Quasimodo was trying hard to stay awake for the final ringing of the bells at midnight. He felt his lids heavy as lead, and couldn't stop yawning.
It had been one of the most intense days of his life. After spending the whole night awake taking care of Esmeralda with Frollo, he had carried her in his arms to the palace of justice. Granted, he was actually very strong, and Esmeralda wasn't heavy, but still, after the sleepless night he had ended up with sore arms and back. But that couldn't stop him from his bell ringer duties, which were increased during Sundays, because they included the calls to mass.
After ringing the noon bells, Clopin had stormed into his quarter, demanding to see Esmeralda. When Quasimodo explained that they had taken her to the palace, the gypsy flew into a rage. It had taken all of his patience and convincing skills to calm the man and reassure him that she was perfectly safe and wouldn't be harmed. Finally, Clopin had yielded reluctantly, and had agreed to not show up at the palace and disturb her rest until the next day.
When he had left, Quasimodo sighed, equally relieved and frustrated. Why couldn't they all get along? Didn't they want the same thing? But Esmeralda had managed to place herself between two stubborn, complicated men, neither of which was willing to even consider trusting the other. He hoped that the situation would resolve soon, and that they could go back to normal. Though, on second thought, he wasn't sure of what normal meant anymore.
He was pondering all of this, trying to keep his mind awake, when he heard quiet footsteps on the entrance, and the soft squeaking of the ladder that announced an incoming visitor. However, by the sound of it, it wasn't anyone he knew, for the steps were too light.
Suddenly alert, he hid himself in the shadow of a thick post, waiting for the visitor to reveal him or herself.
- Hello? - a shrill voice called. - Is anyone here?
Quasimodo didn't recognize the voice, and he started to get nervous. Who was that, coming into his private space at night?
- Who's there? - he asked, still from the shadows.
- Quasimodo? - the voice replied, as the footsteps moved trying to locate him.
- Who are you? - Quasimodo asked again, surprised that whoever it was knew his name.
- I'm Pat! Patrice. - the boy announced.
It took Quasimodo a second to identify that name.
- The stable boy? - he inquired, relaxing a little.
- Yes, sir. - Pat answered politely.
Sir? Quasimodo had never been called Sir in his entire life. He was surprised and honored by it, and decided to step out of the shadows into the dim moonlight that entered through the window.
The boy was standing there, looking the other way, but he turned around when he heard him moving. Quasimodo braced himself for his reaction when he saw his deformity, but though the boy looked stunned, he promptly gave him a wide smile.
- Oh, there you are! It's so good to finally put a face to the name! - he said cheerfully.
For a moment Quasimodo flinched, but he quickly understood that there was no mockery intended in those words. The lad was actually happy to see him, though he couldn't understand why. Pat saw his baffled expression and explained:
- Master Frollo told me a lot about you. And you once carved a wooden horse for me, as a present when I broke my arm falling of a real horse, remember? I still carry it around! - he announced proudly, and reaching into his pocket, he took the familiar figure out.
Quasimodo remembered that day, when Frollo had told him about Pat's accident and he had decided to give the judge the wooden horse for him to give it to Pat. He was again honored to see that the boy still kept his gift, so he smiled at him warmly, letting down his usual defensive attitude.
But then, once the initial stupor of his unexpected visit faded out, he realized there should be a reason for it. And given the time of the day, or to be precise, the night, it couldn't be good.
- What are you doing here, Pat? - he asked, concerned.
- Oh, yes! - Pat replied quickly, remembering his mission. - Mistress Esmeralda sent me.
- Mistress? - Quasimodo repeated, amused, but he immediately returned to his concern. -Why? Is she okay?
- I'm not sure – Pat confessed, adding – but she didn't sent me for her. She sent me because of Master Frollo.
While walking after Pat towards the Palace, Quasimodo realized that he had been out more times in the last month than in the rest of his entire life.
It was weird for him, for he felt at once excited and exposed. But none of that mattered now, he scolded himself internally. This wasn't about him.
When they entered the Palace, Pat stopped, hesitantly.
- I should leave you here, Sir. I don't think I'm allowed in the private chambers. - he explained.
- You're right. - a female voice said, coming into the hall through a nearby door. - You've been a good boy, Pat. Go fetch yourself a glass of milk and some biscuits from the kitchen, will you?
Pat frowned at the woman's patronizing tone, but he shruddered, and giving Quasimodo a smile and a nod, he ran towards the door, which the woman closed after him. She then walked towards Quasimodo, but once the light from the nearest torch illuminated his face, she was stopped right on her tracks with a gasp.
- What in the Lord's… - Magdalene whispered, immediately covering her mouth in embarrassment for her reaction. - Excuse me. I just didn't know...- she tried to justify herself poorly.
Quasimodo felt his cheeks burning, and he wanted to turn around and run back to his sanctuary. But if Esmeralda had called him there, it must have been important.
- I believe they are expecting me…? - he asked tentatively.
- Yes. Yes, of course. Please follow me. - Magdalene indicated quickly, relieved to put an end to the uncomfortable tension. She started climbing the main stairs and Quasimodo followed her.
- She's there – she said, pointing towards a chamber door.
- Thank you. - Quasimodo muttered, and entered the room.
The warmth of the fireplace surrounded him, making him shiver from the contrast with the previous cold. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the room, and then he saw her, curled up in an armchair by the bed, sleeping. He walked towards her, and noticed she was wearing just her night clothes, and her hair was all messy.
- Esmeralda? - he called softly, unsure if he should be waking her up.
But she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice.
- Quasi! - she said, attempting to get up from the chair.
- What are you doing? Don't move! - he instructed alarmed, pointing to her wounded foot, and grabbing her arm to help her regain balance.
- Damn it, I forgot! - she cursed, sinking back into the armchair. - I'm so glad you could make it. I wasn't sure you'd trust Pat enough to leave with him, but I couldn't go myself for obvious reasons. - she pointed out, exasperated.
- I liked Pat – Quasimodo confirmed with a brief smile, before asking- What happened?
Esmeralda looked at the adjacent bed, and only then Quasimodo realized that Frollo was lying upon it, seemingly unconscious.
- What happened? - he repeated, frightened at Frollo's stillness.
- I don't know. - Esmeralda explained in a rattled voice- We were just talking and then he got up and fainted. He hasn't awaken since.
- Just like that? - Quasimodo asked, confused.
Esmeralda nodded, as confused as him. Then she recalled the weirdest part of their encounter.
- He was all wet.
- Wet...?
- I mean, he was soaking. When he entered my room, his hair and clothes were all wet, I have no idea why.
Quasimodo frowned, baffled, but then he gasped and a sudden look of understanding appeared in his face.
- What? - she asked anxiously.
- He should have listened to me! - he said, more to himself than to her.
- I don't understand. - Esmeralda said, getting frustrated.
- When we got you here – Quasimodo began to explain- Frollo thought that you could benefit from some willow bark. It's good with the pain and fever.
- Yes, he gave me some tea made with it. - she nodded.
But Quasimodo shook his head, biting his lower lip with worry. Esmeralda raised her eyebrows, awaiting an explanation.
- He didn't have any left. - he continued. - So he thought of collecting some from the trees by the river, outside the city, where the forest begins.
- Aha…
- I thought he would send a servant or even one of his soldiers to collect it. But he insisted on going himself. He said he didn't trust anyone else to recognize the correct tree and to extract the bark properly. He feared someone else might get it wrong and give you something toxic by mistake. But I told him not to go.
- Why not? - Esmeralda asked, puzzled.
- Because the storm had already reached the city and it was pouring. And given the cold I feared it would soon become a snow blizzard, as it did. I insisted him that it wasn't worth the risk, that you would be okay if you just slept properly… and I thought I had convinced him. But he must have left the moment I returned to the cathedral.
- So… - Esmeralda mumbled, turning her gaze towards the laying man on the bed. - You're saying… he went into a snow storm to get me some tree bark?
- I think so. He probably came straight to you right after returning, to bring you the willow tea. That's why he was still wet. The cold, and the exhaustion from our sleepless night, following his journey… it must have been too much on his body.
- But… why? - she wondered, looking back at Quasimodo, searching for an answer that made sense to Frollo's unbelievable behavior. - Why would he do all of that?
- To help you. - Quasimodo replied, as if stating the obvious.
- Yes, but why? Why go all that way, risking his own wellbeing… I mean, look at him now.
Quasimodo approached the bed a little more, sitting on its edge. Frollo was pale as death itself. His whole face seemed to sunk into his skull. He was covered with thick blankets but still, his skin felt icy to the touch. And his breathing was so shallow, his chest was barely moving.
- Well, at least he doesn't have a fever – Quasimodo pointed out, hopeful.
But Esmeralda's expression darkened, remembering what Frollo had told her the night before about her fever. Her tone was ominous when she replied:
- Quasi, I don't think that's good. It means his body is not fighting.