William Sherlock Scott Holmes

The Grand Library was perhaps the biggest he had ever seen.

Feeling too exposed in the wide open space of the Nexus Plaza, Quasimodo fled to the biggest building he could immediately see; automatically thinking it was a church. Having grown up in one, the great edifice felt safe and sheltering. But as soon as he stepped within, it was clear that this was not a House of Worship, but a House of Knowledge.

Already unsteady, Quasimodo fell to his knees and held onto the nearest stone wall as he twisted his head and stared upward with his one good eye in absolute shock at the sight. There were multiple levels of shelves upon shelves of books of all shapes and sizes. How many Notre Dame cathedrals could even fit in here?!

The touch to his shoulder from behind caused him to spasm in startlement and he scrambled so rapidly out of reach to see who had touched him that he nearly fell over. Instead, he pressed a hand to the more twisted part of his face as remained kneeling against the wall; one dark eye wide and staring. It was an exotic dark haired woman that was trying to get his attention. Perhaps one of the caretakers in the library. But she wasn't in the habit of a nun. Instead, she was wearing a simple brown dress that reached the floor and a fringed shawl about her shoulders. Her black hair was braided and almost waist length, glossy and straight. It took Quasimodo several moments to realize she was speaking to him, around the same time she probably realized he couldn't hear her. Stretching out her hand, she slowly beckoned to him.

That he understood.

The hunchback studied her face. She seemed kind and did not have any traces of mockery or deceit in her expression or her narrow almond shaped dark eyes. She beckoned slowly again. Come. He saw her say. Rising on shaky legs, Quasimodo did as she bid. The woman turned to lead him away from the huge foyer and he saw the white upward pointing flame shape on her shawl within an embroidered vine pattern. It was quite beautiful. He followed her with a shambling uneven gait to a chamber off to the side. Still full of shelves of books with some tables and comfortable chairs. The bell ringer saw her turn with a small smile as she gestured to one of the seats. Sit. He saw her say. He did, though he felt that the chairs were too fancy and comfortable for one such as him.

Realizing that she was speaking again, Quasimodo studied her face. Was he new here? He slowly nodded after a moment as the woman reached into a deep pocket in her dress and produced some folded pieces of paper and what looked like small booklets. She asked another question. Can he read? Quasimodo nodded again and she extended one of the folded papers to him while placing the rest onto the table. He reached out a large hand to take what she offered with a slight tremble to his fingers. He peered at the print on the pamphlet:

Welcome to the Nexus.

He stared back up at the woman and she nodded. 'More information for you. About where you are.' He watched her mouth and eyes as she explained. 'You are safe here. I won't be far and will check on you.'

~ ~ ~ ~

True to her word, the woman (Haralel she had introduced herself. An Aes Sedai not a nun.) came to check on him over the next hour or so and even bring him some fragrant soothing tea along with a plate of bread, cheese and slices of apple. Quasimodo had taken in all the information of the material she had given him and re-read it all again. His suspicions that he wasn't in Paris as soon as he had opened his eyes in the plaza had been correct. It was honestly, a lot to take in. As far as he knew, he was alone. He hadn't seen Esmeralda or Gringoire. In fact the last thing he clearly remembered was that he had been dying beneath his beloved bells. He could still recall clearly the touch of Esmeralda's hand on his.

Yes, he remembered everything. Even what had happened before that and the deepest betrayal from someone he had trusted as a father. Heart aching, his face twisted further in quiet grief as he rested his head in his hands at the table while curling fingers in dishevelled thick red hair. The open pamphlets and booklets that Haralel gave him surrounded him on the table. Thinking he was completely alone, he broke his habitual silence in a soft voice, roughened from disuse and surprisingly eloquent.

"What does one do with a second chance at life?" He lamented. "When everything that gave that life meaning is gone."