Sarousch was in a good mood today. Today would be the day he would finally have his revenge on the man who had made him a pariah. They'd called such people Dalits in the old country, but at least there, one couldn't actually be demoted by a caste, except by being reincarnated into a lower one for some offense in a previous life. In Europe it was a different story. Here it was possible for one man to mark another as an untouchable. And today at last, Clopin Trouillefou would pay for it. Today, all the Parisian Roma would be permanently made pariahs in the eyes of the French king. They would be forced to leave the safety of a country where no one could legally enslave them, and when they did, Sarousch and his business partners would be waiting.

He removed the device on his nose intended to pinch and constrict it so that his servant could powder his face. He inspected his work in his mirrors, running his fingers along his artificially slender proboscis, and smiled in satisfaction. His nose looked more and more European every day, and Sarousch couldn't be happier with it—even if it had made him a notoriously loud snorer. "Oh, you are looking good today," he told his reflection. "I could just kiss you!"

Sarousch turned to Madellaine, who was busy cleaning up breakfast dishes. "I've another task for you today, trinket," he said. "Today, you're to go see the bell ringer one more time. Get him out of the bell tower. Keep him away for a few hours. We'll need that time to go in and steal the pope's bell. Then, meet me on the southeast side of the city at sunset; the same place we came in."

Madellaine stayed silent.

"Did you hear me, my dear?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

"But?"

Madellaine clenched her fists at her side and squeezed her eyes shut, gathering her courage. She turned to Sarousch. "I don't want to," she said simply.

Sarousch paused, wondering if he'd misheard her. "Excuse me, what?"

Trembling, Madellaine spoke up. "I don't want to hurt Quasimodo. He's good and kind and so sweet...and..."

Sarousch waved off his servant, stood, and strode over to Madellaine, taking her chin in one hand and squeezing as he brought his face close to hers. "Need I remind you of the debt you owe me?" he snarled. "You belong to me, not to the bell ringer. You are mine. I tell you where to stand and who to wave to. I provide you with food, clothing and shelter. I even let you share my bed from time to time. You will obey me, or you will find yourself in a much worse place. I don't care if you don't want to hurt the bell ringer. If you don't, I will!"

Madellaine's heart pounded in her throat. She tried to swallow it back down, nodding as best she could with her chin stuck in Sarousch's grip.

"That's better," Sarousch said with a smile. He released her. "Lure the bell ringer out first thing after lunch. Timing is everything."

With that, he returned to his grooming. Madellaine shuddered and clutched her stomach, which had tied itself in knots. She didn't even know if she could get Quasimodo to trust her after last night. And if she did, she needed to then break his trust if she was to keep him safe. She returned to her chores as a sinking feeling settled permanently into her stomach.


"Once again it's birthday party day!" Clopin sang as he bounded through his house, overseeing the setup of a small indoor party that he hoped would tide Zephyr over until they could redo a proper birthday bash that involved the entire Court. He skidded to a halt in front of a cradle and pulled out his favorite puppet, effecting a falsetto voice, which he expertly cast to his cloth likeness.

"Hope you've got your party pants on!" the puppet "said" to the infant in the cradle, who gazed back at the toy before giving it a grin and a happy gurgle.

"Ha! Told you he smiles at me!" Clopin crowed.

"I'm telling you, Papa, it's just gas," Jeanine teased as she set out dishes. "He's too young to really know how to smile."

"Pshaw!" Clopin said, waving her off as he continued to make his puppet dance for the infant. "He thinks his grand-père is the funniest man alive, and he's laughing uncontrollably on the inside! Isn't that right?" He turned to cooing at the baby, who reached for his face and grasped his nose with tiny hands.

Suddenly, two voices called out, "Papa!" "Dad!" "Dad!" "Papa!"

"Uh-oh," Jeanine said. "Sounds like the twins have an emergency."

Clopin sighed in annoyance at being interrupted during his bonding time with his grandbaby. "Guess I'd better take this. Be back shortly, mon beau!" He jog-skipped into the next room, where he found his 16-year-old twins holding a banner.

"Where are we supposed to hang this?" Chari asked.

"Outside's not an option anymore," Vari said.

"How about nowhere?" their older brother piped up. "That thing is not fit for hanging."

"It looks fine to me," Clopin said. "What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it?" Chat griped. "Look at it! They spelled 'birthday' wrong, and their handwriting is worse than yours!"

The twins stuck their tongues out at him. Clopin slung an arm around his eldest and pulled him close, rubbing his free knuckles on Chat's head. "Well, not all of us can be professionally trained calligraphers, now can we?" he teased.

Chat pulled away and smoothed out his mussed hair. "Just let me have the paint and I'll redo the banner. We can hang it over the entry to the kitchen."

"Suit yourself," Clopin said with a shrug. "I'll leave you three to work this out. I'm off to collect the birthday boy!"

Clopin left the house and merrily trotted down two doors to the Chateaupers residence. Along the way, he spared a glance at the edges of the neighborhood, where he'd posted watchmen to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. Even if Sarousch had truncated Clopin's plans for the day, Clopin was not about to let any enemy of his completely ruin a happy occasion like this. He knocked briefly on Esmeralda's front door before inviting himself inside.

"Where's the little man of the hour?" he called as he stepped across the threshold.

"At the table," Esme called in response while putting the finishing touches on a nut-and-honey cake for the party. "Pouting because I won't let him get up until he's finished his lunch."

Clopin was at Zephyr's side in an instant, his puppet appearing to offer its encouragement. "Hey, little pal, we've got a party to get to pretty soon!" the "puppet" said.

Zephyr crossed his arms and huffed. "It's not the party I wanted!"

"Zephyr!" Esme scolded.

"We were supposed to be outside and invite everyone!" the boy protested. "Now we can't 'cause of the stupid circus!"

Ignoring Esme's refusal to release Zephyr from the table, Clopin scooped him up. "Aw, listen, I know that mean ol' Sarousch ruined our big birthday plans for today, but we'll be able to have that neighborhood block party when he's gone. In the meantime, you're not going to let a bad guy like that ruin your special day, are you?"

As Zephyr continued to pout, Clopin brought his puppet into play, poking at Zephyr's nose with it. "Are you?" he repeated in the falsetto voice he used for the puppet.

It took a few tries to elicit a giggle from Zephyr, but it finally worked. "I guess not," he conceded.

"Excellent!" Clopin said, giving the boy a bounce before setting him down. "Now, scarf down that delicious looking lunch before Puppet does, then hurry and get your party clothes on!"

Zephyr did as told, consuming his food as quickly as he could without his mother warning him to slow down and be careful not to choke. Once finished, he jumped up and ran toward his room. "Come on, Djali, we gotta get you something to wear for the party too!"

The goat gave a happy bleat and followed Zephyr into his room.

"No one come in, because we're changing," Zephyr called before slamming the door.

Esme chuckled. "Well, I'm glad someone around here knows how to cheer him up."

"It's an innate talent, my dear," Clopin bragged. "It always worked on you, even in the worst moods."


Zephyr waited several minutes for the grown ups to get to talking before he hopped up on his bed and pushed open his window. He turned and put a finger to his lips to shush Djali, who looked at him quizzically. And then, with great effort, the little boy scrambled up and through the window.

Djali bleated in alarm, running in a circle around the room before jumping on the bed and, ultimately, deciding to jump through the window himself. Come hell or high water, he would follow his mistress' boy. Someone had to keep that kid out of trouble.


When Zephyr didn't emerge after more than a quarter of an hour, Esme stood and went to check on him. She opened the door to find neither boy nor goat. "Zephyr?" she called.

Then she noticed the window.

"Zephyr!" she shouted, jumping on the bed to stick her head out the window, looking for any sign of her son.

Clopin ran into the room. "What's wrong, Esme?"

"Zephyr's gone!" Esme cried. "He went out the window and took off! Djali must've followed him!"

Clopin's heart leaped into his throat. He wasn't going to let the surge of adrenaline show, however. He clasped Esme's arms before pulling her into a brief hug. "He won't get far unnoticed if Djali's with him. Come on, we'll get a search party. I'll send someone to alert Phoebus."

The two adults ran from the house, Clopin shouting orders to the Roma guarding the perimeter of the neighborhood as he went.


The third time Madellaine stood at the doors of the cathedral, she felt worse than ever before. There was no way the stone saints weren't judging her now. She tried to ignore them as she passed, slipping inside and heading immediately for the bell tower.

Upstairs, Quasi was gathering Zephyr's present into boxes, attempting to consolidate them as much as possible. Regardless of his efforts, he would still need Phoebus' help to transport them. He stopped his work when he heard a knock coming from the direction of the staircase.

It was the second time Madellaine had tried to get his attention. The first time she'd knocked had been soft, before she remembered what Quasi had told her about his hearing loss. When he turned and locked eyes with her, both of them froze for a moment. Then Madellaine looked away in guilt.

"I imagine you saw the show last night," she said.

Quasi exhaled as he collected his thoughts. "Yeah, I..." He paused. "Why didn't you tell me you were with the circus?"

Madellaine rubbed one arm. "Well...I guess...part of me has always wished I wasn't. Or at least that I was with a different circus. One where I'm free. To do what I want, that is."

"To be a tightrope walker?"

"Well, yeah. Among other things."

Quasi studied her quietly for a minute. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked gently.

Madellaine looked up at him shyly and nodded. "But...could we...maybe get out of here? Go for a walk, away from the circus?"

"Well..." Quasi began, glancing back at his gift. "I guess we could do that. But we'll have to be back in an hour or so. My friend is coming to pick me up on his way home from work, and we're headed back to his neighborhood for his son's birthday party."

"Oh, um...sure," Madellaine said. She hoped Sarousch would be able to accomplish his mission in that time, because she wasn't sure how she was going to stall Quasi for longer than an hour.

Quasi smiled at her. "Follow me," he said. "I know some great walking paths in the city, and you won't have to think about Sarousch that whole time." He took her by the hand, heart soaring as he led her downstairs. She was open to talking about leaving the circus! There was a chance for her to be free from the slaver!


Sarousch watched from an alley as Madellaine exited the church with the bell ringer and then disappeared to the north. "Hmm, she wasn't kidding about that one," he muttered darkly. "Hideous man." He turned to his two strongmen. "Follow me, but keep out of sight."

The three figures slipped into the cathedral. Sarousch ushered his assistants into the shadows, keeping his eye out for his target. After a few minutes he spotted him. "Greetings, father," he called, putting on an air of friendly professionalism.

The Archdeacon turned and regarded him with surprise. "Monsieur Sarousch, was it? What brings you into the house of God this afternoon, my son?"

The show was on. Sarousch clasped his hands. "Well, you see, father...I have not been to a confessional in some time, and I thought...well, now is the time. You surely heard about that unfortunate little conflict with my old colleague last night. It's weighing heavily on my mind."

The Archdeacon didn't look entirely convinced. But neither was he one to deny a seeker the opportunity for absolution. He swept a hand toward a hallway. "This way to the confessional booth, then. Follow me, my son."

As the Archdeacon turned and began to lead the way, Sarousch grabbed him around the neck. Before the old priest could cry out, Sarousch had Clopin's dagger out. He plunged it into the Archdeacon's lower back, as close to a kidney as he could guess. He put his mouth to the Archdeacon's ear as the man gasped in pain and shock, and said in a low, mocking voice, "Bless me, father, for I have sinned. I stabbed a priest, stole a bell and framed a man." He extracted the blade and allowed the Archdeacon to crumple to the ground.

With a quick tilt of his head, Sarousch summoned his strongmen to him. They emerged from the shadows and followed him to the bell tower.


Zephyr made his way up the south tower and across the balcony to the bell tower, Djali hot on his heels. "Come on, Djali!" he called, waving the goat on. "Uncle Quasi will be happy to see us, and I can at least watch the circus from up here!"

Once he arrived in the bell tower loft, he immediately spotted the freshly painted models Quasi had been boxing up. He ran over to inspect them. "Oh, wow, this must be my present! No, Djali, you can't eat these!" Zephyr pulled the boxes close and held out an arm to keep the curious goat from tasting the gifts.

Suddenly they heard footfalls and voices. Voices that did not belong to Quasi or Phoebus. Zephyr grabbed Djali and ducked into the shadows. Three men emerged on the landing. Zephyr recognized one as the circus master Sarousch.

"Now, Madellaine said the bell hadn't been hung yet," Sarousch was saying. "Thus it must be...that one over there!"

Zephyr watched quietly as Sarousch led his men over to La Fidele. The bell maker was still somewhere outside of Paris, and La Fidele still sat in the tower, waiting to be mounted.

Ever the showman, Sarousch produced a large blanket and draped it over La Fidele. He then started chanting the "magic words" of his vanishing spell over it. The strongmen rolled their eyes. When Sarousch pronounced the last word of the spell with a flourish, the strongmen took it as their cue to begin hauling the bell. With surprisingly little effort, the two men were able to carry the bell out of the tower and down toward the river. Before he left, Sarousch deliberately dropped the bloodied dagger in the place La Fidele had been sitting.

"The trap is set," he said with a sinister chuckle. "Goodbye, Trouillefou!" With that, he turned on his heel and followed his strongmen.

Zephyr slipped out of his hiding spot and followed. "We gotta see where they're taking La Fidele," he whispered to Djali. "It's the pope's bell, and Uncle Quasi's gonna be really sad if it gets taken away."

As boy and goat slipped out of the cathedral after the bell thieves, they didn't hear alarm cries ring out as the Archdeacon was discovered lying in a pool of blood on the church floor. Though if they had been paying attention, they might have felt that Notre Dame herself was weeping over her keeper's still form.


AN: Clopin has been moody and broody this whole fic. I needed a moment where he was his happy old self before the climax. So the party still had to go on, even if it couldn't be as grand as originally planned. Unfortunately for all involved, Zephyr gets his stubbornness and independence from his mother.

In some Indo-European languages, "dad" is either the formal or informal word for a father. One of these languages is Romani, where it can be spelled d-a-d as in English, or d-a-d-d. Clopin's kids speak Romani and French just as he does, so I wanted to show them alternating between calling him by his French title and his Romani title. I opted to use the former spelling for familiarity. Supposedly, Zephyr also calls Phoebus "dad" in the sequel, but I don't recall him doing that at any point. However, if he did, it would not be inaccurate, since Zephyr is up to half Romani and is being raised within the Romani community.

Another fun language fact: The word "pal" comes to English from Romani, where it means "brother" in the same sense that we use the word "bro." Both Quasi and Clopin refer to Zephyr as their pal in this fic.