Chapter Two: No Plan in Sight

It was surprisingly easy to miss the thin, limping Gypsy barely making it through the streets of Paris late at night. The stars were out and the moon was high, but it was not the same one he'd seen when he was captured by the guards. A full day had passed, if not two. Everyone would begin to get worried with no one knowing where he was. No one was following his staggering footsteps, surprisingly enough, but he kept a wary eye to out to be safe. He had to have time to figure a way to get the children to safety without giving up those children or losing more.

One more glance told him that he was alone as he entered the seemingly abandoned cemetery. His eyes took longer than usual to adjust to the darkness and he tripped, landing with his face buried in the sewage. He sputtered and coughed, blood seeping from the back of his throat. He had no idea how bad the injuries were, but he knew he needed help. Many were skilled with healing beneath the streets of Paris and could rival any physician above. He needed to be with his people and to make sure that he survived. He was the only one that could save those children.

With great effort the King of Thunes pushed his wounded body upward, tottering to his feet. With one hand against the wall for support he made it down the way with much difficulty. Finally the scent began to change from the murky smell of the bowels of Paris to a more enjoyable aroma. Spices and incense of many kinds filled his nose and he knew he was nearly home.

"Clopin!" a voice rang out, shrill with fear as he first hit the lights of the main room. Somewhere distantly he knew it was Claire, his elder sister, and began to reach out for her. She caught his hand and braced him as much as she could when his legs collapsed beneath him. His body was eased to the floor 

and her frantic cries hurt his head. "Someone bring a healer!" She shifted him so that he was looking upward. "What happened?"

"I was coming back from the tavern and was… caught unawares," he murmured, choking a bit on his own words. It hurt to breathe, to speak, or even to stay awake, though he knew he could not fall.

"Frollo did this." It was not a question. Everyone in the Court, or perhaps all of Paris, knew the Minister of Justice was just waiting for a chance to catch the Gypsy King and make a show of him for the rest of the city: this is what will happen to all Gypsies. "How did you escape?"

"With much difficulty," the thin man answered with a half attempt at a grin. It was not an entire lie for he had not wanted to leave those children in the care of a demon.

"You're safe now, brother," Claire promised him, stroking his hair back. It was damp against her hand, as fever had already begun to set in and she clung to him until the healer approached.

"Frollo's doing?" he asked, eying his patient carefully. When the affirmative nod came he sighed. "Pick him up gently. Easy now."

Clopin bit back a cry of pain as he was lifted from his sister's lap. He vaguely noted that his younger brother, Jules, was one of the men carrying him. Each step jolted his wounds a little more and he grinded his teeth against the pain. It seemed a small eternity until they set him down on a pile of blankets in a small, secluded area in which he usually slept. There was no door, but there was a bit more privacy than was given to most.

"I need you to stay with me, Clopin," the healer spoke gently.

"I'm here."

"Good. Now, the age old question, where does it hurt?"



"Everywhere."

A sigh escaped his lips and his nimble hands began to skim over tan skin. Long red gashes showed signs of the whip used against him and they wrapped around his lithe frame, snaking up and down his arms and legs. As the fingers poked and prodded, they found shifting bones that should not have and a cry of pain from the otherwise silent king. "Easy now. They really had it in for you."

"Of course they did," Claire growled. "Etienne, I know you haven't been in Paris more than a year, but I would have thought you'd known that much by now."

Etienne sighed again and shook his head. "People are not so cruel to our kind, where I come from."

"Well they're regular bastards here," Clopin managed between gritted teeth.

"So I see." The healer reached into his sack and pulled a salve out. "This will help, but not completely numb you."

The salve stung as it was being applied over the multiple wounds, but it slowly spread a warmth over his aching body and allowed him to relax and slowly drift into sleep.

"I'm not sure how he managed to escape," Etienne murmured, looking between the king's two siblings. "No normal man should have."

"How bad is he?" Jules asked, fear shining in his eyes. The entire Court had been tense for the last week or two, as children had slowly been turning up missing. Nothing was known of their whereabouts and rumours had begun to spread. He had taken his elder sister's advice and kept his own children safely under the protection of the Court of Miracles just as she had.



"He has two ribs that must be broken, which worries me about bleeding from the inside. His wounds from the whip have already begun to become infected and a knot has formed on the back of his head. He has lost too much blood from the look of his complexion, but the lashes didn't do all of it, and that is why I fear for unseen bleeding."

"What can we do?" Claire murmured.

"Watch him carefully and keep a cool rag on his head to keep the fever down. The wounds may seal themselves, and for that we have only prayer. He's in bad shape."

Both siblings nodded and watched as the healer walked away. He was shaking his head in such a way that did not quiet Claire's aching heart. "I'll see that demon dead for this," she vowed.

"Don't do anything rash," Jules said quietly, a sad look in his dark eyes. "We must find out the full story first. You know there's always more to the tale than first given."

The elder Gypsy nodded and sat herself down next to her injured brother, soaking a rag in a bowl of water one of her lads had brought in for his dearest uncle. This would be a long night.

The fire was the first thing he saw. All of Paris was burning, it seemed, and the children were in the middle of it. Ghostly images approached him, horrible scars from burns patching their faces and reminding him of what would come if he could not find a way to save them. The faces changed, each child that he had seen in the cellar and more to come. It hurt with each passing face and he knew that his physical body was thrashing around, trying to rid his mind of the images that plagued it. He must find 

a way to change it. He must find a way to stop it. There had to be a way and by his honour he would find it and make everything right.

A set of hazel eyes lined with a dark green colour fluttered open. Their owner winced as his head began to throb uncontrollably, but he forced them to stay open. Who was with him? "Claire?"

"Right here, brother," she whispered, sitting up quickly. She reached an unsteady hand to his brow and found the fever to have broken some time during the long night. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible," Clopin answered in a dull but honest voice.

"Do you think you might be able to eat or drink anything?"

"Perhaps." The thought sickened him, but he couldn't tell her that. He didn't have time for food or drink or even rest, for that matter. He had to find a way to save those children. His eyes watched her and for a brief moment he played with the idea of confiding in he what he had done. He thought better of it immediately. This was his own demon he must face and defeat, and he must do it alone.

"Clopin?" Claire's voice reached him.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad to see you awake. You had us all quite worried."

Clopin shook his head, his dark hair falling around him. "Don't worry over me. Soon enough, we'll have many larger ordeals to worry about."



She nodded, not knowing entirely what he meant, and set towards the task of trying to get food and drink down his throat.

Deep in one of the crevices of the old catacombs a single light burned. Gathered around it was a small group of seven children, huddled closely together in secret.

"How can he get away with that?" one demanded, a small boy for the age of ten, looking greatly awkward with his features he had not yet grown into.

"Because they have the permission of the Minister of Justice. They can do anything, Gabriel," an older girl, his sister, grumbled as she shifted a baby on her hip. "Haven't you learned that, or do you think we hide amongst the sewers for our health?"

"Don't be so mean, Adrienne," her younger cousin Marc chastised. "Gabe can't help it if he's slow.'

"I'm not slow, you twit," Gabriel growled back. "I just don't think it's right."

"Of course it's not," the eldest of the cousins, Henri, stated firmly. "It's not right at all. Children from the Court have been disappearing, and I bet you I know who's done it." A gleam had entered his dark eyes that caught each of the younger children's attention. He grinned, his deviant smile looking much like his dearest uncle's when he was up to a mischievous tale.

"Who, Henri?" Camille asked as she tugged on Adrienne's skirts, wanting to hold her baby sister.



"Leave it alone, Camille," Adrienne snapped. She turned to her elder brother. "Who do you think has been kidnapping?"

Henri, with all the knowledge a fourteen year old possesses, stated, "Well, Frollo of course!"

"What would he want with kids?" Isaac demanded, looking up at his elder brother.

"He wants us all dead, don't you see, and you kill children, then who will carry on the Gypsy legacy?" Henri explained.

"What's a 'le-ga-cy'?" Camille asked, sounding out the word carefully.

"Never mind, just listen. I have a plan to get to the bottom of all of this!"

"Henri!" Claire's voice echoed through the catacombs. "Adrienne? Gabriel? Marc. Isaac. Are your cousins with you?"

"Yes, Maman!" Henri hollered back.

"Well bring them up. Your uncle is awake."

The children looked at each other in excitement and scrambled from their positions, Marc nearly knocking baby Brigitte from his elder sister's hands in their hurry. The sound of pattering feet could be heard as the rushed up their passage ways and came a little bit closer to the surface and into the Court of Miracles.

"Maman, how is Uncle Clopin?' Adrienne asked as she handed her baby cousin to her aunt, ushering the irritating Camille after her.

"He's awake," Claire murmured, taking her nieces hand when Inès took charge of her youngest. "Now, don't you all go rushing in… at once."



"I want to go too, Aunt Claire!" Camille said sternly.

With a shrug that told that she couldn't see the difference in allowing one more small child into the room, she let go of the four year old's hand and watched her rush after the others.

Six children encircled their dearest Uncle Clopin, barely giving him room to breathe, but that was alright. He brightened up considerably as they entered, stumbling over one another. He adored his sister's five urchins as much as he did his brother's two young girls. They all might have well have been his own, the way he spoiled them.

"Do you feel better, Uncle Clopin?" Isaac asked.

"Does it hurt?" Marc questioned.

"Was Frollo mean?" Camille piped in.

"Let him answer one before you bombarded him with more questions!" Henri snapped, eying the younger children carefully.

Clopin chuckled at this, wishing he hadn't as his ribs reminded him painfully he was not whole. "It's alright, Henri. They're only worried."

"Are you going to be able to do your puppet show tomorrow?" Gabriel asked, eyes wide.

"Gabe!" the two older cousins snapped at him.

"What?"

Clopin forced his body to obey his commands as he sat up, leaning heavily on the wall behind him. His shoulders slouched and he stretched his legs out before him. "I don't think by tomorrow," he answered quietly. "I'm truly sorry, Gabriel."



"It's alright, Uncle Clopin," Isaac assured him with the confidence only a child as small as he could muster. "As long as you can by my birthday next week. You promised."

"That I did," his royal uncle acknowledged. "I'm sure our dear puppet friends will make a grand appearance at your birthday. You'll be two, non?"

"Two, Uncle Clopin!" the little boy yelled, his shrill voice hurting the King of Thune's head. "I'll be six!"

"My my," Clopin answered with a sideways glance at the older two. "What a man you're becoming.

"Are you truly alright, Uncle Clopin?" Henri asked, eyeing him carefully.

"Of course."

"You know we won't rest until something is done," Adrienne said bravely.

"Now, you two," Clopin began, but stopped, glancing back at the younger children. "Might I have a word with just Henri and Adrienne?" He watched the younger children sigh and shuffle out downheartedly and then turned back to the elder two. "I want your words on something," he said firmly, looking them each in the eye. He always knew he'd have trouble from these two, even if their mother ignored it. She stated they were two much like their dearest uncle.

"Anything, Uncle Clopin," they said together.

"You two will leave Frollo well enough alone. Let me handle this one."

"But Uncle Clopin!"

"No buts," the Gypsy King said with a waggle of his finger. "Only promises."



"Very well," they conceded, eyes cast downward.

"It's not so bad, I promise," Clopin assured them. "Now run along and play."

They shuffled out, eyes staring down at the floor and mouths bent in frowns. "Aren't we too old for play, Henri?" Adrienne asked.

"I think your right, dear sister," the elder answered. "Perhaps Uncle Clopin doesn't realize this."

"He'll be on the mend longer than the others realize. We really should handle this before anyone else is hurt."

"I couldn't agree more," Henri said and the two disappeared into the catacombs.