Chapter One
It was the rotting corpse of a king's musketeer that was placed like a mere decoration on one of the rooftops in the musketeer's garrison, overlooking the streets of Paris, that left all onlookers below swallowing their morning meal that was rising up in their throats. Like a piece of art, was it displayed for all to see when the sun had yet announced another day and had shined on the corpse that was stripped down to bloody underclothes.
The sightless eyes of the musketeer stared blindly at all who walked nearby the scene, as if death was on the lookout for its next victim. The grisly image of blood pooling down like rain down the rooftop directly where Captain Treville's office lay, indicated more than just a brutal murder.
The death of a musketeer was a common fate, for they were soldiers bred to fight and die for the glory of France and its king. There was no passing of one day without the thought of death lurking around the next corner for every man who signed away his life for soldiering. It was expected. But the murder of a musketeer, and the public humiliation and display of their broken corpse was not. One would rather not be caught in the messy affairs of rueful killings of honorable men, for the price that they would pay wouldn't be worth the act of spite.
But this was more than just a simple killing of an honorable man. It was a disgraceful message for all of Paris to see. A continuation of another message that just became clearer. For three days earlier when the broken body of musketeer Gifford Pierpont was found laid to rest in front of the garrison gate and left unrecognizable with his blood puddled on the dirt walkway below, one could safely have assumed that it had been a mistake on his own part. His drunkenness was an addicting sin that most of the garrison made note of and predicted to be the death of him. All that saw his bloodied body knew that he finally had paid for his sin.
It was rumored that a gruesome tavern skirmish left the man crumpled on the bar's floor like a puppet with no strings. The men held responsible for his death tossed his body near the front gates of the garrison and ran off never to be located. It was a story believed to be true, for Gifford was known to sometimes cause uproars in his drunken state and cause many disputes among his friends. For honorable men, it has been said, are still all sinners nevertheless. In this case, it was noted that Gifford's death was the result of his sin.
It was never thought of again, that is, until the second body seemed to shed a different light on the previous musketeer's death. Both bodies were identically stripped of the musketeer uniform and left for the eyes of the entire musketeer regiment. Gifford's death ruled as an accident, was a painful mistake. His death was only just the beginning of a sinful game someone was playing. And Captain Treville had missed the first move.
The message was now visually clear. "Down with the Musketeers" didn't have to be written on their foreheads to make the message any clearer.
"Bring him down."
Captain Treville's voice sounded sickly and unrecognizable to his men standing on the roof awaiting the orders to cut away the ropes that bound the dead man up on high. The men began their cutting and quickly the corpse gave way and slid down near the edge of the rooftop to be caught before falling a couple of feet unto the already soiled ground near the eating tables.
With blood splattered all over the wooden benches where the men once sat to enjoy a decent meal after their duties, one could safely assume that the eating habits of this regiment would change rapidly until the scenario would blow over. Turning away from the spectacle of men lowering the broken corpse with a rope around his waist, Treville finally noticed Athos standing beside him. For how long he had been there, he did not know, but having his lieutenant nearby and not hung up on some flagpole above Paris was a small relief.
"Who was it?" Athos' voice seemed also disturbed and dark, but more so tired. It was the voice of someone recuperating from ill-timed hangover, or the lack of a decent night's sleep. The normal morning routine for Athos, Treville understood.
The captain stood quietly before answering and fully acknowledged the form of Athos, noticing instantly the slightly darker circles under his eyes and his tipped hat that tried so very hard to cover it up. He understood and sympathized the tired man that stood before him. But who could blame him? The captain himself felt in the same spirits. It seemed like the sun had only been up for a few moments of time before the screams of the discovery awoken all of Paris in their beds.
The probability of the king's courts knowing about the incident was no argument, for even before Treville laid eyes on the scene himself, he had heard the story over a thousand times gossiped before stepping outside of his quarters. The rumors already spread like wildfire. The king was already ordering for an audience, no doubt. It was certainly no morning to wake to. Not for him, not for Athos, not for Paris.
"Elloy. Poor soul," The captain finally responded while he wiped his brow. He lacked of his tan leather jacket and feathered hat that he would normally attire himself in. His half-dressed appearance didn't warrant any questions or comments from all his soldiers that surrounded him. The situation at hand caused discombobulation among every human being behind the gates of Paris.
"How they got him up there, we'll never know. The shame of it all. An unhealthy embarrassment to our regiment," He stressed more at the latter part of his sentence.
Athos didn't answer. He breathed in the sickly air that floated around them, and felt queasy. An irregularity to his hardened spirit.
"We were quick to judge Gifford for his drunken actions," Treville continued, "He dealt with our same killer here. The same style. Most likely the same motive. The question is why we didn't catch it?"
They both stood in a silence that surrounded the entire garrison, as the corpse now was wrapped in an off-white sheet to be carried out of public view as discreetly as possible. If that was even possible.
"Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan?" Athos asked while still glancing respectively at the body as it passed.
"Already sent them up," Treville answered while turning around to notice one of the king's messengers riding through the garrison gates. "Great. A summons no doubt," he sighed a sigh of annoyance then continued looking back at Athos, "We have a matter of highest importance to discuss and I trust no one better than the four of you to find who was responsible for this. Once I deal with this, I'll be along shortly."
A nod was all Athos decided to give the captain as he started to walk away and climb the stairs that led up to where his friends were waiting, while the Captain dealt with the king's messenger who dismounted quickly from his horse. Even the stairs were covered in blood as he walked up.
"Maybe 'e's even hired someone to carry this out like last time," Porthos' voice sounded more than upset. Like a volcano waiting to explode, he paced the captain's office, not daring to look out the windows displaying the scene in the courtyard below. His hands were clenched into fists, ready to punch the brains out of the murderer's head.
Aramis and d'Artagnan kept a healthy distance away from the steaming man for the time being.
"The Cardinal's involvement would be too risky, my friend, even suicidal to come up with a scheme such as this," Aramis explained while running his hands through his hair -still wet after a quick morning wash- unconsciously. "We would be wasting our time looking into the Cardinal's business, it would be simply be unfruitful work."
"But who could hate the Musketeers more than 'im? Hmmmm? And his bloody red guards?"
"No, no, Aramis is right," The youngest of the trio standing in the middle of the Captain's office decided to cut in. "He wouldn't risk it. This is something more...more a bit personal. A personal threat against the Captain perhaps? Or a group of us? I don't know."
"Like an old acquaintance or foe holding some sort of a grudge, you're saying?" Aramis considered the thought.
"The Cardinal," Porthos muttered beneath his breath.
Aramis annoyingly glazed over at the bigger man, trying to ignore the man's comments, but also at the same time tried to calm down his frightful attitude before the Cardinal himself would be found tied to the top of the Louvre.
"Right," d'Artagnan continued. "Excluding the Cardinal, who with an utter hatred would want to discredit the musketeer regiment?"
"Some criminal, perhaps," Aramis thought out loud. "Some law breaking citizen who felt compelled to get back at the ones responsible for putting them away for a long period of time. I mean, I would...that is, if I was the criminal type." He stopped rambling when he realized that his two friends eyed him a bit differently. "I'm not, obviously," He added for good measure.
"We put away 'undreds of them though. Too many to count. Too many suspects over a long course of time," Porthos explained. "Everyone we put away 'olds a grudge. It would be impossible to find the one responsible. They would all be guilty. "
"How about the ones recently freed, or granted clemency?" d'Artagnan inputted.
"Or maybe someone that has never been imprisoned for their misdealings yet," Aramis almost bit his tongue before saying it, but continued on knowing that the question of 'her' involvement would come up eventually. "Someone that supposedly fled Paris?" He hinted.
Their eyes all focused on one another as the same memory seemed to pass between them. The memory of a dark alleyway left with a revengeful woman and an haunted friend seeking peace from the hold she had on his heart. Athos' demons were kept at bay as he let the woman he loved go free, while he himself would bear the burden of her remaining existence, still haunted, but free from guilt.
The recollection of her walking footsteps to freedom was all that played over and over again in the minds of the three comrades. Milady was a free woman with still yet a revengeful heart. Her appearance back in Paris wouldn't be an unlikely assumption. She could quite possibly return with a vengeance more fierce than the last time, which called for bad news for the burdened husband. The room became deathly quiet as the three men all had the same name make residence at the tip of their tongues.
"Milad-" d'Artagnan began, but wasn't able to finish the last syllable when the footsteps of someone approached from behind.
"No," Athos' voice, without sounding rude or upset at the reminder of the grief that the situation held for him, cut in from behind them, before the name was fully spoken.
"She wouldn't," he continued sounding a touch stronger than he ever had when discussing his past grievances with his wife, for releasing her locket from off his neck in that alleyway, pulled some portion of the weight off his heart, "She knows the price she would pay."
"He's right," Aramis patted the shoulder of Athos as he approached, while smiling a smile of encouragement to him. "Best not think of the worst."
"It already looks worse," Porthos reminded his optimistic friend.
Athos tilted his head to look at his bigger friend with eyes that distinctly told him to close his mouth. And Porthos reluctantly obeyed.
Captain Treville entered the room a step behind, looking more discouraged by the second. Approaching his seat without saying a word, he sat down for the first time that morning while his fingers rubbed at his already tired eyes.
"The king already called for an audience with me," He said regretfully. "I am to leave immediately, but I am sure that a quick discussion with you is more profitable than muttering information I don't have to the king."
He stopped to look up at his inseparable soldiers with relying eyes then pointed out the window as he began his statement.
"I am counting on you to find who did this. That is, before it becomes more than just a pile of blood to wipe up if they strike again. To have the corpse of the one responsible beheaded in the public square, rather than another of our comrades publicly humiliated and our regiment slandered, is what I'm sure we all desire."
d'Artagnan placed a foot forward. "We were somewhat discussing the possible suspects already," He spoke encouragingly. "Possible criminals who seek revenge for their time served?"
"Good. What else?"
"The Cardinal-" Porthos quickly inputted again.
"The best bet is to find out where both our victims were located before they died. What they were doing and who they were with," Aramis suggested while ignoring his friend and cutting him off. "Checking the nearby taverns, or maybe...brothels." He said the last word with a certain admiration.
"We won't be going to the brothels if absolutely necessary, Aramis," Athos interrupted, giving him another of his stares, while Aramis seemed to show a little disappointment. "Gifford was known to have quite a few drinks at local taverns, the same being for Elloy. We should start with their own rooms and seek out any evidence, then proceed to the public places."
Treville slowly stood up from his seat with his hands extended out on his desk, hunched over.
"Then start there. The sooner we find out where they were, and what they were doing, the sooner we'll find the culprit," Treville commanded then nodded to Athos. "Anything more that needs to be discussed?"
"We need the details of their campaigns worked in the past," Athos spoke with his causally leading tone. "If they were working on any former mission associating with our killers, the attack could be focused on that particular group of musketeers."
"Maybe even all of us," Porthos added.
"I didn't become a musketeer to die quietly in the night without a fight," d'Artagnan spoke with reason.
"We all didn't," Aramis' voice seemed to quiet the noise of the whole room.
"And that's why I'm not taking any chances," Treville stood up to his full height. "I'm restricting the entire regiment to stay put in the garrison. If any one leaves, it'll be on their own heads."
The four men all looked at one another in question.
"All except you four, of course," He sounded a bit apologetic realizing that his men would be in more severe danger then he probably anticipated. "I'll make sure that the red guards have control over all of the king's affairs today."
"Great," Athos rolled his eyes causally.
"I apologize for putting you in the most vulnerable position, but-"
"We'll find 'im," Porthos cut him off without hesitation. "Or them. No matter the cost."
Treville heavily breathed out while hoping the cost wouldn't result with another man tied to the roof, or another laid at the gate.
"Then this conversation is done. Find what you can, but be careful. I don't want your bodies giftwrapped lying at my doorstep. That I can make due without."
He approached d'Artagnan and rapped on his leather shoulder pad stamped with the fleur de lis that he had just recently received when the king granted his commission in the musketeer regiment. The hard-earned leather on his shoulder still stood out to be the shiniest leather out of the lot of them. Still too new compared to his three friends whose leather had seen the worst of days.
"Be discreet as well. Leave those here. If these killers are tracking down musketeers for fun, I would rather not make yourselves a painted target."
The four of them systematically unbuckled the symbol of honor from off their shoulders to place on the desk of their captain. It felt like an awful blow to their morale as they all lost the one thing that somewhat made them feel more paramount to the rest of Paris.
"Then I thank you gentlemen for what you are about to do. More than that, Paris itself thanks you for what you are about to do," Then excusing them with a wave of his hand, Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan turned away from their captain and stepped out the door one at a time with Athos at the rear.
"Athos."
Athos stopped and turned around at the summons. The Captain quickly searched for a small key below his desk then unlocked a cabinet a few feet away from his cluttered desk. After a short moment of time, he approached his most trusted soldier and handed him a few official papers. The documentation of past campaigns that his deceased friends were recently engaged in.
Treville knew Athos' shoulders were already burdened, from the past's demons or the recent disturbances, probably both. But the fact remained that he knew there was no other man quite like the one that stood in front of him at that very moment. One so faithful to his duty and more so to his friends. He had watched time and time again where this man held nothing more important than the safety of his comrades, not even his own life. Captain Treville already had hope in the matter being closed with this man on his side. He always had.
It was then, when Athos took of the information -regarding the deceased comrades- from the hand of the Captain, that he turned around and stepped out the door to join his friends.
"Watch yourselves," Treville called after him, adding a bit more weight to bear down on his lieutenant. "I cannot lose my best."
Athos without looking back, nodded.
And as he closed the door behind him, Athos realized just how light his right shoulder felt; wishing to have back the extra piece of weight that his leather coat of arms proudly provided. The one that already started to collect dust on Treville's desk.
