Author's Notes: Wow, actually updating a story quickly? i must be sick or something. LOL! Anyway, now we can start getting into the meat of this alternate universe. I hope those of you reading this fic are enjoying it so far, and thank you for tuning in to read another chapter of "The Prince of Fools" :)

Chapter 2

F Is For Festival

It was a sunny if somewhat chilly day on January 6th 1482, and a 20 year old Agnes Frollo sat at the bay window looking out at the city streets as people milled around before the biggest festival of the year began. It was the Feast of Fools, and there were people of all kinds readying themselves for a day of chaos, merriment, and drunken pleasure. Not Agnes though. She was sitting there with a book waiting for her father to arrive downstairs.

The young woman sighed as she watched happy people pass by her home. She and her father lived in a private home right next to the palace of justice. That way Claude Frollo wouldn't have to go so far to get to work. It was a well furnished and almost opulent home, but living so close to the Bastille made the place feel depressing and foreboding.

Agnes was rarely allowed to leave her house, and she never left without Frollo accompanying her to ensure her chastity and good etiquette. She loved her father and was grateful for his guidance, but at the same time she was feeling stifled now that she was an adult. She wanted to see the world, to explore, and to help others in any way she could. That wasn't her destiny however. Her father was searching for a suitor for her to marry, and she had put off choosing for far too long. Soon she would be backed into a corner, and she would go from being Frollo's daughter to so-in-so's wife.

As she turned her attention from the joy outside to the boredom in her Latin textbook she heard her father making his way downstairs. She steeled her face into one of concentration in hopes that her father wouldn't see how she had fantasized about going to the festival today. After all, not many ladies, even ones of privilege, had the education that her father provided her. She would just have to apply herself and forget about the colors, music, and fun going on outside.

"Good morning, Agnes," Frollo greeted her in a genial yet formal manner.

"Good morning, Father," Agnes replied in an equally formal way, "I was just studying my Latin."

"Ah, good," Frollo replied with a small smile, "Habent autem septuaginta duo paginam lagere?"

"Affirmativa," Agnes replied cheekily, "So what are we studying today, Father?"

"Today I thought we would study your catechism," Frollo replied.

"Again?" Agnes groaned, "Why can we not study geography this time? I really want to know more about ancient Egypt and Rome. Maybe we could go over the Byzantine Empire again. Do you think it will ever return, or do you think the Turks will manage to keep the territory?"

"I know you are eager to learn my dear Agnes, but we must ensure you keep up with your religious studies," Frollo chided her gently, "Perhaps we should start with a warm-up. Let's go over the alphabet."

"But Father! That's for babies!" Agnes complained.

"It doesn't matter how old you get, you are still my baby," Frollo countered playfully.

Agnes crossed her arms but didn't have the heart to counter. For someone eager to get her married off her father certainly knew how to apply a good guilt trip. Sometimes Agnes wondered if mothers were as overbearing as fathers.

"Fine, we'll do the alphabet, but then geography?" Agnes asked with a wide almost comical smile.

Frollo chuckled and said "Very well, child. I don't know how you manage to twist my arm so often. Anyway, lets begin. A?"

"Apostle," Agnes replied.

"Good. B?"

"Blasphemy," Agnes continued automatically.

"C?"

"Consecration."

"D?"

"Damnation."

"E?"

"Eternal damnation," Agnes laughed.

Frollo laughed a little as well at her clever rote before continuing with "F?"

"Festival. Oops, uh...Frollo?" Agnes corrected, trying way too hard to sound innocent.

"Agnes..." When Frollo said her name like that it was the warning before the viper struck.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Father!" Agnes finally erupted, not heeding the warning, "It's one day out of the year, and every year I miss it!"

"You left the house just the other day to go to market with me-" Frollo began.

"That's not enough! I'm tired of being stuck in the house day in and day out!" Agnes exclaimed in frustration, "I do everything you ask. I wash the clothes, clean the floors, keep up with my lessons, dust the furniture, clean the chamber pots, and entertain guests even when they're obnoxious. Tell me, give me one good reason, why I don't deserve to have one day off to enjoy the festival! I mean, you get to go every year! Why can't I?"

"I don't go to enjoy myself," Frollo replied icily, "I am there because as a public official I have to be. You do not understand what a rat infested snake pit that festival actually is. It's nothing but gypsies, thieves, pickpockets, drunkards, and lewd dancers. If I could avoid it I would, but I can't. What I can do is protect you from such evils. Try to understand that a good Christian woman isn't safe on the streets with unprincipled men searching for harlots and hussies."

"I know how to be careful," Agnes retorted, "And if I accompanied you it wouldn't matter. You could protect me better than anyone in this city. You always do."

"That is not the only issue and you know it," Frollo replied sternly, "Your greatest enemy is still out there, the sun, and the festival lasts all day. Right now you look just like any other fair maiden, but spend too long in the sun and the world will know your secret. We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

Agnes started to speak, but her words died in her throat as she hung her head. She knew he was right. Her most closely guarded secret, one that only she and her father knew, would be revealed. Everyone knew Agnes was a foundling and many believed Frollo a charitable man for taking her in, but that goodwill would die if they knew the truth about Agnes. The sun would turn her skin dark, and her gypsy heritage would be revealed.

"I know it hurts, Agnes," Frollo said consolingly, "I know you are a devout Christian woman. I know you are chaste and your soul is on the right course for salvation. It would not matter to them, however. All they would see is a gypsy hiding in their midst. It would take next to nothing for one of them to accuse you of witchcraft. I am only doing this to protect you, my dear child. You cannot go out there. If you need something to do, perhaps you could read over your geography lessons. We can discuss them later when I get home."

"Yes, Father," Agnes replied softly, too broken to fight.

"That's a good girl, Agnes," Frollo replied as he patted her head, "Oh, and tomorrow a new suitor is coming over for wine and cake. This one looks promising too, my new captain of the guard; Phoebus De Chateaupers."

Agnes sighed but didn't say anything. Frollo put on his hat and walked out to the festival while Agnes stayed inside and waved goodbye. She hated this. Every year it was the same. Every year she was denied the chance to have fun and dance like she wanted to do, and all because she had to be born a gypsy. Why couldn't her skin just stay pale when she went out? Why couldn't she be allowed to dance and explore? Why was she like this?

This wasn't fair. Agnes realized in that moment that this could be her last chance for freedom. She knew she would never truly be free in her life. She knew that by this time next year she would be married and probably pregnant. Out of her father's care and in the care of some other man. If she was going to end up tied down though, she wanted one memory of freedom to cherish. She wanted one day in her life where her destiny was her own.

With these thoughts in her head, her mind was made up. Agnes changed into her green dress with the gold trim and placed a yellow hood over her head. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the sun off her fragile skin. Today was her day. Today was the Feast of Fools, a day to break rules...a day to be free.

Clopin Trouillefou, the king of the gypsies, was coordinating his subjects in The Court of Miracles. Today was the Feast of Fools, one of the biggest money making days of the year and a day when gypsies were free to roam the streets as they please without persecution. Because of Paris being such a big city for such a grand event, many new Romani families and argots were making their way to The Court of Miracles.

Clopin polished his vermillion colored jester's mask in preparation for the festival. As master of ceremonies it was his job to look his best. He was interrupted however by one of his subjects announcing the arrival of three new gypsies and one new animal.

"New animal?" Clopin asked himself, "Just great. That means we need more hay for the droppings. I just hope this one knows more tricks than that toothless bear from a few weeks ago."

When Clopin got there he saw a short fat old woman in a blue and purple outfit holding the leash of a black and white goat. Next to her was a lanky little boy with yellow and orange clothes and a yellow bandana. Next to him was...something. Clopin had to do a double take to see what the third gypsy looked like, but he still wasn't sure what he was looking at. The third one was an adult male with fair skin, red hair, a hunchback, one eye with the other covered by a giant wart, tiny bandy legs, big ape arms, and a purple and red outfit with jangly bells on it. In short, it looked like some kind of hobgoblin.

"Welcome to The Court of Miracles!" Clopin exclaimed magnanimously; not showing a hint of the trepidation he felt, "So, should I put you under performers, pickpockets, beggars, or other?"

"Aristotle performs," The old woman replied curtly.

"Okay, and which of these fine...uh...gentlemen, is Aristotle?" Clopin asked hesitantly.

"The goat," The old woman replied bluntly, "I am Sabelle, and this is my son Quasimodo and my nephew Lorenzo."

"You birthed that thing!?" Clopin couldn't help himself from asking.

"Shut up," Sabelle grumbled.

"What kind of a name is Quasimodo anyway?" Clopin asked rudely.

"He was born on Quasimodo Sunday," Sabelle explained, "I'm not creative with names."

"Where can we put Aristotle until the show?" Quasimodo asked politely (at least when compared to Sabelle).

"Oh, uh, over there with the sheep, goats, and chickens," Clopin replied as he pointed to a large pen.

"Thank you, your majesty!" Lorenzo shouted as he waved and walked backwards from the gypsy king; Quasimodo and the goat following him.

When the boys left Sabelle turned to Clopin and said "You know, I haven't seen you since you were a scrawny little boy no bigger than Lorenzo. You probably don't remember me, but I was here for a few weeks while waiting for a boat to Madrid. Didn't much care for Madrid. The Spanish can be real louts when they think you're up to no good."

"Indeed," Clopin replied dryly, "So, will you and your boys be staying, or are you just passing through?"

"We'll see," Sabelle replied noncommittally, "Also, aside from the goat Lorenzo can pick pockets and Quasimodo is going to set up a booth to sell his carved wooden figures."

"Uh, Parisians are very squeamish," Clopin tried to warn her, "Should he really-?"

"No, he shouldn't," Sabelle cut him off, "And he won't. He makes the dolls, and I sell them. Also, anyone crosses my boy and they'll regret it."

"Why? Are you going to beat them up?" Clopin asked jokingly.

"No, he is," Sabelle replied seriously, "My Quasimodo is strong as an ox, and when someone owes me a favor I usually send him to collect."

Clopin cringed at that thought. Not only an accursed creature, but a mean one too. Well, Clopin could always use more muscle in The Court of Miracles, so part of him hoped this new family would stay.

Sabelle turned from Clopin and walked toward the pens where Quasimodo and Lorenzo were playing with the animals. Quasimodo saw her coming and eagerly ran up to meet her. He was smiling from ear to ear, and she loved that for one moment he could actually enjoy something without worrying about townspeople or mobs. The court of Miracles truly was a miracle as far as she was concerned.

"Mama! When can we set up our booth?" Quasimodo asked excitedly.

"Now honey, it's your booth. I'm just your salesman," Sabelle replied fondly, "So, let's see the new figures you carved for the festival."

Quasimodo took the red satchel from around his belt and rooted around for a couple wooden figures. He pulled out a goat with its hoof up, a goat sitting in some grass, and a goat getting ready to charge with its horns down.

"More goats?" His mother asked in dismay, "Honey, people around here think goats cavort with the devil. I don't think we'll sell many goats. Do you have anything else?"

"I can't help it, Mama. Aristotle is the only one that will hold still for me," Quasimodo lamented, "I can only carve things I've seen before, and you won't let me carve any of our gypsy brothers and sisters."

"Because then it could be used against us," Sabelle reminded him, "If the guards had detailed pictures of the people they're searching for it could spell trouble for us. Why don't you carve something that will sell better? Like some sheep, or a pretty girl, or an angel. People love angels."

"But I've never seen an angel," Quasimodo pointed out.

"Sure you have!" Sabelle replied encouragingly, "We pass their abbeys all the time. There are angel statues in virtually every town we visit."

"But those are statues," Quasimodo replied, "I mean, what is the essence of a real angel? What are they like?"

"An angel is just a person with wings," Sabelle shrugged, "I suppose, they represent the perfect merger of beauty, kindness, and mightiness. They are powerful beautiful forces of good that help people when they need it."

"Exactly. I've never seen anything like that," Quasimodo clarified, "No one has ever helped us. We only help each other. Even then, there aren't many people I would call good, let alone a force of goodness. Just putting wings on a human isn't enough. I can't carve what I can't see. Maybe a monster like me just couldn't understand an angel."

"You understand plenty," His mother refuted, "Now brush Aristotle's fur before we go out there. Oh, and sharpen Lorenzo's knife. I assume Clopin will want as many pickpockets out there as possible."

"Yes, Mama," Quasimodo replied compliantly.

Quasimodo then went back to the holding pen where Lorenzo was holding a chicken with flapping wings trying to escape.

"Lorenzo, stop tormenting other people's dinner," Quasimodo laughed.

"I heard Aunt Sabelle," Lorenzo said nonchalantly as he threw the chicken into the air and watched it land grumpily on its feet, "I'll brush Aristotle and take care of the knife. I know you've got to practice your faces."

"She hates it when I do this," Quasimodo shook his head, "Maybe this year I shouldn't."

"And let go of your five year winning streak? Quasi, you have a gift, and this is your one time of the year to show off to the world," Lorenzo said impishly, "So, which mask are you going to go with? Gargoyle? Jester? Oh, maybe pig?"

"I'm thinking owl this year," Quasimodo whispered mischievously, "Whatever it is, it can't look worse than my real face. That way I can really shock the crowd."

"I've seen these Bourgeois Parisians. You're a shoe-in for king of fools this year," Lorenzo said confidently, "You think they'll let you sit at the big feast like they did in Barcelona?"

"Who knows? These guys never get to have any fun with Judge Claude-Hopper around," Quasimodo joked.

"Maybe if you're frightening enough you'll give the old fop a heart attack," Lorenzo laughed.

"Nah, I don't wanna hurt anyone," Quasimodo replied, "I just like that for one day of the year my ugliness isn't a curse. On this day, I'm not a monster. I'm a king."