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

and he never backed out on a job. Today, though he would be facing the Minister of Justice himself, he would go in confident, and do whatever it took to get that job. Failure was not an option, especially not to Clopin, who had had to deal with enough for one lifetime.

That determined, he took the remaining steps two at a time until he had reached the top, where he turned to address the nearest guard.

"I'm here to apply for the position of-" he barely managed to finish his sentence before the guard jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and the doors to the palace were opened. Jean-Francis was slightly startled, but didn't let it show. Nodding his thanks, he strode through the doors. His heart was pounding harder, it almost hurt.

He put everything into the character he knew he must play. Stance, manner… even slight lisp was all planned out in his head. He went up yet another flight of stairs and found himself running almost on top of the Minister of Justice.

"Oh, Your Honor!" Jean-Francis performed a hasty bow right there on the staircase.

"Out of my way," Frollo commanded with a sweeping gesture of his hand. "I have business to attend to."

"Indeed, sir!" Jean-Francis replied, pulling the application out and unfolding it carefully before handing it over to the minister. "I happen to have business with you, as well, how fortunate that we should run into each other!"

Frollo's glare would have caused any lesser mortal to melt into a puddle and slither into a crack in the floor. "Indeed?"

"Yes! I am here, Your Honor, to apply for the position of Captain of the Guard."

"…Indeed." Frollo said again, sweeping his judgmental gaze over the garishly clad man. From his enormous plumed hat and the red velvet and gold brocade caplet that was thrown over one shoulder to the crème breeches that buckled at the knee and the knee-high black boots. "And what is your name?"

"Sebastian Montagiu, Your Honor. Sir Sebastian Montagiu."

"Titles mean nothing to me, I warn you now. If you wish to make my guard, you must prove yourself worthy of the position."

"Yes, Your Honor," Jean-Francis replied, taking a step backwards for every step Frollo took forward. Frollo grit his teeth and fought the urge to strike the man, anything to get him out of the way. Couldn't he see that the judge clearly had somewhere to be? "When do I begin?"

"My guards will inform you," Frollo said, his patience growing visibly thin. "If you ask them, they will show you to your quarters."

"Of course, Your Honor." Jean-Francis continued to back down, whilst removing his hat and performing an elaborate bow. Quite a trick, considering the haste in which he was backing down the shallow steps. "Thank you very much, I shall strive to be worthy of your trust."

"Hmm," Frollo offered no further comment on the matter. With a lift of his hem and a grand sweeping flourish, he vanished around the corner and was gone. Jean-Francis let out a long sigh and collapsed against the stone wall, running a hand through his mass of golden curls. "Well," he said to himself. "That was properly terrifying. Is he always like that, I wonder, or am I merely special." He paused to muse over this idea for a moment before fluffing the plume of his hat and plopping it back down onto his head. One mission was accomplished, at least. If only for a little while, he was in. He didn't even need to linger long enough to fill the position of captain, if only he could locate Esmeralda in between then and now. And if anyone became suspicious, he could merely explain that he was lost, or he was just taking a look around and killing time before appointed to his new position.

Best to begin now, he reasoned, running a hand over the brim of his hat. The Minister of Justice, he had recognized, had quite the taste in chapeaus. Jean-Francis always liked to connect with a fellow soul. "Pity," he began, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trotted down the stairs. "How can one with such good taste be so positively wicked?" with a chuckle, he answered himself. "Well, dear boy, take a good look in the mirror, you may get your answer!"

~*~*~*~*~

Once the idiot was out of his sight, Frollo's head began to clear, and he began to wonder what exactly it was he had just done. True, the fop clearly was colorblind, but he seemed a good few brain cells ahead of his last Captain of Guard whom he would not bring himself to speak the name of. Frustrated, Frollo wondered why every captain ended up being such a great disappointment.

"Minister Frollo," the guard at the door saluted him. "The gypsy girl is here, as you requested."

"Excellent," Frollo replied. "Send her in."

The guard saluted again and vanished. When he reappeared, he held the arm of Esmeralda who had, since being pardoned, taken a bath, and her thick raven's hair was combed out, falling in even glossier waves around her face. Her white prison gown had been replaced with a long-sleeved black acolyte's robe.

"Why do I have to wear this damn thing?" she asked, scratching her arms. "It itches!"

Pressing his lips together, Frollo smacked her across the face, loud enough that it echoed off the palace walls. "There will be no profanity here," he warned her, his voice dropping to dangerous lows.

"This is not the Cathedral." She hissed.

"God is everywhere," Frollo withdrew his hand, and twisted the jeweled rings around his fingers. "And you will not utter such obscenities in His presence – or mine – again."

"It still itches," she sighed. "And it's hot."

"It's necessary. We are about to walk through the streets of Paris and you cannot be seen."

"I'm going to die! You can't expect me to-"

"I trust I don't expect too much of you. Your cooperation is a small price to pay for your immortal soul."

Seething, Esmeralda lowered her arms to her sides, fists clenched.

"Better," Frollo smirked and gestured languidly with his hand. "Shall we?"

Esmeralda nodded, and pulled the cowl of her robe low over her face so that the tip nearly touched her chin. Frollo turned and exited the palace, the wind catching hold of his robes and his hat so that he had to grab hold of both to keep them in check before diving into his carriage. Esmeralda followed, struggling to keep the hem of her robe down by her ankles to keep the wind from catching the skirt. She dove headfirst into the carriage, and the wind slammed the door shut behind her, nearly taking off a bit of her heel. She landed nearly face-first in Frollo's lap, one arm and one leg dangling over the side of the seat, and the other bent at an awkward angle, making sitting up a chore.

"Sorry," she muttered, lifting herself up. Frollo remained stiff until she had removed himself from his personal space completely, and then he smoothed out the length of his robe.

"Fine," he muttered, tapping the side of the carriage as a signal for the driver to move on. The carriage jerked into motion, and they were off.

Esmeralda slid off her seat and moved to the one across from him, pulling the cowl away from her head to smooth out her hair.

"Don't," Frollo snapped. "Not until we arrive."

Esmeralda scowled at him, but pulled it back down anyhow.

Chapter Six: A Fellow Outcast

"He's coming!" Hugo waved his arms in panic at the sight of Frollo's carriage. "And he's brought someone with him … MON DIEU!" he turned to face Quasimodo in horror. "He's going to have us removed already!"

"Calm down!" Quasimodo made desperate silencing movements with his hands. "He's not replacing anyone, not yet…"

"YET! It's only a matter of time!"

"Quiet!" Quasi pleaded. "He's coming up the stairs!"

"Shut up, you." Laverne snarled at the by far larger yet not very intelligent gargoyle. "Or he'll be shipping all of us to the quarry before you can blink and Quasi will be singing a farewell!"

Quasimodo rushed to tidy things away, including moving the gargoyles to the side, less out of the way of his master's path. He was convinced that if Frollo didn't see the gargoyles, then he would conveniently forget all about his threat to have them removed. Isolated all his life, Quasimodo had few enough friends as it was. He didn't want those nearest and dearest to him to be shipped away.

Frollo stepped wordlessly into his room, catching Quasimodo by complete surprise. The hunchback whirled around to face his master and bit his thick lip so hard that a bead of blood appeared. "Master!"

"I've brought you some company, Quasimodo." Frollo replied, gesturing behind him. A tall figure in a black acolyte's robe stepped forward from the shadows of the doorway, and pulled back the cowl from its face. Esmeralda's lovely, gentle face – whole and unharmed – stood before him, and it was all Quasimodo could do not to break down into tears.

"Esmeralda!" he cried. "You're alive!"

"I am," she replied softly, smiling and bending down to hug him. She buried her face in his shoulder and for a moment, remembered why life was worth fighting for. There was no Phoebus any longer, but there was Quasimodo, a friend who loved her and cared for her almost as much as the soldier had. She valued that, now, more than anything.

"Yes, dear boy." Frollo replied, looking away from the touching scene and running a hand over Quasimodo's model table. "She will be staying with you for the next few weeks. Attending lessons with you, eating meals with you, and in time, we will find a task suitable for her. Idle hands lead to sin."

Esmeralda glanced at Quasimodo and rolled his eyes. He blushed but didn't return the look. Reluctant, after all that they had been through, to even express exasperation at his master's constant preaching.

"After some time has passed, you can be let out." Frollo now turned to address Esmeralda. "A few weeks and you can wander Notre Dame all you like. You may never, however, leave the sanctuary of the church unless accompanied by either me, or one of my men."

"And when can I get out to see the city?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"Never," he replied, glancing down at them from his nose. "You are never to associate with the common people again. I fear they have too great an influence over you, and in your tender condition…"

"I couldn't care less about my immortal soul, at this point!" she was very close to tears, and her chin was thrust defiantly in his direction. "Just give me sunlight!"

"There will be plenty of sunlight," Frollo reassured her, purposefully missing the point entirely.

"I need sunlight, fresh air, and people! I need my freedom! You said it yourself," she said dryly. "Gypsies don't do well behind stone walls."

"You are a gypsy no longer," Frollo reminded her. "You are a reformed Christian woman. And by my soul, you will learn to live like one. You will eat off plates, you will learn to read and speak Latin, and you will learn to dwell for long periods of time within four walls. When you can act, speak, dress, think like a decent civilized being, then there may be talk of seeing the city