A/N: We're getting close to the halfway point of the story! This is one of my favorite chapters. Please enjoy, and if you're loving the story so far, please vote and follow! :)
"Easy, easy. I just shaved this morning." Esmeralda had the soldier pinned to the floor with his own sword, and the look in her turquoise eyes dared him to move. He began to crawl backwards, but she followed him carefully, not letting her guard down for a minute.
"Oh, really? You missed a spot." Nakoma watched this exchange from behind a nearby pillar, praying that God would give Esmeralda the strength to drive him away. Djali, Esmeralda's goat, stood beside her, watching the fight curiously.
"Alright, alright, just calm down. Just give me a chance to apologize."
"For what?" Esmeralda said, loosening her grip on the sword. Suddenly the soldier tripped her, snatched the blade and turned it back on her, sending her tumbling to the floor.
"That, for example."
Esmeralda leapt quickly to her feet."You sneaky son of a—"
"Ah, ah, ah! Watch it—you're in a church." As they came closer to Nakoma's hiding place, Esmeralda surreptitiously reached for a candlestaff and waved her fingers at Nakoma, as if to say, "Get out of here!" But before Nakoma could protest, Esmeralda turned her attention back to the soldier.
"Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?" She grabbed the staff and swung it at the soldier, but he was quick and blocked the swing with his sword.
"Candlelight, privacy, music..." They continued their odd swordfight as the soldier spoke. "Can't think of a better place for hand-to-hand combat." Esmeralda aimed a devastating blow toward his face, but he parried it yet again. "You fight almost as well as a man!"
They were far enough from the pillar that Nakoma could sneak through the shadows toward the door. But as she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed out, she knew she couldn't just leave. Esmeralda was in trouble! And what of the bellringer she had helped to rescue? And the kind archdeacon from Clopin's story? Surely they were both here, within these very walls. Maybe they could help.
As she crept along the wall she noticed a stone archway containing a staircase. Perhaps this went up to the belltower. She felt a little thrill race from her toes to the tips of her fingers. This was dangerous, this was risky...but it was also adventurous, and adventure was what she was here for! Despite the danger, she couldn't contain her excited smile as she bounded up the steps.
The narrow staircase curved around itself like a snake and was lit with torches placed in holders on the wall. As the stairs continued up and the noise from below faded Nakoma felt herself losing strength. She had been so pampered in England that she'd lost much of her stamina. Not having to run through forests or paddle in a canoe or climb a tree was taking its toll on her. Still she continued onward, but at a slower pace.
After a few moments Nakoma stopped to catch her breath. The stone seemed endless; just when she thought she must surely be at the top more steps appeared before her. She trudged on for another moment or so before a plain wooden door abruptly marked the end of the staircase.
"Hmm." She tried to imagine where it might lead. She felt she'd climbed high enough to be at the belltower, but then again, she couldn't be sure. Either way, there was no way to go now but through the door, and so she slowly pushed it open.
Sunlight blinded her for a moment. She was afraid to take another step for fear she'd fall from whatever height she'd climbed. As she blinked her surroundings slowly came into focus, and she took a step back from the railing in front of her. The city of Paris spread out beneath her in groups of buildings. The roads looked like narrow, dusty ribbons that cut through the buildings at regular intervals. She'd never seen anything like it before. Right below her, in the courtyard, were the tents from the Festival of Fools. She didn't know where Clopin's tent was, but she was fairly certain that this was the area she'd looked up to when the bells rang out during his story.
After a moment she looked around; there was a railed pathway to her right that ran along the edge of the building, and another path branching off from it behind her that led toward the middle. A tower rose to her right, though, and the path turned inward and led to another wooden door. It looked promising, and so she ran along the corridor, stopping at the doorway.
"Well, this may be it," she said, arching her neck to make out the top of the tower. It certainly seemed high enough, and from what she'd seen of Paris below it fit. She took a deep breath, took the metal handle in both hands and gave a small tug.
The wooden door came open quite easily. As she stepped inside she took in an enormous chamber criss-crossed with wood beams and ropes of all shapes and sizes. In front of her a little ways was a narrow wooden staircase that led up to a secondary level. Slowly she approached it, wondering if she should go on any further. What if Quasimodo found her here and demanded she leave? What if he tried to hurt her? He had pulled several men off of their feet at the Festival, when they had tried to tie him down. She had no doubts about his strength.
"You're on an adventure," she told herself sternly. "Besides, he seemed gentle enough with Esmeralda. He might help us." With that in mind she walked more confidently. Once at the top of the staircase, she looked around again. There were wooden beams everywhere; it made her wonder how many trees had been killed to build them all. Beside her was a ladder leading up to yet another level. Taking a look around first to make sure there was no other way forward, she climbed it as well, but slowed considerably when she neared the top.
Ahead a little ways was a table with what appeared to be tiny buildings on top. Above that, pieces of colored glass hung from the ceiling, throwing their hues all over the floor. She stepped onto the floor and cautiously approached the scene. The closer she came, the more detailed the features on the buildings became. She recognized some as those she'd seen when she stepped off the carriage, though she didn't know exactly what they were. The artistry was amazing; she wondered if Quasimodo had made it all.
Also on the table, she realized as she rounded it slowly, were figurines of people, mostly townsfolk. There were women in their big, round dresses and men in their tunics, some carrying tiny baskets or leading animals on ropes. There was even a flock of sheep, complete with fluffy white wool. She smiled as she reached out to touch one.
"D-don't touch that, please!" She glanced up; the voice had come from in front of her. Up on the next highest level, standing under the shadow of a bell, was the bellringer.
She took a step toward him; his eyes widened and he turned and ran.
"No, please! Wait!" she called after him, searching frantically for the way up. After a few seconds she saw the small ladder halfway concealed behind some draped cloth and scrambled up after him. "I want to talk to you!" She found herself dashing between bells of all shapes and sizes and almost stopped to take in their breathtaking beauty and sheer numbers. But she knew she had to keep running, or Quasimodo would get away. Her eyes latched onto the green of his tunic as he ran along the scaffolding with surprising agility.
He rounded a corner and suddenly skidded to a stop. Nakoma heard him muttering something but was too far away still to make it out. She picked up her speed; this could be her only chance to catch him.
As she approached the corner she slowed and then stopped, bent over and panting. He glanced up at her suddenly, as if just noticing her.
"Why did you run?" she asked between halting breaths. "I just wanted to talk."
"Um, hello," he said, turning as if to leave. "I, uh, have to go now. Erm...bye." He sprinted away with a small groan, and Nakoma immediately resumed the chase.
"Please, come back—" She caught herself hard on her hands and knees with a cry. Glancing back, she saw what had tripped her: a group of stone gargoyles that she'd overlooked in her rush. She straightened and examined her stinging palms; to her chagrin, a splinter had wedged its way into her skin, and blood was oozing around it slowly.
"Are-are you alright?" Quasimodo had turned and taken a few cautious steps back toward her. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Nakoma smiled gently at him.
"No, just a little splinter. I'll be fine. But I do wish you would stay and talk."
Quasimodo's face twisted in indecision. Torn, he glanced from the empty path in front of him, and then back to her, over and over in quick succession.
"I'm just going to make sure you're alright. But I can't let you stay. My master would be angry." He walked slowly toward her, the way Nakoma had seen the English settlers approach wild animals in the forests of Virginia.
"Why would he be angry?" Nakoma asked.
"He doesn't want anyone to see me," he replied as he knelt and gently examined her hand. "I am a monster."
"Who would tell you such a thing?" she demanded in shock, though she knew what his answer would be and dreaded it. Perhaps there was some truth to Clopin's little charade.
"My master, Frollo. He took me in when nobody else would, after my parents abandoned me. He's very kind. But right now he's very angry with me for going to the Festival without his permission." He stood, pulled her to her feet, and beckoned for her to follow.
"I don't think you're a monster," Nakoma said firmly. "Those people at the festival were the monsters. They were so cruel!" Her voice shook with loathing.
"Oh, but I deserved it," Quasimodo said sadly. "My master warned me that people would hate me if I went outside. He was right. I learned my lesson. I'll never go out there again."
Nakoma stopped, touching his arm gently. With questioning green eyes he turned and regarded her.
"Look at me." She pointed at her face. "Do you see hatred in these eyes?"
Quasimodo looked for a moment and then shook his head, as if clearing smoke from the air.
"But you and Esmeralda are gypsies. Gypsies are supposed to be evil."
Nakoma started and stepped back.
"I'm not a gypsy. But Esmeralda doesn't seem evil to me."
"You don't understand. My master's the only one I can trust. He's the only one who can look at me without flinching. He's..." Quasimodo faltered as Nakoma continued to gaze expectantly at him.
"I think Judge Frollo's wrong about you and Esmeralda. I think you have a beautiful heart. A spirit of adventure. What else could have drawn you out despite your master's warnings?" His expression seemed torn between joy and regret. "The townsfolk are just too shallow to see what lies under the skin. But there is one thing Frollo may have taught you that is correct." Nakoma drew out her little cross from beneath the collar of her dress. Quasimodo eyed it curiously. "If he ever told you there was a God who loves you no matter who you are or what you look like, then he was absolutely right."
"I've never heard that before," Quasimodo said as they continued their trek along the scaffolding. "I know that God can give you things if you pray long enough and in the right way."
"What is his problem?" Nakoma wondered aloud, shaking her head. She began to pick at the sliver of wood stuck in her palm. "No man of God would call someone a monster because of how they appear."
Quasimodo didn't reply; he kept his eyes straight ahead, though his brows were furrowed in confusion.
"He's my master. I have to obey him. That's all I know."
They walked in a tense silence until they reached the room with his wooden carvings. "Let me get that splinter out for you," Quasimodo said, reaching for her hand. Nakoma smiled and showed it to him.
"I picked it out while we were walking. Sorry I didn't tell you."
"Well, here. Wash your hands." He led her to a little bowl and picked up a pitcher. "It'll get the dirt out of the cut." She did as he suggested and let him wrap a small strip of cloth over the wound.
"Thank you," she said. "I wish I could give you something in return."
"You helped me at the Festival," Quasimodo reminded her. They smiled at each other for a moment until his faded. "I have chores to do now. You should go."
"I can't," Nakoma said. "Esmeralda's still down there with the captain. He didn't seem like he wanted to hurt her, but it could be a trap." She looked expectantly at him. "I was wondering if you would help."
"If she's in here she would have claimed sanctuary," Quasimodo said. Nakoma was confused.
"What's 'sanctuary?'"
"It means as long as she's in the church no one can arrest her or hurt her. I would have thought you claimed sanctuary, too."
"But I'm not a gypsy," Nakoma said again.
"It's not just for gypsies," explained Quasimodo. "It's for anyone who needs it. And my master thinks you're a gypsy. I don't know why. You're not dressed like one." Quasimodo examined her. "But you don't look like the townsfolk, either."
Nakoma frowned.
"It must be my skin. It's darker than everyone here. I'm not from here, anyway. I come from a land a long way across the sea. It took me several months altogether to get here."
"That's exciting! You should tell me about it. I've never heard of anywhere except France." Quasimodo's eyes were lit up with something like wonder.
"But what about Esmeralda?" Nakoma glanced down at the floor. "Shouldn't I at least check on her?"
"You might get caught," Quasimodo said. "You haven't claimed sanctuary, you know."
"Well, if I do get caught, I can just claim sanctuary then, right?" Quasimodo thought about it for a moment.
"I don't know. It would be a risk. I will go down with you, but I'll hide so my master won't see me. If there is no one down there I might be able to help you both escape."
"Thank you," Nakoma said, grasping his hand. "You are truly a good man."
Quasimodo simply smiled and beckoned her toward the door.