Chapter Two

Marquer Votre Territoire Bien

(Mark Your Territory Well)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters/items/other stuff from Hunchback of Notre Dame. They belong to Disney and Victor Hugo (I strongly recommend reading the original – Hugo is simply brilliant). I only use them for my own pleasure in writing, but I don't make a dime out of it, so please don't sue. All original characters are my own creation.

Author's Note: Another already written chapter from a while ago. I edited much of it, disgusted in how terrible my grammar was back in the day, but actually quite enjoying how well written the story actually was. Anyways, onwards…

The sun had already fallen in the west when Jeta awoke from her sleep, only a few short hours since her arrival in Paris. As much as she wanted to simply roll over and return to her dream state, her training would not allow her to do so. Besides, Jeta knew that if she wanted to catch the job she came here for, she would have to be quick or someone else would be hired.

Jeta had just finished bathing and dressing when there was a knock at her door. While brushing her hair, quite a task for the texture and thickness, Jeta unlocked and opened her bedroom door to reveal her master and surrogate father.

"Good evening iníon. I trust you have slept well."

With a snort, Jeta greeted Patrick, pushing the door open so he could enter.

"I would have slept better if the sun had stayed in the sky."

Patrick laughed at Jeta, allowing himself in as she had already walked back over to her vanity – one of the few things in the room that highlighted the fact that a woman lived there.

Jeta had been brought up in a male-dominated society and job, having no female friends to converse with. She did not have times for the trivial things most women concerned themselves with – makeup, clothing, and jewelry. Instead, she had focused all her will power into besting the men she worked so closely to, even if it had caused more than a few injuries in the past years.

Finally getting her hair to detangle itself enough to be manageable, Jeta knotted her black hair into a tight braid before twisting it into a bun on the nape of her neck. With that task done, she grabbed her black wool cloak from its place on a hook, she swooshed it on and turned to Patrick.

"Ready to go?"

"If you're done primping yourself."

Jeta bit her tongue, not wanting to argue. Her body was telling her that she needed to reach the bar across town, a well-known spot for hiring such people as herself and Patrick, that something was there that she needed to participate in. Even if she appeared calm and collected on the outside, her insides were burning up with anticipation and excitement.

Patrick and Jeta left their safe house and silently made their way to a local bar and inn - Le Bourreau. Jeta had been extra careful with hiding herself this evening as her Romany heritage could easily have her thrown in jail for breaking curfew. If worse came to worse, she could always play along as Patrick's servant again, a thought that made her mouth taste vile.

Upon reaching the tavern, Patrick and Jeta quietly slipped in, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Patrick had been searching the room for a quiet corner when Jeta tugged at his sleeve and silently motioned to a table in the back. Making their way over, Jeta and Patrick sat down at the table, each lowering the hoods of their cloaks and making themselves comfortable until a serving girl came to help. Patrick had taken out his pipe and bag of tobacco as soon as his behind had found a place to sit, while Jeta had thrown her legs up on the chair across from her, crossing them at the ankle, relaxing back as if she owned the bar. It was several more minutes before they had received any service.

Ancelin had seen the odd pair enter, but had not put much thought into their presence, making a list in her head to go and ask for their orders. It was not until they had revealed their faces, or more specifically their earrings, a simple blood red feather in their right ear, when she decided to move them a bit up on her list. After taking the order of her current customer she walked over to the table in the farthest corner, making sure to keep any fear out of her features.

Ancelin was the head waitress in Le Bourreau and one of the most beautiful girls in Paris. She was of average height – around five foot four – and was a bit on the chubby side, but this only added to her ample curves and breasts. Her chocolate brown hair fell in ringlets and framed a round face with high cheekbones, full ruby lips, and deep green eyes. More than a few men had fallen over themselves to gain her attentions after drinking too much ale, and sometimes, even when they had not touched a drop of it.

Making her way over to the mismatched couple, she put on her most pleasant smiles and cleared her throat to announce her presence, still standing a respectable distance away.

"Is there anything I can be getting you?"

Jeta simply shook her head, unsheathed a small knife from her boot, and began to pick the dirt out from underneath her nails. Ancelin's smile steadily turned into a frown with each movement from the young girl in front of her, though she still tried to stay as pleasant as possible. Trying hard to resist the urge to yell at her customer or run away, she turned to the older gentleman, hoping that he would not be such a pest.

"Whatever the house special might be and a mug of your finest ale. For two, since my rude partner doesn't seem to be in a talkative mood."

Jeta simply shrugged, continuing to work at her nails, stopping every now and then to bring a finger closer to her face to examine, before returning to her picking. Ancelin forced a smile onto her face, telling them their order would be out in a few minutes. Patrick gave Jeta a glare that could have killed lesser men, but Jeta simply shrugged it off and went back to knife and nails. The ale arrived shortly after, but their meal did not appear for another fifteen minutes. Neither complained as the cooking staff probably had to make it up when they got their order. Most of the customers were either drowning themselves in their drinks or too busy merrymaking to eat.

The pair picked at their food, exchanging snippets of conversation before a man sat down in front of them, carefully avoiding the seat that Jeta's feet occupied. Jeta and Patrick looked at each other before glancing at the man in front of them. Jeta answered this time.

"Can we help you?" Jeta questioned the man in front of her, not feeling quite comfortable with him and wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible, feeling as if he was just simply a drunk who was unaware that he had sat at the wrong table.

"I believe you can." The man tugged at his right ear, indicating that he knew what their earrings stand for. "I wish to pay you for your… erm… services."

Jeta snorted, looking the man up and down, not believing that such a filthy and obviously poor man would ever think he could afford her and her partner. He was dressed in what appeared to be rags that had not been washed recently, if ever. His hair was a light blonde color, kept somewhat long, and looked dirty, his eyes were a pleasant sky blue, and his skin was the color of a middle-class citizen, not too tan and not too pale. This last factor was the one that forced Jeta to look a bit closer at the man, trying to figure out exactly who he was.

Upon closer inspection, Jeta noted that the tears and mud stains on his rags seemed to be made rather than acquired and his posture was upright, betraying his real position as a noble or guard. The man obviously did not want to deal with either of the bounty hunters by the way his eyes kept darting around and how his hand kept coming to rest on an ill-hidden sword. Jeta was about to respond negatively, noting that a man who dressed like he did would not be able to afford them, undercover guard or not, when he reached inside a pocket and dropped a small, yet tightly filled, pouch of coins. She instinctively grabbed the bag and began to open and inspect the money. While she did this, Patrick continued the conversation.

"And what exactly would you be employing us for?"

"I work for a man who has a very high place in society and government. Unfortunately, his life has been made difficult by the gypsies," the man paused here, gauging Jeta's reaction. She did nothing but continue her counting of the coins. "…that fill the streets of our fair city. His problems stem from a single source however and he wants it to be taken care of."

Patrick nodded and looked at Jeta who also nodded her head, confirming that the money was real and a large sum, but the short shake afterwards told him that it was not nearly enough for what the man was asking. Passing the money to Patrick, Jeta leaned forward, taking her feet down from the chair and inspecting the man's face. While Patrick counted the coins, Jeta conversed with the man.

"What is your name?"

The man lowered his stance and his voice, obviously not wanting to be overheard. Jeta noticed this and shifted a bit closer.

"Phoebus de Chateaupers. And yours?"

"You may call me 'Redima' and my partner is 'Foighne.' "

"Alright." Phoebus looked slightly confused, but just nodded his head. He then indicated to their earrings. "I am well known throughout the city and I do not wish to be recognized, especially sitting here with you two."

Jeta and Patrick promptly took out their feather earrings and put them away. There would be no need to be recognized for their profession as it was becoming more and more apparent that this man meant business.

"Understandably so when you are seeking out people such as myself and my partner," Jeta replied, noting that Phoebus' voice had continue to lower substantially throughout the course of the conversation.

Now that the pair hid their true occupations, Phoebus relaxed slightly, but it was forced. He ordered himself a drink and began to explain what he wanted done in the most vague of descriptions.

"There is a… problem… that must be taken care of. However, my superior does not wish to draw attention to himself or those that serve him. He wants me to use an outsider, someone competent… a professional, if you will. You are new in town as I have been watching this tavern for several days now. I was about to give up hope and reside myself to the fate that I would not be able to complete my superior's orders."

"I take it by your tone of voice that this is not something you would like to have to do."

"Not at all. He is known for his high ideals of justice and would never allow me to retain my position, maybe not even my life."

"May I ask who the current Minister of Justice is?"

Phoebus blinked, trying to hide his surprise. Did they know that he was his superior? Did this pair know more than they were letting on? But, if they did know more, they would already know who he is? Or maybe they did not know more, but were hiding the fact? Perhaps, though, it was just a lucky guess. All of this mystery and shadiness was out of Phoebus' league, but he had a job to perform and he never once failed in any task. Shaking his head, Phoebus downed the rest of his mug of ale, scooped up his remaining courage, and looked at Jeta.

"The current Minister of Justice is Judge Claude Frollo," here he paused and looked at the woman. "But I'm thinking it is safe to assume that you already know this."

"Touché, Capitaine."

Jeta tipped her glass to the Captain of the Guards and also finished her drink. Patrick glared at her, knowing that she loathed the Minister of Justice, but could tell by her more relaxed position and choice of wording that this was apparently the job she had been looking for. Unfortunately, he could not put his finger on why she would want to be hired by the man she hated second most in the world.

Phoebus frowned slightly. He did not think it was a safe idea to hire outsiders to help with eliminating the gypsies, and had argued this point to the Minister. Unfortunately, the Minister was not swayed by his argument and he was forced into finding a bounty hunter. Then again, if he was to be honest with himself, he completely disagreed with the Minister on the subject of the gypsy population but was not dimwitted enough to go against the Minister. Phoebus did not trust either Jeta or Patrick as they had already shown that they knew much more than they were letting on. Making a note of this, Phoebus continued the conversation.

"I am assuming you follow the same procedure as all of your… co-workers?"

"We decide upon place and time." Jeta stopped talking, leaned in towards Patrick, the two conversing for a few quick moments. Turning back to Phoebus, she informed him of the information. "Tomorrow, one in the afternoon sharp, at the Palace of Justice. My partner and I will be showing up as a master and his servant who have a land dispute to settle out in the countryside. Be ready or you will have to find someone else to employ."

Before Phoebus could open his mouth to agree, the pair had gotten up, thrown a few coins on the table for their meal, and were out the door. Leaning back into his chair, Phoebus began to rub his chin. This was not going to play out well in the end.

Author's Note: So, there was only one movie character in this chapter. I promise the next will have more.

Athair (Irish): father
Iníon (Irish): daughter
Le Bourreau (French): The Hangman
Redima (Spanish): Redeem
Foighne (Irish): Patience
Touché (French): used to acknowledge a successful criticism or effective point in argument
Capitaine (French): Captain