She sat in Rosalie's old shack, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. She found the motion soothing. She did not like Phoebus's plan, not at all. Frollo would not come alone. He would bring soldiers with him; they would outnumber her and Phoebus, and then Phoebus would die. Frollo would kill him. Esmerelda shuddered at the thought, gripping her knees tighter. She had just been reunited with Phoebus. She couldn't bear the thought of being parted from him so soon; she'd go mad if he was killed.
She began to pray now. Esmerelda had never been a spiritual person, and since her forced marriage to Frollo, she had become convinced that God simply didn't care about Gypsies like herself. She prayed now, rocking back and forth and whispering into her knees frantically. Perhaps God would show some mercy on her, perhaps He would allow both her and Phoebus to escape. Perhaps Frollo wouldn't come. Perhaps he'd think that Phoebus's letter was a cruel prank. Esmerelda knew that this wasn't the case, but she clung to the hope and prayed.
~xXx~
Frieda had given him a sack full of food, and he took it even though he didn't really need it. Walking along the river provided him with plenty of fish, but he was touched by her kindness. The sack contained bread and fruit, and he decided that he would ration it out slowly so as to savor it.
"I'll see you in a month's time," Frieda had said, "take care."
"I will."
Marie had been sad to see him go. She'd hugged him, struggling to wind her little arms around his misshapen back. "I'll see you again soon," he had told her. "In Lyon." She had nodded, blinking back tears. Walking along the river, he found that he missed her. The riverbank had suddenly become lonely, and though Marie was anything but conversational, it had been comforting to walk with her. She had become good at fishing; she had patience, unlike her brother. She had never seen a forest before, and it had excited her to no end. She'd been constantly pointing at shining new things; colorful flowers, rabbits, and birds all fascinated her.
It would not take him long to reach Lyon. If he moved quickly, he would reach it in less than a week. He found himself thinking about Phoebus and Esmerelda. Phoebus was a doomed man; even if he did kill Frollo, he'd never get away with it. He'd be arrested and executed, and his body would be thrown carelessly into the charnel house while Frollo was buried with honor. Maybe Phoebus didn't care. Maybe killing Frollo was all that mattered to him, maybe he was willing to die because Esmerelda herself was dead. Quasimodo had not wept at the news about Esmerelda's death. He did miss her, but he took comfort in knowing that her suffering was at an end. She'd been married to Frollo, living in torture, for thirteen years. She was finally at peace.
~xXx~
Jean-Claude could not give him a very thorough description of the man who'd come with the letter. He had asked him several times now, trying to be patient, but Jean-Claude's response was the same.
"He was a tall man, with only one leg, and he had blonde hair and blue eyes."
This could, of course, be a disguise. Claude had seen dozens of Gypsy beggars claiming to be legless get up and flee at his approach. It was easy to pretend to be crippled. Still, he would go to the Court of Miracles and bring with him the stranger's ransom. He could more than afford it; the stranger wasn't asking for much, and besides, he had Esmerelda. The letter had included a lock of her hair; that same thick, dark hair that he loved to wind his fingers through. He wondered briefly if it was some sort of trick orchestrated by the thin man who'd come to beg for his nephew's release.
The boy's escape was, of course, infuriating, but it hardly mattered now. Claude was certain that the boy's escape was the result of witchcraft. The guard had claimed that a woman had bewitched him into opening the cell; the boy's aunt, no doubt, the same woman who'd come and offered him her body in exchange for the boy's freedom. The filthy, deceiving slut! Claude vowed that he would catch her and her husband, that they would be executed alongside their nephew. The man had obviously lied to him; Katarina was nowhere near Lyon. She and her mother were hiding within the very city. If the Gypsies had managed to construct the Court of Miracles right under his nose without him knowing, then surely they could create a second one.
It barely mattered. Someone was willing to betray Esmerelda and deliver her to him. Once he had her, catching Katarina would be easy. He would force Esmerelda to deliver Katarina to him, and this time, she would comply. He'd give the mysterious, one-legged man his meager reward, and he'd hang the rest of Esmerelda's Gypsy comrades. He deeply regretted not executing them all when he had married Esmerelda. It didn't do well to dwell on past mistakes, though. He would find Esmerelda and Katarina, and he would see to it that they never disobeyed him again.
"I still feel I should go with you."
Claude did not want his brother's help in this. After all, it was Jehan's fault that Esmerelda had escaped in the first place, and he would need someone to stay behind and look after Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude was a bright boy, more than capable of staying at home by himself for one night, but he was only ten, and Claude worried about him.
"I appreciate your offer," he said, turning to Jehan now. "But I need you to stay here with Jean-Claude."
Jehan sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll stay here. But if you aren't back in two hours' time, I'm coming after you."
"Very well." Arguing with Jehan would be pointless. Jehan had always done whatever he wanted, and Claude secretly hated him for this. He picked up his coin purse. He had counted and re-counted the money; the stranger was only asking for thirty pieces of silver. "I'll be back shortly," he said, "with Esmerelda."
~xXx~
The hour was drawing near. Phoebus waited, standing outside of the shack where Esmerelda was now hiding. He would keep her hidden until Frollo arrived. He glanced back over his shoulder at the shack, wishing that he could see her through its walls. She was so frightened, so terrified; he wanted to take her in his arms and stroke her hair and tell her that everything would be all right.
He heard the sound of footsteps and saw a lamp glowing in the distance. Frollo was approaching, and it sounded like he was alone. Phoebus took a few steps forward. He placed his hand on his sword, patting to be sure it was there. It felt reassuringly heavy in his belt, and he let his hand fall to his side. Frollo emerged from the shadows. He was completely and totally alone. Phoebus stared at him. He did not look much different; he was still tall and gaunt, his skin unnaturally pale. He stopped a few paces from Phoebus, staring at him, scrutinizing him.
"You have my wife?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes," replied Phoebus. He turned to the shack. "Esmerelda, come out."
It was very quiet and very still, and for a moment, Phoebus thought that she wouldn't come out. Finally, the door creaked open, and Esmerelda emerged. She looked at him helplessly, her slender form shaking.
"Come here, Esmerelda," snapped Frollo, glaring angrily at her. Esmerelda froze, and Phoebus moved, placing himself between them. Frollo glared angrily at him, then reached into his robes and withdrew a large coin purse. He tossed it to the ground; Phoebus heard coins inside of it clinking. "Give her to me."
"You don't recognize me, do you?"
Frollo rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for games. If you want more money, I'd be happy to hand it over."
"I don't want any money," said Phoebus, stepping closer to him. Frollo did not back away; Phoebus had known that he would do this. He was a proud man who would never admit or show fear. Phoebus stepped closer, leaning on the crutch. He was close enough now, and he knew that Frollo would not think to move until it was too late.
"Then what do you want?" Frollo, of course, moved closer to him, glowering angrily. Phoebus wondered if he would have found this anger frightening long ago. Esmerelda was certainly terrified; he saw her from the corner of his eye now, and she trembled.
"You stole everything from me," said Phoebus, "and I want it back."
"What are you talking about?"
"You really don't recognize me? You should! I'd think you would keep track of the men whose lives you steal!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," snapped Frollo, "but I highly suggest that you get out of my way before I summon my guards."
"Summon them."
For a moment, it looked as though Frollo would turn, and that a swarm of armed guards would descend upon them. For a brief instant, Phoebus shared Esmerelda's fear. Frollo, however, shoved Phoebus, attempting to push past him. Phoebus wobbled on his good leg, but managed to draw his sword and block Frollo's path. Frollo stared at the sword, his cold blue eyes trailing along it. "Phoebus?"
"Yes!"
Frollo looked flustered, and reached back into the folds of his robe. "I was told that you were dead, but now it appears you have more lives than a cat." He withdrew a knife from his robe. It was long and sharp, with a green jewel set in the handle. It was nothing compared to the sword, though, and Frollo had to know this. Still, his pride would not let him back away or show fear.
Phoebus glared at him. "You stole everything from me," he said, "you stole my job and the woman I love, and now I find that you've stolen my daughter too!"
"That harlot tricked me," said Frollo, pointing to Esmerelda now. "She tricked me into raising your bastard child!"
"You stole her life away from her – "
"She married me by choice!"
"No!" Phoebus saw Esmerelda take a tentative step forward from the corner of his eye. "I never wanted to marry you!" she shouted, "I never loved you! You forced me!"
"You chose me."
"You threatened me! You threatened to kill everyone I've ever loved, and you forced me to marry you! I never loved you!"
Frollo glared at her. "It's irrelevant now, Esmerelda. You are my wife whether you like it or not, and you will return home with me."
Esmerelda was shaking her head. "She will never go back to you," said Phoebus. "I will never let you hurt her or anyone else again."
Frollo raised the knife and leapt towards him. The knife sliced through the air, narrowly missing his chest, and he heard Esmerelda screaming behind him. Phoebus swung his sword now, jamming it into Frollo's stomach. Frollo gasped and let the knife fall. He stared up at Phoebus, his blue eyes malevolent, his hands grabbing at him. Phoebus could see the shining, blood-smeared blade of the sword jutting through Frollo's back. He twisted the sword; Frollo's face contorted in pain, and he made a thick, choking sound. Blood spilled from his mouth, flowing down his chin and staining his black robes. Phoebus shook the sword, pulling it from Frollo and knocking the old man to the floor. Frollo lay gasping, his thin bony hands pressed to the gaping wound in his stomach.
"Claude!"
The figure sprang from the shadows, rushing towards the fallen judge. Phoebus recognized Claude Frollo's younger brother, Jehan. He had only met Jehan once and, like his brother, Jehan hadn't changed much in the thirteen years he'd been away. Jehan knelt now, cradling his older brother in his arms. Claude Frollo lay motionless, his angry blue eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
"Oh God, oh God – what have you done?" Jehan looked up now, screaming as tears streamed down his face. He glared darkly up at Phoebus.
"I'm taking back what is rightfully mine," said Phoebus. He stepped towards Jehan now. Claude Frollo had come alone, but Jehan had followed him, and Phoebus could not afford to leave any witnesses behind. "Your brother stole everything I ever had or loved. He's ruined my life, and Esmerelda's as well – "
"How can you say that? She was his wife! Would she have married him if she didn't love him?"
"He forced me," said Esmerelda now, stepping forward. She touched Phoebus's shoulder, and he felt her hand tremble. "He took me against my will, just as you tried to."
Jehan stared at her, shaking his head. "You're a witch," he hissed. "You tricked me!"
Phoebus swung the sword, running it across Jehan's exposed throat. His eyes went wide, his face twisting into one of pain and surprise. He reached up now, trying to press his hand against the river of blood that flowed from his neck. Phoebus watched as he pitched forward, collapsing on top of his brother's body.
He sheathed the sword, turning to Esmerelda. She stared up at him, and he leaned in and kissed her. "Marry me," he whispered, "we'll go to Lyon and start a new life."
"Yes," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him. Her body was soft and warm, and she was no longer trembling. "Yes, I'd like that."
~xXx~
Watching Katarina and Giovanni laughing together pained her to no end. Esmerelda was dead, and Phoebus would not be coming back for Katarina; he surely wouldn't leave Paris alive, even if he did kill Frollo. Cassandra sighed. She supposed that the job of caring for Katarina would fall onto her and Clopin. Their caravan was cramped enough as it was, and she strongly disapproved of Katarina sharing a bed with Giovanni. They were both beginning to bloom into adults, and sharing a sleeping space would only lead to trouble. Katarina had had a strict upbringing, but the Judge was no longer around to repress her wild heart.
Even though she acted like a boy, Cassandra could see that she missed her mother. She had found Katarina in the woods a few days ago, crying by herself. She'd held her, stroking her hair while she'd sobbed.
"I'll bet the Judge doesn't even miss her. I'll bet he doesn't even care!"
Cassandra sighed. She was fairly certain that Katarina did not know the circumstances of her mother's marriage, and she decided that she wouldn't tell her. Knowing that her mother had been forced to marry a man she'd despised, that she'd been raped and forced to raise his son, would be too much for Katarina. To know that her mother had suffered so would crush her, and Cassandra would not allow that to happen. Clopin was also firm in this as well. Denying the horrors that Esmerelda had endured was wrong, of course, but she wouldn't want Katarina to know about them. After all, Esmerelda had hidden it from her daughter; Cassandra would continue to do so.
"I can't say what he feels," she had replied, stroking Katarina's hair. Her hair was very fine, thin almost, and looked like spun gold. Katarina's skin, once smooth and pale, had accumulated scratches and bruises. The girl would not say how the bruise on her jaw had formed; Cassandra had noticed Pierre sporting a few bruises of his own. She doubted that Pierre would strike a girl, but if he and Katarina had quarreled in the woods, then she would undoubtedly have hit him first. "Your mother loved you very much, though. You must remember that. She wanted you to be happy."
Katarina had nodded, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "You – you won't tell anyone about this, will you?"
"Of course not."
"Thank you."
She'd watched Katarina leave. Katarina did not know about her father, and Cassandra had wanted to tell her. She couldn't believe that Clopin had just let the man leave. True, he had wanted to kill Frollo, but noble as that was, he was abandoning his daughter. Katarina would need her father now more than ever, and now he would die before she even got the chance to meet him.
Perhaps it was best this way, though. After all, it would only add to Katarina's pain if she knew that the one-legged roustabout had been her real father and that he'd left her here. As sad as it was, she was better off thinking that he had been killed before she was even born.
~xXx~