The Cat's Violin (AKA Untitled HoND Fic)

The Cat's Violin (AKA Untitled HoND Fic)

Chapter 1 - Arrival

It wasn\'t long before the spy reached Paris, and upon seeing the destruction, paused at the last half mile. Smoke was billowing from the city high into the air, churning and exploding as if a volcano had erupted from beneath the ground. She sneered, the stench of burning flesh and the last remaining screams of the living echoing throughout the area; and with a bound, she made her way down towards the graveyard gates. Upon hearing of the Court of Miracles demise, she figured it the absolute opportunity to see exactly how the gypsies she so disliked lived. She had seen Clopin many a time head down the staircase with others, watching over their backs for any sign of intruders, and she smiled with the fact they were completely unaware of how long she had known their hideout. She slipped gracefully through the fence bars, pausing only to ensure the bars against her back made it through with the rest of her. She padded towards the large stone beast that had a cross stamped across its chest, and wrapped a gloved hand around the tail of the beast. She yanked it back, and the door to the tomb was hurled open as the tail served as a handle. She sniffed the air cautiously, then grimaced as the stench of sewage came to her curious senses, but made her way down the stairs, two at a time, until she reached the dark alley. It was a horrid place at first glance, what with the skeletons and the dirty water. She assumed that at one time, the skeletons were hanging from the ceilings, and stuck to the walls, but after the pursuit of the army on the gypsies\' tails, they were thrown about the place, tossed around so no two bodies could ever again be replaced.

Upon finding the entrance to the Court of Miracles, the view was, to put it bluntly, ruined. Tents and once kept belongings were smashed and torn, from the gallows at least 10 gypsies were hung together by the neck on the two lonely nooses. The army was to be very quick about killing, but from the looks of the lack of clothing on the women and men\'s bodies, some had other ways of torture involved. A few feathers and furs were flying about, signalling that the current damage was complied by the rafters which had begun to fall onto the floors below. She stepped down the stairs, which were battered until crumbling, and began to walk on all fours, pacing herself to pick up bags and scattered coins. France was not too good in marketing one form of currency, so these coins may of been of more worth in a different city.

\"Beautiful, isn\'t it?\" A rasped voice brought her to an abrupt stop. She stood back up completely, not a trace of fear or surprise in her body motions. Farceur stepped over the remains towards her, a look of content upon his face. \"Gypsies are here left and right, yet not one of them is alive...that is the beauty of it. But I won\'t be able to have that statue that makes it beautiful unless you bring him to me...\" He scowled slightly, stepping beside her.

\" He will be yours, my master. I\'ve found their tracks heading out of Paris.\" Farceur snatched her jaw and yanked it towards him.

\"Where.\" She stared at him with common curtesy all but forgotten, and narrowed her eyes, conjouring the plan.

\" They\'re heading south towards Nimes. I overheard one of them saying they\'ll regroup together in Le Puy, and Montellmar, then head towards Nimes.\" Her expression was stone-faced, like that of a gargoyle, and her back teeth gritted slightly in discontent. He smiled wickedly, then let her go.

\"Very good, Puppet. I\'ll send a select group of my army to go after them...but I will hold them back for now. I wish for you to take him down my sweet, and bring him to me. Now...go.\" He muttered harshly, and she turned, sprinting across the last remains, coins jingling at her belt like her bells, as she leaped up the stairs to the exit. Puppet or not, she would refuse to tell him their exact location. She did not need him meddling in her plans, for now at the very least...

Clopin placed his hat back on his head as Snowball, the somehow appropriate name for his horse, neared the gates of St Denis. He was near the middle of the group now, his thoughts of depression pushed towards the back of his mind for now. He had a little girl in a purple satin dress sitting in front of him, asleep against his chest, whom had grown tired during the trip. Her family was now walking beside their horse, which was filled with their belongings as they chatted with relatives and friends. He looked up at the near dying sun, hanging over the tops of the trees and a smile slowly spread over his face as he turned back towards the gates.

The Archdeacon had escaped Paris by the skin of his teeth, and he had given Clopin information to arrive at the church in the middle of St Denis. Its rooftop was easily found by it\'s needletop towers. The roof was exploding in bright spherical rafters that danced about the edges, reflecting whatever light the day beckoned to it. The gates were decorated in vines and wild purple flowers of a breed Clopin had never before seen, and the windows were highly saturated in rainbow and bland concrete gargoyles. Even from outside of the city the church could send the most ignorant man to gaze at its beauty.

\"Hello!\" Clopin yelled, pulling Snowball across the girth of the gates, looking in the city for anyone to hear. \"Helllloooo!\" He called again, and leaned through the gate bars on the far side of the entrance. The cobblestone streets seemed to break into more streets at an intersection, and the church loomed high, causing shadows towards the northern roads. A large marble fountain sprayed clear white water out of two orca twin\'s mouths, into a large pool of sculpted glaciers and waterfalls. Two large, and what appeared to be golden feathers were draped delicately across the very tips of the orca fins, turned away from each other to create the illusion of wings. Clopin began to wonder if the town was wealthy in both good people, gypsies, and perhaps money in order to keep such a beauty like that in the public reach.

\"Is anyone gonna come?\" He looked down at the little girl, who gaped at the height of the church. Clopin gave a large smile to her, then looked back up into the gates.

\"I\'m not su---\" Before he could finish his sentence, a large screech echoed throughout the city, piercing enough to cause the gate chains to grow weaker in their bonds, and heavy enough to rattle the gates and the ground beneath the gypsies. Whispers spread out among the crowd, before they turned into screams as an enormous shadow bolted over them, and disappeared behind them. Looking up, Clopin saw a dash of colors swim across the sky as he grabbed his hat. They rose high into the air, before plummeting down again towards them. Many ducked, but the colors and their shadow flew over the gates, screeching again. The chains across the gates shattered, and they flew open the entrance to the city. The gypsies hesitated, their breaths held until they heard no more of whatever attacked them.

\" Clopin!\" Clopin\'s hair stood on end as he flinched, quickly snapping his head over his shoulder. The Archdeacon stood in the gateway, in one hand a walking stick, encrusted in dazzling jewels, covered in his normal gray and red robes of satin. Clopin\'s breath lunged itself from his throat in relief. \"You can relax, my friend.\" The Archdeacon smiled at him, and stepped fowards towards the group. \"That was one of St. Denis\' guardians. They protect the city and the church, and they will not harm you.\" Clopin dismounted from Snowball, placing his palms together and thanked the Archdeacon. Under past circumstances, finding a gypsy in a praying position seemed rather awkward and rare, but under the attack of Paris, the church and the gypsies grew rather fond of another. The Archdeacon waved his hand, summoning everyone to follow him inside and to the cathedral.

\" Apologies for arriving so late, it wa---\" The Archdeacon silenced Clopin with a warm smile and a hand on the shoulder.

\" I already know the troubles, it is nothing that cannot be forgiven.\" Both of them and the group of gypsies stepped wearily into the church, tired of the long walk. The dogs and horses panted and neighed, hungry for their supper as they tugged in the last of the belongings. The Archdeacon headed over to the group, announcing where everything could be found for the time being. Behind him, Clopin gazed around the inside of the cathedral. He\'d once been in Notre Dame, and it was not as grand as she was, but it was decorated so beautifully that the size would of been forgotten easily. He removed his hat and made his way towards a spiral staircase, which was oddly situated to lead directly to the large circular stained-glass window in the front. He stepped up the delicately carved marble, twirling his way about to the top.The glass window itself was a sight to see. There were golds, yellows, oranges, reds, blues, violets, greens, all colors of the rainbow and more held together by fine lines of onyx. The darker colors were situated more around the middle, and when he squinted slightly, Clopin noticed it made the image of a elongated fish, or perhaps it was a whale. A whale with large fins and painted skin, oddly colored. He finally reached the top, and in the very center of the whale\'s tailfin, there was only one clear colored shard of glass. Looking through it, he gazed out over the city towards the west, and looking down was the fountain, decorated in its golden feathers and fins. One would of then found it extremely strange that such a city surrounded by nothing but land, if even a lake, to have such designs for a creature far off in the oceans.

Footsteps padded quietly among the murmur of the gypsies, Clopin was aware, but didn\'t twitch even an eyelid to see who it was.

\"I\'d tell you the story, but I feel embarassed to do so.\" The Archdeacon chuckled as he sat on the small ledge before the window. Clopin glanced at him, shaken out of his thoughts. \"After all, I do not think I could possibly tell a story as you do.\" Clopin broaded a smile at this, sitting down beside him.

\" Yes, but I can\'t get any stories unless someone tells them to me.\" He laughed, wary to keep it down for the sleeping.

\" Well the, perhaps I should tell you, or would you rather sleep?\" Clopin was laying back against the window, unaware that he was indeed starting to driff off to sleep. He shook his head, and struggled to stay awake.