Five years later…
Old wooden steps creaking beneath him, Frollo listened attentively to the chatter that escaped the bell tower loft above, raising a brow inquisitively of who could possibly be in the company of his adopted son—the church's own bell-ringer was mostly unseen and reclusive anyway. The voice certainly did not belong to the boy, who continued to talk to his stone "friends" even at nine years of age.
"Alright, you rolled a main, so that means you win that one—you nicked it!" The Minister gritted his teeth at the conclusion of who it was. Reaching the top of the stairs, Frollo found his brother kneeling across from Quasimodo, Jehan tossing a pair of dice to the center.
"And what do you think you are doing?" Frollo's voice rumbled suddenly, the boys' attentions jerking around to the approaching judge, gray eyes dark and foreboding and hand tightening on the wicker handle of the basket. Jehan rose to his feet and tried to appear casual and innocent, Quasimodo, in contrast, shrunk in fear, shifting his eyes to the dusty wooden floor. Dark obsidian robes cascaded around the judge and sent the warning of impending danger throughout the young hunchback.
Stepping forward slowly, Frollo kneeled down and grabbed the two bone dice from the floor. "Why do you have these?" He accusingly questioned, holding the dice before Jehan. Smirking lopsidedly, the young man looked at his older brother nonchalantly and uncaringly. Frollo turned his attention to the taciturn hunchback, now standing nervously with his pudgy hands folded and averting looking at his ominous master.
"Quasimodo," Frollo ordered. "For what purpose could you possibly have for possessing gambling equipment?"
"Je…Jehan was showing me a dice game, Master," Quasimodo answered shakily. "It's called Hazard. I didn't think—well, Jehan said that—you…wouldn't mind." His teal eyes moved endlessly around, avoiding eye contact with the Minister, his hands fidgeting anxiously.
Leering at his brother, Frollo then said, "Gambling? You are trying to educate him in the field of needlessly burning through one's allowance, Joannes?"
Scoffing at his brother's use of his real name, Jehan replied, "Don't fret; it's an innocent little dice game—there is nothing wrong with that."
"'Nothing wrong with that'?" The Minister repeated in agitated disbelief. "With the sort of luck that you possess, you are better off teaching bird the Nicene Creed! Besides, I have seen what transpires when you lose—you resort to unethical methods of cheating!"
"Think of gambling as a life skill, Claude: it's an easy way to earn a meal!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the judge quickly retorted, "Money is the root of all evil, Jehan. I would greatly appreciate it if you would not breed such heedlessness into Quasimodo."
The scowl he exhibited towards his brother was not new, just darker as the years had gone by. The past five years had done a number on the Minster with the harrowing amount of stress he was constantly under. The circles under his eyes were much darker; the lines in his face had become more visible and embedded; even his hair had begun to thin—his gray locks now shorter.
Jehan looked back at Quasimodo standing idly by listening to the brothers' conversation. "See, Quasi? If anything is the least bit of fun, you can bet that my "sanctimonious" brother will find a way to destroy it in the blink of an eye!"
Sighing in indignation, Frollo glared at Jehan fiercely. "For your information, it just so happens that today I had to correct a man who was found exercising crooked gambling methods. Quasimodo, would you like to know of what becomes of those who follow my brother's example when it comes to these "harmless" games?"
Before the boy could even think of a response, Frollo sat down at the small wooden table, setting down the basket of food and began to recount the events…
X
In the last few years, Judge Frollo had been patrolling the Paris streets less and less given that he now spent more time presiding over his judicial matters in a courtroom. Now he was out on patrol only a few days a week; however, the days had become so mundane that he prayed ardently that he would find more unwitting gypsies to send to the bowels of the Palace of Justice for interrogation. Unfortunately for him, it seemed as though they had gone underground recently.
Dismounting his horse and leading the steed to a nearby watering trough, Frollo scanned the area of bustling peasants pushing and pulling carts, nothing out of the ordinary. Patting Romulus on the side while he drank, the judge sighed at the lack of action. He should have felt accomplished that there was no widespread trouble afflicting his city, but punishing the ilk of society filled him with a sense of self-importance. Without such, he did not want to focus more of his energy on curbing his brother and ward. At this rate, any crime to rear its ugly head would be far preferable to that.
"Come now," he muttered to his horse, leading the reins away. Perhaps there would be a new stack of documents awaiting him in his study, he imagined boredly.
"Come, come! Try your luck! See if you can find which cup hides the pea!"
Turning his head, Frollo was drawn to the source of such a boisterous and jocular voice. Slinking around the corner of a nearby building with his horse in tow and his hat's red sash swishing behind, Frollo narrowed his eyes at a scraggly-looking gypsy man behind a rotten old wooden crate, before him three wooden cups and a couple of unwitting patrons. The judge's crooked nose cast a shadow as he tried to be discreet, Romulus snorting behind him, antsy to return to their rounds.
He had seen many panhandlers entertain and gamble with the citizens through this seemingly innocent game, but the sight of a gypsy conducting it instantly raised his suspicion, eyeing the man warily.
The first round of the game was how they reeled in their victim, providing the player with a false sense of mastery of the game by allowing them to win the first one. The second round, the gypsy sped up as he shuffled the cups in circles, before asking his customer under which cup the pea lay. Of course the fool would see he chose the right cup again, which would allow the gypsy to make his final offer.
"Double or nothing, sir, for a third round?" the swindler asked, coaxing his patron into setting his coin purse down in confidence, prepared to take his winnings. The observant Minister of Justice did not believe for a second that such an offer could be legitimate from the likes of gypsy. That didn't stop the game from beginning the last round.
Continuing to fool the good people out of their hard-earned wages…Fraudulent gypsy, Frollo thought acrimoniously, ignoring his horse nudging his shoulder.
As if on cue, Frollo instantly caught sight of the split second sleight of hand: a slight lift of the cup, and the gypsy man hid the pea under his hand. Frollo smirked knowingly, seeing that he had finally caught his prey in the act. Ceasing the shuffling, the gypsy waved a hand over the wooden cups and asked, "Which one, sir?" With his unknowing customer's guess, the gypsy slyly revealed to him the absence of the pea, happily taking the man's coin purse in victory.
After the departure of the oblivious robbed man, Frollo emerged from his hiding place pulling his horse along and eyes narrowing at the schemer who giddily counted the coins in his hand.
"The nerve of your kind—deceiving the hardworking man through rigged games to earn a living—is absolutely despicable!" Frollo's commanding voice shook the surprised gypsy, who instantly stuffed his earnings back into the pouch. "I have tried to eliminate the sin of gambling in this city to little avail; if it weren't enough that such activity carries on anyway, you people have the audacity to exacerbate such a vice!"
The gypsy put his hands up and painted a cool façade. "Your Honor, if you will, this harmless little game of cups and peas is nothing compared to the games of fixed dice and false cards that people bet their lives on—your people! They are the real culprits that you should be punishing!" he protested.
"Do not distort the truth!" Frollo fervently retaliated, taking another step closer and staring menacingly at his prey. "I have seen you with my own eyes as you con the ignorant with your underhanded gypsy guile. I have just about reached my capacity of tolerance with allowing your kin to abuse the empathy of law-abiding citizens."
"'Tolerance'?" The gypsy repeated almost laughing, baffled at the Minister's word choice. "Is that what you call it? My people are starving and have to resort to street tricks to feed ourselves—all the while avoiding being arrested by your men—and you call that "tolerance"?!"
"Minister Frollo!" The clanking sound of tin footsteps rushing down the cobblestone streets drew as two soldiers rushed forward to their commander.
"Is there a problem, sir?" one asked, both at attention.
"As a matter of fact, there is," Frollo darkly replied, eyes still locked on the gypsy before him. "It would seem that our cunning friend here must be educated on the subject of crime and punishment. Lock him up." With that, the two quickly seized the bewildered gypsy, shackling him tight while he writhed in protest.
"Take him to the Palace of Justice," Frollo ordered, mounting Romulus once again. "We shall see how far my patience can stretch…"
X
"Has it been properly adjusted yet?" Frollo's arms were crossed with impatience as he waited for the demonstration to begin.
Himself and another guard giving the levers one last pull, the scraggly dungeon keeper answered, "Ready on your command, Minister."
"Excellent." Lips turning up into a grim smile, Frollo then called out, "Bring him forward!"
Two soldiers pushed and shoved the gypsy through the wooden doors down into the half-lit dungeon. The man's eyes widened at the sight in the middle of the floor: a wooden frame about nine feet long, rollers at the ends with two knotted ropes each, four handles on the sides centered on the outside of the frame, brownish red splatters staining the structure, the frame itself made up of three large spiked wooden rollers…
The rack…A rather tame method of torture perfected by the English and approved by Louis XI for the Minister of Justice's use as means of administering "justice" and extracting truth.
"Tie him in," the judge said nonchalantly, placing his hands behind his back and schooling his expression.
The gypsy, stunned by the sight, did not notice as Frollo's guards roughly pulled him down to the wooden frame, fastening his chafed wrists and ankles. He winced as the spikes dug savagely into his back.
"This is all for a little street game?!" The gypsy burst out in astonishment, voice quivering in fear as the judge stepped forward, looking down at him maliciously and dangerously.
"As I have stated before," Frollo began coolly. "The city has allowed you and countless others of your kind continue your dishonest methods of gambling; therefore, one must demonstrate the consequences for these activities, no matter how extreme it may seem. I will not allow my city to fall victim to more gypsy schemes."
The gypsy shook his head in terror and disbelief. "You're mad! Stark raving mad!"
"Am I?" Frollo taunted monotonously, a slight smirk cracking. "I think this will prove to be quite effective. You, and so many others, will learn something from this experience…and perhaps so will I."
The gypsy man shot the Minister a confused expression, not understanding his implication. "What are you talking about?"
Steepling his fingers before him, Frollo answered, "Think for a moment, gypsy: I can have my men rip your limbs from their sockets and let you watch yourself perish, or…you can reveal to me the location of your fabled Court of Miracles and spare yourself such trauma."
Frollo's soldiers nodded and whispered in reverence of the Minister of Justice's cunning. Jaw tightening, the gypsy furrowed his black eyebrows at Frollo, defiantly answering, "Never!"
Glaring at such impertinence, the judge replied, "I see. If that is the decision you make…" With that said, he nodded to each soldier at a lever, the rack creaking as it began to pull.
The gypsy groaned in pain as his thin limbs began to stretch and the spikes scratched against his form, huffing and puffing in agony while the Minister looked on expressionless.
"All of this can end if you would only reveal to us the location of your humble abode," Frollo reminded, the gypsy's eyes darting to him before shutting and resumed screaming. "Very well," said Frollo. "Tighter," the guards obeying and pulling the levers harder.
"Your people will understand the ramifications for their illegal activities, even I must annihilate each and every one of you slowly and painfully," Frollo droned as his prisoner screamed at the top of his lungs, joints beginning to pop and ligaments tearing.
Such inhumanity was so ingrained in the Minister's mind that it was second nature to him. For years, he had had criminals hanged, suspended in cages, locked in pillories, and ripped apart on the very rack. In retrospect, it was nothing in comparison to the punishments he witnessed growing up as exercised by his own father: thumbscrews, quartering, the iron maiden, the boot, the Catherine wheel, stake burnings…If the punishment fits the crime. Unlike his father, Frollo's power did not thrive on bloodthirsty sadism, just a skewed moral compass that gave him a sense of justice instead of funding numerous torture methods for thrill.
"Tighter," his voice resounded as he ordered his men, who gave the levers one last pull.
SNAP! SNAP!
Without warning, copious amounts blood splattered through the air, staining the stone walls and the armor of the guards. The limbs flopped down against the wooden bed, the gypsy crying out in tormenting pain as his severed arms and legs spewed thick crimson blood.
No one uttered a word; the only sound filling the grim atmosphere were piercing cries of pain and alarm, the prisoner's limbless still convulsing violently.
"Finish him off," Frollo said, waving his hand and turning to leave. As ordered, one guard approached the dismembered gypsy on the wooden bed and lifted the poniard from his belt, lifting the weapon to his throat. Instantly, the dungeon no longer echoed the bloodcurdling wails, but a quick choking gurgling before dead silence filled the air.
"How unfortunate," Frollo commented unemotionally, grasping the dungeon door handle. "At least there will be more opportunities in the future to uncover the truth. Clean this up!" The Minister strode forward exiting, slamming the heavy door behind him as he ascended back up the ground floor of the Palace of Justice.
X
As the judge sipped from his silver goblet, Jehan and Quasimodo simply gaped at him in shock as they sat across from him, taking in the weight of his story. Setting it down on the beaten wooden table, Frollo directed his attention to his young ward, "The moral of the story, Quasimodo, is that gambling," throwing an accusing glance at his brother. "Only leads to a life of misfortune and consequence, as I am certain Jehan here is to demonstrate when his ways finally catch up with him."
Jehan crossed his arms at his brother's slight. "I appreciate your "faith and confidence" over my abilities, but I will be just fine."
Quasimodo looked at the judge with hesitance, slightly more frightened of his capability as the images formed in his impressionable mind. "So…we shouldn't play Hazard, Master?"
"If you want to live the rest of your days as a penniless gamester—forever a slave to rigged card and dice games that he cannot win, and burning through his allowance in the most wasteful manner possible…then by all means, become living copy of Jehan." Frollo's words were laced with so much contempt and venom, that Quasimodo dared not speak anymore as the brothers exchanged hateful stares, each challenging the other to say something.
Jehan shook his head with a laugh. "You worry too much."
"Believe me, with your recklessness, do not be surprised if one day you end up in shackles, awaiting trial."
Hoisting himself up, Jehan simply said, "Fine, Claude. I won't teach Quasi anymore of these games. In fact, I think I might just head over to my usual stomping grounds today for some fun myself. Maybe a round or two of Merelles, some vachettes—I might even get some good cards at tonight's game! Maybe afterwards, I'll pay a visit to Isabeau or Ambroise—or both!" His brother's face sneered at his innuendo in front of the hunchback child. "After all, I've practically lived on that street since I was sixteen, so good day to the both of you!" Jehan spun on his heels and began to stroll out of the bell tower with a bounce in his step after having just made a mockery of his brother, the Minister.
Frollo's gaze wandered to the wooden table, suddenly noticing a sloppily carved inscription: ANAΓKH.
"Jehan!" Frollo called, the young man reluctantly stopping and turning around to meet his brother's gaze. "Why have you vandalized the table?"
Jehan shrugged. "I was showing Quasi some basic Greek."
"It means "Fate"!" Quasimodo piped up excitedly, smiling contently in his newfound knowledge.
Turning to Quasimodo, Frollo readily stated, "Do not believe everything Jehan tells you, Quasimodo, for he is not your instructor." Directing his attention back to an impatient Jehan, he said, "You should brush up on your Greek; it means "necessity." You should have studied more." Frollo smirked at his brother's arrogant mistake, the latter rolling his cerulean eyes.
"It's no skin off my back," Jehan quipped, hands on his hips. "Now if you excuse me, I think I'm due for a little ménage à trois with the goddesses of Rue Glatigny!"
The Minister shot his brother a threatening look before he marched down the bell tower steps.
Quasimodo, finally finding his voice after the brothers' heated exchange, suddenly asked, "What's a "ménage à trois," Master?"
Pale cheeks reddening slightly, Frollo hesitantly answered, "Just another wicked act that sinners like my brother indulge in—but never repeat that phrase again!"
Quasimodo flinched before nodding obediently. Frollo rubbed his temple before saying, "Remember Quasimodo, the wicked shall not go unpunished."
x
*A/n: Has it been three months already? Sorry! One day you decide you're gonna step away from the story to refresh the mind, the next you're going on a spiritual journey-no, I don't mean drugs.
Here's to all my fellow writers who are busy with school, work, family, etc. And to all who keep following and favoriting!
Got the idea for this after going to a local torture exhibit, it just took a LONG while to write. I got references all over this place, like the ANArKH from the book; "the wicked shall not..." from the musical, you know how it goes. Merelles and vachettes are just old dice games referenced in the book, the details are pretty unclear, but Hazard was a real one! Just saying, I've read that "fate" in Greek is closer to "Moirai."
Btw, if you check out my dA, hope you enjoy my rendering of Jehan in Disney form! (I'm better with a pencil and paper). And check out "Manual Stigmata" by bluekitten1979, it's pretty intense! Anything you wanna see, just shoot and I'll see what I can do!