Chapter 18:

Esmeralda considered it a great relief that she could ditch Pierre with such ease. It was almost as if she were still single!

What was even easier was finding Phoebus, as he had followed him home the night before, and therefore knew where to go searching for him early in the morning.

He had been called away by a messenger, and while another man, who looked like a steward of some kind, had at first seemed to be the only one who would go along with the messenger, Phoebus himself did emerge from the house.

Esmeralda sat crouched against a wall with Djali on her shoulders, smoking as if she were an old beggar. As he passed, Phoebus paused, and gave her a few glittering coins, before walking off with the messenger and steward.

Did he really not recognize her, or was he only forcing himself to pretend he didn't know it was her so that she wouldn't be caught.

Either way, she followed him and his companions at a distance, and found that they stopped only at a fine town home.

She first went to buy herself and Djali something to eat, then added to it another scarf to replace the one she had wasted on Frollo.

This one was green, which hurt her sense of thematic continuity, but at least it would be less of a simple task to associate her with her appearance at the Festival of Fools.

She was making her way back to the house at which Phoebus had been keeping his appointment when from above, she then heard a call, which stopped both she and Djali in their tracks.

"Hey! You down there, Egyptian! Could you come up here?"

There above them was Phoebus looking down from a balcony with an urgent gleam in his brilliant blue eyes.

"Right away!" she called back, and heard laughter from within the room.

Female laughter. The cruel kind.

Undeterred, Esmeralda shot through the door with Djali at her heels, and hurried into the upper room where Phoebus stood with his steward and several finely-clothed women.

"My, but you have a way with beggars!" the principal among the ladies tittered. "Is this the one that's been following you all day?"

Phoebus blushed quite visibly, and looked like a young boy who was being scolded by his mother. "Maybe," he said sheepishly.

"Well, then?" the woman, her severe, pale features aiming at Esmeralda as if she were poised to throw a knife her way. "Why were you tracking my fiancé?"

Esmeralda stared at her, processing with embarrassing slowness what she'd just learned.

Of course, Phoebus was engaged! He was a nobleman, weren't they all but wed at birth? And what business of hers should that be, when she was newly wed, herself?

"He… is my friend," she offered weakly.

"Really?" the lily-pale woman stared from Esmeralda to Phoebus with incredulous scrutiny. "What sort of friend is she, Phoebus?"

"The sort one meets about one's business," Phoebus said, looking down at his shoes. "I had hoped that if I called her in, she would have a break from the sun, and a chance to rest," he squared his shoulders and offered Esmeralda a place to sit.

This was the daintiest chair Esmeralda had ever seen, with bowed wooden framework and scarlet velvet forming the seat, and she was charmed by the sight of it.

"I could really sit there?" she asked.

Phoebus was answering yes, but his voice was drowned out by a shriek from the lady.

"That is not your chair to offer!" she screamed.

An older lady, who was already sitting on one such chair, raised a hand and a soft word to halt the ravages of the girls he called, "Fleur de Lys," but it was impossible.

"If you're going to be here, it's to serve us and make our time here more pleasant!" Fleur de Lys shouted at Esmeralda. "You are the performing sort, are you not? Perform for us!"

Taken aback, Esmeralda stared for a moment, then glanced down at Djali. "Djali, do you remember what I taught you yesterday?" She untied the pouch of letters which she kept at her waist, then spilled them out before her goat.

Dutifully, Djali arranged the letters the way Esmeralda and Pierre had trained her to, until before the gasping nobles' eyes, the chaos of the letter tiles aligned into the simple word, "Phoebus."

The ladies who were with Fleur squealed, and scrambled to hide behind one another, whispering about witchcraft.

"No, Djali is just a very clever girl," Esmeralda said, stroking Djali's back.

"Very clever," Phoebus agreed, kneeling beside the letters and blocking Esmeralda from view with his broad shoulders. "Who taught her?" he asked in a soft voice.

Esmeralda could smell the same wine on his breath as the night before, and could feel the warmth radiate from him like the rays of the sun. "My new… friend… his name is Pierre. He knew the story of your name, and how to spell it."

"How kind of him…" he smirked and his eyes glittered. "You were thinking of me?"

Fleur de Lys cleared her throat. "Phoebus? What are you saying to that creature?"

"We're having a thing called a conversation, Fleur, and if it's too low for you to hear, then it's on purpose."

Fleur made an indescribably huffy noise and approached them with sharp, birdlike paces. "I have a right to know!"

Objectively she did, and Esmeralda knew she was stealing Phoebus's time.

"I called you up here to perform for us, so now, gypsy, you will dance!" Fleur demanded.

"I'm good at dancing," Esmeralda noted feebly. "But, is there anyone around to provide music?"

"I shall sing," Fleur said, and stood with her hands folded in a neat but unnatural way before her chest. "Pick up your goat's nasty toys and we shall begin," she said.

Part of Esmeralda was intrigued, as she had never danced to the sole accompaniment of a Frenchwoman singing whatever song she might know. And with such a fine lady choosing the music, what wonders could she sing for her?

She quickly gathered up the little letter tiles and stowed them at her waist, then produced the scrap of green cloth which she had so lately purchased for herself.

Once the song began, however, she found it uninspiring. She could not make a vivid show of her dance, not in such close quarters with only one man present. The ladies wouldn't care for her usual style, and the tempo was so flat she could hardly make a game of it at any rate.

As half heartedly as she was dancing, it was made complex and distasteful when Fleur de Lys began throwing money at her. Her song was done it seemed, as instead she was laughing, and calling, "That's more money than you've ever seen in your life, isn't it?"

As sorely as she wanted to deny it, that was truth, indeed. With solemn features, she bent and collected every golden coin which flew her way, every precious one. Each coin could mean another week a family could eat, or even more… heavens, but she could not even fathom the fortune at her feet!

"Get up! Stop making such a fool of yourself!" Fleur de Lys demanded. "Get out of here, harlot! Gypsy shrew! I don't ever want to see you around my future husband again!"

Tears burned just at the edges of her eyes, but Esmeralda refused to let them fall. She did not have to look at Djali to know her faithful companion would flee the room along with her when she turned from the room and ran without another glance over her shoulder.

Over Djali's hooves clopping on the wood behind her, Esmeralda could hear the muffled sounds of Phoebus speaking to the hysterically shouting Fleur.

She had been ushered out of the final door when she thought it would close behind her, but instead it remained open, and she heard Phoebus shouting at the servant to hold it for him.

Esmeralda turned just in time to face him when he grabbed her arms and crushed her to the plate mail he wore.

"I beg you to forgive me for that monstrous behavior," he muttered to her, holding her as if she would try to run away, as if she could. "Keep the money, though, it's excellent compensation."

"Phoebus!" Fleur called from the balcony above. "Get up her at once or I shall write to your mother!"

"Listen carefully," Phoebus whispered to Esmeralda. "We ought to meet again. I know you're better at finding me than I am at finding you, so the next time you see me alone… and I'll try to find myself alone, too… then we'll talk. I look forward to it."

With that he was gone and the door was closed between them, and Esmeralda was left standing in the street with the contemptuous eyes of Fleur and her gaggle of friends glaring down on her from the balcony above.

Yet it didn't matter anymore, not really. Which one of them could claim that Phoebus actually wanted to see them?