The Journals
Phoebus paced back and forth in the Palais of Justice. He had just received word that the New Minister would be arriving within the next month. Minister Durand was unknown to Phoebus and he was of no relation to Frollo. Phoebus began to walk through the halls. There had to be something of importance in here. Phoebus walked past door after door. There were no hints of anything that may help him solve his problem.
Phoebus was grumbling and cussing under his breath when he reached the uppermost tower of the Palais. He looked out one of the many windows to see, in clear view, the bell-towers of Notre Dame. The room was empty and cold. The only feature of the room was a fireplace with a large crucifix carved into the stone, which seemed to loom over his head.
Frollo had been an educated man, self-righteous and controlling. He would have needed to have a clear view of Notre Dame at all times, partly for religious reasons, partly to keep an eye on Quasimodo. Frollo's study may hold the answer and it should be facing Notre Dame.
Phoebus continued to march though the building, dispatching a few trusted soldiers to help him search. Every door was opened, every passage felt for secret passages. It was in the dungeon that Phoebus noted a solid a cell door that was locked. There was no occupant, or if there was, he or she was long dead. There was no key for this lock, Phoebus tried them all. The executioner chopped through the aged, heavily oiled wood with his axe.
As the door swung open, the smell of ashes, dust and mustiness escaped the small cell. A single small window allowed a thin beam of light in, which filtered through the dusty air and landed onto a table littered with papers and quills. Phoebus sent his men away and entered the cell. There were two lanterns on the wall and he lit them both. He'd found the study, now if only it held what he hoped it did.
Phoebus set his candle on the cluttered desk and beheld what surrounded him. Bottles of mysterious herbs and liquids, stacks of tapers, flints, quills and sealed ink bottles of many colours. There was an open bottle of ink on the table, it had dried to flakes. Phoebus lifted the quill, the jar following. He shook the quill, the ink would not release.
Among the papers on the desk was what must have been the last page Claude had written. It was a list, with many of the lines splattered out. On the same page was an image of a naked woman, drawn in red ink. She was drawn in a seductive pose, as if blowing a kiss to the artist. Only the eyes remained unfinished. In blood-red ink, "Esmeralda" was written on the side of the page.
Rows of books graced the shelves above the desk. The volumes were ancient and leather-bound. He removed one from the shelf. He opened its covers, only to see that he would not be able to read this text. Frollos collection of books was unlike Quasimodos. More than half were written in languages unknown to Phoebus, many the books were about witchcraft, wizardry, alchemy and the dark arts. Phoebus could tell by the images that lay penned within them. Long forgotten and author-less pages that told of a tortured owner by their mere presence. A twisted, cruel and vengeful soul. The same man who had accused his darling Esmeralda, his beloved dancer, of being a witch. Phoebus was dumbstruck.
Phoebus put the books back onto the shelves. This was not what he had come for. He continued to search through the crates and drawers. He found a crate containing a new hat, it's silk ribbon folded neatly. Another crate contained what could only be described as court documents. Riding boots, a cat-o-nine-tails and an assortment of fine wines were neatly stored.
A stack of scrolls, balanced between a broken horse skull and the damp stone wall, soon caught Phoebus' eye. They were mixed with a few leather bound books with worn, rough pages.
Phoebus lifted a scroll off the shelf, careful not to let the others tumble. He unrolled the rough paper enough to see dates and Frollos scratchy handwriting. Unfortunately, not all of the writing was in Latin. Phoebus let out a rumbling sigh. He would need help with these.
Phoebus dumped the hat onto the desk. He carefully stacked the scrolls, books and everything else he could find with Frollos handwriting into the crate. There was only one person that he trusted that would also be able to read this erratic scrawling. Looking to the collection of wines, he emptied the wine rack into another crate. Minister Frollo had caused much suffering to both him and Quasimodo, the gift was owed.
Before leaving the cel, Phoebus folded the drawing of Esmeralda and burned it on the floor, using his boot to grind the ashes.
The bells rang out as Phoebus walked home. Quasimodo was in his tower, ringing the bells as he always had. Phoebus slowed Achilles to listen closely. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Before he'd left to join the military twenty years ago, he remembered the bells ringing day and night. Frollo was Minister then, yet at the age of seven Phoebus had been too young to understand.
Phoebus stared at the bell-tower long after the music stopped. When he had left Paris, he had been there. Twenty years later, he was still there. Older and wiser yet nearly as innocent. Phoebus polished the pommel of his saddle with his worn glove. He led Achilles to the stable near Notre Dame. It was just after six in the evening, with plenty of daylight left. Esmeralda would not be home yet. What would it matter if he was a bit late? She would never question him if he mentioned he was with Quasimodo.
Phoebus heard a thump against the door as he approached. Pushing it with one arm, then both, he realized it had just been barred. Phoebus sped over to the farthest right door, which was still open. As he stepped inside the rich smell of incense burned his nose. Pale candlelight filled the church, illuminating the faint coils of smoke that swirled overhead, as well as Quasimodo, who was fastening the middle door.
Quasimodo turned to secure a latch when he caught sight of Phoebus, standing as if a statue in the cold darkness of the church.
"Good evening Phoebus."
"Quasi. I was hoping to find you. I need your help."
"Just a moment." Quasimodo walked over and finished his nightly ritual of door-locking. He loosely secured the door Phoebus had come through, as to allow Sanctuary should anyone need it. "This way."
The hunchback led Phoebus up the stairs to his tower. As Phoebus climbed the dark, damp steps he remembered a time, not so long ago on the seventh of January, he had been held by his throat on these same steps. Phoebus gave a relieved sigh. Quasi was his friend now.
Phoebus struggled to keep his balance through the wooden frames of the tower and while he climbed the narrow steps and ladders. Quasimodo moved swiftly, while Phoebus trailed the light from his candle. Phoebus counted six bells above his head, hanging in silence. Quasimodo lit three candles, providing enough light for Phoebus to see his way in the dark tower. Phoebus walked over to Quasimodo's table & looked over the miniature city.
"Dear friend…" Phoebus trailed off. "How do I put this?" he said under his breath. "Quasi. The Minister of Justice is arriving soon. I've searched, but he has no relation to Frollo. I think these may hold the answer."
Phoebus slid the crate onto the table, knocking over several figures.
Quasi absentmindedly moved the toppled figures away from the crate.
"What are these?"
"Papers from Frollos study." Phoebus unrolled one of the scrolls and passed it to Quasimodo. "Most of them are in Greek, unfortunately. "
Quasimodo read the scroll for a few moments, then returned his gaze to Phoebus. He pointed toward the scroll. "This is a recipe for roasted venison." He moved his finger down the page and pointed to another area of text. " This one here is for duck in wine sauce."
Phoebus took the scroll into his hands, rolled it and shoved it back onto the stack. "So this one is recipes. There will be answers in here. If I'm going to find them, we need to work together." Phoebus set his hand on the side of the crate. "Will you help me?"
Quasimodo looked at the crate, then slumped his shoulders. "I will."
"Thank you. I knew I could count on you." Phoebus smiled and lifted out one of the books.
"I'd like to try duck. Could Esmeralda cook it?" He pulled a scroll out of the crate and set it out where he'd be reading.
"For you, I'm sure she would."
Quasimodo lit a few more candles. He brought out the cakes he'd been given earlier and placed another stool for Phoebus. The miniature village was cleared away to make room for the large number of scrolls, loose pages and books. Another crate was brought out, to help sort the many papers. Phoebus sorted the papers according to language. Quasimodo continued to read the scroll he'd set aside.
Phoebus brought the bell-ringer out of his trance when he started to pour wine. He filled two glass cups, almost to the brim.
"This all sounds so wonderful. Venison and ginger? Cumin?" Quasimodo sipped. "It sounds much better than bread, beans and salt pork."
Phoebus plucked the paper from under Quasimodo's hands. "This can wait. You'll get to try these things later." Phoebus handed the recipes back to Quasimodo, then handed him a leather-bound notebook.
"What's this one?"
"It looks like a journal. I can't tell for sure."
Quasimodo opened the book and immediately recognized Masters handwriting.
April 3rd, 1466,
The rains have been heavy for the past four days. A witch was found near the river yesterday. She has been sent back where she belongs.
There were traces of honey on the table in the bell tower today. The Archdeacon has agreed to stay away from the monster. Only a monk that has taken a vow of silence is to look after him in my absence. He has been warned and will not interfere further.
Quasimodo anxiously looked throughout the room while Phoebus read the rows and rows of Latin verse. They would find nothing worth knowing.
It was all there in the scrawling of a madman. The dates started in May of 1456 and continued to December of 1481. Twenty-five years of Frollos life were locked away in that little room and had now resurfaced. Everything was there, in a random mixture of Latin, Greek and French. Frollos descent into evil, his efforts in medicine, witchcraft and alchemy. His killings were also recorded, without names or details. Statements such as "cleansed the city of eight by hanging" were common.
Quasimodo was also written about, certainly more than Quasimodo would have liked. Phoebus had come across the scroll containing a detailed account of "the death of one heathen wench." It was written further that "her demon child has been sent to the bell tower of Notre Dame." Phoebus discovered that although Clopins story was once popular, it did not match this account as closely as it could have. Quasimodo made Phoebus promise not to discuss anything, except what related to Durand, ever again.
Twice during the night Quasimodo left to ring his bells, stuffing his ears with wool. Twice Phoebus plugged his ears and felt the whole of the church tremble to it's very entrails. Quasimodo also accumulated three scrolls and numerous papers with recipes. Phoebus continued to read what he could while Quasimodo attended his bells.
January 2 1467
Cold and snowy today, the wind in the bell tower was quite strong. Quasimodo had left the tower. He was found hiding in the abbey near the fireplace. A monk later said that he'd been found shivering and wet from the cold, so he'd been brought down to warm up and have dry clothes. The tower must be locked, the Archdeacon has been informed of this.
January 5, 1467
The lock has been applied by the farrier, being told there had been vandals. Perhaps this will keep Quasimodo where he belongs. Goats and other beasts do not suffer from being cold, he is no different. The monks have asked for a few more blankets to be brought for him in exchange for staying away.
The Feast of Fools is tomorrow, guards will be out in full force to protect the weak minded from being misled.
January 25, 1467
Attempt to find court of Miracles foiled by Marcel Trouillifou, their new leader. New Captain of Kings Guard arriving next week to replace the late Captain Demeil.
Phoebus continued to read by the dancing candlelight.
February 15, 1467.
Cold, light snow. New captain arriving this afternoon. The Archdeacon has asked for Quasimodo to be deemed the official bell ringer beginning on Quasimodo Sunday. So be it. It changes nothing.
Phoebus continued, fortunately most of it was Latin. Quasimodo walked in as Phoebus read Easter of 1467 out loud. Apparently Easter of that year had been uneventful, save a strong wind that had blown off Frollo's hat into the Seine. Phoebus passed the scroll to Quasimodo and grabbed another.
"I stopped on the 14th of April and skipped all the Greek bits. There is also another language in there that I've never seen. I don't think there's anything, but I can't be certain."
As Quasimodo took the scroll from Phoebus' hand, he sensed Phoebus envied his education. Yet Phoebus had been many places in many countries that Quasimodo could only read or dream about, and would never see.
He held the scroll. The rolled paper appeared so small in his large hands. If only he'd been born differently.
Quasimodo unrolled the paper and began reading the parts Phoebus could not understand. More people seemed to die in cold weather. Frequent complaints about Gypsies, thieves and heathens abounded. Quasi read the odd line about himself with great interest. Frollo stopped the monks from seeing him and had controlled every aspect of his life. Quasimodo read farther down the page.
April 21, 1476.
Bright and sunny today, the streets are full. Quasimodo was made official bell ringer last night. The Archdeacon came into the tower to bestow the honor himself. The tolling was beautiful this morning. He acted strangely later on, completely ignored my entrance into his tower. The boy has become silent. He must have deafened himself.
Quasimodo stopped reading for a moment. He now understood what he had hoped not to be discovered had been. Master Frollo had known from the first day. The bells had ultimately left him in a muffled world, not a silent one. For that, he was grateful.
"What day did you say you stopped at?"
"April 14th " Phoebus raised his head. "Why, did you find something?"
"Apparently I was made official bell ringer on the 20th "
"Quasi, the sun will rise in a few hours. We are not going to learn anything new tonight. Let us meet again tomorrow night."
"Very well." Quasimodo offered a few freshly-written Latin pages to Phoebus. "If you could...
"I will see what I can do." Phoebus took the recipes from the bell ringer and left Notre Dame.