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

two hours, if you were lucky. Unfortunately, as was clearly stated by Jehan's most recent visit, his luck had been running something of thin lately.

Pursing his lips, he reached out and ran his finger over the wide mouth of a vase. It came back dusty, he clucked his tongue. The maids were getting lazy, it would appear.

"Don't touch anything," Frollo's cold voice clipped from the doorway.

"Brother!" Jehan whirled around, narrowly avoiding knocking the vase from its precarious perch. "How lovely to see you, as always of course, it's been far too long."

His words withered and died in the presence of Frollo's frown.

"Jehan, I'm a very busy man." He said stiffly. "What is it you've come for?"

"Now really, Claude, such unpleasant matters we must discuss. Don't you think a little food is in order for us beforehand?"

"No, I do not. I think you should explain yourself, and then we shall see about lunch." Never mind that his own stomach was growling. Frollo sat down in a chair, and motioned for Jehan to do the same.

"Thanks, I've been sitting all day." Jehan sighed. "The truth is, Claude, I'm here because I'm in a need of a little funding."

"That comes as no great surprise to me. How much do you need?"

Jehan hesitated, then replied, "Five hundred."

"Five hundred?" Frollo's eyes burned. "And what did you do to rack up such a sum?"

"That's not important, is it?"

"It is quite," Frollo's voice became very dark. "Because if you do not tell me I fear, brother, that I will be unable to help you."

Jehan groaned. "It's a complicated story. Long, involved…I'm certain that it would bore you."

"Try me."

"I managed to get tangled up in a bet with a couple of camarades, and you know me, brother, how competitive I can be!" he flinched at Frollo's expression at the mention of the word 'bet'. He knew very well his brother's feelings on gambling.

"Do I need to remind you of Ecclesiastes?" Frollo's rubbed the tips of his fingers together, and his frown deepened.

"I don't see why," Jehan replied wearily. "You've repeated it to me often enough."

"'He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver'-" Frollo began.

"'Nor he that loveth abundance with increase: this is also vanity'." Jehan finished, his impatience growing.

"Precisely. You would do well to live by that, you might find yourself on my doorstep less often."

"Claude…" Jehan wheedled. "Come now, would you deny your brother, your only sibling who has loved you and been loyal to you all these years… the satisfaction of a full and happy life?"

"I would not, If I remember correctly, that's why I sent you to school."

"Without a broken neck?" Jehan badgered. "They will kill me if I don't return the money! Snap my neck and leave me in a ditch. And then you'd have to pay for the funeral. Now which is the less of two evils, I ask you?"

"The greatest evil, I am sure, is aiding a gambler in his addiction."

"Please, Claude!" Jehan begged. "I'm far too young to die a gruesome death!"

Frollo let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Give me time to reflect on the proper course of action. How long do you have?"

"The end of the week…"

Frollo rubbed his forehead. "Very well, give me until tonight, when I have had time to think and get things done."

"I knew you couldn't stand to watch me die," Jehan grinned broadly. "Now, about lunch…"

Chapter Eleven: A Debt Owed

He didn't know why he had to wait out in the damnable heat, anyhow. Jehan muttered several colorful curses under his breath as he leaned against the wall of the abandoned building, wondering why he had to be on time, but the person he was meeting could be over an hour late and get by with it.

Because, he reminded himself. He doesn't owe you money.

Stirring the dirt with the toe of his boot, he lapsed into thought. Damn gypsies, he could almost sympathize with Claude and his brother's intense hatred of their entire breed. If he had known that the dashing well-dressed challenger had been of their ilk, he would never have accepted the bet. And then he wouldn't have had to come home, and grovel like a beggar on the side of the street to his brother.

He hated when Claude 'thought over' things. Usually, it was a twenty-four hour process that had on more than one occasion landed Jehan into a heap of trouble. His brother liked to mull things over, observe them form every possible angle, and then pray over it just to make sure he was making the wisest choice. It was an infuriating process that he had no time for this round.

Then there was the sound of approaching boots. Jehan straightened, grasping the hilt of his dagger just in case it was someone unwelcome to discover his business. He saw the tall dashing rogue grinning cattishly at him from underneath the brim of a wide hat, and didn't know whether or not he was relieved.

"You have it, then?" straight to business, of course.

"Not yet," Jehan replied. He noticed the gypsy's smile fade, and quickly added, "But I will! I've just entreated my brother over the matter, and you will have your money, I guarantee it."

"By the end of the week," the gypsy reminded him. "Or else, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take my payment in blood." A long, slender dagger suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere and the gleaming tip found its way to Jehan's throat. "I'd hate to have to do that, it would be terribly inconvenient."

"For me, more so than you, I'm sure." Jehan swallowed, and he felt the tip wander up, and press against the soft spot beneath his chin.

"It does get quite messy," the gypsy lowered his chin, and the blue eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. Inwardly, Jehan fumed. The bastard was enjoying this far too much.

"Once I have the money," he asked, in a sudden attempt to divert the subject away from its current topic. "Where do I find you?"

"Oh, it shouldn't be too hard. I'm up and around Paris, more so than you think." For some reason, his words were hardly comforting. "For convenience's sake, you can meet me again right here."

"And… what time will you expect me?"

"Noon," the gypsy replied, after a second of thought. "And if you are not here by sundown, then I'll come after you."

And kill me, a bead of sweat appeared on Jehan's brow. He was not liking the way this was going at all. Frollo just had to give him that money!

After what seemed entirely too long to Jehan, the gypsy pulled the knife away from his neck, and it vanished once again. "Midday, end of the week. I shall see you then."

"Right," Jehan replied, rubbing his neck where the dagger had been. He watched as the gypsy turned and vanished into the street. He would stay out as long as humanly possible. If he had to linger in the Palace of Justice and wait on his brother to come up with a decision, he would go absolutely mad.

He waited a few minutes, to make sure the gypsy was far away, and then he stepped out into the street. Blinded, temporarily, by the glowering sunlight.

"Claude, Claude," he muttered under his breath. "Don't let this happen to me, now!"

~*~*~*~*~

"Oh my," Esmeralda said with a delighted smile as she picked up the small wooden carving from the table. It was, she readily admitted, her exact likeness. "You made one of me!"

"It's the second model," Quasimodo replied, blushing, enchanted by her delight. "My master burned the first one … but it gave me a chance to make some modifications. I like this one better."

"It's perfect, I love it!" she sighed, and set it down in the middle of the replica of the city. If she couldn't be there in person, she wouldn't deny her likeness the pleasure.

"Where were you, last night?" Quasimodo inquired. "I mean, I woke up at one point and you were standing up… I woke up again a little while later and you weren't there at all."

"I don't know what you mean," Esmeralda replied, feeling a tiny pang of guilt for lying to her friend. "I was here all night. You must have dreamt it."

"Must have," Quasimodo ruffled his ginger hair. "After all, I couldn't sleep very well, and had a number of odd dreams."

Esmeralda opened her mouth to reply, but they both froze at the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase. Quasimodo mouthed, "Frollo" to her, and she nodded in reply, standing up and smoothing out the skirt of her robe. She glanced at the doorway, just as Frollo appeared, holding a covered basket and looked like he had had one hell of a night.

"Good morning Quasimodo, Esmeralda." He greeted wearily. Esmeralda had never seen him look so wretched. He swept in, and set the basket down on the table. "Before we break fast, Quasimodo, I'm sure you have some duties to attend to."

"Oh, no, master." Quasimodo assured him. "I finished my morning chores before you got here so I could-" he faltered as Frollo shot him a pointed look. "On second thought, there was one other thing I had to do. Excuse me." He bounded off, and vanished into the rafters.

Esmeralda turned slowly to face Frollo, her pulse quickening upon meeting his gaze.

"Well?" she demanded vehemently. "What is it you want?"

"A moment of your time," he implored. "Nothing more."

"You didn't have to send him away for that." She scoffed.

"It is a private matter that I wish to discuss with you." He lifted one hand and rubbed his temples. "Esmeralda…"

"Let me clear this for you, first. I want nothing to do with you; I don't care if you can save my immortal soul. I don't think it's worth it. I would rather burn for a thousand lifetimes in Hell than endure an hour longer in your presence. You despise me, and my people, and that is not a quality in your favor. So if I were you, I would just take up that ridiculous hat and leave, because your breath is wasted here."

"…I love you," he whispered, about the same time as her last few words fell from her lips.

She blinked, and her mouth fell slightly open, only to be accompanied by an enraged "What?"

"I love you," he repeated, stepping closer to her, hands spread. "Ever since I first saw you dance at the feast, I knew that one day you would be mine. You are beautiful to me, and though my soul may burn eternally for the dreams that have consumed me every night since laying eyes on you, I would not give them up! Esmeralda…" he reached out, and grasped the cloth of her sleeve. She pulled away, disgust written on her features, and he leaned on the table for support, as if he were about to collapse. Never before had she seen such a sight, she had never seen a man so tortured.

"Don't turn away from me," he pleaded with her. "I would rather die than have you turn your gaze away from me. Please, I beseech you, pity a wretched man! Have mercy on me, for God surely can no longer."