This Burning Desire by Joslinne Morgan (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📖

we flee the country." Clopin folded his arms.

There was a long silence as Frollo thought it over, stroking the cross, rolling it around in his fingers, and rubbing the elegantly curved edges with his thumb. Finally, he said at last, "Very well. With an offer like that, I can't possibly refuse. I will bring your friend back to this spot at noon, and you will bring Jehan, completely unharmed, to me. We will make the exchange then."

"Very good, Minister." Clopin clapped Frollo on the back, and narrowly avoided getting a dagger shoved through his neck. He bounded back over to the carriage, and opened the door. "We shall take you back now, forgive the detour. The Palace of Justice, as ordered-"

"No, thank you." Frollo replied, gathering his robe up in his hands. "I shall walk."

"But-" Jolie protested. "How do you plan to find your way back?"

"Oh, I've a rough guess of where I am. If I'm wrong, I'll eventually find my way. Of course I don't trust you, you understand."

"Suit yourself," Clopin shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."

"I will have someone come fetch my carriage, so don't bother with it." Frollo stepped around the corner, and ah, there it was, The Palace of Justice not a brisk jog away. Not that he intended to jog, but the estimate of distance wasn't too far. "Might I remind you that I have chased more than one gypsy up and down these streets. I've been around far longer than either of you, and I know this city inside out." He glanced back at that, and neither the gleam in his eyes or the twisted smile on his lips was very reassuring.

"I wish to God that I could tell what he was up to," Clopin shivered once the judge had disappeared. "Did you see that look on his face?"

"Not comforting in the least," Jolie observed. "Do you think we chose the wisest course of action?"

"We chose the only one, if that is what you mean." Clopin replied. "Whether or not it works is still up in the air."

"My poor Jean," she sighed. "I worry about him in there… it can't be comfortable for him."

"I worry, too." He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "But let's not waste our time with it. Let's go back and fetch the idiot, we want this encounter to be over as soon as possible."

"Do you think he'll follow through?"

"At one point today, I would have said he'll have to. That was when I honestly thought he cared for his brother. But now… I don't know."

"We can hope,"

Clopin nodded in agreement. "Right now, my dear, hope is all we have."

Chapter Sixteen: The End of All Hope

Jean-Francis didn't know why he bothered to leave Auvergne. He had simply exchanged one prison for another, and frankly, the other prison offended his sensibilities a good deal less. At least the guards in Auvergne had appreciated his sense of humor, not to mention his gentlemanly manners, enough at least to slip him a little of their own beer on the occasion. Who he wouldn't kill for a good brew right now. Not to mention the daily fare of moldy bread and rancid cheese left something to be desired.

He could only hope that Clopin and Jolie had carried through with the plan. If not … he didn't even want to think of the fate that awaited him. They had taken his weapons and his hat – the bastards – but they had somehow managed to skip over the poison altogether. That was still an option, should the bottom fall out from their plan. Yet Jean-Francis valued life far too much, and suicide was being shoved towards last resort.

There was the sound of an bolt shooting out of a lock, and Jean-Francis directed his attention towards the door where a guard appeared, holding a torch.

"It's time," the guard said grimly.

"Finally, I should say." Jean-Francis stood, trying his best to keep up a candid attitude. "Oh come now, don't act as if you're leading me to my execution. It's only torture. How bad could it be?"

The guard didn't appreciate his light tone or his blatant sarcasm. Instead, he just turned around and led the way down the, all but dragging Jean-Francis by the arm.

"Lack of a personality won't send your career soaring to grand heights," he informed the guard, indignant at being dragged along like a chastised child. "Just because it worked for Frollo doesn't mean-"

The guard cuffed him over the ear, and Jean-Francis slipped into a brooding silence.

The chamber that they led – or dragged – him to was a claustrophobe's nightmare. It was tightly packed with two guards against either wall, two more by the door, and of course the one leading him in. A long, wide wooden rack was the main piece of furniture, and on the table set up next to it was an array of interesting sharp instruments.

The Minister of Justice stood to one side, his hands folded in front of him as he patiently awaited the prisoner's arrival. Childishly, Jean-Francis wondered by the Minister got to wear his hat.

Beside the Minister stood a man that Jean-Francis had only had the pleasure of meeting once. Jacques Charmolue, the dullest person he had ever met, and yet he possessed he most talent for inflicting pain.

"Shall we proceed?" Jacques turned to address Frollo, and Jean-Francis couldn't help but making the mental comparison to a dog sitting up and begging his master for a treat. In response, Claude Frollo gave a wave of his hand, extending the two fingers in the air and making a swoop before bringing it back to his chest. Jean-Francis couldn't help but notice and absorb this tiny detail, which irrationally annoyed him.

"Excellent," Jacques clasped his hands together, and the sound echoed ominously off the walls. "Put him on the rack," he turned to address the guards. "I think that's a nice place to start."

"Oh, my favorite part." Jean-Francis spoke dryly as they stretched him out on the flat panel of wood and fastened his hands above him with leather straps.

Either they didn't hear him, or they were ignoring him. The latter was more probable. They had stripped him down to the waist, and now he was beginning to feel exactly how cold the prison actually was.

More disturbed by lack of conversation than he was the idea of torture, Jean-Francis spoke again. "Exactly what is it I'm supposed to be confessing to?"

"A number of things," it was Frollo who spoke this time, his voice expressing nothing less than hatred. "We have all the time in the world, and will be here as long as it takes to get you to tell us whether or not you acted alone, if not then who was behind the act, and also what the motivation was."

"You were right behind me," Jean-Francis pointed out. "Did you not hear anything I told her?"

Frollo shot the executioner a look, and before Jean-Francis could steel himself against it, the leather straps pulled on his wrists, and pain shot up his arms.

"Ah! Yes, I do believe I recall that I happened to be mumbling," Jean-Francis was a man of many talents, but he had no stomach for pain. "I'm sure I remember what I said, though."

"Shall we jog your memory?" Jacques made another gesture, and the pain came against the leather straps pulled tighter. Sweat beaded Jean-Francis's brow.

"No," the gypsy insisted. "Not necessary, most respectable messieurs, I remember." He did his best to draw in a deep breath. "The woman – Esmeralda – betrayed her people. It is an unforgiveable act for which she had to be punished. Assassination seemed the most sensible course of action."

"For some reason, I can't see you as the noble type who would take this duty upon himself." Jacques replied.

"I'm just full of surprises,"

"I've no doubt. Who put you up to it?"

"No one!" Jean-Francis strained to put emphasis on the words. "Alone! I acted entirely alone!"

Jacques and Frollo exchanged glances. Frollo was fingering his cross again, which meant he was thinking about something.

"I think he's lying," Jacques said.

"Not necessarily lying, but not giving us the entire truth, either." Frollo replied.

"As I said," Jacques shrugged. "We have all day."

The straps tugged at his wrists yet again, and more pain shot up through his arms to his chest, causing his lungs to burn. Any tighter, and he was sure his arms would pop out of his sockets.

Without thinking, Jean-Francis cried out, both in panic and in pain. "Messieurs, be reasonable, I beseech you. We are all decent men-"

Frollo made an odd noise in his throat. Obviously, he did not agree.

"-Perhaps we can talk about this over a slightly more agreeable setting?"

"Let's try it this way," Jacques leaned forward. "What is your full name?"

That he could do. "Jean-Francis Troillefou!"

"Troillefou?" Jacques eyebrows shot up. "Where do I know that name?"

"Clopin Troillefou," Frollo replied. Jacques shot him a questioning look, obviously the name wasn't ringing any bells. "The ridiculous colorblind puppeteer who runs the Feast of Fools."

"Ah! I do know him." Jacques nodded.

"So Clopin is behind this," the wheels were spinning now in Frollo's head.

"No!"

"Who else?"

"No one," Jean-Francis ground his teeth together. "No one on my life!" They had to believe him! If they didn't, he didn't even want to think about what they were going to do to him until they were satisfied.

"What say you, my lord?" Jacques look towards Frollo was a disgusting display of reverence.

"Can we get more out of him? Certainly, I think so." Frollo clutched the cross in his hand. "I want you to stay here, Jacques, and see what other information you can acquire. As for myself, I have some pressing business that requires attending to."

"Yes, my lord." Jacques replied with a respectful bow. "Any further wishes, my lord?"

"Yes, use whatever means you find necessary." With those words, the judge swept austerely from the room, leaving Jean-Francis to the mercy of his tormentor.

Chapter Seventeen:

God Have Mercy When the Judge Has Come

"Shut him up!" Clopin snapped, sick already of Jehan's continuous whining.

"Don't make me regret removing this gag." Jolie threatened, waving the cloth in front of Jehan's eyes.

"Just you wait," the young man spat vehemently. "My brother will have you arrested and killed fro this! The both of you!" with that, he struggled with his bonds that unfortunately for him, Jolie knew how to tie.

"That does it!" Clopin snarled. He stalked over to Jehan, picking the young man up by the collar and whipping out his dagger, which he placed just under Jehan's chin. "One more word, and I will personally hand you over to your brother … without your tongue!"

Jehan swallowed hard, and clamped his mouth shut.

Satisfied his point was made, Clopin went back to pacing.

"What's taking him so long?" he ranted. "He holds punctuality almost as high as his morals, and yet…"

"Shh," Jolie motioned for him to be silent. "I hear someone coming."

"About damn time too, I should say." Clopin ceased his raving long enough to pause and listen for himself. The sounds of many sets of feet were coming their way, not just one. Another sound, one he was far too accustomed to hearing