The Archdeacon smiled approvingly as he watched Curran run to her friend, and nodded in satisfaction as the two hugged each other in a tight embrace. From where he stood, the girl called Tempest was about four inches taller than Curran and had a beauty about her that threatened almost to overwhelm her paler friend. Curran's beauty lay in her delicate elfin features and pale-gold hair, but Tempest's came from her dramatic cheekbones and the contrast of the dark waves of her hair with her stormy blue-grey eyes.
As he wandered away to inform Quasimodo, the two girls broke apart and stood surveying each other in wonder. "I still can't believe this!" the girl called Tempest said, breaking the mystified silence which had descended. "When I heard that the latest sanctuary seeker had pale-gold hair and looked like a ghost, I thought it might be you, but... I can't believe I was right!"
"I'm so glad you were!" Curran laughed. "But what are you doing in Paris, Tempé? I had no word from you, but I thought you'd still be in Calais!"
"Oh, so much has happened! Has the priest gone?" Tempest looked around cautiously, then turned back to the doorway. "Jeannette! Psst, Jeannette!" she hissed quietly. "You can come in now!"
At Tempest's whispered command, a tiny pink hand grasped the edge of the stone archway and Curran watched in astonishment as a small girl, no more than two years old, waddled slowly past the carved saints and into the dark interior of the cathedral. "Good girl!" Tempest cooed as she picked up the little girl. "Mama's proud of you!"
"You mean... you have a daughter?" Curran stared, astonished, at the little girl whose black curls and eyes made her a portrait of Tempest in miniature. "Oh Tempest, she's beautiful! But when did you get married? Why didn't you tell me?"
Tempest shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. "Oh, you'd already moved away, I think - it was such a shame, as I did want you to be there for my wedding. Anyway, his name's Jean, and he's a clothmaker from Avignon. The most wonderful man in the world, Curran! And now I have the most wonderful daughter in the world too!"
Curran recognized the fierce love in her friend's eyes whenever she gazed at her daughter. "That's wonderful, Tempé! I'm so happy for you."
"Enough of me - what about you?" Tempest said with a huge grin. "You always used to have men buzzing around you in Calais - have you decided on a particular suitor yet?"
"Yes - I married him a year ago, and I wish I hadn't..." Shuddering, Curran outlined the tale of her life with Jarrett, ending with her decision to claim sanctuary in Notre-Dame. "I'm here with Quasimodo, the bellringer they told us about in Jarrett's village. The stories about his heart of pure gold are all true - he's the kindest person I've met since I've been here. Sometimes I wish I'd married him instead of Jarrett!"
Tempest shook her head slowly. "I can't believe your husband would be that cruel to you. How could he?"
"I've asked myself that every day since I left him, and I still haven't figured out why. And, it gets worse - I think he's still looking for me. I know his men were outside Notre-Dame a month ago, and knowing Jarrett I don't think I'll ever be safe here."
"Hmmm." Tempest was silent for a few moments, then the familiar grin spread back over her face. "I know what you can do! Why don't you come back to Avignon with me and Jean? We'll be going back to Avignon for good in another couple of days, we were just here to visit Jean's family."
"Could I?"
"Of course you could, silly! If you come back with me they'll never be able to follow you!"
"Oh yes, they probably will!" replied Curran gloomily. "They hunted me all the way from Paris, didn't they?"
"Ah, but that's because you went by the roads," Tempest answered smugly. "But Jean and I came to Paris using the rivers, on our own houseboat! He owns it, it's just the two of us. Once you leave with us on the waterways you'll be far away and safe! They'll have no idea where you're headed!"
"I don't know..." Curran hesistated. "I've just got back, and Quasimodo..."
"Quasimodo nothing! Look, this is what we'll do," Tempest replied loudly, with her typical self-assurance. "If you're not sure yet whether you want to leave, you can come back with me and I'll tell Jean all about my plan at our houseboat. If you decide you want to come to Avignon, that'd be wonderful - and if you don't, at least my husband will have met my sister!"
"Well, all right..."
"Besides, little Jeannette would love you to come along and meet Daddy, wouldn't you sweetheart?"
The little girl nodded from her mother's arms, and Curran giggled.
"Oh come now, that's not fair! How can I resist both of you?"





It was a beautiful day outside. He could tell from the strength of the sunlight pouring in through the stained-glass windows. He sat in the pool of light that illumined the entrance to the belltower stairs - right at his feet, the sun's movements were causing the multi-coloured diamonds to shift like a kaleidoscope, scarlet lozenges meeting and melting into shapes of sunflower yellow and sea-green. The slow dance of the colours normally brightened his spirits, but now Quasimodo sat with his head in his hands and saw only the darkness around him.
What could he do now? He didn't want to think about it anymore, but he couldn't stop reliving the moment when Curran had burst into his attic and told him of the friend from childhood who had arrived that day and who now wanted her to leave for Avignon. Quasimodo had seen Tempest from the galleries and from the Archdeacon's words he'd guessed her purpose: now, faced with Curran's happiness, he didn't have the heart to beg her to stay with him just one night more. He'd waved her farewell with a smile on his face, concealing the misery he'd felt as he watched her walk away for good.
The sound of footsteps in the nave roused him from his thoughts, and a wild surge of hope that maybe Curran had not deserted him after all made him look up eagerly. But all he saw was the lean figure of Clopin standing by the pillar, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
"Quasi! Quasimodo, what's the matter?"
Quasimodo lifted his gaze from the floor and focussed weakly on Clopin. "Go back to your rat's nest, Clopin. Curran doesn't want to see you."
"Maybe not, but I want to see her!" Clopin replied, stung by the insult. "Where is she? In the belltower?"
"Where is she?" Quasimodo's laugh was dry and unconvincing. "You're too late, Clopin. Her best friend just came and took her away. An hour ago. She won't be coming back."
"What are you talking about? Tell me!"
Quasimodo began to explain how Curran's childhood friend had arrived, but he stopped when he saw the look of absolute horror on Clopin's face.
"Which way did she go, Quasi?" the gypsy man burst out. "Which way? Tell me!"
Not bothering to wait for the answer, Clopin turned for the door - and, the next instant, felt a titanic force grab him firmly. Both of Quasimodo's hands clamped his wrist like an iron vice, pinning him to the spot. "Clopin, you are not going to interfere in her life again!" the hunchback hissed in his ear. "She's finished with you - forget her!"
"I'm not interfering!" Clopin shouted, using every ounce of his strength to twist himself out of Quasimodo's grasp. "Listen to me for a minute, will you? I think Curran's in danger!"
"Danger?" Quasimodo gaped. "But how can she -"
"Quasi, don't you think it's strange that Tempest arrived so conveniently? Curran comes back to Notre-Dame and hey presto! Her best friend who she hasn't seen for three years turns up out of the blue the very next day?"
"I - I suppose it was strange..." Quasimodo said nervously. "But she was her best friend in the convent, Curran said so herself!"
"That doesn't mean anything!" Clopin snapped back at him. "I've known people who'd sell their own mothers for a bag of gold, never mind some long-lost friend! We have to find her! Tell me, which way did they go?"
"Down to the river. Tempest said... said that she was married to a clothmaker, and that he had his own houseboat moored at the docks."
"Come on then!" Clopin turned and sprinted towards the bright doorway. A moment later Quasimodo passed him, and then both were racing across the Place de Notre-Dame, running in the direction of the docks.




How much time had elapsed since Curran had left with Tempest? An hour, maybe even less than that. Had she met up with her cruel husband yet? Had he bound her hands and shut her terrified in some small room somewhere, in the darkness? Hadn't Curran told Quasimodo that Jarrett had promised her, 'You are mine. You'll always be mine. No-one else can ever have you. You'll die before another man will get you!'
You won't die, Curran, Clopin thought grimly. We'll find you. And when we do we'll make sure he can never hurt you again -
"T-there," Quasimodo panted as he struggled to keep pace with Clopin's long strides. "There's a fisherman, he might have seen something..."
When they asked him, the grey-haired fisherman scratched his head slowly. "No zur, I seen no blonde girl, no." More slow pondering. "But it was a pretty dark-haired lass I saw, she had a man and a little babby girl with her. A fine rich man by the looks of him, too. The man climbed up on that there boat and helped them up -"
"What boat?" Clopin demanded, his eyes scanning the riverboats that bobbed at the harbour's edge. "Which of these boats?"
"Oh no, there was a riverboat 'ere, zurs, but it's gone now. They cut the jumprope not ten minutes agone and then they set off that way." He thrust his thumb towards the flat horizon where the sun set the river sparkling. "North-west, I reckon."
"Did you see which way the man and the girl came from?"
"Oh yes, zur, that way." He pointed to the eastern edge of the river, where the docks gave way to a marshy undergrowth of trees and reeds. "Now I thinks of it their feet was all wet and muddy, and the little girl was bawling fit to burst -"
He blinked as the two men turned away without a word and started running as if their lives depended on it. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his nets. He'd never understand city folks, that much was clear.
Swiftly Clopin and Quasimodo crashed through the undergrowth by the riverbank, row upon row of stiff rushes breaking and shattering in their paths. "Do - you think - that man was Jarrett?" panted Quasimodo hoarsely as he struggled to keep up with Clopin's pace.
"Don't know," Clopin muttered. "But he said their feet were wet and muddy. That means they were by the river's edge."
"Oh no -" Quasimodo stopped as the dark possibilities of that fact washed over him. "You don't think -"
"I don't think anything yet!" Clopin replied savagely. "We're going to find her, Quasimodo. I'll search here, you look further on."
Silently Quasimodo ran further up the bank. He pulled a thick forked branch free from one of the riverside trees to pull the reeds apart. Only an hour since she'd left, he thought desperately, only an hour. He couldn't have - not in an hour - but why was she crying? Why, when she boarded the boat and sailed away with her mother, was Tempest's small daughter crying?
And then he saw her.
Quasimodo's breath seized in his throat at the sight. Curran was lying in the midst of a bank of rushes, as if stronger hands had tossed her there. Her face was turned away from him, and her loose hair spilled out over her shoulders. Her cloak was gone and her arms were stretched above her head. She was completely still.
"Curran? Curran?" he said, his voice faltering as he bent down over her. She did not answer. He turned her over to face him.
His hands came away wet with her blood.