Chapter 2: Parapets of Stone

One by one, the homes of Paris responded to the bells. Quasimodo observed through his slanted vision the white, but sun-kissed arms of the young ladies stretching from their wake. And they were all beautiful. He heard the clip-clopping of the patrol guards mounted on their steeds as they peered around every street and alleyway for signs of trouble. They were, like himself, watchmen of the city—his city. The horses were adorned with the banners of the king and the best fine leather tack money could buy. They were clean and well-fed, which is the mark of a strong cavalry. Quasimodo idly wondered if the horses knew a sense of pride in their work as he did.

Turning to the lofty room in the bell tower, he opened his wooden chest of toys. His guardian sympathized with his boy's boredom years ago and expressed his atonement through a modest toy box. Paintable wooden figures, some paint bottles, a couple brushes, an ink bottle and feather pen to practice writing, a spinning top, and a set of ebony dominos filled the chest. He stared at the little dotted rectangle blocks for a moment before setting them up end to end, leaving a small space in between. As he worked meticulously on his domino line, he forcibly thought of the lecture Frollo gave him the day he gifted him with the blocks. The world is full of sin, Quasimodo. Full of the Devil's corruption. Sin spreads like the plague—infesting the mind and soul of one… At this part, Frollo touched the lead domino with a long finger and watched the line tumble. …Until it grows to spread its virus to another person, another neighborhood, another city, and even another country. You know the cure, Quasimodo.

"M-Medicine?" the young boy guessed.

"No. Try again." At Quasimodo's extended silence, Frollo prompted him with a hint. "What is 'F'?"

"Forgiveness!" came the automatic answer. After a moment's thought, Quasimodo reached his answer. "Forgiveness from God is the cure…r-right, Master?" Frollo responded with a single nod and collected the dominos to put in the chest.

"That is correct, Quasimodo. Ask, and you shall be forgiven. Be dutiful with your prayers, and you will be under His protection from the Devil's sin."

Frollo would be arriving any time now. He always came late in the morning with brunch. Quasimodo debated on whether he should show Frollo the golden letter or not. If he showed him, he would ask where the letter came from and might think that it was someone's idea of a joke. If not, he'd be keeping secrets, which would greatly displease his guardian. The very thought of exacerbating their relationship scared him, for he knew fully well what Frollo was capable of. He alone had the power to torture, imprison, and sentence death to anyone who turned against the church or the state. As he thought about his guardian's ruthless jurisdiction, his trembling hand spasmodically pushed down the first domino in line. He watched helplessly as the energy flow sped down the column until the last domino fell overboard, disappearing to the world down below.

"Mrrooow!" voiced a purring mew from somewhere in the tower. Quasimodo

hastily collected his dominos and put them away, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. The sound came again, louder than the first, as if to call for attention. With a curious fascination, the young boy traced the sound to the third storey of bells. There, sitting on a narrow ledge, was a bright orange tabby cat. It met his eyes, swishing its tail with anticipation as if it had been waiting for him for quite some time. A rolling purr emitted from its throat before it stood up, arched its back to stretch, and leapt away to the next rafter.

Where the cat had sat, a white letter remained. Quasimodo adroitly climbed his way to the letter and caught a corner with two fingers. He could already make out the shimmering glint of the golden ink. He eagerly opened it up, staring intently at the fine cursive letters:

Dear Quasimodo,

Your loyalty is commendable and shall be rewarded. Fear not the truth, but embrace it always. However, I advise you to keep my messages to yourself. They are meant for your eyes only as there are things even clergymen are not ready to understand.

Signed, Celeste—Your Protector and Friend

In his hands, he had his answer. He would not speak of the letters or show them to anyone. Climbing back down to the ground-most floor, he took the letter to where he placed the first one. But when he lifted his pillow among the nest of blankets, the first letter was gone. Gone as if it never existed. He could only assume that Celeste took the letters back after they had been opened for his protection. Placing the second letter under his pillow, he returned to his toy chest when he heard the sharp footsteps of his guardian make their way up the staircase to his tower. He raced to the door and waited, smiling up at Claude Frollo in greeting as he passed through the doorway.

"Good morning, Quasimodo," Frollo spoke plainly, his expression stern, yet not overbearing.

"G'morning…Master," the boy answered, hungrily eyeing the basket on Frollo's robed arm. He took a few careful steps back as Frollo strode further in the tower towards the round table where they usually dined.

"How are you feeling today?" the older man inquired out of a sense of duty, gesturing for his ward to sit down.

"I am well, thank you," Quasimodo responded flawlessly, having rehearsed the answer to that particular question. He knew that small-talk about his health was only a formality, not an invitation to discuss feelings. Frollo nodded in acknowledgement and glided to the wooden cupboard for plates and glasses.

"I want you to learn how to do this yourself," the tall, cloaked man said. "I expect nothing but civilized manners from you, as misshapen as you are."

"Y-Yes, Master," Quasimodo mumbled meekly, lowering his eyes to his folded hands in his lap. He would remember to fetch the dishes next time as his guardian never liked to repeat himself. Frollo swiftly set the table and placed food on the plates—bread, cheese, and grapes for Quasimodo, and an apple, ham, and Danish pastry for himself. He poured red wine for himself and apple cider for the boy, who recited his prayer of thanks before permitting himself to eat.

"Have you been making good use of your time, Quasimodo?"

"Yes," the boy nodded. "I was thinking about what you said…a-about sin and dominos." Frollo's face softened slightly in approval.

"You have a good memory." Then his countenance hardened once more. "I believe I also mentioned that you must keep your toys to yourself if you wish to keep them." His hand slipped into his robes, pulling out the fallen domino. Quasimodo's eyes widened with guilt; he had hoped no one would notice. He swallowed down the last of his food, his eyes sending up his sincere apologies. His guardian, however, wasn't satisfied. "Bring me your dominos, Quasimodo." A direct order.

Slowly rising to his feet, the boy turned to his toy box, frowning with self-disappointment. He sank to his knees and collected the little blocks in his tunic before walking them to his waiting master. Frollo confiscated them and inserted them into a pocket in his robes, his eyes cold with disappointment. "I will return these to you once you've proved to be more responsible." He picked up his basket and started toward the tower steps. "Good day, Quasimodo." The boy hung his head, watching out of the corner of his eye as the regal red ribbon of his guardian's tri-tipped hat floated down the spiral stairs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice too light to be heard. Glancing at the dishes left on the table, he took the two plates in his hands and reached for the cabinet-like ledge to put them away. He returned to the goblets and placed them on the shelf as well, hoping that the gesture would please his guardian upon his return. He always knew that he didn't deserve Frollo's love, nor would he ever receive it, but he wanted more than anything to make Frollo feel proud of him, instead of just feeling stuck with him.

"Mrrroooow!" Quasimodo turned around to see the orange tabby cat walking near his feet. He froze as the cat looked him over and came closer, rubbing its soft head on his legs just above his ankles. He smiled warmly at the affectionate gesture, reaching down to pet the furry head. The cat leapt away before he could touch it, stopping a little ways to turn its head and swish its tail. Quasimodo cautiously approached the cat so as not to scare it off, following it to the edge of the stone railing.

"Come away, kitty," he said softly, gesturing with his hands for the cat to step down where it was safe. The cat stood up a little straighter and shook its head, proudly walking on the narrow banister like a tightrope. "Oh, please be careful!" He wanted to follow the cat, but the risk of losing his balance and falling to his death was too great. The cat turned its head to look at him once more before leaping from stone to stone, climbing higher up the outside of the tower. Upon a closer look, Quasimodo saw that the stones the cat chose were jutted out unevenly, almost on purpose like a rock wall with plenty of space to grab onto or hold himself up. He leaned out just far enough to see the cat make it to the top spire of the cathedral, standing proudly as if at the peak of a great mountain.

I wish I were as fearless as you, he mentally whispered to the cat. He could almost see himself doing the same thing—climbing higher and higher with agile skill with the reward of an even more magnificent view of the city at the top. One day…