PART 6
When Things are released
The sun had gone down hours before, yet Carmen remained awake in her bed. Before her, in the darkness, danced coloured specks of light, forming themselves into faces without eyes.
One hovered at the foot of her bed, materializing into a tall figure. Carmen drew herself further under the quilts, yet could still see him. She could feel the figures’ chilling fingers reach through the wool and linen, grasping her neck. Struggling to scream, Carmen choked on her own breath, squeaking. With her right hand she felt the edge of her bed. She had to get out of here; she couldn’t stay another moment.
Carmen ran across the Parvis Notre Dame. The church was always a safe place; she would be safe there. Carmen’s eyes remained fixed on the great door, only a little farther. Her bare feet became numb as she ran across the wet cobbles, trying not to slip and fall. She was being followed.
Carmen flung herself against the great door, struggling to push it open, then pull. She could not remember which way it opened. Giving one final push, the door yielded to her weight. Quickly sliding into the church, Carmen forced the door closed and dropped the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carmen stood in the nave of the cathedral, looking at the pews. The altar was lit, yet not a soul was to be seen. Watching the candles flicker in the still air she walked up the aisle toward it.
As she passed each row she felt an icy chill rise from below and gather around her feet. She was not alone. The last candle died, its smoke rising toward the great vaulted roof, to mingle with the incense that had been burned earlier. The entire cathedral was empty, or so it seemed at the moment. Silence, darkness.
It was at that moment Carmen felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned slightly to see the face of an old man, yet when she looked directly at him he had vanished. As she stood there she felt the hand of others, touching her. Cold, icy hands. Hands that could bring hot tea to freeze. Their chill crept up her spine. She could see them, but only in shadows and broken images. They were there, she could feel them. “Quasi, where are you?” Carmen whispered under her breath.
The scent of sandalwood met her nose as the delicate tendrils of milky smoke surrounded her. Turning from the altar she looked down the aisle where she had been but moments before. The incense spread through the wooden pews in a thick blanket, swirling and condensing. The smoke illuminated itself as it settled above the pews into the shapes of men and women. The belly of the church was full of people, young and old, but not a single child among them. They wore ornate clothing and sat row and row, each unaware of their neighbor. All of them knelt in prayer, their lips moving in unison. As Carmen stood there she strained to listen. They were mumbling in Latin
“Blessed Mary,
provide me with
wealth,
plenty riches.
Eternal life,
eternal fame.
Blessed Virgin.
Mighty Holiness.
Give me glory,
such that I may
surpass my neighbor.
Give me strength
to overpower my enemy.”
She shuddered. Only their lips moved, nothing else. They knelt in prayer, mumbling their Latin verse over and over.
Carmen stepped from the altar and began to walk down the aisle. As she passed by the pews the people’s heads lifted, their eyes following my every movement. She felt a pull at her dress.
Turning to release herself she met the gaze of a richly dressed man, a lord. His face was wrinkled and ashen, his lips thin. His eyes were empty caverns of darkness. She tugged at her dress in attempt to wrench it from his gold-laden hand.
“Save me, sister. Mercy. Mercy.”
The prayer faded as the congregation began to flock toward the aisle.
Carmen pulled herself away, gathering her skirts into her arms. She had to get out of here; she had to find Quasimodo. With each step Carmen could feel the icy hands laying upon her back, shoulders and arms.
“Mercy! Mercy!” the crowd whispered.
With each step toward the stairs, she continued to push to push their icy talons away. Each time meeting their empty gazes from the corner of her eye, looking into their eyes only to have them vanish from sight.
“Mercy!”
The Lords, Ladies and Magistrates cried for mercy, their hands clasped tightly together. Carmen watched as they knelt on the floor, their heads rising up and down in a steady rhythm.
“Mercy! Mercy!” they whispered, barely audible in the silence of night.
As she placed her foot onto the first step into the tower, she turned to see the people returned to their praying.
“…Eternal life, eternal fame….”
Carmen rubbed her hands against her chilled arms as she ran up the damp staircase toward sanctuary.
Quasimodo slept while hunched over at his table, a taper slowly burning, silhouetting him and a stack of scrolls on the table. The tower was cold, yet she began to feel warmer as she beheld the image before her. As she approached him she stumbled on a piece of stone, stifling a cuss with a grunt.
Carmen stole into Quasimodo’s sleeping area and attempted to rest on the soft down mattress, yet she couldn’t sleep. She stepped out of the small room, taking an empty water bucket with her. Overturning the bucket near the bellringer, she seated herself next to him. She rested her head on his soft shoulder.
Moments later she began to tremble, she was being watched. Quasimodo was still asleep next to her. There was something in the tower evil and menacing. It had followed her from her home. She began to shake Quasimodo violently, awaking him.
“Quasi, there’s something in here with us.” She whispered, forgetting he was blind as well as deaf in the darkness of night. Having gotten no response, she drew her dagger and waited. Once the hunchback awoke she drew him out of the tower with her.
“There, Quasi. Between those to columns.” Carmen pointed toward a tall black figure was drifting among the cloisters, visible under the palest of moonlight. The monks that walked the cloisters seemed not to notice it. Carmen drew Quasimodo’s hand away from the parapet. “It’s following us. We must run, we must get out of here!”
“Carmen, it’s going to be fine. I’m sure it was just a shadow. Nothing is chasing you, nothing will chase you while I am here.” There was a brief pause. “I will protect you.”
“Quasi! It’s coming for us!”
Carmen did not wait for Quasimodo to respond. She grasped his hand, throwing him of balance. Quasimodo followed as she began to run toward the belltower.
“Carmen! What are you doing? There’s nothing down there besides a few worshippers. They mean us no harm.”
“We can’t. We can’t stay here!” Carmen continued to run. Quasimodo kept up with her and could have easily overtaken her, yet knew not to. She was frightened and not in a proper state of mind. She carried a weapon and may use it in defense against whatever she saw or thought she saw. So Quasimodo followed merely to not lose sight of her.
Carmen reached the bridge between the two towers and stood stiff for a brief moment. She looked at each tower, then the parapet where three gargoyles stood. She watched them for a brief moment, then shrunk back, her leg hit the opposite wall. Without looking she leapt over the wall.
“No! Wait!” Quasimodo exclaimed.
Carmen landed on the cool lead of the Cathedral’s steep roof and began to run toward the spire. Quasimodo watched, dumbfounded, for a few moments. She was never this agile, she was often clumsy.
A moment later Quasimodo felt a cold chill run up his crooked spine. He peered over his shoulder to catch a mere glimpse of what had laid hands on him, only to have it vanish from sight. Quasimodo followed Carmen, finding her high in the spire above the wooden bell. She sat on the beam, shaking. Quasimodo climbed the rope ladder up to where she sat and seating himself near her side. She reached out with her hand and grasped his leg, causing him to flinch slightly.
Carmen trembled. She couldn’t talk with Quasimodo since it was too dark. To speak would attract whatever the shadow was that followed them. She couldn’t move or she would scream.
Please don’t say anything, Quasi. Please, don’t move. Hopefully it will just go away.
The black figure appeared below their feet, drifting over the planks. It wandered about, then stood directly below them. They were trapped.
Carmen gripped Quasimodo’s leg tighter, causing him to jump once more. She felt Quasimodo move.
“Quasi! Get down!” she whispered. He’d never hear her. She reached for his leg, but only touched the sole of his shoe.
Suddenly Carmen felt a cold chill from above, she hunched her shoulders and covered her ears.
*DONG*
The boards shook beneath her. When she peered down, the thing had vanished. Whatever it was, it had left.
As Quasimodo led her out of the tower, she swore she saw the outline of a tall man moving along the roof toward one of the buttresses. It was no longer after them, they were safe.
Quasimodo guided Carmen along the narrow walkway. She was still shaky on her feet. She was soon drinking a cold cup of tea, sweetened with honey, by candlelight.. She’d been a fool, would she have stayed in bed this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be so frightened, she wouldn’t have disturbed and frightened Quasimodo.
Meanwhile, the bellringer looked on not sure what to say or do.
A Heart has Doubts
Quasimodo was alone in his tower. The girl he thought may just fall in love with him, was mad. He talked to stone, too, yet that had been from lack of any company. It had been of necessity to prevent him from going mad. Carmen was truly mad and may be incapable of being a lover. Quasi sighted deeply, she came on so strong, she was so pretty. Of course she would be mad.
For the next few days, Quasimodo avoided Carmen carefully. Not outright avoided, but knowing he was deaf, he supposed she would avoid calling out to him. She was a pest in many ways. Her house was in clear view, her horse always in the square, frequently in the church praying and constantly on his mind.
The Archdeacon stepped beside Quasimodo who stood near the statue of Mary. Notre Dame was empty save the pair of them.
“We’ve not seen your lady around for some time, Quasimodo.”
“Quasimodo. You’re only a man. You have been a loyal servant of this church longer than I have. I watched you grow from a babe. I’d like to say I know you, but I don’t.” Quasi didn’t seem impressed. “However, it is easy to see that you care for this woman. The Lord would not look down upon you for perusing her, either.”
“Sir, you don’t understand. She is a madwoman.”
“I remember tales of a certain bellringer being mad, yet none of them were true.”
“No one ever came to the tower.”
“Stories travel, Quasimodo.” The hunchback wrung his hands and stared at the checkerboard floor. “Are you not even going to ask about her?”
“Should I?”
“I hear her praying, Quasimodo. She prays as any sane person would do. She is sensible. She prays for her fathers’ and mother’s good health. She prays for blessings of good crops and health of the livestock.”
“Unusual, but I don’t understand.”
“I’ve heard your name too, Quasimodo. She asked for your happiness and health as well.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing that I should divulge. The girl likes you, prays for you with her family. Give her a chance. For you to find a lover is a miracle, Quasimodo. Not just for you but for any man. If it’s true, it’s worth holding onto.”
Later that same evening, Quasimodo sat at his table sipping a hot cup of tea. His hands moved the wooden figures around mindlessly, much like real people moved. Among them were three new figures, a hunchback, a girl and a small horse, all unpainted. They stood in an alleyway, barely noticeable and close together, their hands interlocking. They had appeared of their own accord the day before. He observed that Frollo still remained in the model city, covered with pigeon dung and toppled over.
Phoebus burst in.
“The prediction is true, there’s going to be trouble.” Quasi raised one eyebrow, Phoebus continued. “Things will get ugly.” Phoebus unrolled the scroll a bit further as to allow a clear view of Frollo’s scrawling. Quasimodo quickly moved the new figures away from the rest of the models and into the model belltower.
“Twelve years ago his cousin Ruth wed a young man at the age of 15. Minister Frollo opposed the marriage and refused to acknowledge it. Apparently Ruth was supposed to be placed in a convent in Versailles, where instead she was married.” Phoebus drew a sheet of parchment from his scabbard. “This notice received this morning states that Minister D’Arque and his wife Ruth of Versailles will arrive by sundown.”
“Solona mentioned there would be danger.”
“These scrolls have proven it. According to them, Monsieur Luc D’Arque was married in 1474. Ruth Leiss is a strong woman and loved her cousin deeply, although he had little respect for women. However, she remains loyal to him as if he were her brother. The tale of the siege has spread far and wide, your story had spread Europe through song. I have no doubts that she knows of our involvement in his death and for that reason may target us if she decides for revenge.” Phoebus threw the papers carelessly onto Quasi’s model city, toppling several figures. “It doesn’t look good for either of us. Where is it you said Solona mentioned you should go? I suggest you take her advice. I have friends throughout the land who will take you in.”
“Non. I will stay in Notre Dame. Paris is my home.”
It was late Monday afternoon. Quasimodo was to come by and meet Gabriel, as to request courtship of Carmen. The bells had rung some time ago, he would be arriving soon.
Carmen leaned close to the door, standing still in hope of hearing the faint scuff of his leather shoes on the stone. While it was true most Parisians wore similar shoes, the footfalls of the bellringer were unique.
Carmen watched from the kitchen window, washing the breakfast dishes in the basin, as her love interest approached the shop. Her father sat at the kitchen table, Elsa stood across from Gabriel, making meat pies; Gabriel stirred his tea mechanically. The sight of Quasi caused a small tear to trail down Carmen’s cheek and into the dishwater. It was early August, the sun beating down outside on the Parvis, shining brilliantly off his red hair. She began to tremble slightly. Gabriel sipped his tea.
The door was already open, Quasi stood outside of it and knocked slightly. Carmen managed to give him a nervous smile as Elsa immediately escorted her outside toward the stable. Leaving the room, she heard father and Quasimodo exchange greetings. Quasimodo’s words were low and quick, revealing his nervousness.
Elsa led her into the shop and motioned for her to sit down on the woodpile, which she readily did. She must have sensed Carmen’s nervousness. Silent tears began to streak down her face.
“What if father doesn’t like him! What if he forbids me to see the bellringer again? What if…” Elsa cut her off.
“What if the moon were to drop out of the sky and flip the world over? Child, you worry too much. Your father will make the decision which is best for you.”
“What makes you so sure?” her words were faint and wavering.
“Your father loves you as if you were his own. He wants to ensure you’re taken care of.”
Elsa put her arm over her shoulder; Elsa’s hand brushed her cheek. “We always wanted a daughter. When you came into our home, we were so glad our prayers had been answered.” With her free hand she grasped Carmen’s left hand in her own. “There, there Kira. Please don’t cry.”
Carmen had been forgetting that father was not her father, nor Elsa her mother, but at that moment they were that and more. So what if she was not of their blood? They had raised her from a young girl, providing her with food, clothes, a home, Dante and, most important of all, love. What more could she want? Most Parisians would have seen that dirty little gypsy girl in the rubbish and left her to fend for herself. Carmen was grateful. She felt ashamed. What would her real mother thought if she had seen her now? Carmen had become a Gadje and knew nothing of her true people except what came in visions and faded memories.
“They’ve been in there a long time, mater. Oh I know father will never approve of him. One look and he probably thought ‘no, you are too ugly for Carmen’.”
“Kira, do not worry. It will all work out for the best. Remember that your fathers sight is failing him, he will not see your Beau, so there is no need to worry about something so trivial.”
This was some consolation, yet not much.
“Are you in agreement with my choice?”
“I was at first taken aback by the bell ringer’s appearance, but I’ve watched the two of you together and have seen nothing that would lead me to believe he’s not who he appears to be.”
Carmen looked at Elsa, tears still leaving trails across her face.
“I’m an old woman, Kira. I notice things. The way you’ve played your violin since meeting him, your frequent visits to Notre Dame to give alms, the way in which you walk and your fascination with the bells. I’ve also come to notice how the bells have became more beautiful in their song the last couple of months.”
Tears still flowing, she watched Elsa. She never mentioned the trip out to the mill, though no doubt she knew of it.
“I’ve experienced love too, Kira. All kinds of love. You and that bellringer deserve what’s best for the both of you.”
Collapsing into Elsa’s arms Carmen finally let the tears flow. “I really do love him, Elsa.”
Elsa patted my back. “It’s OK, my child.”
“No it’s not. I love him. I’m not supposed to love him, I’m not supposed to fall in love. You and father need me; this is where I need to be. If only I had never heard that stupid song.”
“Everything will work out for you, you’ll see.”
“Mother, I’m torn.”
Carmen didn’t know if it was her words, or the manner in which she spoke them, but at that moment Elsa’s touch became softer, gentler and more comforting. Tears began to flow from Elsa’s eyes, she now understood.
“My daughter.” She undid the leather strap that bound Carmen’s hair, which than cascaded down her shoulders to her waist. Elsa felt a lock of Carmen’s black hair in her aging hands and smiled. “Do you think we will abandon you once you become tied to the bellringer? We’ll never leave you, you will always have a place here. You are meant to be with Kasimodo.”
Elsa sat Carmen down on the bench and walked toward the house. It was terribly silent.
Inside, Quasimodo tried to understand Gabriel’s soft words; Gabriel strained to see Quasimodo’s face. Quasimodo, deciding he couldn’t take this anymore, opened the drapes Carmen had hung, to let in more light. At the sight of Quasimodo, Gabriel lowered his head, and slowly shook it from side to side.
“You seek to court my daughter, is this true?” Quasimodo could only see his words and could merely guess at their tone.
“Oui, monsieur. I have little to offer and I understand if you refuse my request.” Quasimodo sighed heavily as the old man’s clouded eyes fixed upon his face, staring at him. “I care deeply for your daughter.” Quasimodo stumbled on the words.
“Young man, you assume much. I have little reason to refuse your request. I am a dying man, monsieur, and am not long for this world. To know my Carmen is taken care of is all I ask, someone who won’t break her spirit. Will you take good care of her when I am gone?”
“Monsieur Poivre?” Quasimodo asked and raised one eyebrow.
“What do you see before you?” The old man paused, and caught his breath. “I will tell you what you see. I am old, tired and very sick. It’s in my lungs, monsieur. I cough day and night, Carmen stays with me and brings medicine. She cries for me and I have not even told her how sick I really am. She is not even my daughter, did you know that? She was a little angel, a gift from God, that fell into my life by chance.”
Quasimodo was at a loss for words. The old man continued. “She talks about you in her sleep, you know. She listens to you every day, longs to ride off and see you but stays here. I know who you are, why Carmen drew the curtains. She is naiive, she is. Monsieur bellringer, I cannot see your face, but I know who you are.”
Quasimodo closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly. His words came out weakly. “Carmen means a lot to me, Monsieur. I would never do anything to harm her, I would risk my life for her.” Quasimodo began to choke on his words. “If you want me out of her life forever, I understand. I’m not much to look at, I have very little to offer except my…” he bit his lip before saying it, staring at the silent and still old man “…love.”
“Kasimodo”, whispered the old man, and sipped his tea. “I…”
Elsa, who had just arrived into the kitchen, opened the drapes farther, letting in the rest of the sunlight. Gabriel looked up her at that same moment and began to choke on his tea.
“Gabriel! Gabriel! No!” cried Elsa. Quasimodo didn’t know what was happening, he sat confused on the chair at a loss of what to do. Elsa ran over to Gabriel and began pounding on his back shouting “cough!”
Having clued in, the bellringer walked over and helped Elsa to pound Gabriel’s back. “Harder! Harder!” she directed him, shaking his other arm frantically.
Finally, Gabriel began to cough loudly and collapsed on the floor. Elsa raced to his head and cradled it in her lap. “Don’t scare me like that! Never! I would DIE without you!”
Quasimodo carefully stepped outside and saw Carmen, in tears, sitting on the hay.
Gabriel was laying on the rug when Quasimodo nervously stepped back inside. The drapes should have remained closed, he never should have even set foot in the house. Now Carmen would lose her father, and for what? For a chance at his own happiness, a chance that was very slim to begin with.
Elsa and Carmen looked up at him. Gabriel coughed on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.
“He needs his bed.”
“No.” coughed Gabriel. He touched Carmen’s face and closed his eyes. “Be happy.”
Gabriel’s arm fell away from Carmen and onto the ground, he was gone. Carmen fell on top of her father’s lifeless body, as did Elsa. They both cried into his shirt. Quasimodo looked on helplessly, not knowing what to do. He returned to the tower and rang the death knell.
Fear Arrives
Late that same morning, D’Arque’s carriage arrived at the Palais de Justice. Phoebus and his soldiers stood outside awaiting his arrival anxiously.
The new Minister stepped out of the iron and wood carriage and led his wife out after him. Phoebus took a step back at the sight of her, she had Frollo’s nose, eyes and build. D’Arque himself was older, thickset and equal to Phoebus in height. Phoebus stood at attention as the Minister approached him. He placed his hand on Phoebus’s shoulder and walked with him into the Palais. Ruth followed behind with her servant.
“Captain Phoebus, war hero and faithful servant of the Kings Guard.”
“At your service, Sir.”
Phoebus walked D’Arque through the various rooms of the Palais of Justice. D’Arque showed displeasure at the empty dungeons and was appalled at he lack of a torturer in the cells. They walked up the steps toward the balcony.
“I do not blame you alone for the state of Paris. There is little that a man of your caliber can achieve in such a cesspool of thieves, cutpurses, murderers and drunkards without the aid of a superior. It is time, however, for order. There will be some quality entertainment and good examples set for the citizens of this fair city shortly.
“Sir?”
“Claude Frollo placed so much effort towards this noble task, a task I will complete in his honour. It is required that you learn the names of all involved in his death, starting with the abomination that was his adopted son.”
Phoebus’s eyes darted toward Notre Dame, then to the street below. Several gypsies danced below in the square, Esmeralda among them. Clopin’s puppet wagon was nearby, entertaining a few children. “The gypsies?”
“Very good, Captain.” D’Arque motioned toward the square. “There are so many, they have taken over this fair city with their heathen ways. I expect, Captain, that your soldiers will begin arresting these heathens. If a gypsy runs into Notre Dame, remove them immediately.” Phoebus balked as the Minister moved in closer toward him, guiding his sight to Esmeralda. “I believe it was a gypsy woman who was the death of Minister Frollo, perhaps that woman there. ”
Phoebus stood stiff, his eyes fixed upon his wife as she danced unknowingly in the square.
“His fault was to target the men. Captain Phoebus, may I suggest you start with the women and the children? Have your soldiers begin arrests at once and hang all that put up resistance. Starting with that one there. Bring her to me.”
“Minister, with all do respect, Sir, there is no law against dancing in the square.”
“Are you questioning my authority, Captain?”
“To target the women, Sir. I was not trained to commit such acts toward innocents.”
“Insubordination, Captain, is a serious offence. Bring that woman to me now and I will overlook this.”
Phoebus stared down at Esmeralda, then turned to D’Arque, standing proud. “Sir. I cannot arrest that woman.”
D’Arque approached him closely. “Why not, Captain.”
“She is my wife.”
“Insolent lowlife! I suggest you leave before the guards thrown you in the dungeon! Guards! Guards!” Not a single soldier walked toward Phoebus. “Guards! Arrest him!”
The guards stood still. None of them would step forward to arrest their Captain. Under him, the hours were short, their authority respected and the city calm. They could get drunk without worry of torture or getting beat up by the gypsies they tried to arrest. D’Arque walked toward the balcony once more and turned to face the Captain and his men.
“If none of you will carry out my orders, there are men who will. I suggest you leave at this very moment, once men have been brought you will put you to death.
Phoebus turned to see five armed men block the exits to the balcony, leaving only one exit. Phoebus’ two men looked to him for guidance. “I suggest, Minister, that you take a close look at Paris. She has never been better.”
“How dare you!” D’Arque drew his sword. Phoebus and his men knocked down four of the five guards and ran down the stairs toward the street. They passed Ruth and her servant of the way out into the square.
The guards rapidly returned home to their families. Phoebus walked out of the Palais of Justice and to Notre Dame. Quasimodo needed to know about Sanctuary. Could D’Arque actually do such a thing?
A Late Night Visit
Having rung the
Angelus, the bellringer laid out a large cloth and filled the washbasin with
warm water and lit a single taper. The ball of soap, which had been retrieved
from its hiding place under the table, was set in the basin to soften. He shut
the door, more of habit then necessity, and stripped.
The bellringer carefully untied his belt and neatly laid a clean shirt and pants next to the drying cloth. The soap lathered poorly, but he soon had enough to begin washing. He started with the back of his neck where the skin folded on itself, the roughness of the cloth causing him to smile blissfully. It felt good, he couldn’t help himself.
Continuing down his back and chest, his forearm meeting his face as he scrubbed his opposite shoulder. He scrubbed his arms, noting how the sun had changed his skin to a darker shade of brown. He flexed his arms and smiled, he could take care of himself. What more did he need besides strength and intelligence? He also knew his home, every stone and every passage. He was safer here than anywhere else.
Quasimodo set his right foot onto the table to wash his leg, then repeated with the left. Only his toes remained to be washed off. They were also the smelliest, since his shoes needed replacing. He washed them, then stood facing the ground. Not much water had been spilt, yet he knew it couldn’t stay on the floor. Wrapping the drying cloth around himself in Toga fashion, he walked to the other side of the room for a rag to throw on top. The door was ajar.
Quasimodo knelt down and mopped up the soapy water with a soiled and torn green garment, then rose to retrieve his pants. As he did so he caught a glance of himself in the small shaving mirror Frollo had given him. Terror crept over his face. Behind him stood a figure in armor, sword drawn and ready to strike. The bellringer quickly turned around and grasped the arm of his assailant. The figure struck him in the chest with its boot, Quasimodo coughed but did not let go. He slowly twisted the arm until the sword dropped to the ground, then backed his attacker to the wall. He placed his foot firmly on the hilt of the sword. The man was clothed in black from head to toe and the pale candlelight did nothing to reveal his features.
“Why do you come here?” Quasimodo barked at the man, whom he held against the wall. The man did not answer. He hung limp before the terrible Hercules that held him.
“Leave, now.”
The figure suddenly bent over, Quasimodo ducked in response. Quasimodo felt a gust of wind above him, a sword that barely missed his head and stung his shoulder. The bellringer threw the first man against the wall and quickly drew the sword from under his foot and sliced it in a wide arc before him, his towel untying and falling on the floor as he did so. He saw the scream of the second attacker as he fell to the ground. The figure retreated, Quasimodo heaved a sigh of relief, then felt a sharp pang in his right side. Two figures fled through the wooden door.
He checked his room, and finding it empty, locked the door. He leaned against the door, his fist to his heart, blood dripping over him. Two swords lay on the floor among faint splatters of blood. He hastily wiped the blades and placed them in the umbrella stand by the door, which he was not sure why he even had. The blood on the floor would have to wait.
Quasimodo sat, shaking and wrapped in another clean towel, on his bed. Blood ran down his shoulders, at which point he realized he’d been struck twice. The sword had missed his head, but skimmed his back and left a tear in his skin. He couldn’t see it, but felt it with his fingers. The pang in his side had also left a mark, a dagger had been driven through the layer of fat covering his ribs. Using a clean water bucket he washed his wounds as best as he could, then dressed himself hurriedly. Arming himself with a newly-lighted torch, he stepped into the belltower and made his way to the church below.
As Quasimodo walked through the cloisters, he felt the presence of another. He turned around, his eye tracing the movement of a man in the darkness.
“Ho! Who goes there!”
Quasimodo could only wait as the figure approached. He relaxed, it was Phoebus. A bloody, scared and distressed Phoebus. He began to babble at the bellringer, who walked off toward a small room in the Church and lit a few candles. Phoebus repeated what he had started to say, realizing the bellringer would be hard of hearing.
“We have to leave now, Quasi. Our lives are being targeted, as are those of the gypsies and all who help them. I don’t know what has happened to you, but I’ve not been able to sit still since D’Arque arrived this morning. They swore they were going to kill you first.”
“They failed.” Phoebus looked at Quasimodo’s bloodied arm and hump.
“How did they get in?” Quasimodo shrugged. Only he climbed the walls of the Cathedral.
“There are two horses in the Court of Miracles, waiting for us. I’m leaving immediately to find reinforcements and am not leaving without you.” Quasimodo opened his mouth to argue but was met with Phoebus’ look of concern. “You stay here, you will be killed. You come with me, you help defend the city once more and perhaps live to see another day.”
“What about the bells? Carmen?” Quasimodo paused “Perhaps?”
“Are you with me?” Phoebus begged. “There are very few whom I can trust, nobody who will leave their post to fight this Minister. You will, won’t you?” The bellringer looked unsure.
“Gabriel is dead. It’s just Carmen and her Mum. They can’t stay alone; Carmen loves me.”
“And you will have her see you killed? Quasi, come with me. Clopin will look after Carmen for you in the Court of Miracles. Esmeralda can help her find her feet. It is the safest place.”
“Sanctuary?”
“Suspended. There is nowhere to go, Quasi. The only safe place is the Court of Miracles.
Sad Goodbye
It was after much convincing that Phoebus had Quasimodo agree to go with him. He remained reluctant despite his agreement. He returned to the belltower for a few moments as Phoebus left to get the horses.
The bellringer gently removed the Carmen, Esmeralda and his self-figure from his model village. He placed them into a small bag with some cheese, a few dried sausages, some stale rolls and a few flints. He hung the bag from the hand of a gargoyle and climbed into the belfry.
Quasimodo leaned forward onto Big Marie, the cool bronze feeling good on his aching head. He’d never left the bells before, not in his entire life. Knowing the time and what D’Arque would soon discover, he put his girls into motion one last time.
The citizens of Paris awoke as the bells pealed, knowing that they were early. Phoebus held his hand to his forehead. Why in the hell would Quasimodo do such a stupid thing? He was announcing to D’Arque he was still alive, the soldiers would be there any moment to finish the job.
Esmeralda and Phoebus stood next to the Cathedral. Snowball and Achilles were packed and ready to leave.
By the time the bells settled from their pealing, the bellringer stood on the cobbles, holding the reins of the horse that would take him out of Paris. Esmeralda promised Quasimodo that Carmen would be brought safely to the court of Miracles the following morning. The bellringer blushed as Esmeralda embraced him and kissed him goodbye.
Esmeralda embraced Phoebus then watched as he vaulted onto Achilles. Quasimodo didn’t know what the next few weeks would bring, only that it would be like nothing he had ever experienced before. To Phoebus it was adventure, to himself it was terrifying. The bellringer and the gypsy beauty exchanged several glances and looks, which clearly meant something between them. Phoebus looked on, dumbfounded. It was like they were brother and sister.
Esmeralda stood by Phoebus’ side. As Phoebus moved Achilles away, Esmeralda reached out with her fingertips. Quasimodo watched as they slid off of Phoebus’ hands. . Phoebus gently kissed her fingertips as they drifted away. He looked up at her smiling, the most heart wrenching smile she had ever seen. Quasi’s eyelids held back a river of tears, yet his expression told everything. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to Carmen. It wasn’t fair. Esmeralda and Phoebus were too caught up in each other to notice Quasi’s pain.
Phoebus rode up beside Quasi, signaling for him mount the
black horse & ride off with him. Esmeralda watched as the two men rode into
the distance. Captain Phoebus on a tall white horse and Quasimodo, the
bellringer of Notre Dame, rode Snowball. Esmeralda held a small misshapen
wooden figure in her hands and clasped it to her chest.
Breaking the News
Carmen awoke not sure of the time. It was sunny and bright out, but the sound of bells failed to reach her ears. In fact, all of Paris awoke to a distress call. However, it was not until the masses began to leave their homes and walk about on the street did they notice the body of a young man, flayed as if a lamb, laying in the square.
People flocked around the body, mumbling superstitions and death omens. It wasn’t a good sign. Claude Frollo had never left bodies out after his kills, the streets were clean and the Seine full after his massacres.
Elsa and Carmen panicked as they passed the corpse; Elsa cried with terror as they arrived in Notre Dame for mass. Two women, living alone, in one house was not a bright idea. A student would be useful, a strong lad from the University. Then there was the shop to look after. Carmen could never handle it, being a member of the weaker sex. Elsa’s mind drifted. It would be best to sell the shop and move to the country. There would be argument from Carmen, as she would not want to leave her bellringer. Yet she knew what was best; she had better know, she’d raised the child.
It was on the way into Notre Dame where The Archdeacon caught up with Elsa and Carmen. He spoke his condolences, then pulled the pair aside.
“The city is not as safe as it once was,” stated the priest, “you and your daughter should not be alone, especially during such a difficult time”.
“That is easily taken care of. We will be moving to Rouen after we sell the shop.”
The Archdeacon was flabbergasted. Did Carmen actually agree to this? She must have, logically. Quasimodo, having set his heart on Carmen, would surely be devastated.
“It would be a shame to give up everything that Gabriel worked so hard for, Mademoiselle. To think that everyone has settled into Paris, only to leave a few months later? The trip would be long and uncertain. Here, there are friends and neighbors.” Elsa looked unmoved. “Your daughter, she is so young. For her to have just set her roots down and to have to leave where she is comfortable.” Elsa shook her head in dismay.
“I know where you are going, Father. You wish me to renege on my decision, to allow my daughter to stay here and become wife to that bellringer. It will not work; I will not have him in my family.”
“See with your heart, Mademoiselle. I know the bellringer personally, he is a good friend of mine, a good man with good morals and a good heart. He has nothing but love and respect for your daughter and would do everything in his power to look after her. What is to happen to her if something should happen to you and she is left alone? She loves him. Let them be together.”
“You talk well, yet my decision has been made. We will be moving to Rouen and will think of Paris no more.”
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Mass passed, few citizens focused on the sermon. All eyes and ears were out for any word on the killing. No one knew the man, he was a gypsy, yet knew something horrible was now brewing. Friends of the bellringer noticed the silence of the belfry and that he was not at mass, either.
Elsa sat alone in her thoughts throughout the morning.
She had watched as her daughter frequented Notre Dame, meeting with Quasimodo constantly. They had spent far too much time together, either in the Cathedral or in the city. There was no getting rid of the bellringer; both Quasimodo and Carmen had decided he was now part of the family. It was good he was gone. Perhaps she would forget about him altogether.
Esmeralda sat in the sermon, alone, watching for Carmen and Elsa to pass by. They never did.
A Discussion
Esmeralda arrived at Carmen’s home to find it empty. She looked about the kitchen, seeing only a piece of paper and a quill on the table. She cursed out loud. They were useless to her. Besides, to write down where the men had gone would put everyone in danger. The longer it remained secret the better.
As Esmeralda was about to leave, a tearful Carmen arrived at the door. Esmeralda stood there, not able to say much. The two stared at each other for a brief moment. Only when Elsa arrived was the silence broken.
“Who are you?” Elsa snapped.
Esmeralda said nothing, merely pulling a wooden figure from her dress pocket. Elsa was indifferent. Carmen’s expression went from one of fear to wanting to know everything as soon as her eyes rested on it.
“Quasimodo will be back soon, Phoebus always returns.” Carmen still looked worried. “I’ve known Quasi a long time. He’s not about to give up on anything or anyone, he’s tough & knows it.”
“Then he could have stayed.”
“It wasn’t the attacks, it was that he knew he was endangering us by staying. He will be back, you’ll see. There is too much here for him not to return. His friends, his home and you.”
“What attack? Tell me! Is he going to be alright? Where is he? Please! Tell me!” Carmen blurred the words together. Tears streamed down her face.
Esmeralda looked down at the ground for a brief moment. “The city isn’t safe. Phoebus and Quasimodo have asked for you to stay in the Court of Miracles.”
“What of the attacks?” Carmen cut in.
“It didn’t look too bad. He’s tough. Leaving you was hard for him.”
“ …the bells. I know I will cry if I hear them ring.”
“Only Quasimodo rings the bells, the Archdeacon has made
that quite clear.”
The bells silent. To not hear them was no different than another, or rather group of others, ring them. Carmen remembered hanging off a rope and still not being able to set a bell in motion.
“Come with me, we have much to talk about.” Esmeralda led
Carmen out of the house. Elsa looked on, blankly. She closed all the doors to
the house. No one would get in while she was alone.
The Fires Start
Elsa mounted Rose and left in the direction Carmen and Esmeralda had walked off too. There were fires being set, she wanted them home. Once the sun had set who knows what horrible things would happen, the night would be dark. Rain was fast approaching and was sure to continue. The old woman shouted at Rose, who tore off at a full gallop out of Paris.
Rose galloped steadily, up and down the small hills away from Ile de la Cite. Horse and wagon tore past the large tree, the fields of cows, sheep, hay and grain. The Seine and towers of Notre Dame were soon disappearing from view.
Elsa rode across the final bridge out of Paris, Rose’s hooves echoed out on the cobbles. Water splashed up as her feet struck the small puddles. The clouds opened up and began to let out small droplets of rain that soon made every cobble glisten in the remaining daylight
As she rode past the closing city gates, an arrow went though her chest, felling her outside the city. She passed away soon after, leaving nothing but a trail of blood behind her. Rose ran off toward freedom, the harness in tatters.
A cowardly limping fool walked the streets of Paris early the following morning, en route to his puppet wagon. As he crept through the streets in the early morning light, he heard a bell ring. Clopin looked up to the tower of Notre Dame. When he turned the last corner into the square he saw his wagon reduced to a pile of ashes.
Clopin felt into his bag, his hands touching the many puppets within it. Never before had the puppet show been attacked. It was for the children, something most people respected. Clopin stood at the pile of ashes, staring into what had been is income for the past three years.
The children slowly gathered around Clopin, looking for their puppeteer and puppet show. What they found was a tall gypsy, bag of puppets in hand, staring down onto the cobbles. Clopin soon decided it was hopeless to stay out in the open, so turned back toward the Court of Miracles. He was met with a distressed Carmen shortly afterward.
“Elsa didn’t come home last night! She took Rose, neither have returned. They always come back on time! Where could she be?”
Clopin stared in disbelief. What was he to do? He was of no relation to her. There was panic, distress and concern in her voice. He looked into her eyes, gypsy eyes. She was a member of his tribe, now and forever. Quasimodo wanted it, as did Esmeralda. Carmen would come to the Court, nomatter how much she protested. Should Elsa return, she would return home immediately. Otherwise? Clopin had not yet decided.
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There was nothing glamorous about the walk to Court of Miracles, nor the place itself. The people were strange to her, she only knew Esmeralda and Clopin and had met them briefly. She had done the wrong thing, she never should have spoken to Clopin. Now she had a small crowd gathered around her, staring.
A beautiful young gypsy woman, with a cloud of black hair, soon stepped out of the crowd. La Esmeralda smiled at her and touched her hand.
“This way, Carmen.”