Perhaps Desmond would keep the gypsy captured there. Unlikely, but still an option. If that were the case, he could ignore his own urges for the sake of his son. He had to remember his son. Of course, he could always have his son charm the gypsy, then escape with them and follow him. He groaned as the man squeezed his penis gently, breaking his thoughts as the woman laughed against his neck, her tongue doing wonder—monstrous–things to his neck as she pressed against him. He swallowed, trying valiantly to banish the demons.

Yes, he mused, it was either death, marriage, or his son.

Nevertheless, ignorant of his master’s plans, Desmond slept through the night with the gypsy and upon waking found Altair was watching him.

“You sleep soundly,” he saw him say, and he smiled in return, yawning as he forced himself to get up.

He felt as if he were brutally ripping himself away from Altair. He sat up and rubbed his eye as Altair moved behind him. He forced him out of the bell tower, telling him he didn’t want him going deaf as he rang and told him to come back up once his master left. He would save some of his breakfast for him. The gypsy left with a soft look, and he went up to ring the bells. He remembered what they sounded like, the deep gonging sound. That was before he went deaf, a long time ago.

When his master came up with breakfast, he was more than eager to greet him. They sat down as the man smiled at him, looking exhausted. He unpacked the basket with gusto, squirming at the sight of the all delicious looking food. After prayer, he wolfed down half of it, then remembered to save some for Altair.

“Why do you look so tired, master?”

His master jerked slightly, then rubbed his eyes. “I… had a long night thinking about the gypsies.”

He tilted his head, and his master frowned.

“Which brings me to a point: you need to be careful, Desmond, around the gypsies that come through here. One has claimed sanctuary here. Watch out for him.”

“Why?”

“He watched the murder of two of the guards from the festival, then slaughtered the ones that came after his friends. He fled here, and my new guard captain, Maria, went in after him, but he claimed sanctuary.”

“Then what?”

“I managed to corner him, but I got… distracted. Be careful, Desmond. Gypsies are masters of magic, and they can use it to manipulate you and your thoughts. You must be extremely cautious when dealing with them. If the gypsy here comes to your tower, cast him out before the devil gets you.”

Desmond blinked. Perhaps that was why the gypsy cuddled with him last night.

“They will do whatever it takes to get what they want. That includes getting out of here, and if he does escape here, he will continue to wreak havoc across all of Paris.”

“Why?”

“That is the gypsy way: to do evil and serve Satan.”

“They do?”

His master nodded. “Promise me you’ll be a good boy until I deal with the gypsy problem.”

He nodded. “Of course, master.”

He was almost happy when his master left and the gypsy appeared soon after. The man sauntered in as he sat on his bed and thought about what his master had said. He laid down, not happy in the least.

“What’s wrong?” he saw the gypsy say as he knelt down in front of him.

Desmond stared at him before pulling the covers over his face and trying to hide. He didn’t want to talk to the gypsy man if his master said not to. He waited and waited until he thought the gypsy was gone, and then he peeked. He didn’t see him immediately, and he sat up, sighing for an arrow dodged. He rose and walked over to his Paris, his eyes growing wide when he saw his Altair doll missing. He looked about frantically, and he flinched when he saw the gypsy man at one of the open windows, studying the doll in his hands. He approached warily.

Only to have the man turn around and startle him by staring at him.

“This is an incredible replica of me.”

He looked down at his feet, wringing his hands. He didn’t want to lose his favorite doll. He just wanted his doll back. He jerked when a finger tucked under his chin and gently guided his head back up.

“You’ve got a lot of talent.”

His ears were burning. Only his master had ever told him that. He shrunk back when he felt Altair kiss his cheek.

“Why are you so unaccepting of me all of a sudden? Just this morning, you seemed happy to have company.”

He looked away. “Master said you do evil. He also said you work for the devil.”

It took him a while before he could actually look him in the face, and then Altair asked, “What have I done that was evil?”

“You murdered the guards!”

“They were attacking my friends. They wouldn’t have relented.”

He looked away again, wringing his hands. He really wanted his doll again. Dolls were so much easier than people to deal with. He just wanted to go to bed and forget this ever happened. He never should have gone to the Feast of Fools. He glanced at Altair, who was frowning. The finger under his chin dropped, and the gypsy turned around, only to turn around again.

“You should come with me to the Court of Miracles,” he said, hopping onto the railing to sit. “You’d live a good life. You deserve a good life.”

“I do have a good life!” he exclaimed, scowling, then looking back down. “And gypsies are bad.”

The gypsy waited until he looked at him again, then looked unimpressed. “Am I bad?”

He looked back down, still nervous. Then, reluctantly, he shook his head. He shifted, uncomfortable. When he looked again, the gypsy had a soft, but smug look. He rubbed his hands as he looked back down, then shifted and continued to stare at the ground. Finally, he peeked back up, and the gypsy seemed to be at conflict with himself. Then, the man sighed, cursing one of the brothers (who he recognized by the name) he had met in the tent. And in speaking of which, he needed to make the dolls of them after he got his other doll back.

“Why can’t you stay here with me if you’re not bad?” he murmured.

If the gypsy wasn’t bad, he should stay, then Desmond could help him convince Master Miles that it was all a misunderstanding, and that the gypsy man should be free. He would be more than happy for the company, too. They could play with the dolls together, and they could read books together, and they could have fun together. They could have lots of fun together. And maybe Altair felt the same feelings for him as he did for the gypsy—that happy-nervous, let-me-make-you-smile feeling.

Altair had sighed, frowning as he looked around, then pointed. Desmond looked to see him pointing at the small garden he had. He was confused but looked back at Altair anyway. The gypsy had his doll clasped between his hands as he sat on the railings, occasionally twirling it between his fingers to watch the clothes flow in the wind.

“Plants have certain things they need to grow, right?” the man asked slowly, and Desmond nodded.

“I’m like a plant. We’re all like plants.”

He raised an eyebrow, not enjoying the sinking feeling he got as the man spoke.

“I need my freedom to stay alive. Keep me here, and I’ll wilt.”

Desmond straightened, looking back at the plants, then back at the gypsy, then back at the plants.

“Why? I do just fine here,” he said as he looked back.

“You’re a different plant than me.”

He tilted his head. “But…” and then it hit him. “So… you can’t stay?”

He didn’t like the shake of his head. “No, I can’t. I’ll wilt, Desmond, and die. But you can live anywhere. You should come with me. I can’t live here. I need a very specific home.”

“The Court of Miracles?”

“Exactly.”

He could feel his heart sink, and he looked down. He realized there was no way the gypsy would ever want to stay with him. He had pretty lady friends to live with and lots of friends back home, compared to one ugly monster who had to stay in the bell tower because of its ugliness. He never should have gotten his hopes up someone loved him enough to stay with him outside of his master.

“Fine. I’ll help you escape tonight,” he uttered.

He didn’t turn around for an answer before he limped over to his work table and sat down, pulling out a block of wood as he carved the brothers and tried to ignore the pain in his chest. He ignored the gypsy as he came over and watched him carve, still toying with the doll of himself. He ignored him when he placed the doll back and hid before his master came up. He almost missed his master, if it weren’t for the gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Desmond?”

He stared at his master.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked back down at the doll, then sighed and rested his hand against the table. “It’s the reason why no one loves me because I’m an ugly monster?”

He felt his master kneel down beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulling him close as he signed out awkwardly, “You are not an ugly monster. In my eyes, you are beautiful.”

He smiled slightly at that, looking at his master. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

“I’ve told you a million times I do.”

He looked back down at the gypsy doll. “Then what about everyone else?”

He felt a hand caress his cheek, and he saw him sign, “That is their problem. This world is corrupt, Desmond, and being scarred and maimed is a crime which no one understands.”

He pulled the gypsies down from the bell tower, along with his own hideous doll. “I want to look like them. I want to be able to live in the world and be loved because I’m beautiful.”

“You are loved, Desmond. I love you with all my heart and soul.”

“Then why won’t you give the gypsy man his freedom?”

His master paused. “Because I can’t, Desmond: he slaughtered twenty-three men, and his comrades murdered even more. He must pay for his crimes or remain in the church.”

He didn’t respond but pulled his master’s doll down and made him and himself and the two gypsies all hold hands.

“Will we ever live in peace?”

“We had before, Desmond. Before they attacked our guards.”

Desmond leaned into his master’s embrace, staring at the four of them. He stared at them for a long time, feeling a hand brush over what little hair he had on his head, and eventually, he moved away, looking at his master.

“Can we have dinner?”

His master smiled. “Of course, my son.”

He ate all of his meal that night, saving just the snacks his master brought for the gypsy. As his master walked away to go take care of some unruly prisoners, Desmond stopped him for a big hug, muttering a thank you and telling him he loved him.

He had never been so happy to have those words returned.

He limped back to the room and called out to the gypsy, walking over to the window and waiting. Altair appeared like magic, staring at him as if to be gauged. Desmond smiled, no real warm feeling behind it, but he loved the gypsy, and his master had always told him to be a better person than the rest of the world. He would give the man his freedom, then forget him. He could heal from this, just like he healed from the burns. He turned around.

“Okay. Hop on my back and I’ll get you down from here.”

He waiting until he felt him settle on his back, then climbed onto the railing and dropped. He swung from gargoyles and scaled the walls quickly, landing on the same pad that he had landed on to go to the Feast. It hid them well, and he let Altair down.

“Okay. You’re free.”

Altair was studying him with a frown, and Desmond could feel his own smile waver.

“Yes?”

He watched him pull off a necklace and press it into his hand before leaning in close. “If you ever need to find us, this necklace will tell you how.”

His eyes widened as the gypsy kissed him on the lips, then vanished into the night. The gypsy had kissed him, and not just kissed him, but kissed him on the lips. He had no idea why the gypsy would do that. But perhaps the gypsy must have missed his cheek, and that was all. It was awfully dark out. He shook his head, dismissing the thought that the gypsy actually cared for him. He didn’t let himself acknowledge the flutter of his heart or the warmth in his blood as he climbed back to his bell tower and put on the necklace. It had been a mistake. Simple as that.

William could only wish things where simple. At this point, he didn’t even know the definition of the word as he paced back and forth in front of his fire. Maria had been searching for the nest of gypsies. He had been searching for the nest of gypsies. The guards had been searching for the nest of gypsies. Their theft and petty crimes could not be overlooked anymore. He had even captured some and had them interrogated. It hadn’t worked. He could almost see the images of the gypsies swirling in the fire, dancing, laughing, mocking.

He paced for hours, thinking, praying. He knew the Lord answered the calls of the righteous. The Lord had saved him from the streets, blessed him with love, and even helped his brother with his alcohol addiction. The Lord would help him now in his time of need.

And then it struck him, as beautiful and brilliant as the Lord’s creation of the world. It was beautiful, wonderful, and his son wouldn’t get dragged into the mess. He allowed himself a lazy smile as the images of the two in the fire dissolved with a screech.

Those gypsies would be his.

But, Desmond’s gypsies were already there to keep him company. He had finished the two brothers and was playing around with them before he saw something move in the corner of his eye. He looked, and he could feel terror growing. His master’s new captain was brazenly walking in, as if she owned the place. He had no idea what she was doing here, but she was probably going to humiliate him more. He frowned at the idea of having his tower, his only safe spot, taken away from him. With a low growl, he rose, feeling anger spread lazily throughout his body. This was his place. She could stay in the sanctuary. He wasn’t going to be kicked out of his own bed. He snarled, causing the lady to jump, and he limped over.

“Go away!” he yelled as he pushed her, causing her to stagger.

She said something, but he couldn’t understand her as he swung his hands, pushing her out of his tower and into the stairwell. She was speaking too fast. She must be here to torment him some more. He wasn’t going to stand for it in his tower—even if he had to push her out the side to her untimely death. He snarled, pushing her again when she held out her hands, and when she drew her sword, they were already in the stairwell to go down. He snarled as she kept talking. He couldn’t understand her at all. He could understand only slow speak.

Finally, she caught on, her sword still at the ready to attack.

“I’m here for Altair.”

He snarled and lunged, knocking the sword away and pushing her again.

“No! Go away! No soldiers up here! This is my spot!” he screamed.

She managed to right herself as he followed her down a few more stairs, but he didn’t make any more moves to attack. She was invading unwantedly. He was getting sick of being tormented everywhere he was. He could see her chuckle, then sheathe her sword and cross her arms.

“Very well. I have a message for him.”

His eyes narrowed as she backed off a bit.

“Archdeacon Miles is about to go crazy trying to catch the gypsies. If he’s still up there, he needs to be extra careful. Tell him that.”

He followed her to the door to the sanctuary before she turned around and gave him a judging look.

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”