Belle's Adventures in Notre Dame Part 3

Belle closed her eyes, wishing she could block out her ears to the sound of the screaming. Cleaning the the Palace of Justice was awful for that very reason; she could hear the prisoners being beaten for their sins or "purged and cleansed", as Frollo liked to put it. Frollo was such an unjust man and yet he called himself "righteous." She was just considered tearing her duster in half and stuffing the rags in her ears when the door swung open and Frollo himself came into the room, followed by a man she had never seen before in her life, clad in gold armour.

"Ah, Belle!" Frollo said, cordially. "Captain, this is my personal maid, Belle. Belle, meet Phoebus, the new Captain of the Guard."

"Oh!" Belle felt a dull THUNK in the pit of her stomach. The last Captain of the Guard had been executed for being too fair on those that Frollo deemed "unclean of sin." This man didn't look like he would last very long either; in spite of his serious and strict counternance and demeanour. "Pleased to meet you, sir," she said, extending her hand.

"Likewise, I'm sure," replied Phoebus.

"You come to Paris in her darkest hour, Captain," said Frollo, indicating for Belle to fall into step behind them. Belle followed, curiously. Usually he only bid her to follow him and his guests when there was something that he wanted her to hear too; or else if he wanted her to back him up on a point. "It will take a firm hand to save the weak-minded from being so easily misled."

"Misled, sir?" Phoebus repeated.

"Look, Captain - gypsies." Frollo indicated from the window. Belle looked down into the square where several gypsies danced for coins. She pitied them; all they had to earn their money was whatever natural talent they owned. "The gypsies live outside the normal order," Frollo continued. "Their heathen ways inflame the peoples' lowest instincts, and they must be stopped."

"I was summoned from the wars to capture fortune tellers and palm readers?" Phoebus sounded surprised and Belle couldn't blame him.

"Oh, the real war, Captain, is what you see before you. For twenty years, I have been taking care of the gypsies, one...by...one. And yet, for all of my success, they have thrived. 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."

Belle felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered Clopin mentioning the place to her only that morning. So, Frollo was looking for it, then. Ought she to warn him?

"What are we going to do about it, sir?" Phoebus asked.

"We must find their hideout and destroy the gypsy scum."

"Very well, sir."

"You know, I like you captain. Shall we? Oh, duty calls," Frollo added. "Have you ever attended a peasant festival, Captain?"

"Not recently, sir."

"Then this should be quite an education for you. Come along, Belle, if you're coming."

Belle followed, dutifully. When they got outside, the square was flocking with acrobats and dancers and clowns and singers and colourful streamers and confetti fell from the air. Belle looked around for any sign of Quasimodo; he had said that he would wear a cloak and many people around her were wearing cloaks with their hoods up; he could be any one of them. She followed Frollo to his allocated box and took her seat beside him.

"Ridiculous festivities!" Frollo muttered, brushing the confetti from his sleeves.

"Yes, Master," Belle whispered in agreement; and suddenly there was Clopin, masked, of course, leading the festivities in song and dance and magic tricks. On the stage in front of them, he conjuured up a beautiful dark skinned gypsy dancer named Esmeralad, in a red dress that made Belle feel too overdressed in her simple blue shift and white cotton apron. Esmeralda came right up to their box, threw herself flirtily onto Frollo's lap and Belle watched in alarm and fascination as she wrapped a purple scarf around his neck, teased him towards her and then cheekily pushed his hat down and leapt back onto the stage. Belle felt the colour rush to her cheeks as Frollo yanked the scarf from his neck in anger. Clopin conjured up several identical ones and threw them into the crowds. One landed on Belle's lap and she pretended to brush it to the floor; really stuffing it up her sleeve when Frollo wasn't looking at her.

"Disgusting display!" Frollo sneered as the dance finished.

"Yes, sir!" Phoebus said, with more enthusiasm than disgust in his voice and Belle stifled a giggle.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the piece de resistance!" Clopin announced. "The crowning of the King of Fools; the ugliest face in all of Paris!"

Amid all those being pulled up on the stage, Belle spotted a familiar pair of feet. "Oh, no!" she muttered. "Quasi!"

Esmeralda pulled each person's mask off one by one, but when she realised that Quasimodo's face was no mask, she let out a gasp and stepped back. Quasimodo looked up as his hood fell off. The crowds fell silent. Belle held her breath, her eyes flickering to Frollo's face. He looked thunderous.

"It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!" someone from the crowd shouted. "He's hideous!"

Belle leapt to her feet, ready to defend Quasimodo but before she could speak, Clopin called out "Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic. We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, and here he is! Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame!" And he placed the crown on Quasimodo's head. The people began to cheer. Belle breathed a sigh of relief and sank back down in her seat. Frollo still looked thunderous. Crowned, cloaked and handed a sceptre, Quasimodo joined in the festivities and it looked like the people were beginning to accept him.

And then, suddenly, without any kind of warning, everything went very, very wrong.

One of Frollo's cruel guards threw a rotten tomato at Quasimodo. It hit him full in the face, much to his horror. The crowds gasped. "Now that's ugly!" the guard leered, throwing another tomato, mockingly adding "Hail to the King!"

"Stop it!" Belle shouted, springing to her feet as more produce from various points of the square was flung towards Quasimodo. "Leave him alone!"

Frollo's hand shot out and grasped her wrist as she started forwards. "Sit down, you silly girl!"

"But he's in trouble!" Belle gasped as people began to lasoo Quasimodo, forcing him down onto a wheel of the stage and sprinning him around. Quasimodo tried to get free, but it was no use.

" Master, please! Help me!"

"Sir!" cried Phoebus, who had clearly seen enough. "Request permission to stop this cruelty!"

Belle turned to him, hopefully, but Frollo shook his head and yanked her back down into her seat. "In just a moment, Captain. A lesson needs to be learned here."

No sooner had he spoken then the crowd fell silent. The three of them turned their heads to see Esmeralda, the dancer girl, approaching Quasimodo. With pity in her eyes, she removed a sash from her waist and began to wipe the produce off his face. "Don't be afraid. I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"You!" Frollo shouted. "Gypsy girl! Get down at once!"

"Yes, your honour," Esmeralda replied. "Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!" To everyone's surprise, however, Esmeralda whipped out a knife and cut Quasimodo free. "How dare you defy me!" Frollo cried, releasing Belle in his passion.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people!" Esmeralada retorted. "You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help!"

"Silence!"

"Justice!"

Wel done, girl, Belle thought.

"Mark my words, gypsy," Frollo snarled. "You will pay for this insolence."

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," she retorted, throwing Quasimodo's crown at his feet. "The only fool I see is you!"

"Captain Phoebus! Arrest her."

But, using several methods of trickery that Frollo decreed to be "Witchcraft," Esmeralda evaded capture, causing Phoebus to exclaim "What a woman!" Belle took the oppertunity to spring from her seat and rush to Quasimodo who was hanging his head in shame. "I will never disobey again, Master!" he said, and then he ran towards the cathedral.

"Quasi, wait!" Belle ran after him, following him back up to the belltower. There, she found him lying upon his bed, wracked with hearbroken sobs. Feeling her own heart breaking for him, Belle touched his shoulder. "Quasi?"

"You told me the world wasn't anything like what he said!" he accused.

"It wasn't! I mean, it isn't! I - Quasi, it was just - I'm so sorry, Quasi; this should never have happened to you." Belle whispered, tears running down her own face. She looked at him properly. His clothes were in tatters, he was still covered in produce, one cheek had a bruise coming to it and he still had a rope trailing from his right wrist. Belle brought a bowl of water and a clean flannel and began to mope him up. Gently, she took his hand and untied the rope. "Quasi," she tried again, "the world's a complicated place.People are too quick to judge on appearences, Frollo's right there. But not eveyone's like that. Clopin and that girl Esmeralda didn't laugh at you; and that new Captain of the Guard, Phoebus, he wanted to help you; and so did I." She brought him some new clothes and once he had pulled them on, he looked like his old self once more. "Quasi, things just got a little out of hand and Frollo was too cruel to stop them." Belle wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close to her. "I wish I could explain it better but I've been out there before on normal days and nothing like has ever happened before. Quasi, please say something."

"I'd like to be alone for a while, Belle."

He was no longer crying but as he sloped away up to the rafters of the tower, he seemed down. Belle watched him, all the pity she had ever had for him rising to the very surface of her being. "Quasi!"

Her cry caused him to turn. "Yes, Belle?"

"You know I'm your friend and I'll always be for as long as you need me, no matter what, right? I'll always be here for you."

"I know. Thank you, Belle."

"Well, if you want me, I'll be downstairs." Belle looked at the table with the model village on it and sighed. Today, Quasimodo had moved the small model of himself into the village square, right beside her own model. She picked both up and looked at them. Poor Quasi, she thought, setting both models back onto the model of Notre Dame as she opened her "unholy" book and prayed once again to Mary and Christ that someday life would be fairer on people like Quasimodo, the gypsies and herself...