Chapter Ten

Les Réunions Secrètes dans les Endroits Cachés

(Secret Meetings in Hidden Places)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters/items/other stuff from Hunchback of Notre Dame. They belong to Victor Hugo (the original mastermind whom I strongly recommend reading as the original is absolutely brilliant and puts Disney to shame) and Disney (as most of the characterization is based on this version). 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.

Claude Frollo paced impatiently in his office, sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows and illuminating the harsh lines of his face, an aggravated grimace on his features. It had been two months since he had last heard from the bounty hunters, no progress having been reported to him. The gypsy woman's cart remained open at the Pont des Artes and he occasionally spotted the vibrant red hair of the Irish man. However, neither of them approached him to inform him of their plans, neither of them seemed to care that while they pranced around Paris, he was pulling his hair out in displeasure at the gypsies that continued to flood his streets. Just as he had poured himself a glass of wine, a hand coming up to massage one of his throbbing temples, a knock sounded at the door. Contemplating for a moment, Claude called for his guest to enter.

Pushing the door ajar and peering in, Benoît Blanc cautiously entered Claude's office, sensing the tense and frustrated air radiating from the minister. Claude stood up, offering a seat to Benoît before returning to his own, downing the glass of wine before pouring another for himself and a first to Benoît. After a short toast, Claude got straight to business.

"Monsieur Blanc, have you any news for me?" Claude looked over the top of his wine goblet, the glint in his eye suggesting that the lack of information would not bode well for the minister's most trusted advisor. Seeing this, Benoît swallowed before he spoke.

"Yes, Minister." Benoît shifted in his hard leather seat before continuing, noting that Claude's impatience grew with each passing moment. "I have word on the two bounty hunters."

Benoît paused, seeing if this pleased the minister or not. Claude waved a hand for the man to proceed, no visible reaction at the mention of the hired assassins.

"As you know, I have had the two tracked since you first employed them. It appears that the two are working separately as the Irish man randomly and infrequently visits the gypsy girl at her cart. However, she has become quite friendly with the jester."

Claude interrupted, leaning forward, raising hand to signal that he wanted Benoît to pause. "How friendly with him has she become?"

Benoît smirked, a scandalous glint in his eyes. "Friendly enough that they are seen often together, spending hours in each others' presence. Friendly enough that she makes him lunch for their picnics where they playfully flirt. Friendly enough, or so the whisperings on the streets seem to believe, to take him to her bed."

"Hm…" Claude leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him and closing his eyes to think for a moment. Opening his eyes, Claude returned his attention to the man before him. "Do you know if she has been to the gypsy haven?"

"Not as far as my men know, Minister; however, they cannot tail the girl for all hours of the day. She is quite clever and, if I may so, intelligent. I believe she has an inkling that we might be following her as she has sometimes escapes my men, slipping from their sight for hours at a time."

"Indeed?" The minister paused, processing this information. Benoît again began to squirm in his seat, the eerie silence that filled the office uncomfortable. He was usually not so nervous near the minister, but his presence today was something so different, so frightening, that it caused the confident man to pause in his speech. Noting the other man's nervousness, Claude smiled and tipped his wine goblet towards Benoît, showing his pleasure. "That is interesting news."

"Yes, I thought so as well Minister." Benoît smiled for the first time since he had entered Frollo's office, pleased that his master was content with his report. Relaxing into his seat a bit more, Benoît took a deep sip from his own glass, finally able to enjoy the superb wine. The two men sat in companionable silence, both lost in their thoughts before Benoît excused himself.

"Before you leave," Benoît paused at the open doorway, turning back to face the Minister. "Please inform the Captain of the Guards that I would like to see him."

"Oui, of course, Minister."

Benoît bowed out of the office, quietly closing the door behind him. Judge Frollo was not alone for very long before there was another knock on his door.

"Enter," called the judge from his seat, his back towards the door as he gazed out the stained glass window now in front of him.

Phoebus entered the office quickly, making sure to shut the door as quietly and as quickly as possible. As soon as he had crossed the length of the room and was a few yards away from Frollo's desk, Phoebus positioned himself at attention and waited for the minister to acknowledge him.

Claude let the young man sweat a bit as he planned his next move. What he was about to ask the Captain to do may backfire drastically on him, but he wanted to see more action being pursued when it came to the gypsy population. While he understood that the bounty hunters claimed their plan might take up to a year, he was looking for a quicker strategy. Perhaps, he thought, they just needed a little push to get things moving.

"Captain." Phoebus stood up, if it was possible, even taller and straighter as the minister got up and slowly came around his desk, pausing directly in front of the soldier. "I have need of your services."

Phoebus looked at the Minister before returning his gaze back to the window in front of him, a silent pause between the two gentlemen.

"I need you to arrest the gypsy girl who owns the cart at the Pont des Artes for robbery and treason."

Again the Captain of the Guards paused before his eyes glazed over in confusion.

"But sir," Phoebus began. "Is that not the cart of the bounty hunter you hired?"

"Indeed it is."

The Captain was confused by the request of his master, but knew better than to ask questions. Better and higher-up men had been tortured or worse for such questions and Phoebus knew that Frollo held no extraordinarily fond feelings for him.

"I will send a lieutenant over immediately to bring her in to custody, sir."

"No, I want you to do it. Personally."

At this, Phoebus finally began to question the Minister.

"But sir, it would be unusual for me to issue directly an arrest for a common gypsy. It would appear out of the ordinary for me to do so."

Judge Frollo held up a hand to stop the stream of words coming from the Captain's mouth. "I need you to issue the arrest so I can ensure it is done as well as sending a message to her and her partner. I do not believe you will actually be able to bring the woman in, but it shall provide them with the message that I am not pleased."

Phoebus shut his mouth and did not say another word, bowing himself out of the Minister's office. He had worked for the man long enough to know that arguing was futile and a path that certainly led to a whipping.

As Claude was meeting with Benoît and Phoebus, the two assassins that were such an important topic to the Minister were also meeting. Patrick had stepped out that afternoon, determined to speak to his partner, having only had a few brief conversations via hand and body signals they had been using. Dressed as a nobleman, feathered hat covering his flaming red hair to deter some of the stares, Patrick approached Jeta's cart.

"How much for this piece, gypsy?" sneered Patrick towards his partner, playing his role extraordinarily well.

Doing her best to not return the sneer, Jeta made her way over to the nook in her cart caused by the opened doors, a fairly inconspicuous spot that offered them some privacy.

"It's twenty-five francs, señor."

Patrick scoffed. "A steep price for a child's piece of artwork."

The few people who were around the cart, picking through the artwork, lowered their heads and shuffled away. None of them wanted to be in a fight that seemed about to break out nor did they want to be involved if the guards did happen upon the sight before them. Jeta crossed her arms, eyes thin slits, as Patrick clutched the artwork in his fist, looking as if he was about to smash the painting to pieces. The people who did pause only did so to gasp and scurry away.

In a whisper, inaudible to anyone but Jeta, Patrick began to whisper quickly. "Any word on your end?"

"He trusts me almost completely," Jeta whispered back, though her posture still seemed as if she was about to strike the man in front of her, anger barely contained. "He has already offered to take me to the Cour des Miracles, but not until the winter, when it gets colder." Jeta then raised her voice for everyone to hear. "And what would you pay for it, sir?"

"I wouldn't buy this with the muck on the bottom of my boot!" Patrick slammed the painting down on the edge of the cart, gesturing angrily at the cart before whispering back to Jeta. "Excellent. Things seem to be moving along on my end. I have already trailed a few of the gypsies, the younger ones who aren't as cautious as their elders."

"If you dislike it sir, you can just walk away! Shall I give you a suggestion for a place more suitable?" yelled back Jeta, glaring at Patrick, protectively picking up the painting and pulling it closer to her body.

"I do not need your suggestions, you gypsy scum!" Patrick spit at Jeta's feet and made to turn away, whispering quickly to Jeta before leaving. "The Pont Au Double as well as the eastern cemetery."

"By all means, sir, why not move along and leave me to sell my wares," Jeta replied in a sickly sweet way, disgust apparent in her voice, gesturing with a hand to the open sidewalk. "Any other news I should know about?"

"Be careful of how you speak to me, gypsy." Patrick leaned in closely, a warning written on his face. "They know of your presence. Watch yourself, as some of the gypsies are not so fond of the new girl who is stealing away the attention of their beloved prince."

Jeta nodded her head sharply, biting her tongue and noting Patrick's words. The older man stormed off, knocking aside the few spectators who were brave enough to stay still long enough to watch the exchange, emphasizing the anger he felt towards the woman. To those who could not hear the whispered conversation, it seemed as if there had just been a brief, heated conversation between a nobleman and a gypsy seller, but, for the two assassins, it was an exchange of important information that they would spend the next days picking over.

Sighing, Jeta turned to face her cart, her hair falling to obscure her face, the hand holding the painting shaking. Things were about to get serious; she could feel it in her bones. She would have to be careful with her next steps to luring the gypsy prince into totally trusting her. Smiling and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Jeta went about her business, Patrick's words still ringing in her ears.

Author's Note: A short chapter, but a necessary one. It's a transition into the next few chapters which will filled with much more action and excitement.

Monsieur (French): respectful title for a man
Oui (French): yes
Señor (Spanish): respectful title for a man