Destiny Shall Say If We Fall or Stand

Six year old Clopin Tison was standing by a creek and putting a small frog she had caught in her pocket.

“Clopin!” came a shout. “Come back, child! Your father should be back any minute now!”

“Coming Claude!” she shouted back. She ran back to where the older gypsy was waiting by his wagon. She had gotten rather dirty from playing by the creek, but all she had on her mind was the surprise she was going to give the other girls. When she made it back to where Claude was sitting the older gypsy looked her over, chuckling.

“Did you have fun at the creek?” Clopin nodded and took the frog out of her pocket.

“Look what I found!” she said with a grin. The frog croaked and leapt out of her hands, landing on Claude’s knee before jumping off and hopping away in to the tall grass. Claude chuckled again and shook his head.

“Go wash up, mon petit, your father should be back soon.” He said, mussing the young girl’s hair. She giggled and ran off to go scrub the dirt off. As she was cleaning up she heard several shouts.

Cato Tison came riding up to the camp with a grin. He was back home after a few days of scouting for a new place.

“The King’s back!” was heard echoing around the camp, and he chuckled. He pulled up by his wagon and dismounted his horse. He stretched then walked over to where Claude was sitting.

“Welcome back, Cato.” Claude greeted, shaking his King’s hand.

“Thank you, Claude,” Cato said as he glanced around. Someone was missing. “where’s Clopin?” Claude smiled at his friend.

“Oh, the girl got herself dirty so I sent her to clean up.” He said nodding over toward where Clopin was cleaning up.

“Been catching bugs by the creek again?” Cato commented light-heartedly.

“She caught a frog this time. I think she was intending to scare a few of the other girls.” Cato laughed. His daughter was quite feisty.

“She’s exactly like me when I was her age,” Cato chuckled. “I used to do stuff like that all the time. Thank you for watching out for her.”

“It was no trouble,” Claude’s voice took an edge of seriousness. “did you find a place?” Cato’s grin disappeared and he shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “at least nowhere safe.”

“The Festival of Fools is coming up,” Claude said, hoping to ease some of his friend’s worry. “we can go and earn some good money in Paris then worry more about finding a new home. We’re safe enough out here as anywhere.” Cato nodded.

“I’m going to go check on my daughter,” he said. “thank you again, Claude.” The two shook hands once more and Cato walked over to where Clopin was just finishing scrubbing off. She looked up and broke out in a huge smile.

“Papa!” she shouted. He knelt down as she ran up and the two embraced. He lifted her with ease from the ground, swinging her around.

“I got you something while I was away.” Cato said.

“Ooh! What is it?” Still carrying her he walked over to where his horse was tied up by their wagon. After he set her down he pulled a small sack out of one of the saddle bags and knelt back down in front of her. He gently slid a small black mask out of the bag and Clopin’s eyes widened.

“It looks just like yours!” she said quietly. He smiled as she slipped the mask on and marveled at the fact that the black made her green eyes pop. She threw her arms around her father’s neck and he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. When they pulled apart Cato picked her up once more and the two walked back over to where Claude was sitting. While Cato sat there talking to Claude about preparations for the Festival of Fools, Clopin wandered off. As she was lying under the shade of one of the nearby trees, one of the other young gypsy girls came running over. Jacqueline was two years older than Clopin, but Clopin wasn’t a fan of the older girl. She could be quite mean.

“Your birthday is coming up, Clopin.” The girl said pointedly, not bothering with a hello.

“And?” Clopin rolled her eyes, not getting up.

“Isn’t there anything you want?” she asked. Clopin had a whole list of things she wanted one day, but for now she was content just having her papa home.

“Probably something to help my act.” Clopin replied, shrugging.

“You know what I hope for, for you?” Jacqueline asked, giggling. “For you to grow up and act your age.”

“You’re not very mature yourself, Jacqueline.” Clopin mumbled as the other girl walked away. She stood and walked back over to her wagon, passing her papa and Claude without so much as even a hello. Jacqueline’s comment had worried her.

Cato, startled by Clopin’s silence, watched her go in to their wagon.

“Claude, I—” Cato started, but Claude stopped him with a raised hand.

“I understand. Go check on her.” Cato nodded and stood. He walked in to his wagon and found Clopin curled up in her bed with her back to him. He spotted her mask sitting close by on the floor as he walked a bit closer to her.

“Clopin?” he asked. No answer. “What’s wrong?” Still no answer, he sighed and sat on her bed and put a hand on her small shoulder, he could feel her shaking lightly with silent sobs.

“Clo, I hardly ever see you like this. You’re usually so happy.” At this Clopin sighed and turned to her back. Cato could see tears in her eyes.

“Jacqueline’s right.” She whimpered. “I’ll never grow up.” Cato patted his knees and Clopin climbed up to sit. She rested her head against his chest, sniffling.

“You are still very young, Clopin.” He said gently. “Why does this bother you?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as watching out for our people like you do, papa.” Clopin replied quietly.

“That’s not true, Clo.” Cato said. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to look at him. “You’ll grow up to be more responsible and mature, and you could stay young at heart. For now though, you’re just a child and you have a lot more of your life ahead of you.” She pulled her chin away and rested against his chest again. He hugged her close.

“Just be happy the way you are, cheri,” he added, moving a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. “and remember, even when you do grow up, you’ll always be my little girl.” Clopin giggled at this and nodded in understanding. Cato gently lifted her and put her back in bed. He tucked her in, and gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, papa.” She drifted off to sleep, snuggled cozily in her bed.

The Festival of Fools had finally arrived and the father/daughter duo were looking for a place for Cato to set up and perform to earn some money.

“Now, Clopin,” Cato said looking up at his masked daughter as she sat up on his shoulders. “be sure to stay close by. I don’t want you getting in to any trouble.”

“Yes, papa.” Clopin replied looking wide eyed around the bustling city. Cato soon found a place to perform in front of a tavern, and gently let his daughter down. He lifted the lute he had been carrying and started to play a lively tune that quickly attracted a crowd of people. They all started clapping along to the music. Clopin seemed to feed on the energy as she started to dance around, doing cartwheels and backflips. Finally, she held her hand out to one of the children.

“Dance with me!” Clopin laughed. The boy shyly took Clopin by the hand and they started to dance. A little girl soon joined the fun and pretty soon there were a bunch of children dancing in a circle. The rest of the throng continued to laugh and clap along with the music. Once Cato finished everyone cheered and applauded. Almost everyone tossed some form of coin in to their hat and departed. As Cato pocketed some of the coins a man with short brown hair and shiny guardsman armour stepped through the crowd and silence fell.

“Tell me, gypsy, where did you get that money?” he growled.

“We earned it!” Clopin replied, glaring at the man.

“Gypsies don’t earn money, brat.” The man spat as he struck the young gypsy. Clopin fell back with wide eyes. The man’s armour had left a small cut by her left eye. Cato grabbed Clopin and pushed her behind him as people turned to watch.

“Monsieur, we did earn that money.” Cato said calmly though the young gypsy could hear his voice trembling in anger. The man signaled for a couple guards to grab Clopin and her father.

“Captain Frederick! Leave those two alone!” came a shout. The man turned, glaring in the direction of whoever had shouted at him. The tavern owner came walking out and stood between the two gypsies and the guardsman.

“Pierre, get out of the way.” Frederick growled.

“Leave these two alone,” the man said again firmly. “they earned this money.” Frederick looked like he was about to protest, but the crowd began to disperse. The guard watched as Cato shook hands with the tavern keeper then followed him inside to patch up Clopin’s wound.

“Those gypsies will pay.” Frederick growled under his breath. He motioned for his guards to follow him and they left. Cato did not suspect in the least that that moment was the least of his worries.

“Papa,” Clopin said looking up at Cato.

“Yes?”

“Why did that man think we didn’t earn our money?” Cato scoffed.

“He’s got his mind set that gypsies only steal money. He thinks we’re bad people.” Her father replied. The two of them walked in silence the rest of the way back to their camp. Cato went to talk to Claude and Clopin ran off to go lay under her favorite shade tree. As the sun was setting Clopin spotted soldiers in the distance getting ready to attack her family.

“Papa!” she shouted. She ran toward where the two older gypsies were sitting.

“What is it, Clopin?” Cato asked, tired. Before the young girl could answer the sounds of men shouting and armour clanking filled the air. Cato and Claude looked up in horror as a stampede of soldiers came charging their way. Cato stood and pushed his young daughter toward Claude.

“Claude,” he said. “get Clopin and the others somewhere safe. I’ll hold the soldiers off.”

“Cato…” Claude tried to object, but Cato cut him off.

“NOW!” he insisted. The older gypsy nodded and grabbed Clopin.

“No! Papa!” she cried. She wiggled out of Claude’s grasp, losing her mask in the process, and ran back to her father. She grabbed his leg. “I won’t leave you!”

“Clopin, don’t worry about me!” Cato exclaimed as he kneeled down. He gave her a quick embrace then stood, gently pushing her away. “You must save yourself to be King! Now, go!” As Clopin was about to reply a soldier came up behind Cato and knocked him down with the pommel of his sword. Clopin flinched back in fear, but the soldier paid her no mind as he kept his sword at her father’s neck. Suddenly, riding his horse, Captain Frederick made his appearance. Due to what had happened hours ago Clopin was afraid of the dangerous man and ran off…dreading what would happen to her father.

“Looks like we’ll just have to take care of this one first,” Frederick said. “and save the little one for last.” Hiding behind the closest tree she could find, Clopin watched and listened as Frederick continued.

“You thought you could get away that easily, eh, gypsy? Well, as far as I’m concerned you’re still a thief and I sentence you to death.”

“No!” Clopin shrieked. She ran back toward the scene as her father stood to fight. He knocked out at least two guards before Frederick’s sword pierced deep in to his chest. The sight of her father dropping to the ground stopped Clopin in her tracks. Her father was dead. She stopped crying for just a moment and picked up a stone. After tossing it in her hand a couple of times she threw it and it struck Captain Frederick in the forehead. He cried out and put a hand to the bloody cut.

“Who did that?” he shouted, glaring over his soldiers. Clopin ducked behind her tree to avoid detection. Frederick cursed, but ordered his men to set fire to the caravan and leave. Clopin watched as two soldiers grabbed her father’s body and drug it away as the caravan went up in flames.

“Now, if only we could find the rest of the gypsies,” Frederick said to himself. “we will kill them as well…starting with that child.” Clopin’s heart froze. She watched in wide eyed horror as Frederick and his guardsmen left. Finally, she felt it was safe enough for her to come out of hiding and she ran toward the burning caravan. She knew there was one thing of her father’s that the soldier’s had forgot and that was his favorite hat, a black cavalier hat with a yellow plume. She ran to where the hat was lying and picked it up. She held it to her chest and fell to her knees in the dirt.

“I’m so sorry, papa…” Clopin whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. “I didn’t want this to happen.” The heartbroken young gypsy sat there for a moment or two, shaking with sobs. After taking her moment to grieve, she wiped her tears away and put her father’s hat on. She set out to find the rest of her troupe. She knew there would be the danger of Frederick finding her but she was determined to find her people. She knew she had to continue to care for and protect them just like her father had.

“Claude! Laverne!” she shouted. She shouted names until her throat was sore, but she continued walking and searching until she reached the edge of the city. Her legs were so tired from walking that she couldn’t move on. She sat down in a dark alley between two barrels and buried her face in her arms. What if Claude had been captured and killed too? Filled with fear and shame, the girl no longer cared if Frederick found her. If her family was dead she wanted to be dead too. She curled up by the wall and started crying hard enough that it hurt her eyes.

“Are you okay?” came a voice. Clopin looked up to see a boy about her age with scruffy brown hair and brown eyes looking at her curiously.

“Yea, I’m fine.” She replied sitting up and wiping her eyes.

“You don’t look fine.” He said pointedly.

“Who are you?” Clopin asked, glaring back at him.

“My name is Demetri Bouchard,” the boy said with a grin. He moved and sat down by her. “you just looked like you needed a friend.”

“I—I’m lost,” Clopin said finally, shoulders sagging. “and I’m just tired.” She didn’t want to talk about what she had just witnessed with this boy that she barely knew. She wiped her eyes again and stood.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said, avoiding looking at him. “I’ve got to find my family.” She started leave but the boy caught up with her again.

“I can help,” he said quickly. “I’m alone too.”

“Where is your family?” she asked, confused. Surely this boy could tell she was a gypsy and they’re usually not to be trusted.

“My dad died in battle and my mom died when she got sick.” The boy replied shrugging. “So it’s just been me. I’ve been working odd jobs so I can get food.” Clopin nodded.

“Well,” she said slowly. “if we find my family you are welcome to join us…” The boy grinned.

“Deal. Let’s go.” He took off with Clopin following rather slowly at first then she decided he was the closest thing she’d have to a friend here in the city and caught up with him.

After a couple more days of searching the two friends found themselves sitting in the same alley where they had met. Clopin curled up by the wall, back facing the street. Demetri went to the opposite wall and stretched out. Clopin heard him fall asleep and sat back up. She looked at her papa’s hat. She suddenly felt more alone as the thought crossed her mind that she would never find her troupe again. She had failed her papa, just like she feared.

“Bonjour, mon petit.” came a familiar voice. Clopin’s head shot up and she looked over as Claude came walking over to where she was sitting.

“Claude!” she exclaimed. She stood and ran to him. She threw her arms around his waist and started shaking with sobs.

“Clopin, I am so glad I found you.” He said, hugging the girl tightly. Clopin’s shout had woken Demetri and he was sitting up, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

“I’ve been trying to find you, Claude,” she whimpered. “they killed my papa.”

“I know, cheri.” Claude said quietly.

“I thought they got you too,” Clopin whispered, looking up at Claude. “I was afraid that I’d never see you or anyone else again.”

“I’m ecstatic you escaped capture, Clopin, and I would be honored to take you home. The others will be grateful to know you’re safe.”

“I—I can’t,” she said. “I can’t protect them like my papa did. I–”

“You are still young and they understand. That’s why I’ll be by your side until you are ready.” Clopin hesitated but nodded. She looked away and that’s when she remembered;

“Oh! This is Demetri, and I offered him a place with our troupe since he’s alone and he was the only one willing to help me.” She said quickly, looking back at Claude. The older gypsy smiled at Demetri as Clopin climbed on his back.

“Well then,” he said offering a hand to the boy. “I suppose the three of us should head home.” Demetri gave him a grateful smile as he stood and shook Claude’s hand. The older gypsy took the two kids to where most of Clopin’s troupe had found safety. It was a rundown farm on the outskirts of the city where even the guards dare not look. As they entered the area Claude set Clopin down as a woman’s voice called from somewhere ahead of them.

“Clopin! Clopin!” Clopin’s eyes shot up as Laverne came running toward her.

“Laverne!” she cried. The young girl ran straight toward the gypsy woman and the two of them embraced.

“Is that her mom?” Demetri asked Claude as he watched Clopin interact with the older woman. The older gypsy sadly shook his head.

“Clopin’s mother died during childbirth, but Laverne is very much the only true mother figure the girl has ever known.”

“I was so worried. I’m glad that you’re all safe.” Clopin said looking up at Laverne. A bunch of the troupe members had gathered around the two by this point with warm regards coming from every side.

“Wait,” Jacqueline piped up. “where’s Cato?” Clopin’s grin faded and she looked down at her feet…unsure if she wanted to tell them all what had happened.

“Isn’t that his hat you’re wearing?” the girl asked, crossing her arms. Clopin couldn’t hold her tears back as she took the hat off and held it close to her chest. Laverne knelt down, watching the girl carefully. The young girl, knowing they would have to hear the terrible news sooner or later, swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Papa’s dead.” She whimpered. Several horrified gasps met her ears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face the crowd. “I wish I could have saved him, but I couldn’t. It’s my fault. I’m a coward.”

“Clo,” Laverne said reaching out toward her. The young King flinched away from her touch.

“So that’s why you got lost?” Jacqueline cried. “You put yourself in danger—”

“Enough Jacqueline.” Claude said sharply.

“I didn’t want my father to die,” Clopin said whirling to face Jacqueline. Tears were cascading down her cheeks as she glared at the older girl.

“We know, Clopin,” Laverne said as she edged closer to the girl. She put a hand on her shoulder. “Your father was a good man and he will be missed by all of us. Cheri, you didn’t have to endanger yourself. You’re just a child.”

“But a very brave child,” said an older gypsy named Marcel.

“You are not a coward, Clopin. Far from it! You will grow up to be just as brave, loyal, and strong as your father.” Claude said from where he was standing. Clopin gave her friend a small smile. She watched as each of the gypsy men in her troupe removed their hats in respect and bowed their heads…sending a silent prayer up to whoever was listening.

Two Years Later

Eight year old Clopin was doing a few acrobatic stunts in the market with Demetri, juggling, close by. The two were entertaining a small crowd who applauded and put some coins in Demetri’s hat he had set on the ground. Suddenly the familiar clank of armour echoed through the air and the two stopped. Clopin fell from her handstand and went gracefully in to a somersault while Demetri quickly caught each of the seven balls he had been juggling with relative ease. The crowd had dispersed and Clopin moved to grab the hat when a couple guards grabbed her arms.

“Let me go! Porc!” she shouted. She struggled in their grasp with as much ferocity as her young body could muster.

“The mouth on this one!” chuckled the guard on her left. “We need to teach her a lesson about respect!”

“Respect is earned cul.” she growled. The man on her right dropped her arm temporarily and back handed the young gypsy. Tears sprang to her eyes but she didn’t allow them to fall.

‘A King does not cry! Crying means you’re weak, and a King is anything but...’ she scolded herself. She was able to maneuver slightly and bite the other man. He let go with a yelp of surprise and she darted off. She was faster than the two men and managed to get away. She stood, panting, in a dark alley as they ran past. She put a hand to her sore cheek and cursed under her breath. As she stood there catching her breath she heard someone singing close by. She warily stepped out from her hiding spot, and glanced around. She spotted a woman sitting outside a brothel, singing and washing a skirt. After a few moments of hesitation she cautiously walked over and listened to the woman sing.

I’ve been around, I’ve been in the West

Even in Germany

To find a piece of bread for me and

Мy family

Hey, if I had, like I don’t have

So that I could buy a white horse

and ride, day and night

In reality, both in reality and in dreams

She must’ve been in her early twenties, with dark brown hair and olive skin. After she finished her song she looked up at Clopin.

“Salut, mon petit gypsy.” Her brown eyes twinkled a little, but Clopin drew herself up to her full height and gave her a determined look.

“I’ve been told to ignore anyone who called me that,” she said with all the forceful conviction of a child, but then her shoulders sagged slightly. “and people call me that all the time.” The singer’s eyes softened slightly as she looked at the young girl, but she raised an eyebrow at her.

“I merely call something what it is. This is a skirt. That is a cat. This is coin. You are a gypsy. You understand, yes? Whatever else people mean when they say it is up to them. To me, a thing is a thing. What it does determines how you treat it.” Clopin’s green eyes met the girl’s brown ones.

“When people call me that, they never mean anything nice. Is that what you mean too?” The girl gave a small smile and gently took Clopin’s hand.

“What’s your name petit?” she asked quietly.

“Clopin, ma’am.” The girl chuckled.

“I am no ma’am, but Clopin...” she paused, looking thoughtful. “I know nothing bad attached to that name.”

“Really?” Clopin asked with a hopeful smile. The girl nodded.

“So I think I shall treat you as something new and undiscovered. How does that sound?” Clopin nodded, lost for words. At that moment they heard a yell of frustration and Clopin tensed up, preparing to bolt. She turned to look expecting to see the two guards from earlier, but instead she spotted someone racing through the marketplace. He was dodging from stall to stall, followed by an enraged baker.

“Damn you, you salaud!” Clopin heard the baker yell. The thief finally stopped by them, panting for breath, and gave the singer a cheeky grin.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle!” the boy panted.

“Bonjour, mon petit larron.” the girl sighed. “Gringoire, what would father say if he were here?”

“Well, he isn’t here is he?” Gringoire’s voice was light, easy, and calm. Clopin looked at him as he began to pull rolls out of his pockets. He wore a long, shapeless blue tunic, and trousers that were darker blue in color. His black hair dangled freely around his face. He had the same olive skin tone as his sister, but instead of brown eyes his were shining blue. He was a little taller than Clopin, and maybe four years older. Sweat was rolling down his face from the run which he quickly wiped off with a shirt sleeve.

“Gringoire,” the singer started.

“Jeanne,” her brother interrupted. “his last words to you were ‘stay good’ and his last words to me were ‘take care of yourself’. You’re staying good, I’m taking care, so he can’t really complain now can he?” He handed a roll to both Jeanne and Clopin, keeping one for himself. Jeanne and Gringoire ate their rolls quickly, but Clopin took a small bite. The roll was good, fresh… ‘and stolen’ whispered a little voice in the back of her mind. She stopped for a moment, feeling guilty. She looked at Jeanne and Gringoire then back at the roll.

‘I didn’t steal it.’ she whispered back to the voice, and took another bite. Suddenly Gringoire looked at her.

“I never did catch your name, jeune.” he said.

“Clopin.” she replied back with a small smile. Before the two could say more between them a shout caught them off guard.

“Clo!” she turned and spotted Demetri, with Claude close behind, running up to where she was.

“You got away!” Demetri said with a grin.

“Thank goodness.” Claude said, embracing the young girl. “When Demetri said you ran in to trouble I feared the worst.”

“Aww c’mon, Claude, I can handle myself.” Clopin mumbled as she wiggled out of Claude’s grasp.

“Are you the girl’s father?” Jeanne asked with a bemused smile at the exchange.

“More or less,” Claude said with a smile at Jeanne. “I’ve taken her in. And you are?”

“I’m Jeanne, this is my brother Gringoire.” Jeanne introduced extending a hand. Claude took it and shook her hand with a nod.

“Thank you for keeping Clopin safe.”

“Anytime! She’s a great kid.” Gringoire said with a smirk as he batted Clopin’s hat down over her eyes. The girl chuckled and pushed her hat back up. They said goodbye to the siblings and walked back to the run down farm where the troupe had made their home.

One Year Later

It had been weeks since Demetri and Clopin had ventured out to visit Jeanne and Gringoire. All Claude would tell them was that it was too dangerous for them to venture to the market. He said that they could be arrested simply for being who they were, even if they were walking down the street and buying things. It was an awful time to be a gypsy. One evening Clopin was lounging in the loft of an old barn on the property while Claude worked below. Demetri was off talking to Sherri about mending a couple holes in his tunic. A sudden knock on the door peaked her interest and she peered down as a familiar, harsh whisper met her ears.

“Claude! Claude! Open the door!” It was Gringoire. He knocked as loud as he dared. He knew why Claude was keeping Clopin and Demetri within the confines of the troupe. Gringoire and his sister had heard about Cato’s murder from Clopin on one of her earlier visits. They also knew she was in line to be King when she came of age. It just wasn’t safe for gypsies to be on the streets anymore, even the decent ones who had only ever sought to entertain the crowds. Captain Frederick’s hunt for them had suddenly gotten more extreme, and anyone who looked even slightly out of place was under suspicion.

“Come in, come in!” the door opened and Gringoire slipped in side. “Gringoire, dieu merci. How’s Jeanne?”

“Fine, we’re both fine.” Gringoire said breathlessly, but that’s when Claude caught sight of the cut above his left eye.

“Fine? How do you explain that cut?” Claude asked as he handed the boy a rag to press over the bleeding wound. The boy shrugged as he looked around the barn that Claude had made his home before finally meeting the older man’s gaze.

“We need to ask a favor.”

“And that would be?” Claude asked, eyebrows raised.

“We’re calling a meeting of as many...” he paused for a moment and lowered his voice. “as many gypsies as possible. Something needs to be done. Not everyone has safe walls and thick doors to keep the soldiers out.” Claude’s eyes flicked away guiltily. He knew that things couldn’t continue the way they had been, and he still feared for the troupe’s safety...but he especially feared for Clopin.

“When?”

“Tonight. Basement of the old theatre.” Claude sighed and looked up to the loft where Clopin was, hopefully, sound asleep.

“If I get caught...what will happen to my troupe? What will happen to Clopin?” Gringoire’s blue eyes met Claude’s brown ones honestly.

“We will not abandon them. Ever.”

“I will be there.”

Claude didn’t realize Clopin had been awake and listening to the whole conversation. Her brow furrowed in thought. Claude was going to be leaving tonight, and she knew that she would get left behind. Finally, her nine year old mind was made up. She wasn’t just going to sit back and let Claude get captured or worse so she began to form her plan. She heard Claude climbing up the ladder to check on her so she pretended to be asleep. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, but all the while she kept her plan in the back of her mind. She heard Claude sigh as he went back down the ladder. She heard him moving here and there around the barn and mutter in annoyance when something jingled. Clopin’s eyes opened once more and she peered down below as the door squeaked open then closed. She was up on her feet in an instant, grabbing her hat and sliding down the ladder expertly. As Clopin crept out the door she was startled by Demetri’s voice behind her.

“Where’s Claude going?” he whispered, peering at her through the dark.

“To a gypsy meeting.” Clopin replied, also in a whisper as she turned to face him. She was about to sneak past him, but he stopped her short.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“To a gypsy meeting.” Clopin replied again trying to step around him.

“Clo, you can’t—”

“I’m going Demetri. Now, you can either join me or stay put...but I’m going!” She finally stepped around him and started off in the direction she knew the old theatre was located. After a few silent, tense seconds Demetri caught up with her.

The old theatre was packed full of chattering gypsies from all over the city. Clopin stared at the multitude, eyes wide. After everyone finally settled a thin figure leapt on to the stage.

“Jeanne!” Clopin exclaimed in a delighted whisper. It was good to see the older girl was safe.

“Everyone!” she shouted, silencing the crowd. “You know why we’ve called you here. Things cannot continue the way they are. Senseless arrests? No crime, no trial...only punishment. Someone has to stand up to them!” Her voice was strong and sure, but there were voices of dissent among the crowd. Clopin listened as several people spoke up asking why, as just a kid, she wanted to help all of them.

“If there was a place you could go, would you? Not just brigands and thieves...but honest people too. Start up our own community of sorts. My brother and I have safe houses throughout the city that are willing to hide you until we are able to find a suitable place.” Claude stepped forward, looking every bit the leader her father used to be.

“If there would be a place like that, we would go. It’s what our King was searching for before Captain Frederick had him murdered.” Clopin’s heart froze. Claude rarely talked about Cato’s murder. The gypsy’s in the room bowed their head, even if they weren’t part of the troupe they knew about the murder. As Jeanne and Gringoire told the gypsies where to find the safe houses Clopin leaned against the wall thoughtfully. Jeanne’s words were echoing in her mind. As the other gypsies started to file out of the theatre, Clopin and Demetri stepped as far back in to the shadows as they could. As they were about to escape in to the night a strong hand clamped around Clopin’s collar and lifted her off her feet. No matter how much she struggled she couldn’t get free of the person’s grasp.

“What have we here?” an older boy asked as Clopin struggled in his hand, and another boy grabbed Demetri’s arm. They dragged the two kids out to where Jeanne and Gringoire could see them.

“Caught these two spying on the meeting.” said the boy holding Clopin. Gringoire raised an eyebrow at the two boy’s unusual baggage, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Well, put these two down. We know them.” Clopin was set gently back down, and she adjusted her tunic with a slight glare. Gringoire looked at them then back at the two boys.

“You two come with me. We need to get these two rascals home before Claude notices their beds are empty.” The two boys nodded. Gringoire looked back at Jeanne who gave him a slight nod and waved at the two kids. As they walked the two boys introduced themselves as Nolan and Antoine, and they apologized for being rough earlier. Clopin and Demetri accepted their apologies as Gringoire led them through several backstreets and alleys until Clopin recognized the neighborhood they were in.

“Seems like a nice area, but does it always smell like fire?” Antoine asked. It was true. The air was getting smokier and smokier the closer they got to the farm where their troupe had been hiding, but it wasn’t until they rounded a corner that Clopin could see what was burning. The small farm was engulfed in flames.

“No!” Clopin shouted. She started to run forward but Gringoire caught her.

“Clopin, don’t! Look who’s there!” he hissed in her ear. She looked at the burning farm then finally spotted several men on horseback. Clopin’s eyes traced the men and finally spotted who Gringoire had been talking about. Captain Frederick was holding a torch with a harsh grin on his face. Clopin’s face contorted with anger as she heard Captain Frederick address the crowd.

“This ground has been purified of the gypsy contamination.” he said loudly. Clopin finally struggled out of Gringoire’s grasp and ran toward the evil man.

“Cul!” she shouted stopping just outside the crowd. Every eye turned to the young gypsy child.

“Ooh, I remember you...” Captain Frederick snarled. He began to work his way toward Clopin, but the child didn’t back down. He handed the torch he held off to one of his soldiers and approached her, drawing his sword in the process.

“I believe it’s time to finish the job I started three years ago.” he growled. He lashed out with his sword, but Clopin was able to dodge it. He lashed out again and grazed Clopin’s right arm. There wouldn’t be a scar, but he made sure it hurt. Clopin grit her teeth and her left hand flew to the wound on her arm.

“Porc.” she hissed. As Captain Frederick was about to lash out he was struck by a rock above his left eye. His sword dropped and he gave a yelp of surprise. While he was distracted Claude grabbed Clopin and pulled her a safe distance away, and out of the view of Captain Frederick and his men.

“Claude!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around his waist, ignoring the sting from her right arm. “I thought you were dead.”

“Clopin, I am so relieved you are safe.” Claude muttered, hugging the girl back. “I feared the worst when I saw our home was set ablaze, but what were you thinking? Challenging him?” He stood and pushed the girl an arm’s length away and looked at her. She met his eyes with that same determination Cato once had.

“Like Jeanne said at the meeting, someone has to stand up to them.” Claude was angry that Clopin had been at the meeting, but that was quickly overtaken by pride.

“You are your father’s daughter. I recognize that stubbornness.” he said with a chuckle. “I have never been happier to know that you snuck out.” They heard Captain Frederick order a search for Clopin, and the two quickly escaped the area. Clopin hadn’t felt the hatred for Captain Frederick flare up like this since her father had died. They met up with Gringoire, Nolan, Antoine, and Demetri.

“How many were captured?” Gringoire asked.

“None!” Claude said with a smile. “Most were at the meeting tonight and are safely hidden at the safe-houses.”

“Dieu merci.” Gringoire whispered with a relieved smile. He looked over at Clopin with a slight twinkle his blue eyes. “And you, jeune, you’ve got to be either the most foolish or the bravest child I know.” Clopin shrugged, unsure of how to respond to her friend’s words.

“Well, it appears we are homeless once again.” Claude said hugging Clopin to his side, almost as if he were afraid the girl were a spirit and the real her had perished in the fire.

“C’mon. You can stay with Jeanne and I.” Gringoire said with a nod toward the road.

“Thank you.” Claude replied. He allowed Clopin to climb on his back, and the tired group headed back for the brothel where Jeanne and Gringoire were staying.

One Year Later

Ten year old Clopin lazed between a couple pillars of an old building, enjoying the afternoon sun. Her hat was pulled low over her eyes, but she wasn’t quite asleep. She got the feeling someone was approaching, and sighed.

“What do you want now, mon cher?”

“How did you know it was me?” Demetri asked, sounding slightly annoyed. She would often respond that way, even when he hadn’t asked a question or said anything at all. He was still trying to figure his friend out. If even for a moment he thinks he knows her she throws some new behavior his way. If anyone could claim to know Clopin Tison, apart from Claude, it should be him. He couldn’t even remember a time when she’d been anything less than a constant presence in his life. After they had met three years ago they were thick as thieves in every sense of the word. She had welcomed him in to her troupe, she made him laugh, kept him safe, and taught him how to survive...but there was still something about her that remained inscrutable. She popped her hat up with a laugh.

“I recognized your footsteps.” she chuckled. “Or should I live up to our supposed reputation and say it’s witchcraft?”

“Well you’re something that rhymes with witch,” Demetri mumbled.

“And what would that be, salaud?” she teased with grin.

“Garce.” he shot back with a grin. She gestured dramatically and acted as if he’d insulted her, but the two soon broke out in to more laughter.

“What do you need, Dem?”

“I was going to see if you wanted to explore the city.”

“Sure!” She leapt down and stretched with a yawn. Although Clopin had been all over Paris she never tired of exploring the city and meeting the other gypsies that lived there, occasionally venturing to meet up with Gringoire and Jeanne. Their two friends had become so occupied with finding a safe place that they were hardly to be found most days. As the two rounded a corner they came face to face with a couple of guards.

“You there! Gypsies! Stop!” one of them shouted.

“Run, Dem!” Clopin shouted at the same time. The two turned and took off running, dodging between the stalls. The two ended up splitting up after a few minutes. The guards kept chasing Clopin, but when she realized she had a decent head start she turned and began to taunt them which resulted in very near capture. Luckily, someone tripped one of the guards which caused his friends to trip over him. Someone picked Clopin up and darted in and out of alleyways to lose their pursuers. When she was finally set down she noticed it was Gringoire as her friend stood nearby, panting.

“How many times—” he stopped, knowing the lecture was futile. “Clopin, what are we going to do with you?”

“This lecture doesn’t get any more fun the more I hear it.” Clopin muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Not everything in life can be fun, Clo,” Gringoire said with a quick grin. Clopin heaved a sigh at the lecture she’d heard countless times before. “especially when you keep stirring up trouble. Stop taunting the guards!”

“Yes sir.” she gave him a mock salute before venturing off to find Demetri. Clopin had been wandering for about twenty minutes when she rounded a corner and a hand clapped over her mouth. She was roughly pulled in to an alley. She was thrown to the ground, a boot pressed in to her back to keep her still. She struggled, but against a group of three or four grown men it was useless. They tied a gag over her mouth and bound her tighter than anything she could get out of without dislocating something, but she kept fighting until something hard and heavy hit the back of her head and her world went dark.

Later that same afternoon Demetri ventured back to the brothel where they were staying and spotted Jeanne and Gringoire, who was sprawled out on the ground sound asleep, sitting outside.

“Is Clopin inside?” he asked. Jeanne gave him a confused glance.

“Clopin hasn’t come back yet.” she replied. A worried glance crossed Demetri’s features, thinking she had been captured by the guards earlier.

“Don’t worry,” Gringoire mumbled, eyes still closed. “I got her away from the guards. She’s probably still venturing around town.”

“Is Claude inside?” Demetri asked, feeling a pit growing in his stomach. Jeanne nodded and the boy ran inside. He ran up to the room where they were staying and heard voices, low in conversation. Demetri eased up to the door and listened. He recognized Claude’s voice and after a minute he recognized the other. It belonged to Luka, a scout from their troupe who kept Claude informed on the goings on within the city.

“The slavers are back, they claim they are just restocking provisions” Luka reported. He heard Claude sigh before telling Luka to just keep an eye on the slavers as best he can. He silently counted to three then walked in, pretending not to have heard anything. Claude looked up as Demetri entered.

“Demetri? Where’s Clopin? Wasn’t she with you?”

“We ran in to some trouble with the guards, and ended up splitting up. I haven’t seen her since. I came back here because I thought she would be back by now.”

“What?” Claude’s face went pale.

“Don’t worry, Claude, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably at one of the other safe houses.” Luka said as he prepared to leave the room, but there was a note of concern in his voice. Demetri watched him go while Claude nodded distractedly.

When Clopin finally came to she was in a large tent, chains clanking as she struggled to sit up. Her hands flew up to her neck to find an iron collar there, the chain hanging from it was latched securely to the iron bar behind her. Looking down she saw chains on her wrists and her ankles. Cursing, she glanced around. She was in a cage with a large group of other gypsies. Some were kids like her, others were adults, and most were either sleeping or unconscious.

“You musta really pissed them off, kid,” a gruff voice said in Romani from the corner opposite of her. She looked over toward the voice and saw an older adult gypsy turn his head and spit once her eyes met his.

“I’ve never seen ’em use that many chains,” he said, quirking an eyebrow, looking the girl over. “not smart.”

“What would you expect me to do?” she asked, also in Romani. “Just let them catch me?”

“Smarten up from here on out!” the man snapped. “Eat what they give you, sleep when they let you, don’t ask questions, and don’t talk back. Obey, they leave you be. Disobey, they will kill you without thinking twice. Obey and they’ll send you to a decent master-”

“Master? What do you mean master?” she growled, quirking an eyebrow back at the man. “I answer to no one.”

“Cut the chit chat, the two of you!” a voice snapped as a club was smacked against the bars. “I’m tired of hearing your devil speak!”

“And cut the Romani, kid,” the gypsy man said, still in Romani, smirking at Clopin.

“You wanna eat today?” the guard prodded him.

“Just educating the little one.” Clopin stayed silent, pegging the older gypsy as a coward whose pride had been beaten out of him.

Clopin soon found herself in a camp of sorts, surrounded by gypsies and other outcasts. Many had no idea where they were or what was to become of them. Some were like the older gypsy who’d first warned Clopin, a veteran of whatever this was who had just learned to shut up and obey...but Clopin didn’t know when to shut up and she certainly wasn’t one to obey. She was a fighter that had an untamable spirit that had only grown in ferocity since her father’s murder.

In the days that followed, Clopin came to learn a new meaning of pain. She learned quickly that the people who had captured her were slave-traders, men who found a way to make heathens like her useful and get some gold out of the deal. As she watched, she realized the older gypsy had been right. Those who obeyed were left alone, and those that didn’t (much like herself) were beaten in to submission. Any that made trouble or attempted to fight back found themselves locked up and starved until they learned their lesson and begged for mercy. None were killed outright since that would lose the traders gold, but some did pass away of sickness and injuries. Clopin’s fiery spirit was doing her no good. She was always in chains, finding herself locked up and starved a number of times. She’d been at this camp almost three weeks and was looking sickly and pale. Her lean form was even leaner from starvation, barely an inch of her was uninjured and she was burning up from a fever. She was in such a weak state that she just silently obeyed and ate what little she was given, though little of that would stay down. She had no strength left to fight. One day she suddenly found herself being herded back in to the caged wagon from the day she was captured. She wondered dimly where they were going until she spotted the familiar walls of Paris.

“What new, fresh hell is this?” she muttered quietly in Romani. Tarps were thrown over the cages so no passerby could see what the wagons held, and the prisoners couldn’t see where they were going. They came to a stop and were led out in to the market, close to the spot where Clopin had been captured. They were forced to stand there in silence while rich merchants and nobles carefully examined each and every one of them. After what felt like an eternity they were marched on to a stage to be auctioned off. Clopin stood there, deaf to the numbers being called even when it came to her turn.

Claude and Gringoire stood in the crowd. The older man made sure his cloak covered his clothing and earring that marked him as a gypsy, keeping his hood low enough to hide most of his features lest Captain Frederick caught sight of him. This wasn’t the first time these slavers had come to town to sell some of his kind in to slavery, they came around perhaps once or twice a year. Just weeks ago he’d been informed that a few of them had been spotted in Paris, supposedly just to restock on supplies but Claude knew they would possibly try to nab some of the troupe. The timing had been bothering him because the scouts had reported their presence around the same time Clopin had gone missing. He hadn’t slept in days, praying with growing desperation that the scouts would locate the girl in the dungeons. He had the slight hope that the girl had pressed her luck and that she would soon be located and they could go about helping her escape.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side as the knot in his stomach rose to his throat, his heart felt like it had stopped as time seemed to freeze. His eyes went wide as he saw Clopin being half dragged, half carried on to the stage. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he felt Gringoire’s hand tightly grip his shoulder. He took a trembling breath to control his emotions and keep the tears at bay. He had to stay strong for the girl’s sake. Any relief he should have felt at seeing the feisty girl subdued was overtaken by the uncertainty of how to save her. He paid no more attention to the numbers being shouted than Clopin, his heart picking up speed as he saw how pale and thin the young girl seemed. His mind started to whir with any number of desperate escape plots, trying to settle on the most sensible one until one voice rang out over all the others.

“100 pieces of silver!” a formidable, fearfully familiar voice shouted. A hush fell over the crowd. Though they already knew who it was, Claude in the crowd and Clopin on the stage looked up as one to the imposing figure now working his way through the crowd. Captain James Frederick. No one dared argue with the captain of the guard as he worked his way forward and on to the stage, exchanging the purse he carried for the key to Clopin’s chains.

“Fils de pute!” a familiar voice caught his attention and he turned to look. Claude strode through the crowd, drawing back his hood, with Gringoire close behind. His grey eyes were filled with hatred as he gazed at the persecutor of his people and murderer of his friend and King. Captain Frederick gave a triumphant smirk.

“Ah, Claude,” he said as though he were greeting an old friend. “I was wondering if you would be here today and if you were going to bother searching for this” he grabbed Clopin’s arm and the girl winced as he pulled her roughly forward. “runt.”

“Unhand her, porc.”

“I’ve always wondered where the girl got her temper,” the Captain remarked, amused at Claude’s rage. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see I’ve paid for it fair and square.”

“It is a she,” Claude growled. He was shaking in barely controlled rage as Gringoire held his arm to make sure he didn’t charge the Captain. “and she is not a piece of livestock to be bartered and sold!”

“Well she belongs to me now, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” Frederick chuckled. “Oh don’t give me that look, Claude, it’s unbecoming. You needn’t worry. I’ll take good care of the girl.”

“Isn’t the only good gypsy a dead gypsy? What do you want with one who is alive and breathing?” Gringoire challenged.

“She’s old enough to be educated and young enough to be cured of your heathen ways. I’m not so heartless as to execute an innocent child for crimes she may yet be saved from.” Claude glanced from Frederick to Clopin as the Captain pulled the girl behind him. A tear finally worked its way down his face as he expected the young girl, the troublesome young girl he had adopted after Cato’s murder, who never failed to come back with some form of attitude, to say something and fight. For once, however, Clopin was silent and her eyes were downcast. Whatever had happened in her absence had changed something in her.

“Clopin!” Claude called as Frederick got on his horse, pulling the young girl on after him. “Don’t just give up! Of all the times to shoot your mouth off this is it!”

Jeanne and Demetri were sitting outside the brothel when Claude and Gringoire came walking back up.

“Something’s wrong...” Jeanne whispered, reading the body language of her brother and friend. She stood, gesturing to Demetri to stay seated.

“Grin?” she asked as Claude stepped inside, avoiding eye contact with both her and Demetri. Gringoire stopped by his sister, and Demetri noticed his eyes were red as though he had been crying. Demetri finally stood.

“What happened?” he asked. Gringoire sighed and ran a hand over his face, as though trying to adjust the mask he often wore.

“Dem,” Gringoire replied quietly, and Demetri realized he was going to be asked to leave.

“No. Something happened while you and Claude were gone...is it about the slavers?” he asked, feeling his heart racing.

“Slavers!” Jeanne exclaimed. Gringoire avoided his sister’s troubled gaze and looked over at Demetri. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before attempting to brush past the two of them. Jeanne stopped him before he got in the door.

“Grin, what happened?” she asked. His eyes darted around before he finally sighed in defeat.

“The slavers caught Clopin.” he said quietly.

“What?” Jeanne mumbled. Demetri felt himself go pale.

“The slavers caught Clopin.” Gringoire repeated.

“Is she okay?” Jeanne asked.

“I don’t know. She was sold...” Gringoire stopped unsure of how to break the bad news.

“Who bought Clopin?” Demetri asked, finally finding his voice.

“Captain Frederick,” Gringoire groaned. “Claude tried to challenge him but I held him back or that monstre would have killed him where he stood.”

Captain Frederick led the girl to a small room and shoved her in.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping from now on, and you’ll address me as master. Understood?”

“I prefer cul.” Clopin growled back. Captain Frederick struck the young girl and walked out, muttering something about useless gypsies. Unfortunately, Clopin never did learn to really think before shooting her mouth off. She went to lay on the small cot and covered up with the small blanket he had provided, shaking and feeling weak from the fever, and fell asleep. The next day Captain Frederick started to teach the girl to read. It was a very slow going process, but eventually, after several days, she was able to at least get the basics. She learned quickly when she wanted to. He tried to teach her Latin, but it being a dead language and Clopin, never knowing anything of it before, could only grasp the basics. She could read it after guessing at some of the pronunciations, but she made attempts at certain words since they were similar to French. She had learned Romani, English, and French at a very young age and had dealt with them her whole life so she could speak all of them fluently. She called him master only once and it was a huge blow to her gypsy pride. Two weeks after he had bought her from the slavers Captain Frederick came walking in with a smirk, getting ready for their lessons that morning, and asked;

“How are you settling in?”

“A little cold.” She responded curtly, still sitting on the small cot. She was still weak from fever, but she had a plan already formed in her mind.

“How are you supposed to address me?” he growled, raising an eyebrow at her. She remained stubbornly silent, refusing to call him that name.

“Speak.”

“I’m not your dog!”

“Address me correctly.”

“No! You are not my master.” she stood, wavering slightly, facing him. The Captain knelt down so their faces were inches apart.

“You’re right. I’m not your master,” he snarled, Clopin eyed him warily. “I am your God. I am in control if you live or die, child.” It was silent for a few tense moments before Clopin smirked at him.

“I’m not afraid of you. You are nothing to me, Captain.” He shoved her and she fell against the small cot.

“You will break. After all, gypsies don’t do well inside stone walls.” he spat. He stalked out of the room, and Clopin heard him muttering angrily about her being some sort of devil. He didn’t know she’d already formed a plan, and she was leaving tonight. She reached under the small cot and found her make-shift rope composed of sheets tied together. She walked over to the window and pushed it open. She tied off the sheets and draped them down the window. She took one more glance at the door then started her descent. She carefully, and expertly, slid down as far as far as the sheets reached before dropping to a ledge. She’d been an acrobat since she could walk and she’d always been good at climbing things so scaling the walls of the Palace of Justice, though daunting, was simple enough. It took several minutes, but at long last she was able to drop safely to the ground and took off running as fast as she could. She was still weak and burning with fever, but the extent of her weakness she had feigned. She had been saving her energy for this very moment. She hadn’t known she’d be sold to Captain Frederick, but that didn’t matter. She had always been planning to escape her captivity.

Later that evening Captain Frederick entered the small room he’d let the girl sleep in once again, to make sure the fever hadn’t claimed her while she slept. His eyes went wide when he spotted the open window. He ran over to the window and noticed the rope the girl had made (clearly the real reason she had complained about being cold) drifting lazily in the evening breeze. He scanned the streets quickly until he saw the slim form of that damned gypsy child running. Cursing, he rushed from the room and shouted orders for his horse to be readied. He mounted the beast once he reached the dark streets and urged it in to a gallop after the girl.

Clopin ignored the burning in her lungs and the protests of her body. She focused solely on running as fast as she could toward Notre Dame. She was almost positive that she had til morning before Captain Frederick realized she was missing, but unfortunately the furious hoof beats behind her begged to differ.

“Merde.” she muttered. She was no longer concerned with her body’s protests since the hoof beats behind her were driving her onward now. She dodged in and out of alleyways in a desperate attempt to lose Captain Frederick, but to no avail. Frederick stayed close behind her as she frantically rushed across the empty square. As she darted up Notre Dame’s steps, the doors to sanctuary were only a few feet away, she made the fatal mistake of looking back. Captain Frederick was bearing down on her. She cursed, turning back toward the doors, but Frederick was close enough to reach out and grab her wrist and throw her to the ground. Momentarily dazed by her intimate meeting with the ground she was too slow to get up before Captain Frederick grabbed her arm in a vice grip and reached for the whip he’d wound around his belt. He drew it back as Clopin struggled, turning her face away. She cried out as the lash caught her in the face, leaving a deep gash extending from over her right brow to her cheek. Frederick finally released her arm, and she fell back. She put a hand protectively over her eye. The blood seeped through her fingers and dropped to the stone steps, staining the spot with a tint of red. She gazed at Captain Frederick defiantly as he advanced on her, almost expecting to hear a clap of thunder to accompany the storm brewing in her eyes.

“Captain Frederick!” a voice came from the doors of the church, and the Captain stopped to look at the Archdeacon. Clopin seized the opportunity and scrambled to her feet, dodging the hand that reached for her as she darted for the Archdeacon who pushed the girl protectively behind him.

“Sanctuary.” she panted, glaring at Captain Frederick with her good eye.

“Come, child.” the Archdeacon said gently as he turned and put a gentle hand to her back. The kindly old man led Clopin in to a private room where he tended to the wound on her right eye, washing away the blood, and finding himself surprised at the depth of the wound the whip had inflicted.

“Can you see?” he asked, concern edging his voice. She forced herself to open the eye, despite the pain, but found she could see very little. She let the eye slide closed again and shook her head. He handed her a small rag and told her to hold it to her wound while he went to fetch someone. Clopin nodded, silent.

“Clopin!” came an excited shout. She looked up as Gringoire came running in. He embraced the young gypsy girl, who stiffened in surprise.

“Gringoire?” she mumbled.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he pushed her an arm’s length away. His eyes widened when he noticed the bloody rag pressed to her right eye. “What did he do to you?” Clopin hesitated then pulled the rag away.

“Mon dieu,” Gringoire muttered, and he gingerly reached out and wiped some of the blood away that started to trickle down her cheek.

“The eye seems to be affected, but we can only tell for sure when that wound finally heals up. She’s also got a bit of a fever.” the Archdeacon said quietly.

“Thank you,” Gringoire said quietly before he looked back at Clopin. “are you okay?”

“I just want to go home...” she whimpered, letting the walls finally fall. She started trembling from holding back the sob that was growing.

“Actually, I’ve asked the Archdeacon to keep you here for a couple of days to let Frederick’s hunt for you die down.” Clopin’s shoulders sagged.

“So I’m trapped inside more stone walls?” she asked, glaring at him.

“You’re not trapped at all!” Gringoire replied, eyes wide. “Clopin, you need to trust me. This is just to keep you safe for two days because Frederick thinks you’ve escaped the cathedral already. He’s got his men out hunting for you. There are no gypsies on the street tonight.” Clopin swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat, and just gave a curt nod.

Gringoire hugged her close once again then turned to go.

“Come, Clopin,” the Archdeacon said with a smile. “I’ve got a room for you to stay in.” He led her away to a small room where there was a small bed with a pillow and blanket.

“I will leave you to rest.” he said quietly as the girl looked around the room. She had bunched the rag the Archdeacon had given her to put over her eye in her hand.

“Thank you.” she said quietly as he left. She walked over to the small bed and curled up under the blanket. After a few silent moments she was finally able to fall asleep. The next morning Clopin sat up on the small cot and forced her wounded eye open. It stung, but her vision didn’t seem to be affected. After a few minutes of searching she was able to find the rag the Archdeacon had given her. She spit on it and wiped away the blood that had dried overnight. She winced as she hit a rather tender area, but didn’t pay it much mind. In time her sight returned and the wound healed, forever scarring her. The scar stood out bright red against her pale skin, but she took no course to bother hiding it. A couple months after the incident Gringoire and Jeanne decided to leave for England since they hadn’t found a safe place in France. They figured they could find a better place in England for the gypsies to hide. Claude agreed and the troupe said farewell to the siblings.

Three more years passed. Frederick occasionally captured Clopin, but she would always escape. Sometimes in a few hours, sometimes within a few days, but inevitably she would return back home to her troupe. None of his beatings were ever enough to beat the fire out of her.

“Why don’t you just kill her, sir?” Aldric, one of the guards, had asked the Captain one night after Clopin had, once again, escaped her imprisonment.

“She’s worth more to me alive than dead, for now.” Frederick growled in reply. “And death is a release...not a punishment.”

Thirteen year old Clopin was wandering through the market when she spotted eight year old Renee reach out and grab a roll from the baker’s stand, she watched as the girl pulled out a small coin purse to dig for money.

“Renee!” she shouted as she saw the baker look toward the girl. She pulled the young girl away quickly, but the baker had already jumped to his conclusion.

“Thief!” the baker shouted. Armed men ran to the scene, but Clopin was already running with Renee just behind her.

“Turn here!” she shouted and led the young girl down a familiar alley. “You keep running!” She turned and ran back in to the open, making sure to catch the eyes of the armed men.

“Stop! Gypsy! Thief!” The guards yelled as she ran, and all Clopin could think was that Claude had been right. Gypsy would always be an insult. They finally cornered her, catching her and beating her til she lay still. They drug their new captive back to the jail, throwing her in to her cell, and leaving to return to their duties. Clopin ached everywhere. As she finally worked up the strength to sit up Captain Frederick came to gloat over his new, but very familiar, capture.

“The punishment for stealing is going to be a public whipping. 50 strokes.” Clopin stayed quiet, holding Frederick’s gaze, but was almost certain the evil man could hear her heart racing. The next morning they led her out to the platform they had built then turned her back to the growing crowd. She could hear quiet muttering in what sounded like Romani, coming from somewhere amongst the crowd. She was finally tied down, and she closed her eyes against the oncoming pain. Clopin didn’t scream. Not once. Not even when the whip tore through her white prison shirt and her back was a bloody mess and lashes kept falling. Finally it was done. Clopin hung limp against her bonds as Captain Frederick had one of his guards cut her down. She lay limply on the platform, bloodied back facing the crowd, as the armed men walked away. She felt someone come up and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Clo?” she heard someone whisper. She only whimpered in response. She felt herself getting lifted and carried away from the platform.

The troupe buzzed. The news had flown throughout Paris that the young red-haired gypsy had taken a beating meant for another. Renee was sitting outside Clopin’s rooms, trying desperately to hear what was going on inside. Laverne and two of her assistants were in there right now, stitching the huge gashes closed. Clopin was talking again, after they had given her a cup of wine laced heavily with things to numb her skin. One of the women stepped out and gestured to her to come in quickly. Demetri sat beside the bed, holding Clopin’s hand. Her back was bandaged, the bloody needle and thread sat off to one side on a small table. Renee glanced away, guilt crashing in her mind. This was her fault. Clopin wouldn’t be hurt if not for her. She was in pain and it was her fault.

“Don’t think that.” Clopin’s voice was weak, not at all the strength that Renee was used to hearing. “This wasn’t you.” She wanted to shake her head, to disagree, but she didn’t want Clopin to overtax herself arguing with her. Instead she stepped up beside Clopin’s head, and when the red haired girl gestured she knelt down. Clopin leaned forward, just a little, and pain crossed her face and pressed her lips to Renee’s forehead.

“Not. Your. Fault.” Clopin’s eyes unfocused and she relaxed back in to the pillows, letting go of Demetri’s hand.

“They gave her something to make her sleep.” He told Renee, leading her gently out of the room. When he looked at her, he could see the raw guilt in her eyes.

“You didn’t make her go up there, Renee.” She just shook her head. Demetri didn’t understand.

“It’s my fault.” Demetri embraced the trembling young gypsy girl.

“How can it be your fault?”

“If I hadn’t grabbed that roll before I got my money out the baker wouldn’t have assumed I was trying to steal it, and Clopin wouldn’t have taken my place.” Renee explained quickly, and Demetri could feel a few tears soak through his tunic. He just hugged her tighter.

“None of us are to blame for the way they see us, Renee. All of us are innocent.” Renee’s brown eyes looked up and met Demetri’s. He gave her a small smile. “Someday we won’t have to feel guilty for being who we are.”

A month after her run in with the guards Clopin was at the Feast of Fools, preparing to perform her acrobatic show when she heard the familiar clank of armour. She quickly ducked down a nearby alley as a couple guards patrolled by where she was. She took a breath after she was sure they were gone, and stepped back out. She glanced around then leapt on top of the platform where she had been whipped just a month prior. Seven years had passed since her father’s murder, and in that time she had come to know the man with the short brown hair and shiny, silver armour all too well. Captain James Frederick. He was the only true reason that the gypsies had to keep hidden, and Clopin hated him with every fiber of her being.

“Gypsies! Fools! Drunkards! Ladies and gentleman!” she shouted theatrically. A small crowd started to gather, and a few people chuckled at her proclamation. Her green eyes twinkled beneath her black mask. She took a small running start and back-flipped off the platform, right in to the middle of the crowd. “Welcome to the Feast of Fools!” The crowd let out a cheer. The Feast of Fools was always dramatic and getting more and more lawless. This was, in fact, the only day of the year the gypsies ran all of Paris instead of just the back streets. As the day went on Clopin had put on a hell of a show and by the time she had dragged herself back to where the gypsies were hiding out she was exhausted. She changed out of her jester outfit, and in to a purple tunic that Sherri had sewn for her. The seamstress was two years older than Clopin, and had always insisted that purple was the young girl’s color. Clopin didn’t argue, in fact she agreed that purple suit her quite well. Claude watched as the girl walked among the troupe, stopping to talk to a few people every once in a while. He had spoken to others in the troupe and they all decided on something that, Claude was sure, Clopin would never forgive him for. She didn’t see how important she was, how everyone in the troupe loved her and her jokes, and how much she had grown in the years since her father’s murder. Claude stepped to where the troupe could see him.

“Everyone! Pay attention!” he shouted. Every eye, including Clopin’s, turned to him. “We are reaching troubling times for our people, and we are in need of a leader who is unafraid to stand up to Frederick and all of his goons.” A cheer met this statement. “I present you the rightful King of the Truands,” he glanced over at Clopin, who was watching with wide eyes, and gave her a smile. “Clopin Tison!”

Fourteen year old Clopin ventured out to find a safe place for her people to live without having to keep moving to avoid detection. She was wrapped in a dark cloak that hid her face from view. Demetri was close behind as the two wandered the streets. Some of the gypsies didn’t quite respect the young girl as King just yet, and a few had even left the troupe the night of Clopin’s return, and much to Clopin’s joy that included Jacqueline’s family.

“You know, as King, you should send scouts so you can stay safe.” Demetri said quietly. Clopin huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“Mon cher, I’m not worried about my safety. I’ve got a job to do.”

“I know, mon ombre.” Demetri said. Clopin’s heart stopped for a moment. He hasn’t called me mon ombre since…in truth she couldn’t remember how long it’s been. Their childhood was always littered with exchanges of ’mon cher’ and ’mon ombre’ until they got older and obtained a more vulgar vocabulary then they turned to exchanges of ’salaud’ and ’garce’. Those names were always in jest and never in moments of true anger. The two went quiet as they kept searching. Finally, the two stumbled upon an old cemetery. Clopin lowered her hood, revealing a scar that went down her right eye standing out against her pale skin and a small scar by her left eye. She glanced around with a determined look.

“Split up. See what you can find.” She said. Demetri nodded and the two parted ways. Clopin ventured further in to the graveyard. She glanced around uncertainly at each of the mausoleums. Finally, her eyes rested on one that seemed to not quite fit. She walked up to the old stone and looked at the cracked lid. She hesitated then pushed against the lid and it slid off, revealing a darkened staircase. She whistled for Demetri and her friend came running over.

“I think this leads to the catacombs.” She said grinning.

“I’ll go find a torch.” Demetri said. He ran off while Clopin went to go hide, just in case. After a few silent moments Demetri returned. Clopin stepped out of her hiding spot and the two ventured down the staircase with the fire of the torch lighting their way. Clopin’s eyes traced the skeletons lying against the walls. There were spiders and mice crawling around every corner and a few bats hanging from the ceiling. The place was creepy, but Clopin felt strangely at ease in the darkness. They reached an open space and Clopin’s eyes went wide.

“This is the place. This is what we need.” She said. Demetri looked around, nodding. The troupe would be safe here.

“Come on. Let’s go get the troupe.” He said.

“You go. I’ll stay here.” He handed her the torch and walked off toward the entrance.

Clopin was perched on a ledge as she heard the quiet mumbling of her people coming down the tunnel. She took a deep breath and lit the torch.

“Welcome! To the Court of Miracles!” she said as she stood. Their eyes were all drawn to her as she leapt down. She grinned as she led the way to the open space and watched as their eyes went wide. Claude walked up and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Clopin,” he said in awe. “how did you find this place?”

“Accident.” She shrugged, grinning. Another older gypsy came walking over and he gently took Clopin’s hand in his. He gave her a small kiss on the hand and thanked her for finding the space. Several other gypsies thanked her as well and they slowly began to set up their camp. They finally respected Clopin as King. She had found them a safe haven, and they didn’t need to worry about being found by the guards.