Note:
Hi all, another piece of fluff in response to this month's challenge. I very much appreciated all the kind comments on Fireside Reunion, and hope this is similarly enjoyable. It has been a long week, and something quick and silly was required.
Written for the September 2016 Fête des Mousquetaires - 'Confusion'. To vote, read wonderful tales, or submit your own story for the Fete, visit the forum
Happy reading!
When a man needs his hat
As they sweltered side by side in the midday sun, dress cloaks weighing heavily on their shoulders, Porthos eyed each of his friends in turn. Athos, eyes to the front; Aramis, eyes on the pretty daughter of the Duke; and D'Artagnan, pointedly avoiding Porthos' gaze.
One of them was guilty.
One of them was enjoying his discomfort.
One of them had taken his hat.
"So," Porthos began, teeth grinding softly. "Nice, sunny day - ain't it?"
D'Artagnan dipped his head subtly, careful not to let Treville catch the movement. "The best in weeks."
The palace grounds were baking in the sun, the heavily manicured grass flecked with brown. The King and Queen, sheltered beneath their canopy, supped cool lemonade in the company if their guests.
"You might even say it's a day when a man needs his hat?" Porthos hinted dangerously.
Aramis removed one eye reluctantly from the object of his current admiration. "Oh I don't know - a scarf would do as well."
"How 'bout a trade?" Porthos shifted as if to snatch at the other man's hat, but broke off before the movement could draw attention from the royal party.
"Sorry, my friend," Aramis said without flinching. "My perfect complexion would be at risk."
"Out with it, Porthos," Athos demanded flatly from the other end of the line, his own hat pulled low over his eyes.
Porthos hissed through gritted his teeth as sweat from his hairline dripped into his eyes. "Someone - SOMEONE - has taken my hat. "
The silence that followed was proof of their guilt.
"Where did you see it last?" D'Artagnan asked innocently.
"He has likely forgotten."
"Don't give me that," Porthos growled as loudly as he dared, glaring in Athos' direction. "I saw you."
Athos raised an eyebrow.
"Two days ago. Leaving my chamber door - with something under your arm."
Athos frowned in remembrance, "That book you hoped to borrow?"
"Book?"
"Of poems - my old copy. I thought it best not to risk the rain."
Porthos allowed a chagrined pause, but did not back down. "Then it was you." He nudged Aramis with his elbow.
"My own hat is quite serviceable - why take yours?" Aramis calmly protested.
Porthos shifted uncomfortably, his leathers sticking to his legs. "Payback - for the time I put tar in your boot."
"That was you?!" Aramis hissed a little too loudly, earning a perceptible darkening of Treville's brow, though the Captain did not look in their direction. "I thought it was D'Artagnan."
"Why me?" D'Artagnan sounded offended.
"Payback for-"
Athos coughed meaningfully.
Aramis stilled, mouth half open. "Quite right." He shut it with a snap.
"And that package you were carrying through the courtyard?" Porthos asked, still suspicious.
Aramis brow furrowed, confused, then his cheeks flushed. "Ah. That was not your hat. A cabbage, and a vase..."
Porthos indicated for his friend to continue.
"Oh no," Aramis shook his head determinedly." That was my business - and a whole other story."
Aramis' uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment made Porthos believe his friend's words. He determined to ferret that story out of the man another time.
"Then it was you!" Porthos accused D'Artagnan. He had the answer now. "I should've known. Why is it you never had a hat before...?"
"Leave the boy be, Porthos," Aramis warned.
Athos weighed in from the other end of the line. "Drop it."
Porthos frowned in suspicion. "What don't I know?"
D'Artagnan sighed, blinking sweat from his eyes. "You may as well tell him. Everyone else knows."
"D'Artagnan here recently obtained a hat," Aramis said confidingly, but with a hint of amusement.
Porthos frowned in confusion. "I never saw-"
"There was an accident..." Aramis said.
"What kind of accident?"
"One involving mucking out the stables, a certain amount of carelessness, and... " Aramis paused.
"And?"
"Roger," Athos finished.
Porthos looked askance between Athos and D'Artagnan. "He didn't-"
"He did," D'Artagnan spat.
"It is no trouble to purchase you a new one," Athos said, unusually apologetic.
"Perhaps you should purchase a new horse," D'Artagnan suggested bitterly.
"Don't take your frustrations out on Roger," Aramis said. "He's very fond of you."
Porthos felt the first stirrings of humor pull at the side of his mouth, and broke down when Aramis' restrained laughter resulted in a snort.
This time, Treville looked up sharply from his position by the canopy, stiff posture speaking of the dressing down they would receive for any further departures from decorum.
"Thank you for the offer," D'Artagnan murmured haughtily, unamused. "But I'll never live it down."
Aramis nudged D'Artagnan in the side. "It was your choice to try and wear the battered thing afterwards."
"Looked like a dead crow," Athos put in.
"Never live it down," D'Artagnan mumbled again.
"You will," Athos assured him with more kindness.
Porthos frowned, confused. "So you did take my hat?'
"No. Haven't you be listening? None of us took your hat."
The royal party was abandoning their shady refuge and moving in their direction, the King and Queen trailed by the other courtiers. Aramis received a batting of eyelashes from the Duke's daughter as they passed, returning it with a tip of his hat.
Constance, her white dress blinding in the sun, paused before Porthos. "I'll have your hat back this evening."
When Porthos opened his mouth like a fish, she said sharply, "I had it mended. Did you forget?"
Porthos recalled mentioning the hat to Constance, but had no memory of releasing it into her custody.
"Porthos seemed to think his responsible friends had smuggled it away," D'Artagnan said dryly.
Constance gave Porthos one of her looks, fanning herself against the heat. "Really? Who would want that old thing?"
Before Porthos could defend himself, Treville approached.
"There will be words," the Captain said, running his eyes over his men. "But not here. It's too damn hot. You're dismissed."
Porthos sighed in relief, already savouring the thought of a long, cool drink back in the shade of the garrison.
"And Porthos," Treville said, turning back.
"Sir?"
"Come on parade unarmed again and you'll be on kitchen duty for a month."
Porthos looked down. His scabbard was empty. Three smirking faces waited for his reaction.
Note:
Thanks very much for taking the time to read :) I'd love to hear if you enjoyed this little mystery.