Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ These Bells That Ring ❯ These Bells That Ring 2/? ( Chapter 2 )

The cast of characters…

Heero Yuy - Phoebus de Chateaupers (Fleur-de-Lys' fiancé.)

Duo Maxwell - Quasimodo (the hunchback of Notre Dame)

Trowa Barton - Clopin Trouillefou (King of the Gypsies)

Quatre Raberba Winner - Djali (the goat)

Wufei Chang - Esmerelda (the Gypsy dancing girl)

Zechs Merquise - Pierre Gringoire (poet/playwright and friend of Dom Claude Frollo)

Dorothy Catalonia - Jahannes de Molendino (brother to Dom Claude Frollo)

Treize Khushrenada - Dom Claude Frollo de Tirechappe (Archdeacon of Notre Dame Cathedral)

Relena Peacecraft - Fleur-de-Lys de Gondelaurier (Phoebus' fiancé.)

THESE BELLS THAT RING

Chapter 2

Cold and wet, Zechs Merquise shivered violently as he made his way forlornly through the dark streets of the city all the while keeping a sharp look out for any familiar landmarks. His clothes were covered with mud and offered little protection against the elements and his fingers and toes were clumsy and numb. Miserably he examined his fingers carefully for signs of frostbite then blew on his hands in a futile attempt to warm them. His breath puffed white clouds of steam into the frigid night air but did little to warm to his hands which now felt like frozen slabs of beef. Forlornly, he tucked them back into his damp pockets. They weren't any warmer there but at least they were out of the biting wind.

There wasn't really anything the tall Parisian could do about his feet for the time being which was a pity for they now ached with each step, making walking a painful chore. If he didn't find shelter soon, or at least a warm fire, frostbite would be the least of his concerns. Unfortunately, in his eagerness to follow the foreign dancer and his musical accomplice, Zechs had neglected to take note of his whereabouts and he was now thoroughly lost.

Bolts of agony ripped through his skull as he craned his head in an attempt to make out the faded street sign above him. Gingerly he touched the scalp, winced, and was not surprised to see that his fingers came away stained with blood. That guy sure had packed a punch! Zechs didn't know which hurt worse, his swollen jaw, or his poor throbbing skull.

(Let this be my lesson for following strangers through unfamiliar streets at night. What WAS I thinking?)

Grumpily Zechs continued plodding in what he hoped was the general direction of home all the while muttering under his breath.

"This has got to be, by far, the worst day of my life and it isn't over yet. Not by a long shot!" In frustration, the tall man kicked at a patch of dirty snow and only succeeded in splashing more freezing mud on his already soiled garments. "And it had started out with such promise!" He grated between clenched teeth.

Indeed the day had begun on a rather favorable note - with clear brilliantly blue skies and moderate temperatures that hovered just above freezing, all in all it had not been a bad day for early January. There could not have been a more perfect day for the premier of his first great masterpiece! His fame and fortune as a poet/playwright had been all but guaranteed. Or so he had thought.

Beating his arms briskly about his body in an attempt to fight off the freezing cold, Zechs stomped ignorantly deeper and deeper into the maze that was Paris. It had been years since he had lived in the French city and his knowledge of the layout of its sprawling streets was dim at best. It would have been better if he had stopped to ask for directions, but, unfortunately, the hour was late and the streets more or less deserted. Unknowingly, he had wandered into a much rougher neighborhood than he was accustomed.

With more than a little bitterness he recalled how the play had been not only delayed for almost two hour as the restless crowd awaited the arrival of the honored General Noventa, but it had been interrupted time and time again by the inconsiderate banter of the rabble that had gathered. Had they no manners? Did they have no appreciation for the arts? Apparently not for, in Zechs' humble opinion, the common people of Paris wouldn't know a spectacular performance if it came up and bit them on their...err... noses.

Two figures in particular stood out in the disgruntled playwright's mind, two uncouth individuals who were, at least in Zechs' mind, the main cause of his play's unjustified failure. The first had been a shabbily dressed beggar with a lame arm. He had seemed rather young with thick brown hair cut short about his head save for the long bangs that had tumbled down into his handsome and rather serious face to obscure one of his bright emerald eyes. This unfortunate had shambled slowly into the hall and, after settling himself comfortably near one of the walls, began to ply his trade by holding out his battered hat and crying out in a loud firm voice, "Alms! Alms for the poor!" He continued to do so throughout the entire show, casually disregarding the many death glares he received from the play's creator.

The second troublemaker had been none other than Dorothy Catalonia, younger sister of Zechs' long time friend, the archdeacon of Notre Dame cathedral, Treize Khushrenada. With long blond hair and a shapely figure teamed up with a sarcastic wit that was razor sharp, the little imp always managed to be the center of attention. Seated comfortably on a windowsill she had delivered quips and snide remarks on everything from the weather to the design of the costumes, to the physical attributes of those gathered to watch the performance and even the actors themselves. She, more than anyone else, had been loudly outraged at having to wait the better part of two hours for the start of the program and yet she had been the first to abandon the hall in order to witness that event, that… travesty, known only as the 'Feast of Fools'. It had not taken long for the fickle audience to follow her example and in no time at all, the hall had been deserted and his great masterpiece entirely forgotten.

Zechs shuddered at the memory of the events that had followed. What a grotesque sight THAT had been! The square had been awash with roars of drunken laughter and coarse merriment as the citizens abandoned all sensibilities to participate in this, the day's most colorful and anticipated event. All of Paris' most ugly and repulsive citizens had participated in the event, taking to the hastily constructed stage, putting themselves on display for the amusement of the crowd. For one glorious day they were able to forget their shyness and take pride in their disfigurements. Even the famous hunchback of Notre Dame himself had made an appearance. Being without a doubt one of the most hideous creatures to ever walk God's green earth, it came as no surprise that he had been crowned the 'King of Fools' - the ugliest face in all of Paris.

The faintest thought, some vague recognition tried to stir in him mind, as Zechs recalled the monstrosity of a man that had been hoisted in boozy triumph onto the shoulders of his fellow Parisians on this bright and sunny January afternoon just past. The Bell Ringer of Notre Dame, the human gargoyle that haunted the darker depths of that grand, majestic cathedral. He was an evil creature, the people declared, one full of mischief and spite; a being that had been seen on rare occasion stalking the city streets near his sanctuary after nightfall. This man, known only as Duo Maxwell, was a common, if unsettling, sight at the cathedral for there up in the high bell towers of the massive stone structure was where it was rumored that he made his home.

Men cursed and spat on the ground in a warding off gesture at the mention of this creature's very name, pregnant women adverted their gazes lest their unborn offspring should be afflicted by the same evil spirit that corrupted the body of the hideous bell ringer. And, as Zechs recalled, it was common knowledge that the mothers of Paris often warned their children that if they did not behave, the Hunchback would come to eat them up on some dark and dismal night.

Indeed it was truly odd that such a loathsome and reviled creature such as this would, on this one day, have found such unaccustomed acceptance among those who feared and mistrusted him - a prejudice based solely on his grotesque features and miserably misshapen body rather than on any actual events or actions.

But who was this foul creature, really? No one knew. No one that is, but the Archdeacon of Notre Dame, Treize Khushrenada.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky, the connection was made! The thought bloomed fully formed in Zechs' mind and he slapped his forehead in a gesture of self-disgust. Why had he not figured it out before? It made perfect sense! The shadowy figure that had so recently attempted to carry off the Oriental dancer could have been none other than that foul creature Duo Maxwell! The grotesquely distorted silhouette, the abnormally powerful musculature!

Rubbing his jaw tenderly, Zechs could well attest that the tales of the monster's inhuman strength were more than mere rumors. The only thing that remained unclear in his mind was the motive. Why would such a creature attempt to abduct the dancer and his musician? And who had his mysterious assistant?

With a faint gasp, Zechs recalled catching a glimpse of eyes that blazed blue fire from beneath the dark shadow of the cowl that had obscured the face of the hunchback's partner in crime. In disbelief his hand flew up towards his mouth, which now hung open slightly in stunned disbelief. The way the stranger had moved, the manner in which he had held himself…all so familiar! More than anything it had been those deep penetrating eyes that struck a chord deep within his bosom. As unbelievable as it may seem, the poor playwright found himself thinking of his old friend, Treize Khushrenada, whom he had not seen for many years.

"But that's ridiculous!" He exclaimed aloud, puffs of steamy vapor accompanying every word and breath. "What would the Archdeacon possibly want with a pair of street performers?"

To Be Continued…

*****