The dungeons where the gypsy men were kept was dark, cold and damp. It hadn’t felt so severe when they’d first brought them down, but now the group of men sat huddled together, slapping their arms for warmth.
Pheobus worked to remind himself it was just the dankness of the tunnels that made him feel the chill, and whenever he could convince himself of it, the cold would dissipate just a touch.
Clopin was the only one not sitting in the group- he spent hours pacing the cage, crawling on the floor and checking the walls for something, anything that would bring them deliverance. He had a burst of hope when he found a nail sticking up from the floor, but after digging it up, he found it too short to do anything but jam the lock. The gypsies told him not to be so hopeful- sit with them, pray, wait.
“I am not a waiting man,” Clopin responded.
Hours later, when exhaustion had sunk deep into Pheobus’ bones, the Judge came to collect him. His clasped fingers twitched in front of him, disapproval striking his features. Clopin and the Judge regarded on another as the soldier yanked Pheobus to his feet and shoved him through the prison doors.
“When will our turn come?” Clopin asked.
“You are all being tried as conspirators- it is the ringleaders who will be questioned,” Frollo responded. The bang of the bars as Clopin beat them in rage were all the answer they heard.
“Such fine men you associate with, Captain,” Frollo told Pheobus as he was dragged behind him. “Beastlike rage and cunning are all that defines them. Curiosity leads me to wonder how it is those people work, but repulsion stays my hand. Not so for you, is it?”
The soldier sat Pheobus in a chair, hands still chained behind his back. Frollo walked away from the thin circle of light, then returned with a paddle.
The wood whistled as it struck Pheobus full in the face. His teeth rung inside his cheeks.
“Is it?” Frollo asked. “What draws a man of such fine breeding towards these thieves and criminals? What insatiable desires causes man to debase himself beyond the forgiveness of society?”
Again the paddle struck, snapping Pheobus’ head to the other side. On the fourth blow, something broke, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the pavement.
Frollo paused, waiting for him to speak.
“They don’t deserve the sins you assign them,” Pheobus gasped.
“Is that what they told you?” Frollo asked. Pheobus remained silent. Frollo again moved away from the circle of light.
“Ah, young Pheobus,” Frollo’s voice echoed around the chamber, lost in the gloom. “Such a promising life you once led- such a shameful end you’ve met,”
Above his head, Pheobus felt a leak- a slow, cold trickle of water touched his head and rolled down his back. He shivered.
“I want you to consider what’s left of your life- even in the happiest of scenarios, where the iron of this establishment opens in the name of your just cause, and all your little friends go filing out- where would you go? Who would take you in? What would you do?” Frollo asked, and the soldier walked out of the light, away from Pheobus. “Then, consider your chances. You’re already here, with me, and a much grimmer future is so fast becoming the present,”
Pheobus could only assume they had left him by the silence he now found himself in. His assigned meditations were hard to recall with the cold trickle of water running from scalp to neck, and the alarming chill which struck him whenever the water hit became unbearable. He tried to set his mind far away- he thought of the forest, fields of green stretching before him, but the water shocked him away from it.
Hours passed thus, trapped under the cold drip, and the gentle progression of water felt like a hammer on his scalp. Pheobus writhed under it, tried to bring his mind away, could not, threw himself from side to side to escape it, and then suddenly Frollo was back within the circle of light.
Pheobus worked to remind himself it was just the dankness of the tunnels that made him feel the chill, and whenever he could convince himself of it, the cold would dissipate just a touch.
Clopin was the only one not sitting in the group- he spent hours pacing the cage, crawling on the floor and checking the walls for something, anything that would bring them deliverance. He had a burst of hope when he found a nail sticking up from the floor, but after digging it up, he found it too short to do anything but jam the lock. The gypsies told him not to be so hopeful- sit with them, pray, wait.
“I am not a waiting man,” Clopin responded.
Hours later, when exhaustion had sunk deep into Pheobus’ bones, the Judge came to collect him. His clasped fingers twitched in front of him, disapproval striking his features. Clopin and the Judge regarded on another as the soldier yanked Pheobus to his feet and shoved him through the prison doors.
“When will our turn come?” Clopin asked.
“You are all being tried as conspirators- it is the ringleaders who will be questioned,” Frollo responded. The bang of the bars as Clopin beat them in rage were all the answer they heard.
“Such fine men you associate with, Captain,” Frollo told Pheobus as he was dragged behind him. “Beastlike rage and cunning are all that defines them. Curiosity leads me to wonder how it is those people work, but repulsion stays my hand. Not so for you, is it?”
The soldier sat Pheobus in a chair, hands still chained behind his back. Frollo walked away from the thin circle of light, then returned with a paddle.
The wood whistled as it struck Pheobus full in the face. His teeth rung inside his cheeks.
“Is it?” Frollo asked. “What draws a man of such fine breeding towards these thieves and criminals? What insatiable desires causes man to debase himself beyond the forgiveness of society?”
Again the paddle struck, snapping Pheobus’ head to the other side. On the fourth blow, something broke, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the pavement.
Frollo paused, waiting for him to speak.
“They don’t deserve the sins you assign them,” Pheobus gasped.
“Is that what they told you?” Frollo asked. Pheobus remained silent. Frollo again moved away from the circle of light.
“Ah, young Pheobus,” Frollo’s voice echoed around the chamber, lost in the gloom. “Such a promising life you once led- such a shameful end you’ve met,”
Above his head, Pheobus felt a leak- a slow, cold trickle of water touched his head and rolled down his back. He shivered.
“I want you to consider what’s left of your life- even in the happiest of scenarios, where the iron of this establishment opens in the name of your just cause, and all your little friends go filing out- where would you go? Who would take you in? What would you do?” Frollo asked, and the soldier walked out of the light, away from Pheobus. “Then, consider your chances. You’re already here, with me, and a much grimmer future is so fast becoming the present,”
Pheobus could only assume they had left him by the silence he now found himself in. His assigned meditations were hard to recall with the cold trickle of water running from scalp to neck, and the alarming chill which struck him whenever the water hit became unbearable. He tried to set his mind far away- he thought of the forest, fields of green stretching before him, but the water shocked him away from it.
Hours passed thus, trapped under the cold drip, and the gentle progression of water felt like a hammer on his scalp. Pheobus writhed under it, tried to bring his mind away, could not, threw himself from side to side to escape it, and then suddenly Frollo was back within the circle of light.
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