If young Ingrid Damas could melt into this tavern, The Three Ravens, she would be the vibe, able to move around freely and as easily as the hazy plumes of smoke that clouded the atmosphere, thanks to certain customers, mostly all of them, who enjoyed their pipe. Ingrid scrunched her nose in disgust at the smell in private, but outward, she would smile. The young woman would smile at the menfolk, soaking in the laughter and smiles of the patron's customers. Some handsome young knight would ask her to dance and then they would go to—
"Ingrid!" The innkeeper's harsh grating voice snapped the young Parisian woman out of her daydreaming. "Stay sharp!"
"Yes, milord," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing. She jolted back to reality with a guilty flinch, brushing a lock of light brown hair behind her ear. Ingrid paused, taking a moment to redo her simple French braid to keep it out of the way while she worked. Meanwhile, back in her reality, instead of her imaginary world, she was here, forced to step back into the shaded tavern that opened her eyes that much wider, and see the muted colors of the goblets and decanters, even the food.
Ingrid worked quickly to bring food and drinks to a handsome fellow, the captain of the cathedral guard, Captain Phoebus and his compatriot, a thin, sallow looking man with dark hair, but decent features, nonetheless. She frowned; her brow furrowed slightly as she studied the dark-haired man a little closer now.
"Do I know you?" Ingrid did not realize she had spoken it aloud until the strange man shifted in his chair and met her gaze, openly gawking at her once his eyes settled upon her.
She blushed. Ingrid knew all too well what she looked like. She was a Damas, and Damas women prided themselves on their appearances, especially her older cousin, Sophia. Ingrid the Hearth Keep was young, with light brown hair she often wore tied back in a simple French braid, a few tendrils escaping to frame her thin heart-shaped face and high cheekbones and good jawline. Her light brown hair caught the light of the candles in the windowsill, and for a moment, the dark-haired man was rendered quite speechless.
There was beauty in every color of hair, even the more common 'light brown'. However, this woman's was anything but common. Hers was a more subdued earthy tone, bringing to the man recollections of autumn in Paris. He knew of some women with hair that had brighter tones, inflections of vibrant red or gold streaks that would catch the sunlight. He loved those too, but the earth herself had a beauty not to be ignored.
To wear the color of her soils in spring was an honor, not a misfortunate. Her nose was slender and petite, her lips a soft natural pink. Ripe for kissing, the men in the establishment always liked to say and teased her for it. Delicate brows framed her brown eyes and were currently furrowed in a light frown as she watched out of the corner of her eye that table with the captain and the sentry of the Frollo estate. Roul, she thinks.
He caught her staring once, and she recoiled back from the table and reddened maddeningly. Ingrid glanced down at the wooden floorboards, not wanting to meet Roul's gaze. She set to work grabbing a cloth, wiping an empty tankard clean.
A startled shout, someone calling her name caused her to look up. "Good night Ingrid. See you tomorrow, lovely!" slurred Pierre Gringoire, one of their regulars every week, followed by the other gypsies and poets alike. "Next time, don't be shy!"
"Good night, lads!" Ingrid chirped cheerily, still feeling Roul's piercing gaze brand the back of her skull like a branding iron. "Tell your boy over there not to lose his hand next time, you hear me? If I find it on my ass again, I'll throw him out!"
A loud boisterous laugh from Captain Phoebus caused the beginnings of a smile to creep onto Ingrid's flushed, pink face.
"Girl!" barked Roul, looking suddenly annoyed. "Over here!"
Not wanting to earn another reprimand from the innkeeper, she obliged, noticing the bartender shoot her a dirty look when she hesitated. Brushing back a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear, she flushed and glanced down at her boots, which were caked with mud and bits of old food. "Milord," she mumbled.
"How much of that conversation did you overhear?" demanded Roul, suddenly looking tense, while Phoebus was preoccupied. "Not ours," he added, looking quite cross.
Ingrid was momentarily distracted by Captain Phoebus flirting with a pair of women, a few of Valmont's from the nearby brothel that she recognized and stared at him.
"Let's see what you got, oh, don't be coy, honey. Perhaps later you can show us around? Darling, to be blunt, you are with the best and that—what?" Phoebus crooned to one of the women, a pretty redhead with long flowing, wavy locks.
The girl giggled, a hand over her mouth. "Oh, we're not those types of girls, captain. You want that kind, you'll have to go see the Madame over at the Rue de Glatigny," she joked.
"I like all types of girls," came Captain Phoebus's reply, shooting her a flirtatious wink. Ingrid caught the girl's eye and gave a curt shake of her head and a withering look full of seething hatred that would have caused a nearby flower to wilt.
The girls blushed and immediately bolted from the table.
Now that the women were no longer a distraction, Ingrid could return her attentions to the two men, and she could tell the sentry who called himself Roul was eager to get to the point. "I called you over here because I know you overheard."
"Overheard what?" Ingrid asked, maintaining an air of innocence, though she knew she had not fooled this man.
Over time, she quickly learned that the best way to survive in this cruel world was to stay quiet and listen. Being a part of Clopin's network came easy to the young hearth keeper. As a child, she had eavesdropped on closed doors, at bedtime she would pin her ear to the dusty boards to hear what the adults had to say. As a young woman, she knew everything about everyone, and what better way to obtain that information than in a tavern, always the bustling hubbub of activity in Paris?
The sentry scowled and looked annoyed. "Don't play dumb with me, girl. You're better than that. Tell me what you heard."
Captain Phoebus, sensing her discomfort, offered in his input.
"We swear it, Damas, what you say to us at these tables will not go any further than the two of us. We think that man from earlier is up to no good," he added, his blond brows furrowing.
Ingrid nodded, letting out a deep breath that she wasn't even aware that she'd been holding. She took the seat next to Roul, unaware she was making him slightly uncomfortable at being so close, as she could feel his body stiffen and if the tension in the air had been a color, their entire section of the room would have been scarlet. "Not much," she confessed wearily. "They kept their voices low, but I overheard them talking about…" she glanced around, making sure the barkeep wasn't listening.
"Go on," Roul muttered impatiently, waving his hand.
"Killing a woman," she whispered, her voice low, terrified.
Captain Phoebus sighed. "I suspected as much. Did they mention any names?" Both men weren't surprised when the young woman shook her head no. "That confirms it then, Roul. Your boy is up to something, but without proof, I can't arrest him. We'll have to think of another way to get him to confess."
"Confess to what?" asked Ingrid despite herself. Her curiosity was going to get her killed one of these days. "Did he…? Oh," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, no…"
The girl, whoever she was, was in danger with both men after her. She hadn't been able to get a good look at the strange hooded man, but she recognized the other to be the youngest Frollo son, Jehan, she believed his name to be called. "God…"
"Indeed," muttered Roul darkly, a bit sarcastically as he took another drink from his tankard and slammed it down on the table. "Best we can do at this point is alert Clopin and his people, tell them to keep an eye out for anything suspicious."
"I don't like this," Ingrid whispered, horrified. "What…?"
"Trust us, girl, neither do we," Captain Phoebus sighed. "But we thank you for your help. Anything you share with us is helpful. At least now we know Jehan is planning something, what that is, we don't know, but we aim to find out, milady."
"Would it help to share the information we've learned with those over at the cathedral?" questioned Ingrid hopefully, absentmindedly picking at her nail cuticles for a distraction.
"No. Not without proof," sighed Roul heavily. He sounded and looked utterly exhausted. He groaned and flinched at the stiffness in his joints as he rose from the table and stretched.
Roul regarded the young hearth keeper for a moment in silence. "There is perhaps another way," he muttered thoughtfully, running his hands through his dark hair.
"How?" asked Ingrid, her hazel eyes wide and round.
"It might be possible yet for you to help us," he said, his green eyes seeming to ignite with a fiery passion. "But it would come at a great cost. It would unfortunately mean placing you in a different kind of prison, milady, other than this shithole."
She chuckled a little at the term for the tavern. She could agree with that. "What would I have to do?" she whispered.
Roul said nothing at first, taking advantage of the temporary silence to study the young hearth keep's face and good figure.
There was something about the woman's voice that forced him to listen. There was something strong, determined, and unfazed about this girl. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them and looked up at the hearth keep. She really was quite a pretty thing. Her light brown hair was thick and lustrous, pulled back into a loose French braid. Blonde would have been better, given Jehan Frollo's preference for his sister, but…she'll have to do, his conscience chirped up moodily.
Roul paused before answering and gazed once more at the spirited young woman standing before the two men. He could tell she wanted more out of her life than to spend the rest of her best days withering away as a hearth keep for a run-down inn that was on its last leg. No, this was so much more than that.
Ingrid Damas was a beautiful in a subtle, understated way. In the sort of way if one were to look twice, he or she would see a strong spirit with a good and kind heart. This was a good thing.
If the girl agreed to his plan, it would mean that she could survive there. However, it also meant it would be that much more dangerous for the young hearth keeper. But still…
"You could come back with me and work at the Frollo estate," Roul said slowly, his voice a slight drawl as he nonchalantly studied the young woman's expression for any hint of displeasure at his bold idea. It was a risky move, but he could use someone with Ingrid's talent to listen and observe.
Ingrid stared at the head sentry of the Frollo estate in disbelief. Captain Phoebus, it should be noticed, was looking thoroughly displeased by this idea, but found no way to argue it. She could hardly believe her ears. The young hearth keep had heard rumors of other women who had gone to work for Jehan. Rumor has it they had been treated well whenever the young lord was home. Some had even claimed to enjoy their maître's affections, but most were never seen or heard from again once they left for the Frollo estate. And this was to be her fate? She blew a wisp of hair off her forehead in annoyance.
"Why are you suggesting this to me specifically?" Ingrid demanded in a guarded manner, not still fully certain if she trusted the sentry's idea. It was an idea of great risk, and a little luck. Something about the young man's tone gave her pause. She could only stare, as Roul and Phoebus both were looking highly amused at her reactions towards this suggestion.
Roul let out an anguished sigh. "Were that I could offer another way, milady, but I don't see another alternative. The young lord has a rather unique way with women, shall we say. Jehan Frollo is quite fond of pretty faces. Whereas other girls would never manage to get within a foot of his estate if they were not deemed pretty enough, now that Geoffroi, his father, is dead, most of the others have been dismissed. Save for the 'pretty ones,' of which there are perhaps five left." A pause.
"Why me?" repeated Ingrid, feeling herself grow flustered.
"With your…unique ability at gathering information that you otherwise ought not to have, perhaps you can help me figure out what it is my lord is planning. He's after his sister, I think."
A dark look overcame his gaunt features and Ingrid shuddered. There was a cold stillness to his green eyes.
"You would report to me and only to Jehan or myself if you should ever be summoned to his chambers. I pray that you would not be, milady. I'd have you work in the kitchens or in the cellars, where he would never lay eyes or a hand upon you. I will do everything in my power to ensure you never meet Jehan Frollo face-to-face, my dear. Something tells me that he would be attracted to a young woman like yourself, one with a fiery spirit, just like his sister. It's unhealthy, that attraction."
"I'll say," Phoebus snorted darkly, downing his tankard.
"Done." Ingrid was surprised at how quickly she answered before she could even stop herself or give herself time to think over the man's offer. She stood from their table, wiping her hands on the skirts of her simple brown dress, tossing the filthy black rag on the table, and without waiting to be asked, grabbed Captain Phoebus's still mostly full tankard and took a huge swig of the ale to steel her nerves. Slamming the cup down on the table, Ingrid jutted her chin out defiantly and met Roul's gaze. "I will do as you ask if it gets me away from here. You will release me from my servitude to this place and take me back to your estate immediately," she commanded, noticing the shift in the sentry's mood. He was, if Ingrid was not mistaken, slightly aroused by her ability to take command and display no fear. "I could use a little excitement in my life."
"Very well," replied Roul, his gaze unwavering and unabashed as he held out his hand for her to take. "We'll leave immediately. "But understand this, dear, once you are employed in the estate, you shall never be able to leave."
Ingrid nodded. There was no mistaking the cold steel in the sentry's voice. She could tell Roul did not want any trickery from her or any plans to deceive him, of which that was the furthest thing from her mind right now. She waved a shy goodbye to the captain of the cathedral guard, who was looking taken aback and admirable at the hearth keep's bravery.
"Are you sure, milady?" Roul asked again, stopping once more to look at Ingrid once they were outside as he climbed up onto his stallion, a beautiful chestnut colored beast, huge and hulking. "Jehan Frollo is a bit of a womanizer, and he—"
"Yes," she answered curtly, her voice coming out rougher than she would have liked. "Just ride," she ordered through gritted teeth, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands drifted towards the sentry's waist and settled there hesitantly.
Roul felt a pleasant warmth at the touch of her hands on his waist but chose not to comment on it. If she made it out of this alive, then perhaps there would be time for that later, but…
Ingrid stared out into the night at the dirt road ahead, leading into the dark woods to only God above knew where. She let her tears run down her face, grateful that her tears would be indistinguishable from the cold rain that had started to fall. The young hearth keep did not normally like to show her emotions, but it was her tears that kept her soul alive during moments such as this. They could not extinguish what had been, but only carry her forward until a time would come when her searing pains would be distant enough to forget more than remember, and maybe one day purge itself from her memories. So perhaps it would have been seen as an oddity for Ingrid Damas to thank her tears and be grateful for them, considering the reputation the women in her family had for being hard. Yet, if that was what would save her from becoming a monster, a person indifferent to suffering and sorrow, then crying was the smartest thing she could do for herself for now.
Ingrid Damas was smart enough not to look back.