Chapter Text
Anyone else would’ve drowned you.
The words rang more loudly in his head than all of the bells over Paris.
Quasi slumped at his work table in front of his latest creation; a wooden mask that he’d spent the last few months painstakingly carving.
The mask was indisputably hideous. It made a cruel mockery of human features, twisting the mouth into a grotesque smile and concealing the left eye behind a terrifying, devilish slit. It was designed to cover only half of the wearer’s face, providing a cynical juxtaposition of human expression.
It was Quasi’s favorite piece that he’d ever created.
Propped up on the table against one of the cathedral rafters was a small mirror that he’d bartered from Lav. Frollo had never allowed him to have mirrors. As a kindness, he said. He picked it up now and lifted the mask over his head.
Quasi admired the way it covered the left side of his face, how it concealed every imperfection along a perfect line and replaced it with something worse.
Something truly monstrous.
So monstrous, in fact, that when Quasi took the awful thing off, he could look at the left side of his face, his real face, without shame. Compared to the mask, there was nothing truly monstrous about the puffiness around his left eye, or the discoloration that flamed up his cheek, or the way the corner of his mouth pulled his lips down into a lopsided grimace.
He loved it so much that he’d designed something for his back. A wooden helmet of sorts that exaggerated the curve of his spine to an obscene degree. He’d even added height to his left shoe so that his stance was even more uneven and his limp more pronounced.
He’d tried on the costume more times than he could count. It wasn’t wearing it that he loved. It was the moment he took it off.
In that moment, for the first time, Quasi thought he might finally feel like he could live with the face and body God had given him.
But Frollo hadn’t let him explain. He hadn’t even seen the mask.
You are not a prisoner here, Quasi. You may leave the cathedral at night and under a cloak if you choose to.
Except that Paris had a curfew at sundown. He knew Frollo knew this because he’d been the one who advised the Minister to enact it. He believed it would help curb lawlessness and “sinful deeds.” If anyone was caught in the streets at night without proof of a destination and purpose, they could be arrested.
Quasi went out anyway. He always went with Lav, who knew how to get around the city without running into the guards.
He’d walked the streets with her like a ghost; peering through the windows of the shuttered shops, inhaling the stench of the Seine—Paris’s lifeblood. He’d seen Our Lady from angles he’d never seen before, her glorious figure dressed in mourning black shadows. The harsh lines of the cathedral rose above the city like a crown of thorns; a grim reminder of the cost of a soul’s place in heaven.
Quasi had seen the city at night. During the day, he could only watch from on high. But the Feast of Fools was a masked festival; a festival where everyone would be dressed in monstrous costume. If he accentuated his most offensive features, the people of Paris would believe it was part of the act.
Part of the show.
He could go out in the daylight. He could taste the baker’s festival bread fresh out of the ovens and sip the spiced wine made only on festival days. He could watch the street performers and the Roma dancers and the lewd plays from a distance where he could actually see them. He could speak to people who weren't Frollo and Lav. He could hear their voices as more than echoes filtered through the floorboards of his tower room.
Quasi set the mask and the mirror down on the table and leaned back in his chair, tilting his face up to the massive church bells that hung overhead. Beyond his sanctuary was the sky, and beyond it, the heavens.
He’d heard Frollo preach that God made humans in His image, but that sin had tarnished their souls. Quasi wondered what sin would make God curse a child with a face so unworthy of heaven’s light.
The door to the tower room burst open, jolting him out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Quasi! Qua-si, hello? Anyone home?”
“Hey Lav,” he said wearily.
A young woman poked her head around the corner and grinned at him. “In the same place I left you yesterday. You’ve been glued to that worktable. A part of me believes you never leave it. How’s the mask coming? Did you show Frollo yet?”
“No.” He slumped lower in his seat. Lifted his shoulders up near his ears, which made them look more hunched than they really were.
Lav set the basket on the worktable and put her hands on her narrow hips. She squinted at him. “The festival is today, you know.”
“I know.”
“So are we sneaking out then? Don’t worry, I’ve been preparing. I knew either ol’ Rollo wouldn’t let you go or you would chicken out. I take it that it was the chicken, then?”
“Both,” he admitted.
“Both? Damn.”
“Lav, we’re in a church.”
She shrugged. “And I live in a convent. If I didn’t swear here with only you around, where else would I do it? Look, I brought you more supplies. And Mistress Brom sends her thanks from the orphanage.” She lifted a tankard of what Quasi suspected was beer. Her smile turned a shade wicked. “Let’s drink it now so we can get even more pissed at the festival later.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going.”
“Yes you are. You’ve spent three months on that awful mask. What are you going to do, wait to try again next year?”
“Yes. That’s a good idea, actually.”
“Quasi. How are you ever going to break a girl’s heart if you’re cooped up in here forever?”
Lav knew perfectly well he didn’t have the face that anyone could break their heart over, but it had been one of her favorite lines to cheer him up since she first started coming to the cathedral.
Lav had been thirteen years old when she was forced into the convent for refusing to marry a man twenty years her senior. The convent was focused primarily on healing practices, and when they heard about Quasi’s “dire” physical condition, benevolently extended their charity to him.
Lav told Quasi that she’d volunteered to be the one to deliver their donations, but he’d overheard Sister Clara tell Frollo that it was because she was the only one in the convent brave enough.
Do not worry, madam, Quasimodo will not be a threat to your girls’ virtue. He is too monstrous to tempt them and too timid to be of any threat.
Quasi could still remember the first time Lav entered his room in the rafters, her red hair cropped above her shoulders, her gangly arms holding the basket like she was prepared to swing it at any moment.
She’d taken one look at him and wrinkled her nose.
You’re Quasimodo? I thought you’d at least have fangs or a giant wart or something. I’m Laverne, but you can call me Lav.
Lav had grown into a tall, spindly young woman; her generously freckled face all sharp lines and angles. She still wore her hair as short as she had when she was thirteen. Her rebellious spirit made her a good candidate for the convent’s mission.
Quasi pitied the nuns who tried to turn her into a proper, pious Parisian woman.
None of the healing salves or teas the convent had sent over the years had improved his condition (which was unimprovable), but Lav was a kind of medicine that he needed far more.
She came nearly every day, bringing him wood for his carvings or replacement tools or food Frollo wouldn’t buy for the church. She told him all of the gossip from the convent, which bordered the Court of Miracles, and provided her with endless unique characters for her stories.
Frollo didn’t seem to mind her presence in the church, so long as she was quiet. Quasi suspected he kept her around as leverage. Or, more accurately, Lav suspected he kept her around as leverage.
He has to let you have something that’s important to you. If he didn’t, what would he have to take away?
“We both know I’m not going to be breaking any hearts, even if I do go to the festival.”
Lav shrugged again. “Just because Rollo thinks you're ugly doesn’t mean you are. He looks like the ass-end of an ass, but I don't see him hiding away because of it. It would sure be a service to Paris if he did,” she added bitterly.
Lav hated the Archdeacon with a fiery and undying passion, which was why Quasi tried to avoid talking to her about him as much as possible.
“So,” she said, brightening again, “when are we sneaking out?”
That was when they heard muffled voices from outside. Lav glanced at him and grinned slyly. She pointed to the arch that led out to one of the many church parapets, a question in her eyes.
Spying on Frollo—along with everyone else in the cathedral—had been a favorite pastime of theirs since they were kids. Lav refused to give it up. She called it tradition.
Quasi wanted to tell her that he wasn’t in the mood, but she was already walking towards the window. Quasi had never been able to resist getting wrapped up in Lav’s mischief.
It was hard to resist the person he adored most.
They both stood together in the shadows of the cathedral, peering down at the balustrade below. Quasi recognized Frollo’s white Archdeacon garb immediately. Walking next to him was a man he didn’t recognize.
“. . .you have come to Paris in her darkest hour, Captain. It will take a firm hand to save the weak-minded from being so easily misled.”
Lav stuck her tongue out in Frollo’s direction and rolled her eyes.
“Mislead, sir?” his companion asked.
“Look Captain. Gypsies.” Frollo gestured to several of the Roma performers setting up for the festival in the square below the church.
Lav leaned closer to him. “Who do you think that is?” she whispered about the man accompanying Frollo.
“A captain, apparently,” Quasi whispered back.
Lav’s lips quirked the way they always did when she was about to say something that would make the nuns at the convent wring their hands.
He shushed her first. “I can’t hear if you keep whispering in my ear.”
Quasi had been taught to stuff his ears with wax every time he rang the cathedral bells, but his hearing still wasn’t as good as Lav’s.
“I was summoned from the wars to capture fortune tellers and palm readers?” the captain said with a frown.
Lav elbowed Quasi in the side. She wiggled her brows suggestively.
Quasi rolled his eyes, though he understood her interest. The captain, whoever he was, appeared to be swathed in gold. Golden hair, golden plate armor, a short-cut golden beard. Only his cloak wasn’t gold. It was a dark blue, far finer than the neutral cloaks afforded by most peasants.
Well, he was a captain. He was probably noble, or at least given a real wage for his service to the king.
Frollo said something else, then he and the captain turned and headed back into the church. Lav stepped out of the shadows just before they passed through the doors.
The captain unexpectedly paused and looked up in their direction.
“What are you doing?” Quasi hissed. “He’ll see you!”
“Too late.” Lav waved cheerfully.
Quasi stepped out of the shadows and stood between the captain and his friend. He hadn’t seen a bow on the man, but perhaps he was hiding it somewhere under his fancy cloak. Quasi flinched when he raised a hand to wave back. The captain’s hand faltered in the air when he saw Quasi. Then he smiled and disappeared through the door.
Quasi pulled Lav inside the safety of his tower room. “What were you doing waving at him? If he tells Frollo. . .”
Lav tossed her red curls carelessly. “He won’t tell.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he waved back, and he was smiling like he’d known we’d been there the whole time. He didn’t look scared of you, either, did he? I keep telling you that Frollo is being cruel and you shouldn’t believe what he says about you.”
Quasi blanched. “That’s really not what you should be worrying about right now.”
She grinned. Lav had unusually nice teeth. The convent taught her how to clean them when she was young, and she’d taught Quasi during one of her early visits to the cathedral. He’d brushed his diligently every morning and every night since.
He might not be able to improve the deformities of his face, but he could at least have teeth almost as nice as Lav’s.
Her smile slid into a smirk. “We should try to find him at the festival.”
“Why?”
“Because one of us has to break hearts tonight, and if you refuse to do it, then the responsibility falls to me.”
Quasi scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Will you come, then?”
He sighed. He now feared Lav would find this stranger and get herself in trouble. She didn’t share his healthy relationship with caution.
“Fine. I’ll go. What’s your plan to get me out of here without Frollo noticing?”