God Help the Outcasts: A Disney Crossover Fanfic

Chapter Fifteen: The Statues Have Eyes

"So, your new world. What's it like?"

Nakoma chewed on her lip as she thought. How could she possibly describe Jamestown in a way that he would understand? Here in Paris buildings and streets were as common as the trees and rivers of home.

"Well, there are a lot more trees," she said with a chuckle. "And hardly any buildings at all."

"No!" said Quasi, eyes round in disbelief. "How do you travel?"

"We use canoes on the river. Or we just walk."

"No carts or coaches or anything?"

Nakoma shook her head.

"We don't have roads. We have foot-paths through the forest."

"Foot-paths..." He stumbled over the words, and she could tell by the way his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully that he was trying to conjure an image for himself. "I don't—"

Something broke and shattered in the background, and they both whirled toward the source. Night had already fallen, and the flickering candle-light casting jerky shadows did nothing to soothe Nakoma's nerves, now raw and alert. What if it was that horrid minister, Frollo? What would he do if he caught her here?

Quasi glanced quickly at her, turning one of his ears toward the source, and then held up a hand. "Stay here," he mouthed, "and don't move." She nodded and crept backwards into the shadow of a ragged curtain while he disappeared silently down the ladder and into the distant darkness. The quiet was thick enough that she could hear her panicked heartbeat throbbing inside her head. Quasi was gone a minute, two minutes, and still no voices. That was a good sign, right?

"Psst!" She gasped and hurled herself further into the curtain. That didn't sound like Quasi's voice. "No, c'mere! It's alright, I just wanna talk to ya!" It didn't sound like the minister's, either. She peered through one of the holes in the curtain, but all she could see were a few scattered statues. Their eyes seemed to be moving in the candlelight.

One of them started moving—no, hopping—toward her, and she squealed in terror. "Shhh!"" it said, and tugged the curtain from her trembling hands. "Do you want Frollo to find ya?"

"W-why are you talking?" she stammered. "Why are you moving?"

The stone gargoyle put its hands on what she assumed were its hips and scowled at her.

"That's like me askin' you why you're breathing! Sheesh, would you calm down? I'm just a talking gargoyle, is all." Nakoma stared at it for several long seconds, trying to calm her frantic impulse to scream. Where had she seen something like this before? It shouldn't have been so shocking to her. She'd seen faces in trees before—that was it! Grandmother Willow! The day Pocahontas had introduced her to Grandmother Willow had probably been the single most shocking moment of her life. As she recalled that surreal moment her breathing began to slow.

"Are you gonna be alright, there, sweetheart?" The gargoyle was regarding her with concern.

"Yes," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to speak and acknowledge the reality of what was happening. "Who are you?""

"The name's Hugo," said Hugo, and jovially shook her trembling hand. "And these two stiffs over here are Victor and Laverne." He flourished his stony fingers toward two other gargoyles whose unmoving eyes were fixed on them. One of them, the smallest, wore a look of distaste, and the other seemed to be struggling to remain silent. When neither of them responded to Hugo's introduction he clomped over to them and waved his hands in front of their faces. "Come on, guys! Don't be rude!"

The tallest gargoyle's features animated suddenly, and his nervous gaze rested on Nakoma.

"Hugo," he hissed, "do you really think it's a good idea to be talking to her? Quasimodo will be angry—"