Disclaimer: Property of Disney

Beta Reader: MisterCorey

Rating: T for language and violence

AN: Some historical handwaving is afoot. Story requested by MisterCorey.

Edited: 11/06/21

A Crushed Rose

Chapter One: Welcome

An overcast sky stretched far above the dirt road Belle traveled with her father, an inventor named Maurice. After years of effort, Maurice had finally had his talents recognized. He'd gained patrons, and with them, the finances to move himself and Belle away from their provincial village of Villeneuve for a life that would grant them both more opportunity.

Together they rode in the front seat of his new wagon. The final load of their belongings were piled high and tied to the wagon's flat bed behind them. Their big chestnut horse, Phillippe, had no issue pulling such weight. Maurice had already spent the last few months overseeing the renovation of a cottage he'd purchased in a little neighborhood on the outskirts of Paris.

"Look, Papa." Belle pointed ahead to a wooden sign staked by two short poles into the ground alongside the road. The sign was quite weathered, but its curly blue letters were still legible.

Flower Hill.

Belle read the name of her new home with a smile. Sure enough, the rolling green hills that had made up so much of their journey began indeed to fill with an array of colorful wildflowers and countless daffodils.

Maurice smiled to himself in contentment at her happiness as he held Phillippe's reigns steady. "Oh Belle, I can't wait for you to see our new house. You're going to love it! And the city! Your books haven't prepared you for a place like Paris."

Belle's smile broke into an excited grin as her hazel eyes looked ahead in anticipation. Finally, she was free of Villeneuve and the constant gaze of its closed-minded people.

Their new cottage was nestled along with many others in a semi-circle haphazardly formed around a large stone well. Birch trees with long, speckled white trunks grew alongside the houses, providing ample shade. The wildflowers swept down from the surrounding hills, growing in thick, colorful patches by each house.

One of their new neighbors was outside tending to a little vegetable garden that ran in front of her cottage. The elderly woman, wearing a brown, worn dress, was bent over her parsnips when she noticed Maurice and Belle's wagon rolling to a stop by the neighborhood well.

She stood, dusting her hands on her white apron and wiping a hand across her wrinkled brow. "Bonjour!"

"Hello again!" Maurice greeted. "Belle, this is Madame Édith Dubois. Our house is right there." He pointed to the cottage sitting right of Madame Dubois's. Like all the others, it had a brown roof, stone walls, and red painted shudders. Its door was red, too.

Belle stepped down from the wagon. "It's so good to finally meet you, Madame Dubois. Papa's told me all about your delicious stews. Thank you so much for keeping him fed."

Madame Dubois straightened her broad shoulders with pride. "I've heard a lot about you, too, Belle. I'm glad you're both finally here to stay. It's good to have that empty house filled. Here, I'll help you get the rest of your things inside before the rain catches up."

A few days passed before Belle and Maurice were fully moved into their new home. In many ways, the interior reminded Belle of the cottage she'd grown up in. Of course, much of the furniture had traveled with them. The same decorations she'd always known covered the fireplace's mantle and hung from the walls. The same dishes filled the cabinets. Familiar rugs covered the floors. As in her previous home, her new one had an upstairs with two bedrooms.

Belle was pleased that her own room had a window that overlooked the orange, yellow, and white daffodils growing in neat, long rows behind Ms. Dubois's house. She'd learned that her elderly neighbor sold both flowers and vegetables.

Belle's own backyard held a stable for Phillippe and a work shed for her father.

"Belle, Madame Dubois is ready!" Maurice called from downstairs.

Belle checked the mirror hanging above her dresser. A few strands had slipped free of the blue ribbon she used to keep her long, brown hair in a ponytail. She smoothed her blue dress and quickly put on her white apron, tying the knot behind her back. Grabbing her favorite basket in case she found anything at a shop, she hurried down the wooden stairs.

Maurice was seated at the table in their den, eating his breakfast. "Have a good time in the city. Be careful."

Belle kissed his cheek on her way to the front door. "Is there something you need me to look for?"

He shook his head. "I'll go into town myself later this week, once I'm finished sorting out what we need to really finish fixing up this place. Go on. And have fun!"

Outside, Belle found Madame Dubois waiting on the front bench of the wagon with Phillippe already hitched and ready to pull them along with four wide baskets loaded into the back. The baskets held thick bundles of flowers. A smaller one beside them was filled with little red carrots.

Belle climbed onto the seat and took up the reigns.

Madame Dubois greeted her with a smile. "Your father is so kind to let me use his wagon. My own should be fixed soon, so I won't always be a burden, I promise."

"We're happy to help," Belle assured, getting them going with a quick snap of the reigns. "Besides, thanks to you, I have an excuse to finally see the city. Papa just didn't feel comfortable with me going without someone who knows their way around. Ironic, if you knew his history of getting himself lost on the road. He says the best gift I ever gave him was a compass."

Madame Dubois tsked. "Well, he's right to send you with someone, dear. It's always safer to travel with a friend, especially for a young woman. Although Flower Hill may seem rural, you're not in the countryside anymore. There are things to watch out for."

Belle tried not to bristle. She wanted to assure Madame Dubois that she could handle herself but didn't want to come across as disrespectful. The last thing she needed was to start off on the wrong foot when she'd already spent so much of her life standing on one, or it so it sometimes felt.

Flower Hill wasn't terribly far from Paris. It took little over an hour of riding past grain fields and vineyards for Belle and Madame Dubois to reach one of the city's massive stone gates. Ms. Dubois had Belle guide Phillippe so that their wagon was in line with the other people seeking entrance to Paris.

Belle's eyes widened at the height and scope of the gates. The slanted rooftops of narrow buildings peeked beyond the stone along with the bell towers of Notre-Dame de Paris. Excitement rose in her chest. Curiously, she glanced at the other people in line, noting he goods they carried in their carts and wagons. Most were dressed in bland, earthy colors just like Madame Dubois. None of them paid Belle any attention.

Guards wearing dark armor and swords at their hips questioned each person before allowing them through the gate. Several guards moved up and down the long line, checking to see what people were bringing into the city.

When Belle's wagon finally reached the gate, the guards there seemed to recognize Madame Dubois. They waved the women on without question. Belle smiled at them.

They ignored her.

Phillippe then carried them south through the narrow streets and over a long, stone bridge, crossing the river. They traveled a few more streets, made a few more turns, and emerged into a square so large Belle was sure her old village would have fit inside its boundaries.

"Stop here. I can manage the rest." Madame Dubois accepted the reigns from Belle. "The main square is very safe. Go ahead and look around. I'll make these deliveries and come back for you, dear."

Belle stepped down from the wagon, her eyes not sure where to look first. There were so many houses and shops packed in to create the square's borders, and the narrow buildings were so much higher than any in Villeneuve that Belle felt briefly as if she were shrinking as she gazed up at them. The western façade of Notre-Dame towered over the square like a beautiful castle. Belle marveled at the cathedral's magnificent architecture. She'd never seen so many statues. Her eyes traced the arches and parapets—the biblical stories carved in stone. The stained-glass windows, even under a heavy, silver sky, were awe-inspiring in their sheer size alone. She craned her neck, looking all the way up to the two bell towers.

All around her, the square was full of noise. Vendors yelled out to potential customers. People passed in a steady stream by the numerous shops, many pulling or driving their own wagons full of goods to sell or carry home. They chatted in voices that ran together. Belle had never been amongst so many people, and the realization that she knew none of them made her feel both uneasy and excited.

Suddenly her ears caught the sound of bells mixed in with all the street noise. Turning towards the soft chimes, her eyes were drawn instantly to a brightly decorated red wagon parked on the other side of the square. Half a dozen children were gathered at one of its large, opened windows.

They listened with rapt attention to a storyteller inside—a dark-haired man wearing a yellow, violet, and fuchsia particolored tunic and a fuchsia mask that hid his eyes and nose. He also wore a wide-brimmed, violet hat with a yellow feather and a gold hoop earring in his left ear. Belle realized the bells she'd heard were hanging from the short, yellow cloak around his shoulders. They chimed as he moved the puppets he wore on his gloved hands.

Squinting to see better from such a distance, Belle figured one puppet was a prince. The other looked like an old hag—perhaps a witch. A tiny, red rose was attached to the witch's hand.

Belle had never seen a person dressed so flamboyantly. Distracted by him, she began crossing the square to better hear his story and stepped right into an unlucky blonde woman who carried a stack of books.

The young woman yelped as all the books jumped from her arms. She stumbled a few steps before regaining her balance.

"I'm so sorry! How clumsy of me!" Belle stooped and gathered up the books, giving all six to their owner as she stood again.

The woman's blue eyes looked Belle over. "It's alright. Have we met before?"

Belle shook her head. "I just moved here from the countryside with my father. We live just outside the city in Flower Hill. I'm Belle."

The woman dipped her chin in greeting.

"Danielle Marchand," she introduced. She nodded to the right. "My father owns the bookshop just over there."

Belle's heart rose. She'd barely stuck a toe in the city, and already she'd found someone who appreciated books. Her excitement carried in her voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Danielle. I'm always looking for something new to read. Is your shop opened today?"

Danielle adjusted her grip on the books, holding them against the bosom of her green dress. "Of course! I'd love to show you."

The storyteller's wagon was only a few feet right of the bookshop's blue-painted front door. Whatever story the man told, he spoke with such passion that Belle was tempted to pause and listen as Danielle and she passed him.

Noticing her interest, Danielle leaned close. In a lowered voice, she said, "Stay away from the gypsies—the people that look like him. They're heretics and thieves."

To Belle's surprise, the storyteller's dark eyes met hers, holding her gaze a moment before his attention returned to the children he entertained.

The two women paused outside the bookshop's door as Belle hesitated before going inside. She looked back to the storyteller. "He doesn't seem particularly dangerous to me. And look, there are soldiers everywhere. They don't seem bothered by him."

Danielle gestured with her chin. "See the notice pinned to the side of his caravan?"

When Belle nodded, Danielle continued, "He has permission to perform. You can legally throw away your hard-earned money to him without getting a citation, but it's better just to avoid the whole lot of them whether they have paperwork or not. It could always be a forgery, you know."

Belle's mouth curved into a small frown at hearing such caustic words from her new friend. Of course, Danielle would know a lot more about the city than she.

And yet, observing how the storyteller interacted with the children, the wonder on their small faces… it didn't seemed to fit with Danielle's claims.

Belle watched as a puppet dressed like a princess suddenly appeared. The children gasped in delight at her green, sparkly costume. Their joy brought back Belle's smile.

To Danielle, she said, "In my experience, children and animals are usually very good judges of people's character."

Danielle gave a short laugh. "Oh Belle, you really are from the countryside, aren't you? I'm so glad we've met. Would you mind handling the door?"

Belle quickly moved to open the shop's door for Danielle, who hurried through with her armload of books. Before following, Belle glanced up at the shop's sign posted above its door. It was painted green with scripted, curly gold letters, simply reading: Librarii.

Inside, the shop's walls were lined with wooden shelves full of various sized books. There was also an L-shaped counter attached to the little shop's back wall and a wooden bench by its front door, placed right under the bookshop's wide front window. A faded brown rug filled up much of the floor. Behind the counter was a narrow staircase leading upstairs. Belle assumed Danielle's family lived above their shop.

Danielle went about placing books on different shelves. "Feel free to look around."

Belle happily did so, her fingers skimming across rows of books as she perused shelf after shelf. Minutes into her search, she pulled free a book with a light blue cover. Opening it up, she read the title page: Fairytales.

"How much is this one?"

Danielle glanced back at her and then the book before smiling. "Since you are a new friend, I'll give you a discount."

Belle left the shop with her new treasure secured in her basket and a promise to return again. Madame Dubois, having finished her drop-offs, stood waiting by Phillippe right where she'd left Belle. The baskets in the wagon's bed were empty.

Belle hurried over.

"So, what do you think on your first trip to Paris?" Madame Dubois asked as she gently stroke Phillippe's nose.

Belle smiled. "It's wonderful."

Nodding, Madame Dubois pointed towards the storyteller's wagon. "Look there. You see the little girl in the lavender dress? The one with blonde hair peeking from her bag hat? That's my granddaughter, Charlotte. She lives here in the city. I hope you don't mind if I go say hello?"

"Of course not," Belle said, following Madame Dubois over to where the children now stood clapping as their story ended.

They offered coins from their pockets to the storyteller.

"Thank you! What generous little patrons you are!" he praised the children, slipping the money into the coin purse on his belt.

Charlotte picked up a coin that had landed in the street. She held it up, and the storyteller smiled as she dropped it into his black gloved hand.

Noticing her grandmother, Charlotte gave a small squeal and threw her arms around Madame Dubois's waist. "Hello, Nana!"

Madame Dubois patted her head. To Belle, she said, "This is Clopin Trouillefou. He's Charlotte's favorite gypsy."

Smiling at Clopin, the older woman added, "I hope you know how much my granddaughter loves your stories."

"Bonjour, Madame Dubois," Clopin greeted, still inside the caravan wagon. Behind him hung a large, hand-drawn picture of a fairytale castle surrounded by trees. The clouds above were colored to be stormy, with big yellow lightning bolts.

Noting Belle, he asked, "And who's your lovely friend?"

Belle answered politely for herself. "I'm Belle. It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Trouillefou."

Madame Dubois said, "She just moved here from the countryside with her father. They live next to me in Flower Hill."

Clopin slipped out of the wagon so that he could stand and speak with them. "How lucky! All that fresh air beyond the city, and the flowers must be covering every hill by now."

Madame Dubois's eyebrows rose as she suddenly spotted a woman not far from them. Her face darkened. She then flashed Belle an apologetic face. "I see a customer who still owes me twice over for some turnips. Maybe she'll have the money today. I'll be right back, I promise."

Clopin watched her hurry off before asking Belle, "So, are you to be Madame Dubois's new flower girl?"

Charlotte's hands fisted at her hips. "She can't. That's my job!"

Belle gave the child a mollifying smile. "Don't worry, I'm already my father's assistant. He's an inventor. But perhaps sometimes, Charlotte, I could be your assistant, too? I can help you carry Ms. Dubois's flowers whenever you like."

Charlotte grinned, liking the thought of having her own assistant to boss around. She looked up at Clopin. "Please, may I look at your puppets? I promise to be very careful."

"Of course." Clopin swept a hand towards his wagon, but stopped Charlotte with a stern look, waggling a finger. "But I must warn you, if you are unkind to even one of them, they will all bite you. They're very protective of each other."

Charlotte's eyes widened. She nodded to reaffirm her promise to handle the puppets with care before hurrying into the caravan. Soon she reappeared at the performance window with cat puppets covering each of her small hands.

"Don't worry, little kitties," she told them as they clapped their paws. "I would never hurt you."

"What story were you telling the children?" Belle asked.

"An old tale my father heard," Clopin told her. "He used to swear that once, during a fierce snowstorm, he stumbled across an enchanted castle full of living furniture and knickknacks. These strange creatures gave him shelter, and while he was in their care, they told him how they'd all ended up stuck as antiques."

Belle leaned closer. "What happened to them?"

Clopin smiled at her obvious interest in such a tale. He gestured to the back of his wagon. "Would you like to sit down to hear, Mademoiselle?"

Belle happily agreed, walking up the short wooden ladder that led to the caravan wagon's narrow back porch. Two wooden benches faced each other on either side of the wagon's backdoor. Belle sat on the one to the right, the porch's wood railing supporting her back. She sat her basket beside her as Clopin took the opposite seat.

The wagon's door had a curtained window. Charlotte appeared in the window with her cat puppets, pulling the green curtains aside.

Clopin's dark eyes met Belle's as he spoke. "Years before my father ever stumbled across the castle, it had been home to a handsome young prince. The castle had shined with beauty and life. Its gardens bloomed with roses, and inside, the servants kept every inch spotless. The castle's halls were filled with stunning furniture and decorations. There were treasures in every room. Can you imagine it, Mademoiselle?"

Belle closed her eyes a moment and pictured a magnificent castle with sweeping arches and elegant towers. its gilded staircases. Its torchlight walls covered in rich, ancient tapestries.

Smiling, she nodded.

"Although his castle was truly a gem, the prince was a spoiled, conceited boy. He loved to throw parties to show off his riches but felt only disdain for the poor in his kingdom," Clopin said with disapproval. "While his people starved and scraped to put bread on the table, the prince welcomed only wealthy guests. And not just from all of France, but countries far, far beyond. An invitation to one of his parties was a prize coveted by many kings and their daughters."

Belle scoffed. "This prince reminds me of someone I used to know."

Clopin's right eyebrow rose in interest. "One dark night, while the prince entertained his affluent guests, a terrible storm brewed outside his castle. Lightning crashed. The wind ripped banners from their poles. The rain swirled and threw itself against the castle walls. Of course, none of this bothered the prince or his guests. The orchestra played, and they danced for hours, laughing and chatting while the storm raged outside. But then, somehow over the wind and music, three sounds rang out across the castle's ballroom. Everyone froze. The music stopped. The prince and guests couldn't believe it! Someone had knocked on the castle's front doors. The three knocks came again. Slow and loud. The knickknacks who told my father this story swore to him that they felt each knock strike them deep in their bones. The castle's front doors blew open in a violent gust of snow wind. It was an old woman!"

Belle's eyes brightened with surprise. "She must have been desperate to get inside."

Clopin nodded. "She was dressed in soaked rags. When the prince saw her, he recoiled in disgust. He ordered for her to be thrown out, but before the soldiers could seize her, one of her gnarled hands held up a beautiful, red rose. It was the most perfect flower anyone in the castle had ever seen. Even the prince was captured by its radiance. He strode right up to the old woman, demanding that she give it to him at once."

"Now he definitely reminds me of someone," Belle said with a wry smile.

Clopin continued, "'Please,' the old woman begged, 'grant me shelter from this terrible storm. In exchange, I offer you this beautiful rose. It is all I have, my prince.' Laughing cruelly, the prince sneered at her. 'Ugly wretch! Get out at once! Don't you know I have three gardens full of roses?' And he ordered her to be thrown out again."

Although it was just a story, Belle shook her head at the prince's terrible behavior.

Clopin agreed. "The beggar woman offered him the rose again, saying, 'Wait, your majesty! Do not be so deceived by appearances, for beauty—true beauty—is only found within.' But the prince refused to hear her. Then, in a flash of golden light, all of her ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress! Her gown glittered like the stars! Her hair was like spun gold, and her eyes glowed white with ethereal power. On her head was a crown made of sunlight. The prince's guests and servants shrank back in fear. He fell to his knees and begged her forgiveness, but it was too late. She had seen there was no trace of love or compassion in his cruel heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on his castle and all who lived there."

"That's how the knickknacks were made," Belle realized. "They were people trapped as objects."

"Yes. Cooks became pots and pans. Maids became feather dusters! I'm sure it was quite an adjustment for them," Clopin mused, stroking his short, pointed beard. "Now, there was of course a way for the spell to be broken, but the enchantress forbade the prince and his servants from revealing it to outsiders. The servants who spoke to my father could only tell him that someday it would be too late for them. They would be trapped as objects forever."

Belle smiled warmly. "Your father is a good storyteller. I see where you learned it from."

"Yes, he had a gift. When I first heard this story, I used to think how wonderful it'd be for the enchantress to pay Paris a visit. There are so many rich snobs here. As cups and plates, at least they'd be useful."

Belle and Charlotte laughed.

Clopin noticed the book in Belle's basket. "What are you reading?"

Belle handed it to him so that he could see the cover for himself. "I haven't started yet. I just bought it from the little bookshop over there."

Clopin read the title page before giving it back.

"Wait here," he told her, ducking into his caravan as Charlotte moved quickly out of his way. Seconds later he emerged with a red-bound book. It had the yellow outline of a crown stitched into its leather cover.

Clopin offered the book to Belle, giving her a short bow as he held it out. "For you, Mademoiselle. A welcome gift. This one's full of children's stories, some that are quite grim, but you enjoy fairytales, yes?"

Delighted, Belle accepted the book, smiling down at its worn cover before adding it to her basket. "Thank you very much! I promise to get it back to you soon."

He dismissed the idea, waving both hands. "It's a gift. It's yours."

"Oh!" Belle's smile reached her eyes. "Thank you. I can't wait to read it."

"Clopin?" Charlotte spoke from the door's window again. The cats on her hands danced together. "I asked Papa why you're called gypsies. He said it's because you came from Egypt. Is he right?"

Clopin poked one of the cats on the nose. "No, I am Parisian just like you. He says gypsy because that's probably what his papa told him to call us."

Belle tucked a loose bit of brown hair behind her ear. "What do you prefer?"

"My name, of course! Don't you?"

Belle smiled again, a little embarrassed.

Quieter, he told them, "But truthfully, we call ourselves Roma. Though I don't think it's going to catch on in Paris anytime soon. People only hear what they want to hear and see what they want to see."

Charlotte bounced out of the caravan, hopping right through the window. Her cat companions were left inside.

"Some people don't like the gypsies," she told Belle, sitting beside her on the wooden bench, "but my Papa says Clopin is a good gypsy who does honest work, so I don't have to stay away from him."

Belle glanced at Clopin and caught a small frown on his face.

He looked up at the darkening clouds. "Looks like rain is on the way."

"I should get home," Charlotte said, her blue eyes following his gaze. She hopped off the bench and then off the wagon. "Bye, Belle! I hope to see you again soon!"

Belle waved as the child ran off. Belle watched her hurry past an approaching man. He wore a dark green tunic and a matching tricorn hat with a blue feather. Like Clopin, he had a gold hoop earring piercing his left ear. Unlike Clopin, the man was tall and quite muscular.

With a questioning look, Clopin got up to meet the man. Belle followed him down the short ladder.

The man glanced from Clopin to Belle. "Who's this?"

"I'm Belle," she answered for herself. "I'm pleased to meet you, Monsieur…?"

"My name is Henri," the man answered gruffly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Henri."

He gave her a nod, but she noted the suspicion in his dark eyes. He spoke to Clopin with anxiety and frustration. "I need you to talk some sense into Daria and her idiot friends. That tavern they insist on hanging around is crawling with more soldiers every day. I warned her to stay out from there. She won't listen to me or her mother. Knowing her, she'll wait again until the sun's nearly gone to even begin heading home. Will you speak to her tonight?"

Clopin clapped him on the back. "Don't be so worried, Henri. If they're not home by sundown, I'll go find them myself. They might not listen to you, but everyone with even a little bit of sense listens to me."

Distant thunder rumbled. Clopin glanced at his wagon.

"I'll help you close up," Henri offered.

Belle noticed Ms. Dubois heading back with a self-satisfied smirk and a small pouch. Belle wondered if it was full of the turnip lady's money.

"I'm so sorry, Belle," Madame Dubois said, "but it looks like we should be heading home if we don't want to get caught by the rain. Storms can get pretty hairy this time of year. I promise we can return tomorrow to see more of the city. Perhaps visit Notre-Dame?"

Belle looked back to the cathedral.

"The inside is beautiful," Clopin chimed in, nudging her with his elbow. "You should come back tomorrow, Mademoiselle, when the bells are ringing at midday."

Belle liked the idea. "I think I will. Goodbye! It was so nice to meet you. And thanks again for the story! And the book!"

As Madame Dubois guided Phillippe from the city, Belle sat alongside her. She opened the red book.

The title page was handwritten and simply read Myths. Thumbing through the slim book, Belle noticed it didn't have any pictures, only a few sketches, and the pages were quite worn. Like its initial page, the whole book had been printed by hand—a fairly messy one, too.

Belle let the book rest back on top of the blue one in the basket beside her. She couldn't wait to get home and read one of them.

Belle sighed with contentment.

She'd been in Paris less than a week and already had met more interesting people than in her entire life. She smiled at the thought of getting to know Danielle and Clopin and everyone else she'd met so far.

And best of all, there was no Gaston haunting her steps.

The rainstorm passed through the city quickly, leaving puddles in the streets and sending most people home early. Daria, Henri's teenage daughter, was not one of them.

Daria was a dancer. Along with her friends, Claire and Annette, Daria loved dancing near the bars in the west, upper half of the city. During the day, mostly older people sat and talked at the wooden tables outside, but in the evening, the bars would slowly begin to fill with young men. Handsome men.

Annette frowned at the sky. "The stars are coming out. We should have left an hour ago."

Daria waved off her concern. "It'll be fine. I just want to see if that redhaired boy is coming. He's so cute. Did I tell you he smiled at me yesterday? I'm sure he likes me. I think he works in a field. His pants are always so dirty."

"My parents will kill me if they find out I'm late because I'm here with you—again!" Claire worried. "Besides, look at all the soldiers. Why are so many here? Annette's right. It's past sunset. You know the rules."

Daria rolled her dark eyes. "If you're scared, then go. Run home."

"We should stay together," Claire insisted. "Your redhead isn't here. You can catch him tomorrow, I'm sure."

Annette shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think we can make any more money. There are too many soldiers around, and young isn't a word I'd use to describe any of them. Look, even the bars are only half-full this evening. Nobody wants to risk getting too drunk and thrown in the stocks."

"Fine. Let's go, you chickens," Daria grumbled.

The girls crept along the shadows of the closed shops that lined the streets. The temperature had dropped. Daria rubbed her bare shoulders, chiding herself again for forgetting her cloak. Her friends, Claire and Annette, followed her closely.

They hurried across a street and ducked quickly into another alley. Moving at such a slow pace, getting home would take forever, but it was necessary. Daria had never seen so many soldiers prowling the west market. They were obviously looking for something.

Claire knitted her hands together. "I feel like they're boxing us in."

"Nonsense," Daria snapped in a hushed voice. "You're being paranoid. Come on. This way."

Daria led them around a corner. Twenty feet ahead was another group of soldiers carrying torches. The girls swept back into the shadows. They backtracked several feet and were forced to hide again as yet another small contingent of armored men hurried past.

Daria realized her heart was racing.

They were running out of options.

"Why are there so many tonight?" she huffed, but trepidation made her chest tight. "Let's try this alley then."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that way," a quiet, but familiar voice warned from behind.

Daria and her friends whirled around. Even though they recognized Clopin's voice, the sight of him watching from the shadows startled all three girls. Each felt ice flash across their skin.

He looked like a dark spirit.

Clopin stepped out into the starlight a little more. The girls sighed in relief that it really was him and not some malicious doppelganger. The sight of him in the city without a mask and dressed in muted, violet colors, struck Daria. She'd never seen him outside the Court of Miracles wearing anything other than his bright performance costume.

Clopin gestured for them to hurry. The girls followed him without question, and all four moved like ghosts through the streets and alleys as they worked their way east. The fear that had begun to plague the three frightened teens fell away now that they were with an adult, and even more so as they neared home.

"My feet hurt," Annette whined quietly. "We would have been home hours ago, if not for you, Daria. My parents are probably furious."

Daria rolled her eyes. "You're blaming me? We're only late because you two kept moving like a pair of scared chickens."

Claire sighed at their bickering. "You were scared, too, Daria."

"No, I wasn't," Daria huffed. "I was just a little lost. Things look different at night. And now we know this quicker way back, so it doesn't matter anyway, does it? It won't even be an issue tomorrow."

Listening to them, Clopin paused a moment before switching their direction away from the Court of Miracles.

"Where are you going?" Daria frowned. Like Annette, her bare feet had begun to ache. She hesitated to follow him. Along with her unsure friends, she glanced from the direction of home to his retreating back.

Without stopping, he motioned for them to follow.

The girls hurried to catch up.

Minutes later they came to a stone bridge Daria often used to reach the baker's shop closest to home.

Instead of crossing, Clopin led the girls off the road and down the steep hill that led around to the underside of the bridge. The riverbank was narrow there. The water was so dark it blended into the shadows, but they could hear its steady flow.

Daria kept her eyes on her feet as she followed him down the hill, not wanting to risk getting her ankle snagged by the thick knots of grass. As soon as they were under the bridge, she heard Annette and Claire gasp.

Daria's head shot up.

There, hanging from beneath the bridge, was a woman wearing a bright pink skirt. A gold sash was tied around her waist, but the rest of her was shrouded in the bridge's deep shadows.

Annette and Claire covered their mouths in horrified disbelief.

Daria swallowed. "Who is it?"

"I can't tell yet," Clopin admitted. His thick eyebrows drew together in disapproval. The girls turned their frightened gazes to him, and he added, "I found her looking for you three."

Clopin glanced up at the woman again and breathed a small sigh. "She was so close to being home."

Claire's brown eyes brimmed with tears. "It's Madame Iris. I can tell by her sash. She's always so nice. Only a monster would hurt someone so gentle."

"This is why your fathers wish you'd listen to them," Clopin scolded, keeping his voice hushed. "Believe it or not, they know what's best for you. And you should know that if the same monsters who did this catch you, the easiest part will come when they finally slit your throats."

He gave the body a pointed look.

The girls realized Madame Iris had been beaten before her hanging.

Blood dripped from her bare toes.

They didn't dare think about what else might have happened to her.

Clopin suppressed a sigh at the fear on their young faces. He reached for the knife at his waist. "Come. Since you're here, you three can help me get her down. Perhaps carrying the weight of the dead will help you understand the worry you've caused your parents. Claire, dry your eyes and be our lookout."