God Help The Outcasts: COMPLETE

Chapter Seventeen: Rescue Me

Nakoma watched Drizella leave, her silhouette small and slender in the light streaming through the open doors. Freedom, her mind said, and she stared longingly until the doors closed and blanketed her in darkness. Well, I hope she makes it back okay, anyhow. With a sigh she turned toward the stair.

"I thought you were still here," said a cold, deep voice. She had to stop quickly to avoid running into him. Frollo snatched at her wrist but she jerked away and leapt backwards.

"I've claimed sanctuary!" she said. "You can't touch me."

In reply Frollo snapped his long, bony fingers; guards appeared from within the church and surrounded them.

"This isn't right,” Nakoma protested. “This is a holy place! They're not supposed to be in here—"

"Frollo!" another voice cut hers off, and with relief Nakoma saw it was the archdeacon, marching toward them with fury in his eyes. "Get those guards out of here!"

Frollo bristled and glared down at Nakoma.

"I'm not finished with you, gypsy. Just wait. I'll catch Esmeralda, too."

"Out!" hissed the archdeacon, pointing firmly toward the door. Frollo swept past him, nearly knocking him over, and snapped his fingers once again. The guards made a trail behind him, and as soon as the last one was through the door the archdeacon firmly pushed it shut and then heaved an angry sigh.

"Why is he so disrespectful to the church?" Nakoma asked. "I thought he was a minister of the church."

"He isn’t, actually,” sighed the archdeacon, and gently took her arm to pull her away from the door. “At least, not the way I or the priests or bishop are. But once his mind is set on something it's nearly impossible to get him to stop." His words sent a twinge of fear through Nakoma, first for herself and Quasi, and then for Drizella and Esmeralda.

"He said he was going to find Esmeralda. Does that mean he's hunting her?"

"More than likely. I told him he was wasting his time." He gave a short chuckle. "One thing that has always impressed me about gypsies is their ability to escape notice."

Nakoma snorted.

"Well, apparently I'm not turning out to be a very good one. I ran right into him."

The archdeacon smiled, and then studied her carefully.

"You are not a gypsy, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm from Jamestown. It's quite a long way from here."

"Jamestown. Is that somewhere in England?"

"No, it's across the sea from England."

The archdeacon raised his eyebrows.

"Interesting. Our knowledge of the world is expanding all the time." He paused in his walk and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have a strong spirit for someone so young," he said. His kind blue eyes seemed to examine her heart, and Nakoma was filled with a strange joy as his smile seemed to indicate his approval of what he saw. "Don't let go of that fire." He turned toward the heart of the cathedral and continued walking, while Nakoma gazed after him, full of questions too numerous to ask and wonder too deep to express.

* * *

As Drizella peeled back the door of her tent, tired and sweaty from the long walk, she heard the unmistakable jingle of coins and bangles and turned to find Esmeralda running towards her.

"I'm so glad you made it back safely," said the raven-haired beauty, pulling Drizella into an uncharacteristic hug. "Did you hear? Frollo's after me and the Court of Miracles."

"That's terrible," said Drizella. "What does he want with the Court?"

"He's probably been looking for it for a while," Esmeralda replied. "He doesn't like any of the gypsies, but he's got a special vendetta against me, it seems." She bit her lip and frowned. "I hate to say this, Drizella, but we can't let you go out anymore. It's too risky."

Drizella's heart fell, but she nodded. It seemed she was trapped again.

"I understand. I just hope Nakoma will be alright."

Esmeralda smiled. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm sure Quasimodo will take good care of her."

"I hope so," Drizella said. She turned, crestfallen, to go into her tent.

"Drizella." Esmeralda's tone was gentle, almost motherly. "I really am sorry. It was never my intention to trap us all here."

Drizella smiled to ease her guilt.

"I know," she said. "I'll be alright. It's Frollo's fault, really, not yours."

Esmeralda laughed.

"I suppose you're right. I'll see you later, then? And make sure you're wearing the clothes we picked out." She winked before turning back the way she'd come.

Drizella ducked into her tent at last. She had been planning to stay there, perhaps just take a nap until it was time for supper. But although she was tired, she was restless. The news that she couldn't leave the Court weighed on her heavily, though this was certainly a better prison than her mother's home. Whatever luxuries the manor had afforded her were all overwhelmed by the sense of nausea she had every time the word 'ball' and 'fairy godmother' were mentioned. Poor Cinderella.

Drizella sat down on the floor of her tent and covered her face in a sudden onslaught of shame. How had she dared to try to take away something that someone else had worked so hard for, had suffered and been tortured for? It simply hadn't been hers or Anastasia's lot in life to be married to the prince, and that was that, no matter how many tricks they and their mother had pulled in order to have it turn out otherwise. Cinderella got her happily-ever-after no matter what they did.

And Anastasia got hers, Drizella thought, once she stopped being so selfish. She then remembered her own terrified reflection in the lavatory of her mother's manor, watching the water and grease drip from her hair with round and bloodshot eyes. And what have I got? she asked herself. But glancing around at the small but colorful gypsy tent she immediately found her answer and allowed herself a small, sad smile. I've got my freedom, she told herself firmly, and true friends that are willing to risk their safety for it.

With her impromptu pep talk, she felt a little better. She shed her clothes and found another dress from home in her pack. I'm going exploring, she declared to herself cheerily. There is no reason to sit around here and mope. Once she was dressed she peeked out at the streets from the doorway of her tent. There were a few gypsies here and there, but not enough for the area to be considered crowded. She debated with herself for a moment, then retreated back inside and found one of the ribbons Esmeralda had used to tie up her hair. She pulled it back and combed it a little; the strands fluffed up nicely, she thought, and would add enough of a gypsy flair so that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't get ogled at.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance she slipped out of her tent and strode farther into the Court, where several people milled about. Several of them glanced at her, but at least they weren't staring anymore, and Drizella found she could even nod her head in greeting and receive a nod or a smile in response. Feeling more confident, she freely looked around as she walked, much like she had in her few brief moments of freedom outside. Life down in the Court wasn't much different from the life above it. People still met with one another, bought and sold from each other and haggled over prices; children still ran around their mother's feet, chasing each other's heels; and there seemed to be an even stronger sense of unity here than anywhere she had ever been. These people were brought together by their common race—and subsequently, the trials and persecutions they shared. They were all driven to this hiding place by the same man and all had the same bitter hatred for him as a result. It's a community formed from trial, Drizella thought, but a community nonetheless.

The colors of the tents fascinated her and repulsed her at the same time. In a way they reminded her of the bright colors she and Anastasia used to masquerade in. But now the colors were used not as an attention-getting device, but as a way to genuinely convey the uniqueness of a culture and a way of life. These colors distinguished them from their more neutral and bland French countrymen, and threw festivity in the face of their dreary and austere daily routines. Not that there's anything wrong with either way of life, Drizella thought. They're just different. They're all humans—just with different lots in life. Not so different from Cinderella and I.

"Hey!" She jumped and turned to look behind her. A tall man with a short beard and small, glittering eyes was grinning at her stupidly. "Where're you going?"

"Oh, me? I-I was just walking around." She glanced around in apprehension, realizing she must have strayed into someone's lot. "I'm sorry, I can leave."

"Nah, it's okay," said the man, taking another step toward her. She didn't like the hungry look plastered on his features. "The road is open to everybody."

"Then why did you stop me?" She tiptoed backwards, hoping her steps were small enough to escape his notice.

"I just wanted to talk to you, that's all. It's not often we have outsiders here. Say," he said suddenly, and his words dropped into a low, soothing register, "where are those pretty gypsy clothes you were wearing the other night?"

"I…they're in my tent. Why do you want to know?" The old, familiar bite came back into her words, and for once, she was grateful for it. The man kept coming closer.

"Why don't you go put them back on? They make you look ten times prettier."

"Well, I—I can't believe you would—" Drizella stumbled backwards, trying to push her angry words past the painful lump in her throat. Her cheeks blazed, and her only thought was to get back to her tent before the tears fell. She pushed past him to run away, but he caught her around the waist with a laugh.

"What's the matter? That was supposed to be a compliment."

"Let me go!" she shrieked, slapping at his arms. "Let me go!"

"Anthony!" A new voice cut through her cries, and the tall man dropped her to the floor.

"Clopin!" The man gave a nervous laugh. "How…how are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Do not speak to me as if you were my friend," said Clopin. Drizella saw his fury in both of his clenched fists, and hiding maliciously under the guise of his calm words. Clopin may have been much smaller than Anthony but he was far more intimidating. "Now help the lady off of the floor, where you so rudely dropped her." The man hurriedly stooped and pulled Drizella to her feet.

"Look at her face,” Clopin continued. “Look how you've made her feel." Drizella dropped her gaze to avoid his and busied herself with brushing the dirt from her skirts. "Unwelcome, uncomfortable, ashamed. Tell me, Anthony, who is it that should be ashamed?"

"I am." The big man sounded genuine. "I'm sorry, Clopin, I—"

"And what makes you think that I am the one who needs the apology?"

Anthony dropped his head, and Drizella looked up at him. His features oozed sorrow, but for some reason she had a sick feeling in her gut. Somehow she felt that he was only sorry he was getting scolded by Clopin.

"I'm sorry, miss,” Anthony said.

"Well," Drizella said, though her tone still held some bitterness, "I suppose that will do."

"She is good to forgive you, Anthony,” Clopin said, his hands on his hips. “Now promise me something."

"Anything, Clopin," Anthony replied.

"Do not speak to her unless it is to greet her politely and then move on. I will not hear of this happening again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now go." Clopin pointed firmly towards the direction Anthony had come. The big man lumbered off; he looked back once, but Clopin sent him a glare so fierce that he broke into a run. As soon as he was gone Clopin was at Drizella’s side.

"I must apologize, mademoiselle,” he said, his expression sober. “Most of us are trustworthy but there's always a bad apple in every group."

"I'm fine, really," Drizella said, giving a nervous chuckle as she continued to brush off her skirts. But she was shaking and it didn't escape his notice.

"At least let me escort you to wherever you are going," he insisted, offering his arm. "If I let you go alone I can almost guarantee that Anthony will find you again." His brow furrowed. "Where is Esmeralda? She is usually with you."

"I don't know," she said. "She told me that Frollo is looking for her."

"That is not good," Clopin said, "but it doesn't surprise me." He glanced at her, moving closer, and offered his arm again. "Come. Let us walk." Feeling a little silly, she took his arm, but she did feel better with him beside her. As if in response he patted her hand comfortingly. "Now, where are you going?"

"Well," she said, fighting the blush heating her face, "I was really just looking around. I've never been outside my tent before today."

"Perfect," he said, and grinned. "I was just out getting some fresh air. Well, perhaps fresh is not the best word choice," he amended as they passed a rather pungent vegetable stand.

"Perhaps not," Drizella laughed, scrunching up her nose, and the warm smile and gentle squeeze of her fingers that he rewarded her with made her feel more like a princess than she ever had, even while curtseying to the prince and his father in the castle back home.



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