Monday, January 28th

Fleur left her dressing room and stepped down the hall, past the parlour and to the closed door of her father's office. A smile grew broad on her face as she listened to the voices inside.

Placing her ear to door, her fingers spread out over the polished wood, Fleur listened. Two voices reached her ears. That of her father, which was deep and booming. The other, that of Monsieur Frollo, was soft, gentle and youthful.

"If you follow the prices, you will see that there is more demand in the spring, immediately before Easter." Charles slid a parchment across the table. "This is why honey is best stored until spring."

Quasimodo read the pages.

"Of course! This is why the price of lambs increases." Quasimodo tapped the paper and laughed. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Claude Frollo always brought two lambs for the Easter feast..." Charles held up his hand, raising two slightly curled fingers. His words froze on his lips. His eyes shifted to the window and back to Quasimodo, who held the paper.

"There is so much to know." Quasimodo leaned forward. "If the bees are in baskets, why are they killed for their honey?"

"I don't know that answer to that, fortunately." Charles shrugged. "The wax is used to make candles. The brood make an excellent meal when fried."

"Who would eat fried bees?"

"A good vassal will predict market demands, follow the trends and sell when prices are highest." Charles held the ledger in his hands. "As owner, you are expected to meet with those running the fief every few months. This may be done while collecting statements. Communication between you and the vassal is of utmost importance. He must be trustworthy."

"I've met him. He... Monsieur Gauthier " Quasimodo glanced to the ceiling for a moment, before looking the the floor and blinking slowly. "He said some unkind words."

"I see." Charles frowned. "Most unfortunate."

Fleur listened carefully. His words were clear and well-spoken, certainly those of an educated man. He seemed enthusiastic and clever. Yet, there was something unusual about his voice. She closed her eyes while listening, noting that subtle changes of intonation were lacking within each word. She opened her eyes and looked to the door, her eyebrow raised slightly.

My Lady, your father has given strict instruction. You are to attend your lessons while your father is in his meetings."

Fleur turned. Pierre stood at the entrance, bearing a tray with wine, rolls and brie.

"You've met Monsieur Frollo?" Fleur beamed as she jumped to her toes, her hands clapping softly. "Please, tell me something about him."

Pierre paused for a moment. What could he say? Quasimodo was, quite frankly, unnerving to look at.

Pierre opened his eyes to see Fleur's humorously intense glare fixed on him. Her hands remained clasped at her chest, fingers inter-laced. She nearly bounced in anticipation.

"He appears very strong, my Lady. Now, if you do not mind, I am required elsewhere." Pierre looked into Fleur's eyes, his eyebrow cocked. "Is Madame Duval not awaiting you in the parlour?"

"I was just on my way there. I was hoping to ask father a question."

"Your father will be available after Terce, my Lady." Pierre gestured down the hall. He opened the door wide enough to pass through, then closed it firmly.

Fleur stood for a moment before moving to the door of her fathers' study. Carefully, she grasped the handle and leaned backward. The door jiggled and rattled, yet did not budge. It was locked from the inside.

"Your lesson, my Lady."

Fleur jumped to attention. She turned to face Madame Duval, who held a bow in her hand. Fleur nodded, her lips suddenly sealed.

"Your father will want to know that you are progressing. This way."

Reluctantly, Fleur followed her instructor.

Pierre cleared an area on the desk for the food and drink. Charles stepped away. Quasimodo followed Charles with his eyes as he stepped across the room.

He opened the door, disappearing for a moment. When he returned, his face was red.

"With that distraction gone, let us continue." He looked to Quasimodo's blank expression. "You can't tell me that you didn't hear that."

"Not a word."

"Interesting. My nephew shall assist you in visiting the fief. Arsene must have some sense talked into him. If leaving in a few hours, you could be home by tomorrow afternoon."

Quasimodo backed up in the chair, shaking his head.

"I would not mind going myself, as the cheese made there is exquisite." Charles paused. "My father used to visit often. Henri and Angelique Frollo were friends of my parents, you see."

"Oh no, I don't leave Paris."

Charles looked to the bell-ringer.

"Candelmas is less than a week away." Quasimodo stuttered. "There is much to do within Notre Dame. It wouldn't be possible anyhow."

Charles raised his eyebrow, studying the nervousness of his student.

"Phoebus and I will go together, then. This time. We shall take Snowball, as Phoebus has informed me that he's become unmanageable in the stables." Charles gathered a few papers. "If I may be so bold to state, your greatest limitation is not what you think it is. It's your own confidence."

Quasimodo leaned back in his seat, his breaths increasing in depth. His eyes widened briefly, before he looked to the floor and closed them for a moment. He sighed. Charles waited for Quasimodo to return his attention to him.

"If you are to manage this fief properly, Quasimodo, you must make your presence known. The best vassal may only do so much. Those living at the fief must know you, respect you and remain happy in their role."

"Is that possible?"

"Phoebus has faith in your ability, thus I do as well. Continue your lessons while we are gone. I shall have Pierre gather a few volumes and bring them to Notre Dame later this afternoon."

"I will read every word." Quasimodo nodded.

"Very well." Charles sighed. "I shall send Phoebus to collect you upon our return."

Esmeralda left the bakery, fresh rolls now in her basket next to a bottle of wine. She slipped into Notre Dame, Djali at her heels. The tower remained empty, only a warm bed of coals greeting her. She stirred the fire, casting a wall of heat through the tower. Having gathered a few dishes, she sat next to the warming fire and waited.

The floorboards bounced slightly. Esmeralda stood, turning to face Quasimodo. Djali rubbed his head against the bell-ringers' leg, begging for attention.

"You could have called for me." Quasimodo stepped toward the fire.

Esmeralda remained still, watching her friend. Quasimodo appeared stronger with each passing day, a healthy glow finally returning to his skin. He wore a well-patched green tunic, his hair lay in all directions.

"I assumed you were lost in your books or performing some other duty." Esmeralda stepped through the tidied bell-tower, before leaning against a beam. "When will this place be yours again? I mean, the bells, they sound almost familiar yet lack life in their songs."

"Three days." Quasimodo looked up, toward the bells. "Were it sooner, life may seem more normal. They ring so frequently, I never noticed until now. Sleeping through the night is a nice change."

"Your hands bring the city to life each day. Anything else brings unease." Esmeralda gazed up into Gabrielle. "Every citizen in Paris knows that something is wrong."

Esmeralda turned to see a young pair of monks walk by. They nodded at Esmeralda and continued toward the steps.

"Each time, they find me."

"They are concerned for you. Many of us are." Esmeralda wrapped her arms around Quasimodo, giving him a gentle squeeze. She stepped back, standing with her hands resting on his shoulders. "Be grateful that others care about you."

Quasimodo smiled, a rosy glow appearing on his cheeks.

"I brought something for us." Esmeralda moved to her basket, spreading items out on a plain cloth. "Something familiar and something new. Fresh rolls, dates and, my favourite, wine."

Quasimodo turned toward the entrance for a moment, hesitantly moving back toward Esmeralda. She had already poured two cups of wine. Both vessels were glass, and nearly identical.

"You want to return to your reading. I understand." Esmeralda sighed. "Phoebus left when the sun was high. There is plenty of daylight remaining."

Quasimodo and nodded, taking a seat beside his friend. Esmeralda opened a small sack of grain and set it out for Djali.

"You could leave this place if you wanted, you know. You could travel the world." She drew a sip of wine.

"Where would I go?"

"Anywhere you want to, Quasi." Esmeralda continued to sip her wine while looking through the confined space of the bell-tower. "Your fief may be a nice place to start."

"How do people live there? Are they allowed to leave?" Quasimodo ate a few dates.

"The owner of the fief determines how well the people live." Esmeralda shrugged. "Even if life is stressful, most of them probably stay. Leaving what one knows is difficult."

Esmeralda turned to Quasimodo, who nodded in agreement while staring at the roll in his hands.

"Even now, the people of Paris look down on me..." Quasimodo shook his head.

"Not everyone does and you know it..." Esmeralda butted in. Quasimodo continued

"...I've seen what they say, the words they use. Those at the fief would behave no different."

"Word travels quickly, especially with the minstrels traveling about these days. The people living there, they undoubtedly know your name and who you are." Esmeralda set her hand on his. "A few trips outside of Paris, with friends, would be good for you. There is no need to hire a wagon to Versailles."

"Maybe in the spring." Quasimodo sighed.

"No one else can do this for you. Phoebus and I can be with you, and we will be if you ask." Esmeralda squeezed his thumb. "You need to put yourself out there."

The coals soon died back, the food disappeared. Esmeralda gathered her things.

"I will see you tomorrow after Prime, if that suits you."

"I would like that."

"I'll meet you under the statue of Saint Denis, then. Take care, my friend."