Chapter 3:

The Palace of Justice was no less imposing on the inside as it had been on the outside. The entry hall was set up with an array of weapons stacked up to the rafters in complex crossed patterns. Phoebus's escorts explained to him that on a moment's notice, they could line up in the Palace of Justice and each receive a set of fresh weapons.

"But only if there were real trouble," the less oafish one of them attempted to assure Phoebus, who decided he would just appreciate how practical it was.

That was a good word for everything else they passed the further they got into the Palace. There were a few different courtrooms along the hall before they reached the stairs, and some even had cases in progress. He could hear the low murmuring of judges and wondered what Frollo had done to become the head judge of them all. Perhaps he was simply that brilliant.

As he was led through the imposing fortress, Phoebus marveled at how well it reflected Claude Frollo's cold, pragmatic demeanor. No tapestry had been chosen to soften stark ash-tinted stonewalls, but on occasion they would pass a crucifix nailed to the wall.

Even the windows accomplished nothing beyond sharpening the pangs of confinement in such an oppressively dark fortress. He had expected to find Claude in his study, but instead he was led into the palace's dungeon.

To his surprise, he was left to follow the trail of amber light from candles down the dungeon hall until he found Frollo, himself, in his official judicial robes, peering into a cell where someone was being flogged.

Nothing unusual there, Phoebus told himself, he was a judge, after all. As he approached, Frollo was instructing the torturer in how best to flog the prisoner, namely that blows ought not be continuous. Rather, the torturer ought to pause so that his victim did not have the chance to acclimate to the sting.

Phoebus schooled his features so they would remain stoic. He didn't know what this man had done, after all, so it would not do to freely display his discomfort.

It was during this struggle that Frollo finally noticed him. "Ah, so this is the gallant Captain Phoebus, home from the wars!" His smile was broad but somehow false.

Phoebus fell back on his military training. "Reporting for duty, as ordered, Sir," he said.

"Your service record precedes you, Phoebus," Frollo said, circling him as he spoke. "I hadn't expected so much from you when you first left for training."

Phoebus ground his teeth. He would not allow it to show how unnerved he was by this behavior, and how affronted he'd been by that offhand comment.

"I expect nothing but the best from a war hero of your caliber," Frollo said.

"And you shall have it, Sir, I guarantee it," Phoebus replied stiffly.

"Yes… you know, my last Captain of the Guard was ehm, a bit of a disappointment to me."

Another whip lash made Phoebus jump, and he tried not to notice the smile on Frollo's face at hearing the ex-captain scream.

"Well, no matter," the judge sneered in his usual genial tone. "I'm sure you'll—" he paused to give Phoebus what he ostensibly meant to be a jocular smile, "—whip my men into shape!"

That, at last, was all Phoebus could take. He was officially disturbed.

"Tr-uh… tr—uh… Tremendous honor, Sir," he said as Frollo led him away.

Phoebus caught sight of his predecessor's bloody back as he passed, and didn't dare wish the man well.

When the man turned to give him a baleful gaze over his shoulder, he hurried along to avoid the premonitions of what could easily happen to him.

Frollo led him back outside, onto a balcony, to Phoebus's relief. He was talking, still, something about Paris being in her darkest hour. He peered out over the city, and recalled his introduction to the citizens. If anything, the lack of discipline among the soldiers was causing enough trouble to constitute a threat to the people, so that was initially what he expected Frollo to discuss.

However, he said, "It will take a firm hand to save the weak-minded from being so easily misled."

Now what in God's name did that mean? "Misled, Sir?" he asked, utterly bewildered but attempting not to sound it.

"Look, Captain, gypsies," Frollo said, indicating the street below where he could see a street performance going on much like the one he'd passed by earlier. It may even be the same girl with her goat… would he get to see her again up close? "The gypsies live outside the normal order, their heathen ways enflame the people's lowest instincts, and they must be stopped!" The mild tones Frollo had spoken with only moments before were all gone now, as he gave Phoebus an intense look and clenched his hand into a fist.

Phoebus was taken aback. "I was summoned from the wars to capture fortune tellers and palm readers?" he asked, incredulously.

"Ah, the real war, Captain, is what you see before you," Frollo said, one claw-like hand on Phoebus's elbow as he gestured below back at the dancing girl.

Was he implying that her dancing for payment was somehow a crime? It hadn't been last time Phoebus had been in the city, but that had been some time ago… was Frollo responsible for that scene he'd witnessed in the streets? This was not a sign of a lack of discipline, but a glut of discipline!

"For twenty years, I have been—taking care—of the gypsies," Frollo went on, and crushed an ant on the parapet to punctuate each of his words as he added, "One by one. And yet, for all my success," he tore a loose stone block from the parapet to reveal a nest of perhaps a thousand ants, "they have thrived," Frollo concluded. "I believe they have a safe haven within the walls of this very city—a nest— if you will. They call it the Court of Miracles," he scoffed with a derisive roll of his eyes.

"And what are we going to do about it, Sir?" Phoebus asked, maintaining his composure in spite of his gritted teeth.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Frollo slammed the stone slab into place once more, except that this time, it was upside-down, so all the ants beneath it were crushed.

"You make your point quite vividly, sir," Phoebus tried to hold himself together as he realized that Frollo meant to exterminate every last Egyptian in Paris.

"You know, I like you, Captain," Frollo said, setting a hand on Phoebus's shoulder in just such a way that unnerved Phoebus, and made him want to shake that hand off before he failed some test and was dragged away into a dungeon for torment.

It really didn't sit well with him, either, that Frollo claimed to like him. What sort of person did you have to be before that happened? He'd expected Claude the Generous when he arrived, and yet, this withered old fellow hardly resembled him in the least.

"Shall we?" With such a genial smile, ordinarily Phoebus would have thought Frollo would invite him for wine and the chance to relax after the journey he'd taken… but that was the same expression he'd worn while watching a flogging… which reminded him…

The captain Phoebus was replacing had somehow displeased Frollo… possibly by not being as ruthless as Frollo had wanted him to be… The realization that he had passed by an innocent man as he was tortured, possibly for the latest in a series of days, gave Phoebus chills that he was careful to hide.

He was distracted from his uneasy toils over what a 'pleasant' afternoon with Claude Frollo might entail by fanfare and a drum roll from the square just outside Notre Dame.

"Oh," Frollo noted sourly, "duty calls… have you ever attended a peasant festival?"

"Not recently… Sir…" Phoebus replied, remembering times from his childhood. It had been extraordinary, back then…

"Then it shall be quite an education for you… come along."

Phoebus knew he probably shouldn't be smiling since he'd just been told Frollo would educate him on something, but he couldn't help the optimism that flooded into his heart.

He might be able to see that fiery dancer he'd met before, and even if he didn't, it would be leagues better than whatever Frollo had been planning.

Frollo led Phoebus away from the lodge, and he allowed himself to relax. At least this festival meant he would have a little fun, and he wouldn't be alone with Frollo…

As he was led back through the dungeon, he realized it was for Frollo to check on his prisoner, not because that was the swiftest way through the Palace.

He found as well, that as they examined the man that his life had been extinguished. At least he was free… but it was now incumbent upon Phoebus not to share in his fate.

It was beginning to crystallize in Phoebus's mind that the men under Frollo's command were so intimidated by Frollo's disciplinary tactics that they fell right in line. All the corruption may easily have filtered down through the ranks simply because they wished to follow their moral authority… and didn't want to get flogged to death.

Frollo couldn't live forever, and looking at him, Phoebus estimated that the gap between that day and his death was quickly closing. As he mounted Achilles to follow Frollo's carriage to the Festival, Phoebus decided his strategy would be to outlast this man, and undo his corruption from the inside.

He just hoped he didn't die before he could realize that vision.