DISCLAIMER: I still do not own Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Author's Note: Here it is, at last! The chapter that inspired me to write the other five. Sadly, it's not how I had played it out in my mind, but I still hope you will enjoy what I produced.
Chapter Six : A Meeting IntheFog
The evening of June 17, 1469 was a particularly foggy one for Paris, France. A person couldn't take two steps out of their house, turn, and see their home through the thick fog. Naturally, this delighted the young Clopin Trouillefou as Frollo's guards were already out, trying to intimidate any gypsies or other vagabonds up on the streets.
"Alas! It seems the guards won't be able to capture any of my people tonight, or any other scoundrels either. This fog is so thick, they won't even be able to see me!" the gypsy prince whispered excitedly to himself. A sly grin appeared on the youngsters face as a mischevious idea grew in his cunning mind.
"A few guards are no match for a gypsy prince such as myself. They are not intelligent nor cunning enough to figure out what hit them," he continued, peeking around a corner in an alleyway, listening for the sounds of horses hooves. Surprised, he heard the sounds of men dismounting from their horses and the sounds of the spurs worn on the boots of the guards entering the building he was leaning against. Clopin put his ear up against the wall and heard the sounds of laughter, slurred speeches, and joyful bar music.
"The guards have gone into the tavern and left their horses all but available! This will work better than I had hoped," the eleven year old whispered and strode out of the alleyway he had been hiding in as the great bells of Notre Dame struck nine. He paused for a moment as he made his way to the horses to show them he was not trying to be forceful. After reassurance from the beasts that he had their trust, he stepped forward and proceeded with his plan.
Jacques Lamoussant and Bertrand DuPont strode into the Golden Lark Inn & Tavern after being relieved of their duties for the night. Jacques, who was considerably larger than Bertrand, held open the door and nearly pushed Bertrand in, unaware of his own force.
"Ah, the beautiful Marie!" the burly guard exclaimed as he saw his favorite barmaid, Marie Clemens. "Two pints of beer, s'il vous plait."
The pretty woman nodded and left to fetch their drinks. The two gentlemen took the liberty of seating themselves at the bar, which, surprisingly, wasn't as packed as it usually was.
"How was your 'delivery' earlier today?" Jacques asked, tapping his sausage-like fingers on the bar as the pair waited for their beers.
"It went well. Frollo will be pleased with his new servant," he responded grimly. At that moment Marie appeared in front of them with their mugs in hand. The two men nodded their thanks and went to work on their drinking. Words were not exchanged between the two for quite a while, long enough for each to guzzle down four mugs of beer.
"Let's hope he's not too pleased," Jacques exclaimed, laughing in a drunken stupor at his own crude remark. Bertrand shook his head, which turned out to be a bad idea as a wave of sickness passed over his body.
A few shouts from the tavern and the whinny of their horses tied up outside disturbed the drinking of the two guards, who were now curious as to why their horses were making a commotion. Jacques and Bertrand leaned against one another and carefully made their way to the door so as to make sure neither of them fell over. Once outside, Bertrand made steadied himself and made his way over to the posts where they had tied their horses.
"Here horsey, horsey," he slurred, laughing stupidly. He grasped around for a moment, his hands not reaching anything remotely close to a horse. Jacques made a coughing sound which was followed by a laugh.
"Are they hidin' from you?" he called out to Bertrand, causing the thinner man to blush in the, now, dark.
"They're not here!" Bertrand returned to his partner with a very confused expression on his face.
"Well then, you'll just have to find them, now, won't you? Frollo's little guards, duped by the glorious Prince of Gypsies!" exclaimed Clopin from behind them, startling the pair. The young gypsy leaned against the corner he had been hiding behind earlier, the smug grin on his face illuminated by the oil lamp outside the door.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I must go. Au revoir!" he bowed as the guards realized what the boy was telling them and started towards him. Clopin sprinted down the street with the speed of a worthy war horse. Once he believed himself to be out of their reach, he slipped into a park and proceeded on his way to the cemetary.
As the bells chimed eight o'clock, Gitana Aurelia tired of waiting in the cemetary. The girl realized she hadn't eaten since supper the night before. She felt around in the pockets her mother had sown onto the skirt of her dress and found a brass coin, just enough to buy a piece of fruit at a vendor's stand. Making her way through the thick fog, she came upon an apple vendor. With the aid of the oil lamps in the houses behind the cart she was able to select a nice, red, ripe apple.
"Ah, what is it you want?" the vendor asked harshly, automatically suspicious of her because of her skin.
"I'd like to buy this apple," Gitana replied timidly, holding out her coin to him, trying to prove her sincerity.
"I don't sell to thieves," the man replied, his face reddening.
"I'm not a thief! My mama gave me this coin!" the girl protested, her throat constricting as she mentioned her mother.
"Oh really! Just where is your mother, then?" the cruel man exclaimed. At no answer from the gypsy girl he sneered and pushed her out onto the street, causing her to stretch her newly formed scab open.
Gitana let her welled up tears roll down her cheeks. Notre Dame struck nine, and, worried that she had missed the gypsy she was waiting for, ran back to the cemetary.
The girl passed a few statues of Christian saints as she made her way to a spot where she could easily watch for someone to enter the cemetary. Exhausted from her eventful day, Gitana leaned against the tombstone behind her head, the name Orville etched onto the crumbling stone. A few sobs escaped her lips as her parents entered her mind as she tried to occupy herself. Memories with her family flooded her mind as she cried next to the tombstone.
Clopin Trouillefou made a quiet entrance into the graveyard that hid the Court of Miracles. He took a glance around, looking for the little girl his father had told him about. Not seeing anyone else there, he shrugged and started walking to the other side of the cemetary, looking to see if she was hiding. While stopping to scowl at a large statue of the Virgin Mary, he heard the soft sound of sobs coming from a rather sad tombstone to his left. Walking towards the sound, he became more curious as to what could be wrong with the person.
Clopin stood on his tip-toes and peered down at the girl from above. She clearly didn't notice him there, giving the boy the opportunity to look her over. The girl wore a tattered blue dress with unusual pockets sown onto the skirt, her black hair was all mussed up, her brown skin covered in dirt.
"Who are you?" the boy startled the girl, causing her to look up at him with her wide black eyes.
"I'm Gitana, are you the one the man sent?" she asked him, instantly trusting the flamboyantly dressed gypsy. The boy gave her a lopsided grin, and bowed to her.
"Clopin Trouillefou, at your service," he introduced himself, sitting down next to her, the small bells on his overshawl jingling.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she responded, remembering her manners.
"Truly an honor, now, what has made you cry?" the gypsy prince asked Gitana, a worried, caring look coming over him.
"My m-mama and papa were k-k-killed. My little s-sister was taken away. The g-guard that killed my m-mama also c-c-cut me, on my side. I'm all alone n-now. My mama told me to go t-to the Court of M-M-Miracles. I came to Paris to f-find it, and a man t-told me to wait h-here for someone. I got h-hungry and went to b-buy an apple. The man pushed me down and now I'm b-bleeding again," she sobbed out, wiping her tears with her dirty hands. Young Clopin's heart went out to the poor girl.
"I'm sorry," he offered. "Let me see your wound."
Gitana's eyes widened, but she stood up and pulled apart the pieces of fabric near her wound, allowing the boy to examine it. He rummaged through a small sack tied to his belt and finally pulled out a small bottle of some type of liquid. He poured the mixture onto a cloth from his pouch and knelt on one knee, looking up at Gitana.
"This will sting a bit, but it will help," he said, trying to warn her. He gently cleaned out her wound with the concoction. He was surprised that the girl didn't jump, he himself usually did everytime the Court healers had to treat one of his wounds.
"Thank you," whispered Gitana, hugging on to his body. At first Clopin was surprised at this gesture, but welcomed it and hugged the girl back. Despite his young age, he felt the need to protect this new girl.
'How could my father have left her alone?' he thought to himself.
