will be quite willing to wait a night or so."
"What of Ferdain, then?" I add, nodding towards my brother, who eyes me murderously.
"If I were a proper older brother, Evalyne..." He says, trying to sound menacing while sipping his glass of water.
"Very well," Clopin turns to him. "Ferdain, your sharp little sister and I are going off to seek our deaths. May we trust you not to get horribly drunk and instead find other pleasures?" He raises his eyebrows at my brother as if it is some sort of signal between them. Ferdain blushes and I suddenly understand. I laugh as he splashes some water at me.
"Do go easy on her, my dear, suave, debonair, elder brother!" He blushes even redder. I rise to follow Clopin.
"And you'd better leave that here, unless you want it to get broken." He says, pulling my fiddle out of my pack.
LEAVE my fiddle?
I have never left it anywhere. That I brought it to the tavern with me in the middle of the night only goes to prove that. The gypsy King holds it high above my head as I jump for it.
"You're mad if you think I'll leave it anywhere." I say in between jumps. He tosses it to Ferdain, who throws it haphazardly onto the table.
"Dear Monsieur Ferdain, may we also entrust this sacred piece of wood to you?" He says, dripping with sarcasm as he pulls me towards the door.
"Ferdain, if you break it, if there is even a scratch-"I yell back at him. He waves me away.
"Yes, yes, you'll crush my bones to make your bread, boil my blood for your wine- I get the general idea!" He calls back, laughing at me.
Clopin is already outside, leaning against the building. He leaps up as I exit.
"What is your fanatical devotion with that fiddle? Is it possessed by the devil? Blessed by God, what?"
Clopin is good company, but he doesn't understand.
"Were I to break those legs of yours, Clopin the acrobat, then maybe you'd understand."
"Ah, but I would still have my voice!" He sings out loudly. I shush him and he only laughs louder.
"And his stories!" Puppet exclaims in my face for a moment before disappearing.
"Evalyne would not have much if you broke her fiddle." I reply tersely.
"That is your problem, Cherie." Clopin says seriously. He doesn't elaborate. I follow him through the city until we reach a locked gate deep within an alley.
Clopin and I clamber over it. It is a dark courtyard. Trees and bushes are everywhere, but it is a cold, lifeless garden.
I feel a shiver go up my back, though I don't know if it's from fear or excitement. The gigantic black building that the courtyard ends at is the Palace of Justice.
"Adventurous, no?" Clopin whispers, grinning.
"Foolish too." I answer softly, but I'm smiling.
I am in a place that is horribly dangerous, but I'm enjoying myself very well, and not very frightened. This probably has to do with Clopin, who is smelling the flowers and picking leaves as if it all belonged to him.
I gaze up at the stars for a moment. When I look down, Clopin is gone.
"Clopin?" I whisper. The excitement and adventure have long since faded. I take one tentative step into the moonlight.
There are suddenly hands gripping my shoulders, I whirl around, my mouth open to scream, but it is only Clopin, who claps his gloved hand over my mouth, and nearly dies in a fit of laughter. I glare at him until he motions for me to follow him. We climb back over the wall and into the city. Once safely away from the Palace, he lets out side-splitting laughter so loud I am surprised the entire city doesn't awaken.
"That was not funny in the slightest!" I hiss. He only laughs harder
"Ah Cherie, your face was priceless! Worth a king's ransom!" He says through gasps. I fold my arms and try to stay angry. But if there is one thing I have learned about Clopin Trouillefou, it is that it is impossible to stay upset around him for very long.
We reach the tavern again, which has become somewhat quieter, now sheltering only the irrevocably drunk and the storytellers. I look around for my fiddle and see it nowhere- Ferdain is gone. I turn to Clopin.
"Has he joined your friend then?" Clopin motions towards the girl herself, in animated conversation with a fellow by the fire.
So. Ferdain has disappeared. With my fiddle.
I utter a vile curse and storm out.
A strange noise invades my playing. I pause and glance at the instrument. Nothing at fault with it...
The noise grates on my ears again. I listen carefully. It is a scratching noise, rough and abrasive. It begins to grow in intensity, hacking away at my ears.
Hacking...
I open my eyes, yawning and squinting at the sudden onslaught of light from a candle. The noise was not a part of my dream. Rather, it comes from the figure curled up next to me, that of Ferdain.
I groggily push myself up to see whatever is the matter with him.
Ferdain is shivering under the blankets, coughing and hacking into his hands, violently shooting his head back with every cough.
"Ferdain." I murmur, crawling over to him.
"Evalyne-"He manages to say before a spasm and another cough overtake him.
"I think I may have forgotten the chills that can frequent Paris." His voice is halting. I feel his forehead. He is not too hot, not horribly sick. I still feel a twinge of guilt at my harsh words to him the other morning now that he is not feeling well.
I sense that I will probably regret my decision, but I smile kindly at Ferdain.
"You might do better with some food and drink in you. Come, the evening has just begun. We'll go to the tavern." His eyes light up.
"And not a drop of liquor will you touch." I add, holding up a finger to his face menacingly. His face falls a bit. "The fire and the company will do you much better than that vile drink you're so fond of." He smirks.
"All right Evalyne, I promise." I help him up and get him a glass of water before exiting the tent to try and wake myself up.
I wander about the Court of Miracles. It is not horribly late, nearing the midnight hour. Gypsy encampments are never completely silent, but it is still much quieter than it would be during the daylight hours. My friend Antessa must be asleep with her husband and children. I pass her tent, wishing she were awake so I could talk with her.
I watch a couple flirting away in a hidden corner of the catacombs. I smile slightly at the young man's words of love to his lady.
I finally reach the "main square" as one could call it, of the Court of Miracles. I pause for a moment in front of the gallows, set up auspiciously at the edge of the area: not the focus of attention but could easily draw it.
Clopin must use these gallows from time to time. To execute the poor fools who find their way down here and fail to realize what they're discovered until it's too late. It's strange that such a man, a happy golden storyteller with a silly smirk could just as happily hang a man by his neck until he was dead to the great amusement of his subjects.
Mama. I only allow myself to think of her for a moment. I would not allow myself to think of her hanging; I forced myself to think of her smiles, her kind words and even gentle discipline. I couldn't miss my father in same way I often missed my mother. He had been a good father as far as he was able, but as was custom he busied himself with Ferdain, trying to make him into a man, showing him the ways of the world.
What kind of man would Ferdain have been if Papa had had a few more years?
"I'm waiting for my medicinal fire and company, Evalyne." I hear my brother's voice, a little more raspy than usual, behind me. I join him and together we make our way up into the city and towards the tavern. We are careful to avoid the guards, so as not to alert them to yet another gypsy gathering.
The tavern is, as usual, bright and welcoming. The gypsies converse, laugh and drink as if the other evening's raid had never happened. I get the feeling raids such as that are regular occurrences around Paris.
Ferdain and I seat ourselves at a table. We sit there in silence until Ferdain tries to sigh in exasperation and ends up coughing instead.
"I fail to see what your fire and company are doing for me, especially when it's only your company I have." He pouts. I narrow my eyes.
"If you'd rather never set foot in a tavern again, that can be arranged." He reaches for a mug near to him, completely ignoring me. I slap his hand away.
"Cherie, it seems you are more a mother than a sister, no? Keeping a man from his drink, shame." The King of the Gypsies sits down to join us, drinking from his own mug. Ferdain eyes it.
"Do not even dream of it." I say, staring at him. He eyes me for a moment and then deftly slips a pitcher off the tray of a serving girl walking by. Ferdain is so swift and silent that the girl never notices and continues to walk toward the kitchen with her empty tray. I paw wildly at the pitcher but Ferdain holds it out of my reach. Triumphant, he looks in it.
It is only water. Clopin and I laugh as Ferdain scowls and drops it on the table.
"I offer a toast to your magnificent skills of stealth, Monsieur Ferdain, despite your inability to steal that which you desire." Clopin says regally, holding his mug near Ferdain's nose and snatching it away to drink again before Ferdain can drink from it. Ferdain finally pours himself a glass of water and mutters away to himself amid coughs.
"What brings the King of the Gypsies to this humble tavern?" I murmur. Clopin shrugs and takes another swig.
"A sleepless night, Cherie. And a longing for other pleasures..." He trails off, watching the serving girl, who I now notice has a more than considerably gifted figure, serving drinks.
I suddenly feel much older, as if Ferdain is my unruly boy and the serving girl is the young girl I once was.
I reach my hand back behind my head to where the scroll of my fiddle pokes out of my pack. I run my fingers along the designs and pluck the end of the strings absentmindedly.
The serving girl wanders by Clopin and he steps on the trailing tie of her apron. It falls off and she turns to see Clopin, the golden swaggering king, holding it out to her, eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.
I feel for my bow, fingering the hairs for a moment.
The girl blushes, giggles, and reaches out for her apron. Clopin kisses her outstretched hand before handing it back to her. He and Ferdain exchange leers and knowing smirks as she runs off to titter with the other serving girls.
I absentmindedly fiddle a tune on the table with my fingernails. The girl reminds me too much of myself in younger days. I cannot blame Clopin for her foolishness, but a part of me wishes that she won't indulge him later, that I can maybe stop her from doing so.
Clopin tickles my fingers with the feather in his hat, throwing me off the tune.
"You're not bored, little fiddler?" He says in mock disbelief.
A drunkard behind me falls off his chair, cackling like a madman. I raise an eyebrow at Clopin.
He watches the man struggle to get back up and laughs.
"Your point is taken, Cherie. Come then, let's find excitement elsewhere."
"And what of your friend?" I murmur, eyeing the blushing girl in the corner. Clopin turns and winks at her, then turns back to wink at me.
"Oh, don't worry on my account. I assure you she will be quite willing to wait a night or so."
"What of Ferdain, then?" I add, nodding towards my brother, who eyes me murderously.
"If I were a proper older brother, Evalyne..." He says, trying to sound menacing while sipping his glass of water.
"Very well," Clopin turns to him. "Ferdain, your sharp little sister and I are going off to seek our deaths. May we trust you not to get horribly drunk and instead find other pleasures?" He raises his eyebrows at my brother as if it is some sort of signal between them. Ferdain blushes and I suddenly understand. I laugh as he splashes some water at me.
"Do go easy on her, my dear, suave, debonair, elder brother!" He blushes even redder. I rise to follow Clopin.
"And you'd better leave that here, unless you want it to get broken." He says, pulling my fiddle out of my pack.
LEAVE my fiddle?
I have never left it anywhere. That I brought it to the tavern with me in the middle of the night only goes to prove that. The gypsy King holds it high above my head as I jump for it.
"You're mad if you think I'll leave it anywhere." I say in between jumps. He tosses it to Ferdain, who throws it haphazardly onto the table.
"Dear Monsieur Ferdain, may we also entrust this sacred piece of wood to you?" He says, dripping with sarcasm as he pulls me towards the door.
"Ferdain, if you break it, if there is even a scratch-"I yell back at him. He waves me away.
"Yes, yes, you'll crush my bones to make your bread, boil my blood for your wine- I get the general idea!" He calls back, laughing at me.
Clopin is already outside, leaning against the building. He leaps up as I exit.
"What is your fanatical devotion with that fiddle? Is it possessed by the devil? Blessed by God, what?"
Clopin is good company, but he doesn't understand.
"Were I to break those legs of yours, Clopin the acrobat, then maybe you'd understand."
"Ah, but I would still have my voice!" He sings out loudly. I shush him and he only laughs louder.
"And his stories!" Puppet exclaims in my face for a moment before disappearing.
"Evalyne would not have much if you broke her fiddle." I reply tersely.
"That is your problem, Cherie." Clopin says seriously. He doesn't elaborate. I follow him through the city until we reach a locked gate deep within an alley.
Clopin and I clamber over it. It is a dark courtyard. Trees and bushes are everywhere, but it is a cold, lifeless garden.
I feel a shiver go up my back, though I don't know if it's from fear or excitement. The gigantic black building that the courtyard ends at is the Palace of Justice.
"Adventurous, no?" Clopin whispers, grinning.
"Foolish too." I answer softly, but I'm smiling.
I am in a place that is horribly dangerous, but I'm enjoying myself very well, and not very frightened. This probably has to do with Clopin, who is smelling the flowers and picking leaves as if it all belonged to him.
I gaze up at the stars for a moment. When I look down, Clopin is gone.
"Clopin?" I whisper. The excitement and adventure have long since faded. I take one tentative step into the moonlight.
There are suddenly hands gripping my shoulders, I whirl around, my mouth open to scream, but it is only Clopin, who claps his gloved hand over my mouth, and nearly dies in a fit of laughter. I glare at him until he motions for me to follow him. We climb back over the wall and into the city. Once safely away from the Palace, he lets out side-splitting laughter so loud I am surprised the entire city doesn't awaken.
"That was not funny in the slightest!" I hiss. He only laughs harder
"Ah Cherie, your face was priceless! Worth a king's ransom!" He says through gasps. I fold my arms and try to stay angry. But if there is one thing I have learned about Clopin Trouillefou, it is that it is impossible to stay upset around him for very long.
We reach the tavern again, which has become somewhat quieter, now sheltering only the irrevocably drunk and the storytellers. I look around for my fiddle and see it nowhere- Ferdain is gone. I turn to Clopin.
"Has he joined your friend then?" Clopin motions towards the girl herself, in animated conversation with a fellow by the fire.
So. Ferdain has disappeared. With my fiddle.
I utter a vile curse and storm out.