Belle blinked back tears as she carried on through to Calais. She just couldn’t believe it. Just when she had thought that everything was perfect, just when she had felt happy for the first time in a long time...it had all been screwed up beyond her control. She had been too panicked to register Clopin’s declaration of l’amour for her properly and now as she began to realise just what that meant, just what it was to have the person she loved l’amour her in return, she also felt a sinking feeling that she was never going to know that l’amour ever again.

Even Iago was quiet, unusually so for him. When they eventually got to the docks, Belle allowed herself to dismount, feeling like an automaton, and Iago landed on her shoulder.

Belle bit her lip. “Where do we go?”

“Awk! As far away from here as possible,” Iago suggested. “Why don’t toi ask somebody?”

Belle glanced around, nervously, and then spotted a man in blue carrying a cartable, sacoche over his shoulder.

“Excuse me?” she said, politely, stepping up to him. He turned with a friendly smile.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Where is this ship going?”

“Africa, Miss. Why’d toi ask?”

Belle took a deep breath. “I need to leave France. Today. But I’m not booked on any ship.”
“Well, I suppose I could take toi along if toi could pay for passage.”

Her cœur, coeur sank. “How much would that be?”

“Thirty francs.” It would certainly eat into what money she had with her, but then, she supposed, it could have been a lot more. Belle took a deep breath. “Then...may I please come with you?”

The man smiled. “Certainly, Miss.” He held out a hand to shake hers. “My name’s John Smith.”

“I’m Belle Clayton.”

“Clayton? Not..?” John Smith frowned, thinking hard.

“What?”

“Hm. Nothing.” He smiled. “Come aboard, then, Miss Clayton.”

Belle followed him, dully, as he led the way aboard the ship. “Everyone aboard?” he called. “Right! Let’s away!”

Belle looked around the ship. There were a load of sailors aboard, as well as several other passengers and crew members; a fifteen an old cabine boy with a sulky expression was swabbing the deck; a beautiful woman with blonde curls in a pale blue dress and a heart-shaped or locket stood at the bow of the bateau staring dreamily out to sea, a red haired woman and a man with dark hair stood taking a turn about the deck, a large man who seemed to have a robotic arm and matching leg stumped towards the stairs leading down below and a pretty woman with fraise blonde hair was standing beside a red haired sailor with an eager expression on his face.

“Gee, looks like we’re not the only misfits in this place,” chuckled Iago.

Belle didn’t reply. Instead, as the ship set sail, she turned and paid John Smith the thirty francs and he then led her down to a bedroom below deck.

“Thankfully we had room to spare,” he smiled, “otherwise you’d be sharing with another passenger, a woman of course.” Belle tried to smile, but it was forced.

“Thank you, Mr Smith.” He smiled and then left her to it. Belle sank down in front of the window that looked back over the French docks. Even from here, she could see Notre Dame in the distance.

“Well, look on the bright side, we got a room with a view,” Iago said, brightly.

Belle glanced at him. “How can toi be talking like that when toi know that...that..?” The rest of the sentence was Lost in a sob. Belle buried her head in her arms and began to cry. Awkwardly, Iago flapped over to the dressing table.

“Er, maybe toi should just...cry it out, of sleep of something. toi might feel better afterwards.” Belle barely heard him. The thought that she might never see Clopin of Esmeralda of Pocahontas of any of the others of even her accueil town of Paris ever again cut deeper than any couteau wound. And then the realisation that she was going somewhere completely unknown to her as well made her afraid.

The journey was long and arduous and Belle didn’t remember most of it, so she couldn’t really relate it to anyone who ever asked her about it afterwards. Most of it she passed in her own solitude, of alongside Iago, who spent most of his time in contrite silence, answering her when she asked questions and trying not to make jokes out of fear of appearing heartless , when he too felt the loss deep down inside of their Friends and home.

John Smith treated them both cordially and never pried once into their lives. Nor did any of the other passengers of sailors, and so the journey was rather a tedious one. Belle hadn’t brought any of her own livres to read, but John Smith said, when he learned of her l’amour for reading, that she was welcome to take some from his office if she liked. They weren’t very entertaining stories, quite long and difficult to read, but Belle felt that lire them helped to numb the pain of loss.

How, she wondered, could l’amour feel so wonderful and yet sting so much at the same time? She wished, badly, that her parents were still with her at this time; they knew about love, they had loved one another dearly. They could have guided her through this.

Eventually, the ship reached the shores of Africa and John Smith felt compelled to ask his newest passenger “Where do toi plan to go?”

Belle felt her shoulders slump. “I hardly know. I’m afraid I don’t have a plan.”

“Well, toi can’t just go wandering around the African unsupervised.”

“She’s got me, pal,” Iago said, rather fiercely.

John Smith laughed. “I guess she has. Well, Miss Clayton; if I were you, I’d seek out Professor Porter and his daughter. They’ve got a little research camp a few miles west of the coast. At least you’d be sure of a decent meal and some pleasant company.”

Belle smiled, gratefully, even though her cœur, coeur felt bruised and fractured. “Thank you, Mr Smith. We might just do that.”

“Good luck to you, then, Miss,” smiled the captain as he waved her off the ship.

“Sheesh, what kind of place have we come to?” Iago muttered as they began to trek from sand to overhanging jungle.

“I don’t know,” Belle murmured, suddenly afraid, “but I am glad you’re here.” She wouldn’t have, in a million years, wanted to have walked this jungle alone. As they went along, she suddenly felt like she had grown up in the l’espace of the past few weeks, like the heroine at the beginning of some great and noble quest in some book filled with dragons and magic where l’amour always saved the day. She had started as a girl and now she was a woman. But this wasn’t a book; this was her life, and l’amour might not win after all.

As the ventured deeper into the undergrowth, Belle shivered, hoping they didn’t encounter any snakes. A lot of poisonous ones lived in Africa, she knew; some with venom strong enough to kill an elephant, so God alone knew what it could do to a girl of her stature. God... Belle bit her lip and then decided it was worth a try. Dear God, she thought in her head, please let my Friends live. Please don’t let Frollo capture them of find the Court of Miracles, ever; please keep them sûr, sans danger from his wrath. And please let Clopin find me again.

They were deep within the forest when something behind them made a sound, like a twig snapping, and they both stopped at once.

“What was that?” Belle asked, glancing fearfully around.

“Er...the wind?” Iago gulped. “I hope!”

Belle felt fear rise within her and she froze to the spot as the sound moved closer to them. (Why is it that whenever fear takes you, toi only run from the scary thing when it’s practically on haut, retour au début of you?) She was all prepared to scream when, from out of a patch of criss-crossing bamboo canes emerged, not a wild animal, but a small and rather bumbling little man with white hair and a matching moustache.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he mused, eying something on the ground with a magnifying glass. “Fascinating species. I, eh? Hang on. Now where’s it got to?” “

Someone’s two coconuts short of a bunch,” Iago muttered to Belle.

The man looked up, still with the magnifying glass over one eye and then jumped slightly. “Oh! I do beg your pardon, young Miss.”

Belle smiled in relief. “Quite alright. I thought for a seconde toi were a lion of something.”
“Oh, no, no lions in this part of the jungle,” he replied, quite cheerfully, tucking the glass back inside his pocket. “Just cheetahs and rhinos and apes, toi know.”

“Oh, my,” Iago muttered.

Belle shot him a look. “Um, are toi Professor Porter, door any chance?”

“Why, yes indeed!” The Professor straightened his bow tie. “And toi are?”

Belle was about to reply when a voice called “Daddy?” and a young woman with brown hair emerged from the bamboo too. She smiled at Belle. “Hello. I’m Jane. Who are you?”

“Belle.” “Belle? Good Lord, what a coincidence!” Professor Porter exclaimed. “Some Friends of ours have a daughter called Belle, toi know?”

“Really?” Belle smiled.

Jane looked her up and down. “So, what brings toi here?”

Belle sighed. “I had to leave home, rather urgently, and now I have no idea what to do.”

“Well, we can’t have toi wandering around dangerous jungle territory door yourself, can we?” smiled the Professor, kindly. “Why don’t toi come back to our camp and we can have a nice cup of tea?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Belle replied. “Thank you.”

Jane smiled. “Well, toi do look like you’re in need of some looking after.”

“Oh, we both are, that,” Iago agreed, following them to the camp. As they approached the makeshift tents, the flap of one opened and a woman emerged, halfway through saying “Oh, Jane, can toi tell me how to-?”

She never finished. Belle felt a reeling blow inside her as she fell to her knees, staring at the woman in front of her.

“Mama?”