Chapter Four:

All a diamond is, is good timing.
All a diamond is, is good timing.
All good diamonds are uncut diamonds Oh.

La la la… Fire makes them so cold to the eye.

"Child Heart Losers" Sunset Rubdown

It was early enough so that even the bells of Notre Dame had not yet awoken. (Although the bell ringer had, in fact, been up for nearly an hour) Gage walked, or swayed, as it were across the Prince's apartment in the Hotel de Saint Pol until he walked out into the garden and the cold early morning air. He caught site of Theobald who was standing near a bench, where another man was sitting. Theobald eyed the captain nervously.

"Good morning, Captain Gage." The other man said with a smile. "Thanks for coming so quickly. I do hope I didn't wake you."

"No…I was up." Gage said wearily. In fact he had never gone to sleep. He had been up drinking all night. "Why are you in the city, Marcel?"

The one called Marcel smiled a little and pulled out a letter with an elegant seal on it.

"For you." Gage groaned and took the letter from him.

He didn't much care for Marcel. He was an advisor to the royal family and was generally considered by most to be a slimy little git.

"It's from the Duke!" Theobald said quickly, from beside Marcel.

"Thank you, Theobald, I see it has his seal on it." Gage said cynically.

"He's displeased that his son has yet to find a wife." Theobald added. Gage sighed and ripped the letter open.

"We've been doing all we can. Many young women have met the prince, all from wonderful families." Gage said dryly.

"And all turned down." Marcel said with a nasty little grin.

"Well, Prince Bastion has been somewhat selective in his choosing." Gage replied. After reading a few lines he massaged his forehead.

"I see. I thought something like this was only done in extreme cases. I suppose I'd better speak to the prince." Marcel smiled.

"I was also to inform you that I shall be taking residence here." Theobald and Gage exchanged a look.

"Is that necessary?" Gage asked.

"The Duke insisted."

XXX

Prince Bastion was not naturally an early riser, and so was not particularly pleased when the Captain woke him. He was even more displeased when he read his father's letter. Gage stood at attention in front of him as best as he could while trying to ignore the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"He wishes for me to find a bride by January 16th?" Bastion rose from his bed. He was an exceptionally handsome man, even this early in the morning and in his bedclothes. He brushed a few dark curls out of his bright green eyes and scowled. "This is hardly acceptable."

"To be fair, your majesty, we have been here for the best part of two months. The Duke is giving you another month and a half in order to find a suitable wife. It's not unreasonable. In the meantime I would consider taking his advice." The prince met his gaze for a few moments before he looked downward at the letter again.

"He wishes for me to throw a ball?" He asked, with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Do people really do that?"

"Yes lord, and he requested that you stop inviting women to the city. Currently there are more than sixteen families staying as your guests in the Hotel de Saint Pol. If you can't find a girl among them then he will find one for you."

"That's outrageous. The girls I've met so far have been…unimpressive to say the least."

"That's hardly fair. Some of them weren't bad. One must consider many things when picking a wife. There's status and elegance, qualifications in the way of childbirth, wealth..." The Prince interrupted him.

"Yes well, most of them had all of that for certain." He said nastily. "All of that's fine, what I don't want is a wife with teeth that would put a horse to shame or a woman with an eyebrow that takes up most of her face." He said as he crossed the room to a full-length mirror and tussled his hair a bit.

"Just because the last girl you met looked like that doesn't mean they all will." Gage said wearily.

"If my father insists, then I suppose there's not much I can do." He said as he cast the letter aside. "Very well, make arrangements for the ball. If it'll make him happy."

"Yes sir." Gage said. "We should try to arrange it within the month. Perhaps a Masquerade? They're quite popular." The Prince waved him away.

"Fine, that way unkempt eyebrows and the like shall come as a surprise for later." The prince said sarcastically. "Set it for the end of the week and be sure to notify the families today. Now be gone so I can dress." Gage nodded and exited the room.

XXX

At that same time, on another side of the Hotel de Saint Pol Andie was dreaming of a time when she had still lived in a hospice near the church of St. Maria.

She dreamed often of the hospice, but on this occasion she was dreaming of the year that she was eleven. A boy had come to the hospice that year. His name was Laurence. He had been one of those foundlings that had been abandoned by his parents for one reason or another. In this case it was probably because of the state of his mind. He spoke little and tended to stare at things and people as if he weren't sure what they were for.

Also, he was prone to having fits. These were not the quiet episodes that Alain had, but great screaming writhing convulsions where he would be rolling on the ground, gnashing his teeth and making all sorts of god awful noises.

The other children, when they were bored or were feeling particularly vindictive, would egg them on, poking him or pinching him and occasionally throwing things at him and then standing back and laughing with dark glee when he went into a spasm. Anyone who think that children are innocent are clearly not paying attention.

Andie had never actually joined in, but she still remembered the first time it had happened. She remembered looking at the boy and feeling a certain amount of revulsion towards him when he was in that state. She would come to be ashamed of the feeling. But at that moment she had almost hated him, it had been hard not to, his eyes full of madness, spittle at the edges of his mouth, making sounds that were not quite words.

Sometimes the torture was allowed to go on for some time, but it was often broken up by the woman who oversaw the hospice or, more often by Sarge, who had an unerring instinct for foul play and impeccable hearing, which more then made up for the fact that he was almost entirely blind.

Sarge was always hanging around the hospice and the church doing odd jobs. He wasn't an official employee, but the only other place for a man who couldn't see was on the streets begging and he didn't like the prospect of sitting around and doing nothing because he held the opinion that if you didn't practice being useful you soon forgot how.

Andie had liked Sarge. This was mostly because he was the first really trustworthy adult she'd ever met, but also because he talked to her like a person, rather then a child. Most adults didn't do that.

He'd also taught her how to read. She had been able to a little, so that, if given a book she could read one word in every twenty, but he had taught her how to read well. He'd been fairly learned before he'd gone blind and could still write, so he would take out a ledger and write letters on it and make her repeat them.

And there were the books as well. He had half a dozen of them. He would sit patiently as she slowly made her way through paragraphs. She sometimes suspected that he might've been doing it so that he had someone to read to him, but she didn't mind. She enjoyed it.

Sarge was generally an amiable and good-humored man, but he had been angry that day. He had charged in and shouted at the children, who had scattered at the sound of his voice. Then he had tried to calm the boy down. After that occasion Laurence would stick close to Sarge whenever possible.

Andie had brought the whole thing up to Sarge later and, in response he'd given her a look that she would never forget. He might've been blind, but at that moment she had gotten the extremely disconcerting feeling that he could see all the way into her head.

"The next time you see them doing that you come and tell me." He had said in his gravelly voice. There was a certain amount of blame in his eyes when he said it.

"I wasn't helping them…" She had said, aware of how useless the words sounded in the face of those glassy eyes.

"Sometimes not doing anything can do as much harm." His face had then softened. Perhaps he had reminded himself that she was eleven and still had a lot to learn.

"Listen Andie, I'll tell you what. The next time you see someone torturing someone else for fun, I want you to take a good look at their faces."

"He looked awful!" She had said desperately, while remembering the site of the small boy with horror. "He was making noises and grinding his teeth!"

"I'm not talking about Laurence. I'm talking about the other children. I'm talking about people who torture other people. You take a good look at their faces and then see if you don't know what ugly is."

In Andie's dream there was a circle of children all shouting and throwing things at the small figure writhing and weeping on the inside. Their expressions were terrible to begin with but as Andie watched them, the children started to change. Their mouths were suddenly gaping; their eyes became bulbous and their noses flared until they looked very much like the stone monsters that adorned the Notre Dame. Then Andie heard a scream and the dream started to break up.

But just before it did an image flashed before her eye. The image was of a face. It was a face with horribly awkward and badly deformed features. She'd only seen it for a moment before he'd covered it up again but one moment had been enough. The face had been unfortunate and had come as a shock, but that wasn't what stuck in her memory. What stuck in her memory was his expression. It was an expression of horrible agony and sorrow, as if the horror on her face had physically wounded him.

As Andie surfaced into wakefulness she felt the same quiver of guilt she had felt when she was eleven and looking into Sarge's blank eyes.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the scream from her nightmare again. She jumped, then, after regaining her senses she relaxed. She recognized that scream, or shriek, as it were. Isabelle was having a tantrum.

Andie covered her head with her blanket.

It has to be too early for this. She thought wearily. Off in the distance she heard the bells of the Notre Dame, which confirmed that yes, yes it was.

With a groan she pushed the blanket off of her and sat up. For a moment, before she pulled her sleeves down a series of faint scars were visible on her upper arms. She stepped down onto the wood floor. Some of the bones in her foot danced in an odd way and Andie felt a brief shock of pain coursing down her bad leg. She limped across the room and grabbed her cane before heading out the door.

XXX

Andie met Alain halfway to her cousin's room. He looked at her frantically.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"I'm to fetch Miss Beauvais! I tried to bring Isabelle her breakfast. She was all swelled up and she was screaming at me and I was so startled that I dropped the tray! She told me to go away and get someone!" He said it all in a single breath.

"Calm down, Alain." She said as the boy stopped to take a few gulps of air.

"What do you mean she's all swelled up? And where's Charlot? I thought she was supposed to take Isabelle her breakfast."

"Isabelle said she didn't want Charlot anywhere near her because she's spilled her breakfast on her twice now. I don't know why she's swelled up, but it's bad!"

XXX

Fifteen minutes later Andie was in her cousin's room cleaning up the spilled tray while Adeline shouted at people. She mostly did this out of general principle. Isabelle just wailed. Her face was bad. It was puffy and swollen and there were hives all over her arms and shoulders.

One of the servants had been sent to get a doctor, who was currently examining the girl. At some point during his examination Captain Gage had been ushered into the room by a servant and was now standing by and watching Isabelle with a grimace on his face. Andie wondered vaguely if this was because of her unfortunate appearance or her shrill weeping. By the haggard look of the man she assumed it was the latter.

"I think she must have had an allergic reaction to something she ate." The doctor said after a bit.

"It was probably that fishy paste the cook was serving." Adeline said with disapproval. Andie frowned bitterly at this.

"You should consider yourself lucky that her throat didn't close up." The doctor said as he straightened.

"Lucky? Look at me!" Isabelle shouted angrily through her tears.

"Yes, swelling is not uncommon, my dear. It will clear up."

"When?" Miss Beauvais asked in frustration. "She can hardly meet Prince Bastion looking this way."

"Could be a few days or maybe a week, maybe longer, depending on the severity of her case." The doctor replied.

"That may be a problem." Captain Gage said from behind Adeline. "The Prince has arranged for a Masquerade Ball to be thrown at the end of this week. If your daughter wishes to have a chance at marrying his lordship she'll have to attend." Adeline looked at the doctor inquiringly.

"Can't you do anything!?"

"I'm sorry, Madame. You could try giving her plantain; it should help with the inflammation a little. One of the priests at the Notre Dame is an herbalist and I can't imagine he doesn't have some."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"I'm afraid you'll just have to wait it out." He said as he began to gather his things to leave.

Andie stood cautiously as the doctor nodded to Adeline and the captain and headed for the door.

For the first time since all of the excitement began Adeline seemed to acknowledge Andie's existence.

"Andie, go and find someone and send them down to the church to get some plantain." She said sharply. Andie nodded and turned away form her aunt.

On her way out she heard her aunt talking to the captain once more.

"Well, it is a masquerade, isn't it? I don't suppose that, if she isn't fully recovered, she could still attend. Her face will be covered." She added hopefully.

"Well, yes…" Gage said after a lengthy pause. "but…well there's only so much a mask can hide. At this point what your daughter would need is a shroud." It was clear that the captain was not in the mood for pleasantries this morning. Isabelle, who was starting to calm down, burst into tears again.

XXX

Alain was standing outside the doorway hopping nervously from foot to foot.

"I'm not in trouble am I? I didn't mean to upset Miss Isabelle." He said, his voice cracking a little.

"Don't worry about it." Andie replied kindly. "Its not your fault. Here, take this down to the kitchen." She added as she handed him the tray.

"What are you going to do?" He asked, calming down a little.

"I'm going to go down to the church and find the herbalist." She said.

"By yourself?" He asked skeptically. Andie nodded.

"I'll be fine. Go find Fay and tell her that I went and also that she should have a word with the cook about his fish. It's what made Isabelle break out I think…that should make her day."

XXX

After Quasimodo was done ringing the bells for the morning he put on his cloak and grabbed the chessboard from it's place on the chair and headed out into the city to get the stuff for his paint. What with one thing and another he hadn't gotten a chance to the day before.

The dyer he bought his pigments from was a man named Herve Devereux. He owned a small shop where he mixed up and sold his dyes. His son, who was a glassblower, also used the shop for his work.

As Quasimodo reached the doorway he heard an unpleasant cracking noise, followed by both frantic and angry shouting. He limped into the messy shop cautiously.

The combination of the scent of various minerals used for the dyes, and the somewhat sweet burning smell that was present because of the glassblowing made it so that the odor of Mr. Devereux' shop was nearly a solid substance. It wasn't unpleasant so much as penetrating.

"You stupid fool!" Shouted someone from inside. "I told you to stop blowing on the pipe! I swear, if you weren't family I would quit on you now and save myself the trouble!"

A muscular young man was the one doing the shouting. It was directed at a lanky boy, probably around the age of fifteen, who was frantically attempting to clean up what was left of the molten glass bubble he had been trying to form a moment earlier.

The older boy, who was in fact, Mr. Devereux's oldest son caught site of Quasi and scowled.

"Does this look like a good time to you, you ugly cretin?" Quasimodo resisted the urge to back out of the shop.

"Calm down Val." A tired voice said from the open doorway that led into adjoining house. Herve walked into the room and looked at Quasi briefly before turning to his son. " And get your brother some gloves for god's sake. It won't help his glassblowing any if he keeps burning his hands." Val glowered, but pulled off his own gloves and cast them at the boy who was trying ineffectively to pick up a piece of rapidly cooling glass without being burnt or cut.

Herve motioned for Quasi to follow him into the house.

"What do you want, Quasimodo?" He asked as he sat down at a small table were he appeared to be working at grinding some of the minerals he would use for the pigments he sold.

Quasi pulled the chessboard out and set it in front of the man carefully, along with the small sack of pieces. Herve looked up and examined the board for a moment.

"Not bad. Obviously I can't give you any of my expensive stuff." He said. "But I'm sure we can work something out."

"I-I was just hoping to get some green and some blue…and I'm running out of white again." He said awkwardly. Herve nodded and stood. He went through some of his materials before turning back to the hunchback.

"Copper carbonate for the blue, Zinc oxide for the white and this is made from iris flowers." He said as he handed the materials to Quasi. "Nothing too expensive but not bad. I'll even throw in some linseed oil."

"Thank you." Quasi replied as he took the items from the man. He was aware that two or three weeks of painstakingly carving out and painting the tiny chess pieces and chessboard was probably worth more then what he was getting for it. He knew Esmerelda had probably been right, but at the same time he was unable to bring himself to ask for more, particularly because he had a difficult time seeing the quality of his own work.

After he left the younger of Herve's sons walked over to his father while massaging his hands.

"What's that?" He asked as he eyed the chessboard. His father had gone back to his work. He looked up briefly.

"The Bellringer traded it for some pigments."

"It looks expensive." Said his son, whose name was Meryle.

"Nah, he carved it himself." His father replied absently.

Meryle frowned and picked up the pieces to examine them.

"What, with all of these little details and everything?" His father grunted.

Meryle raised one of he knights to his eye and cast a brief, disapproving look at his father.

"It almost looks nicer then the ones you can buy at a shop." He said cautiously.

"Nah, those are made by craftsmen. Plus they're made with a better quality of wood and more expensive paints."

"Right. Makes sense, I suppose." Meryle said as he put the piece back into the sack carefully. He was a fairly decent boy and was a bit more honest then his father and much kinder then his brother, and he felt slightly bothered by the situation and was thinking that since Quasimodo had used his own materials and paints in order to create the chessboard, his father could have maybe overlooked the cheaper paint job and wood…especially since it was he who was supplying the boy with the paints in the first place, and he could hardly afford better ones at the rate he was currently getting. He thought all of this, but didn't say anything.

XXX

I had to re post this chapter because I wanted to add a bit to the end of it.

LadyBastet92: Thanks ^^ I'm glad you like it so far. I like being realistic…well mostly. It's kind of getting in the way of my writing. I keep having to look up details about the renaissance to see what's accurate and what's not. I consider this to be somewhat unnecessary and obsessive behavior but I can't seem to stop. 99