Chapter 28:

It was really too bad that Esmeralda had already packed up her tent, because she was too weary to pitch it again for a nap. Her legs were weary as her heart raced.

Had Phoebus been discovered? Was he being tortured? How would she know? She may never see him again and she loved him!

She swallowed, trying to remember that Quasimodo was clever and capable, and that the Archdeacon himself had said that Phoebus was in the hands of God…

Turning her head to find something that would distract her, Esmeralda noticed something… a familiar jar… it was the same as the one from the night of her impromptu wedding to Pierre. Its pieces had been crudely bonded back together into a single jar, and she marveled at it as she turned it over in her hands. It was clear someone had put a great deal of thought into this.

With a smile, she tucked it among the things that she would take with her when she left. It would be a reminder of how yet another friend set her free.

"So you're finally divorced?" the familiar voice of Clopin turned her attention to him.

"Yes… and I'm glad of it, he was kind to let me go," she gave him a gentle smile.

"It was an unorthodox way, but that makes it clear enough." He was still tapping his foot, giving her a look which said he was formulating a speech to give her. "Why were you gone so long?"

"Frollo attacked this miller's family outside of town and… A soldier saved them before I could…" she knew this next phrase would spark something, so she held it in as long as she could, before finally explaining, "I hid the soldier in a safe place and tended to his wounds."

Clopin burst into a maniacal laugh which brought the attention of the people around them. "A soldier! You risked your life and nearly made what's left of my hair fall out over a soldier?"

"Over a hero!" she countered. "Clopin, we have allies out there, we can't afford to lose them!"

Those words broke through the mania, somehow, and he gave her a gentle-eyed look, slowly removing his hat and rubbing at his brow.

Esmeralda had never considered Clopin an old man, but he showed a flash of feeble vulnerability with his balding head bowed, which took her aback. How could they survive if their king was weak?

"I would kill to keep you safe, ma cherie, but how can I when you never let me be there when it counts?"

She didn't bother to tell him he could have done more at the festival, she merely got herself upright on her protesting feet and threw her arms around him. There were so many things she still could not tell him, not when there was a war on, but perhaps someday…

A scout ran up to Clopin with a frantic look in his eyes behind his skull mask. "My king! There are intruders in the cemetery tunnel!"

The familiar mad glint returned to Clopin's eyes, and he said, "Looks like my chance to kill was just hand-delivered!"

Esmeralda watched him prance away like a rabid monkey, the malnourished kind that would dance for coppers… just like her… and gone wrong.

Why did her dear Clopin always have to look like a nightmare? Speaking of nightmares, she may be living in one, but everyone had to sleep eventually…