Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame (15 page)

Kyle chattered the entire time about how exciting it all was as Linus carried him toward the camp’s minibus.

The camp director had gone pale.

“Is Quasi all right?” the little boy asked.

“He’s fine.” Linus set the boy down on a bus seat.

“I wish we could get more news about the dam,” said Father Lou as he walked by carrying two six-year-olds, one on each hip.

Quasi’s bells sounded in the background. He’d quickly composed a carillon (a tune played on a set of bells) that was jarring and ominous, yet somehow beautiful. It’s amazing to discover the various talents people have—skills and abilities of which we might never have become aware. If someone didn’t awaken to the sound of these bells, it was surely no fault of Quasi’s.

By the time the last camper was in her seat and Eric started driving the minibus toward higher ground, the university’s infirmary —where Father Lou had already called to make arrangements for the children to stay the night — was ready.

“We’ll get to eat in the cafeteria tomorrow! Yeah!” shouted Kyle as the minibus pulled away. Father Lou followed them in the church van so he could help unload everyone.

Linus and Walter hurried back toward the church. They met Ophelia, Aunt Portia, and Uncle Augustus in front of the bookshop. People scurried about (most of them carrying one bag filled with precious heirlooms or, at the very least, a laptop computer) and headed toward Havisham, climbing the hill to reach higher ground. The rain pummeled (beat or thrashed) the earth so heavily that every single person looked as though they’d been dared to sit in the dunking booth at the town carnival, and the ball had struck its target every time.

Without warning, the bells ceased ringing. A terrible silence settled around them for several seconds, a thick silence that one
feels more than hears because this silence doesn’t denote (mark or signal) an ending — it says something awful has begun.

As suddenly as they’d ceased, the bells started ringing again, but louder and more raucous (rowdy, disorderly) than before.

The group instantly knew what this meant. Quasi, from his vantage point up in the bell tower, could clearly see what they could not: The dam had broken.

“Get out of the street!” Linus yelled, and his voice was so unexpectedly loud that people nearby felt shockwaves up their spines. The residents of Rickshaw Street who hadn’t made it to higher ground yet now scrambled back into their homes or inside the nearest unlocked building and hurried up to the top floor.

Walter ran into the Kingscross School to make sure Madrigal and Clarice were all right. Ophelia accompanied her aunt and uncle into Seven Hills Better Books, with a crabby Mr. Birdwistell leading them inside. Realizing that Quasimodo was now all alone across the street, Linus ran toward the church, hoping he’d make it there before being swept away by the floodwaters that, judging by an ever-increasing rumbling sound, weren’t far upriver.

Linus banged his fists against the locked door of the bell tower, yelling, “Quasi! Quasi! Hurry! Let me in! Open the door!”

The rumbling increased as the face of the flood barreled quickly toward Kingscross. In fact, Linus could now see the wall of rushing water rounding the elbow of the river upstream. It was white and fierce, faster and more powerful than anything he’d ever seen before.

T
he door opened and a large arm, muscles straining, grabbed Linus’s elbow and yanked him off his feet. Quasimodo slammed the door shut as he slung Linus over his shoulder and sped up the tower steps more quickly than his skinny legs had ever carried him before.

When they finally stood at the top, the face of the flood had passed by, and below them, small trees and a host of branches, as well as splintered wood and several garden sheds, floated past on the rushing, muddied waters of the Bard River.

“Thanks.” Linus leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He’d never felt a stab of fear like that in his life. All he could envision was being swept away, tumbling in the coils of water, getting caught on something under the flow, and ultimately drowning. His heart thundered beneath his breastbone.

“Thank these hearing aids,” Quasi said modestly.

Quasimodo grabbed two ropes and began pulling again; the iron bells pealed their warning. Linus knew it was too late for anyone else to get to high ground now, but hopefully they were quick enough to make it to the upper stories of their houses.

He suppressed a smile. The Drs. Easterday thought themselves so adventuresome. Well, they had nothing on their kids!

Surely Ophelia and her aunt and uncle had garnered (gathered) the speed they needed. They stood at the kitchen window where the river—which now ran right past the shop leaving some of itself behind to ruin priceless books—carried more greenery and an old Volkswagen Beetle, bright blue, off to the west.

“The rain has stopped.” Augustus laid aside the towel he’d retrieved from the bathroom and tried to arrange his hair with his fingers.

Portia began to cry. “My shop is ruined!”

It’s one thing if a shopkeeper sells the latest clothing, CDs, toys, or anything that is easily replaced by a manufacturer who still makes those items (or others exactly like them). But Portia’s stock was priceless. For instance, that original copy of
An Account of the Behaviour of Mr. James Maclaine, from the Time of his Condemnation to the Day of his Execution, October 3, 1750
published in 1750 by the Reverend Dr. Fifield Allen? There was no hopping on the Internet to order another one of those. Oh no! It might take Portia and Auggie years to fill up her bookshop once again.

“I even lost my new LED sign!” she wailed.

Augustus sat with his sister at the kitchen table, put his arm around her shoulders, and let her have a good cry. Augustus Sandwich knows how to let a person get it all out right when they need to.

Mr. Birdwistell, thankfully, was seated in the living room and snoring away like a moving train. His nose twitched every so often thanks to the dust that was still floating around from the uprooted carpet.

Ophelia knew she needed to get a move on and finish reading the book. So she gave her aunt a quick kiss and a loving caress on the cheek before hurrying down the hallway to her bedroom. At 7:00 a.m. the natural light was slim and the electricity nonexistent, thanks to the storm, so she slipped her flashlight out of her night-stand drawer and began reading.

Ten minutes later, Walter snuck into her room. “Everything’s good at the school. I’m assuming they made it to higher ground.”

“Good. I saw Clarice and Ms. Pierce leave the building. Now let me read.”

“Right.” He dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups.

Ophelia read as Quasimodo swept down and rescued Esmeralda from the gallows, gathered her in his arms, and climbed the face of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame as he cried out, “Sanctuary!”

Back in medieval times, churches were what is known as a place of sanctuary. In other words, people who needed protection
could find it within those sacred walls. Quasimodo, knowing that Esmeralda was facing imminent (likely to occur very soon) execution for witchcraft, swung her into his sheltered world, hoping he could take care of her.

Oh, Quasi
, Ophelia thought.
You’d still do this very act, wouldn’t you? Even after being here in Real World with us. You’d never let someone hang who didn’t deserve it
.

She wondered if what they’d done would save him in the end. She read on, gobbling up every word and looking for a place where, if she gave Quasi enough warning, he could change the course of his actions and save both Esmeralda and himself.

Her breathing quickened, her body became agitated, and her foot began rhythmically tapping against the bedspread. She barely noticed that the outside world had become brighter and the sun was now shining on the waters that muddied up most of Rickshaw Street, until Walter slid the flashlight out of her grasp and turned it off.

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” he said. He paused and looked at her closely, examining her face. “We can help him, right? He doesn’t have to meet his fate in quite the same way, does he?”

Ophelia looked up from the book and asked, “Have you read this?”

He nodded.

“So you know what happens?”

“Yeah. We’ve got to help him, Ophelia. We can’t let him make those same mistakes. He’s our friend. We have to warn him more specifically. When the Gypsy King and his men—”

“Don’t ruin it for me!”

“PB&J?” he asked.

“Make that two. I’m starving.”

At 9:30 a.m. the waters, only a few feet deep now, had finally slowed to a crawl. Walter turned away from the bedroom window. “Why isn’t Linus bringing Quasi over here?”

Ophelia set her book on her lap. “He most likely can’t swim.”

“But the water’s not that deep.”

She got up and looked out. The flood flowed just underneath the windowsills on the first floor. “I wonder how long it’s going to take for them to subside?”

Walter shrugged. “I’ve never met with this sort of thing before.”

“Me either.” Ophelia sighed. “But I doubt it’ll be before 11:11.”

“I’d say that’s a safe guess.”

Walter knew getting Quasi over to the house would be a big enough challenge, but how to sneak him upstairs with the aunt and uncle around? And that cranky Birdwistell, too. He was going to be a problem.

“I’m headed over to the church,” he said. “We should at least see if they’re all right.”

“Oh!” Ophelia sat up straight. “I was so worried about finishing this book, I didn’t even consider that Linus might not have made it into the church before the flood!”

“You would have known in your heart if he hadn’t,” said Walter. “Twins are connected like that, right?”

She nodded. “It’s the best thing about it.”

Walter left the room. Having a brother or sister, extra-special wordless connection or not, would have been the best thing he could have imagined.

Maybe twin friends will suffice, he thought, hoping that once this crazy adventure came to a close, Linus and Ophelia would still want to hang out with him. They would, wouldn’t they?

Stop worrying, Walter, he chided himself. Just do what you have to do right now. You can cross that bridge when you come to it.

Speaking of bridges, with all of that filthy, disgusting water pooled at the foot of the stairs, not to mention lots and lots of books (which were already smelly, if you’ll recall) floating around, Walter could have used one.

He descended the final few steps, and the water enveloped him to the top of his thighs as he went.

Upstairs, Ophelia heard footsteps overhead. She looked toward the ceiling, knowing those small thumps came from the attic. It can’t be Linus and Quasi. There’s no way they would have crossed Rickshaw Street and gone from the bell tower straight into the attic! Neither was that foolhardy. She knew Walter had just left the house, and Aunt Portia and Uncle Auggie still knew nothing about the hidden laboratory. And she could hear Birdwistell down in the kitchen complaining about the lack of nine-grain bread for his midmorning toast.

Only thirty pages and sixty minutes left to go, so Ophelia decided she could take no chances. Frollo and Cato could just lump it if that’s who was up there. Quasi was in no danger as long as he was over at the church —

Oh no! Walter!

Ophelia hurried to the window, but she couldn’t see Walter. He must have made it across. Boys like Walter always make it across.

Should I follow him?
she wondered. But then she decided that reading was the most important thing she had to do right now. If she failed to finish the book before 11:11, then Quasimodo would expire painfully. The rest of it? Well, they’d just have to make everything up as they went along.

D
ripping all over the stone steps, Walter banged on the door of the church figuring that Quasi and Linus had probably evacuated the bell tower in search of some place a little more comfortable.

Linus opened the door a minute later. “Walt! Is Ophelia okay?”

“Absolutely. Reading like crazy.” He removed his shoes and stepped into the church.

The sanctuary, thankfully, sat higher than ground level. “Looks good in here,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“The classrooms downstairs are practically flooded to the ceiling,” Quasi said mournfully, obviously tenderhearted when it came to church buildings.

Walter sat down on the back pew and raked a hand through his hair. “I feel sorry for Father Lou when he gets back. He’ll sure need us to lend him a hand.”

“So will my aunt and uncle and Ms. Pierce.” With the toe of his shoe, Linus traced a stone that helped pave the aisle.

Quasi said, “I wish I could stay. I’d be a big help.”

Nobody doubted that. No one who had the pleasure of meeting Quasimodo wanted him to return to France; each of his newfound friends wished with all their hearts that he could remain a part of their lives in Kingscross.

“We’ve got to get you two back to the bookshop,” said Walter.

“Quasi’s a little worried about crossing the river.”

Quasimodo nodded. “Sorry about that. I’ve just never — “

“Say no more,” said Walter. “We’ll figure something out. Wait. Linus, you’re a building genius, right? Surely you can find something we can use to build a raft, can’t you?”

Linus nodded. Now, that I can do.

Frollo frowned as he sat on the blue couch and drummed his fingers along the cording that edged the cushion. “You’re certain you can get us through this circle as soon as we get Quasimodo inside of it?”

Cato sighed as he thumbed through one of his tomes, this one spelling out the importance of proper hygiene when traveling by circle. Obviously the author had a personal ax to grind, as nine times out of ten Cato traveled between worlds without a shower.
(You can be certain that I try to steer clear of Cato as much as possible.)