A/N: 'Roi Fainéant' means 'do nothing king'. What the French called their king if they thought he was useless, especially during the Merovingian and Carolingian dynasties. Also the bagne of Toulon was a prison in southern France.
Update 10/9: After reading over the chapters again, I noticed that they're VERY messy and need a lot of improvement. So I'm going to rearrange some stuff, get rid of repeated words, and totes fix some of that weird sentence structuring. Hopefully it'll look a lot cleaner before chapter 4 comes out. waaaaaa it's hard to proofread when you haven't a normal nights rest in a week D: imma not a sloooobbbbbbb i sweaaaarrrrrrzzzzzzz
Chapter Three: "The Capture"
Clopin awoke with a lump on his head and a knot in his heart. Even with his head heavy and spinning, it was hard to ignore the guilt that wormed its way into his gut. If only he advised everybody not to drink so much. If only they had been a little more inconspicuous. If only he had stood guard that night. And now some of his closest friends paid dearly for his poor judgments. Yet how did the guards get there so fast? Little did he know, upon being expelled from the tavern the righteous old crone got the village messenger to immediately ride out for Paris to inform the guards of their rowdy gypsy intruders. They responded very quickly, arrived at sunrise and... Well that's all done now, anyway.
It took a minute or so after waking up for the stars to disappear and for Clopin to become orientated again. The first thing he noticed was his head wasn't bopping around because he was dizzy, he was moving. Looking up he saw he was in an iron cage on a cart. He shared this prison with several other ruffian looking men, but none of which were his comrades from the caravan. Resting his head back against the bars he rubbed the place where he was was struck. It stung immensely. When he retracted his hand he noticed the blood on his fingertips.
Another few moments were needed until he had the mobility to speak. He turned to the man nearest to him. The years were definitely unkind to his face indeed, seeming as though it got rearranged for him time and time again. "I was taken from a caravan of gypsies, do you know where they are?" he asked his cell mate.
The man looked to him and wheezed slightly before answering. "Gone." He wheezed and coughed in such a way that Clopin thought could have been laugher.
"Gone? Such as 'escaped safely from harms way' gone, or 'Gone' as in.. gone?" the gypsy persisted. Sounding concerned and a little agitated from the maimed man's unnecessary elusiveness.
"We're gone too-" his breathing was as mangled as his face. "-brother. We're sent to the bagne of Toulon, gonna row in the galleys. At least you are." He hacked away and grasped his chest. "I'm weak. I will die soon." The disfigured man continued with his chronic, gunky cough.
The galleys, the words echoed in Clopin's thoughts. He's heard horror stories about rowing in the galleys of the French Mediterranean fleet. They say once you get on, it isn't likely you'll see land ever again. The navy promises freedom to those who row strong and then they just wait for the "criminals" row themselves to death. It seems as though even after Judge Frollo's death, the criteria for what constitutes a hard criminal just gets more and more lenient. If being born is a good enough reason to be condemned to a life sentence, then what's a gypsy to do?
Clopin shook his head, desperately pushing the reality from his mind for the moment and pleaded. "Just tell me what happened to my friends."
But he spoke a moment too late. The man next to him had ceased to wheeze in mid breath and grew unnervingly quiet and still. Yikes, when he said soon he meant soon. Normally Clopin would feel even a little sorry for the man, but there was only so much the gypsy could feel at once. His head radiated in pain and it hurt even more so when he tried to concentrate. In any case, this wasn't the time to work out any inner turmoil. Clopin rationally decided to cover the basics first. The sun was out, there were two grubby slavers sitting up in the coach, and he could see the cart was headed towards a town. He did not recognize it right away but soon he saw that it was Auxerre, which was fairly South. It wasn't incredibly South, but it was South enough to be alarmed. How long had he been unconscious? He could have sworn he was out for just a few hours, but if he was already at Auxerre he must have been asleep for a day at least.
The cart continued to ride into the village. Eventually the drivers stopped in a busy marketplace to refuel their bellies. A few pieces of stale, unsightly bread were thrown into the cage for the prisoners. The other prisoner's dove for it like starved vultures. Clopin however, remained still as he watched the convicts bite and claw each other for the moldy baguettes. It took several hours before the drivers even considered removing the dead man from the cart. In the mean time Clopin was kept to his own thoughts, wondering how he was just going to survive the trip to the galleys, let alone the ships themselves. But it would never come to that, he decided. A mere cage and shackles cannot hold the likes of Clopin Trouillefou! With some vigor restored, it was easy to keep his brooding shallow, for he needed to pay attention if he were to gain an upper hand. He kept a half-hearted eye out for no one in particular. The gypsy watched people walk by and not notice him, he watched people scoff at him with righteous glares, and he watched as people flat out spit at his very existance. However across the way there was one man that stood out among the bustling rest, for he had been staring for a while. This man was a slick blonde, wore very fine clothing, and had sharp facial features. Needless to say it was slightly uncomfortable the way he stared with such unblinking scrutiny. Normally Clopin would have bounced and jingled his way on over to him and attempted to wow him with an anecdote or two, but this situation was clearly deviated from the norm. They even made eye contact for an extended period of time. The blonde would thoughtfully rub the tip of his chin whilst Clopin would sit there awkwardly, waiting for any glimpse of an explanation. Eventually this man strode casually over to the cart and Clopin perked himself up a bit, curious to see what this man was all about. He spoke to him directly.
"You there, gypsy," he drawled in a smooth, posh sort of voice. "What is your trade?"
It was one of those rare occasions Clopin couldn't seem to find his voice. Maybe he was just stunned that a potential opportunity for escape came so quickly.
"Are you dumb or just useless? Speak up."
However, Clopin was never one to remain speechless for long. He inched closer to the wealthy man. This could be his ticket out of here. "Ah, a true artist has no single trade, sir. I am a performing, multi-talented bohemian and quite an acrobat, if I do say so myself." The man didn't seem interested. "And I'm a carpenter," Clopin added to keep the man from walking away. Desperation began to leak from his voice as he became aware of his fingers wrapped around the iron bars that separated them. "I can also paint. But, anything you require I am a fast learner." All right, so he wasn't so good at painting. But he built and painted his puppet show cart with his own two hands, not to mention he's made countless props and puppets. And he helped build the gallows in the Court of Miracles, so how about that.
The man surveyed the gypsy in silence. Then one of the drivers approached him.
"Theys givin' you a hard time, sir?"
At first the blonde simply ignored the petty slaver. "How much for the gypsy?" he asked as he began to retrieve his coin purse.
The driver uncomfortably scratched the back of his head. "These are criminals of the law, I dun think-"
"Don't be ridiculous, anything can be bought for the right price," insisted the man without even looking up. "Thirty francs. That's at least five times as much as the bounty you'd be originally compensated for, I'm sure." He handed the man his pay, already confident with his purchase. "Taonga, karibu." The man seemed to beckon for someone nearby.
The driver's eyes glittered with greed as he accepted the coins. And Clopin couldn't believe his luck. Or at least he hoped this stroke of fate was luck. For it was highly unlikely this man could be worse than the galleys.
As Clopin was being fetched from the cage, the drivers had to prod the other prisoners with rods and whips to keep them from storming out. They were in a bit of a frenzy now, desperately spitting out wild stories of how they performed for the King and designed the palace of Versailles or how they apprenticed under da Vinci. Tried as they might, but these pleas were coolly disregarded by the finely dressed man.
Karibu must have meant 'come', because moments after the rich man said it, 'Taonga' arrived.
Taonga wasn't so much a man as he was a giant. The size of his wrist probably rivaled the size of Clopin's entire thigh. His dark skin was not unlike tough black leather or the soil in the ground after a rainfall. Everything about his stature radiated a beastly power. He had a strong chin, a broad noes, and savage eyes as ebony as his skin. Taonga took his place next to his master with his arms crossed, waiting obediently for his next command. Looking impressively so as he did.
"Bind his hands," the blonde said to his manservant as he gestured to his new 'property'.
Without hesitation, Taonga towered over the gypsy (who wasn't terribly tall to begin with) and bound his hands with a rope, and tightly. Not that Clopin would let something like a lack of hands deter him in his escape. He was already prepping himself to book it the moment the oppurtunity presented itself.
"You may try to run away," suggested the man in a passive tone, as if he were reading his mind. "However for your sake I do advise against it. Taonga can get carried away in the heat of a chase. Heathen instincts you know."
"Me! Run away? Preposterous." Clopin exclaimed as he took a glance up at Taonga, who coincidentally had been standing a little too close and glaring unblinkingly at the gypsy. It was actually quite unnerving, as he was sure the scary African could rest the gypsy's head between his forearm and bicep and crush him like a nutcracker would and walnut. He gulped and gave a nervous, humorless laugh. Perhaps it really was in his best interest to actually cooperate. For now. "Why that would be nothing short of suicide, isn't that right my friend? Ahaha..ha.." Clopin nudged the African who in return did not appear very amused.
The three began their walk back to the rich man's carriage. On the way, Clopin's new purchaser briefly explained that his name was Baron Lucien van Amere. He captained a merchant trade ship and owns a modest (but very successful) vineyard. When they got to the carriage, the Baron had Taonga clean up some of the dried blood from gypsy's head wound a bit. Afterwards he instructed Clopin to sit up in the drivers seat with Taonga for theremainder of the journey, which was quite a smart move on that Baron's part. For Clopin was much more disinclined to run away while within arm's reach of the black giant.
It took about an hour from town to ride out to the van Amere chateau. On the way, Clopin couldn't help but notice the river and all the forest they passed. Meaning there are countless hiding places to help him in a successful escape. Hope surged through him as he continuously got the impulse to leap from the carriage and just bolt back to Paris. But, that time was probably not now. Because of the head injury, Clopin was suffering from a bit of vertigo. And under the watchful eye of Taonga the titan, he'll absolutely need to be on his game if he wants to get it right the first time.
A/N: How'd you like chapter 3? I I hope it was entertaining enough to keep you looking out for the next chapter. Because you get to meet the Baron's family in the next chapter and things should start to get more interesting. Also, I'm SORRY if Lucien seems like a Lucius Malfoy impostor. It wasn't until after I created him in my head, named him, and had my heart set on his personality that I realized the blatant similarities. But I do imagine them pretty differently in my head. And aside from being rich, blonde and stylishly snobby they're pretty different. You'll see. Besides, the Malfoys love green and the van Amere's love blue. :D
As always, I looove me some feedback! So if you liked it, loved it, hated it, have constructive suggestions for improvement, let me know. I'd be really interested in what you thought of the characters. Also if you saw any obvious typos or super awkward sentence structures, help a brudda out!