'Why do we always get sent to the worst jobs?' Porthos asked, turning up his nose as the smell of fish guts wafted over the four men as they walked slowly down to the harbour.

'I quite like the smell of guts in the morning!' Aramis chuckled, taking in a big, deep breath. His face immediately turned a fetching shade of green, yet he carried on in a strained voice, eyes watering. 'Ah yes- puts hair on your chest, that does!'

'I don't need any more hair on my chest, thanks...' Porthos replied, fighting off an urge to put his handkerchief over his nose. 'Worst smell in the world, that is. Can't stand it.'

'Well, hopefully we'll just be in and out- right, Athos?' d'Artagnan muttered, flattening down his hair as a gust of salty wind blew over their heads. The squalling of seagulls were almost deafening as the four men trudged down the hill.

The docks were just up ahead, and beyond was the sea- it was a windy day today, but the weather was dry and warm; a fine day for fishing. Athos nodded to the younger man, before clearing his throat.

'If Clement had done as he promised, we should be back in the city in an hour. If not...we may be some time.' Their mission today was to collect the debt of a long-standing but downtrodden friend of the King. Clement supplied the Palace with fish and other seafood, but had fallen on hard times in the last few years- a strong storm last winter had flooded most of the lower docks, and had rendered his production warehouse unusable for three months as his men cleared the debris.

The King had loaned Clement enough money to get him back on his feet, and the man had agreed to pay him back in full after the summer season was over. It was now two months since then, and no money had changed hands.

The King was loathe to create trouble with the fishing merchant; after all his was very fond of the lobster that was supplied to him at Yuletide. The Cardinal, of course, was less forgiving, and- after many days of talking to the King- had finally persuaded the Monarch to ask for his money back.

So, here the the Musketeers were, heading down to speak to him; they finally reached the road that held numerous warehouses, for both the fish and the equipment, and the office-like building at the top that Clement worked from.

'This should be fun...'Aramis muttered darkly as Porthos opened the door for them. The other man chuckled and rolled his eyes. 'You can stand at the front, Mis,' he muttered.

'Why thank you, my friend...'Aramis grumbled, hesitantly taking his place.

'What's wrong?' the Gascon asked Aramis, arching an eyebrow as they went in.

'Well, Clement is hardly known for-'

'WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU LOT DOING HERE?!'

'-Subtlety.' Aramis finished with a sigh. 'Brace yourself, lad...'he whispered to D'artagnan, standing up straighter as a very angry man started walking towards them, face already incandescent with rage. ' You're about to get wet...'

'Why?' the younger man asked, but no sooner had he said it, Clement was standing in front of them.

Clement Perrin was all moustache and very little face- his impressive facial hair quivered as he bared his teeth angrily at the Musketeers in front of him. 'Oh, so when I don't pay up the King sends down his heavies, is that it?!' he bellowed, sending spit flying into the faces of the Musketeers- Aramis wiped a glob off his cheek with distaste, but said nothing as Clement continued his tirade.

'...Well it's not going to work on me- YOU HEAR ME! I pay my debts as promised!'

'The King has sent several messages regarding payment, Sir,' Athos said, voice light. 'We are simply here to ask if you have received them.'

'COURSE I BLOODY HAVE!' Clement yelled, reaching into his deep pockets and pulling out three or four letters bearing royal insignia.

'Excellent sir- please can you advise us of when you would be clearing the debt?'

Athos' tone did nothing to calm down the man in front of them- he went beetroot red and his eyes narrowed dangerously. 'You trying to be funny?' he cried out, shaking his head. 'You trying to make me feel stupid?!'

'Of course not, Sir...' Aramis interjected, now very aware that all of the workers in the warehouse they were standing in were now standing and watching them; each man carried a filleting knife, and they all were looking as angry as Clement.

'We just need to let the King know his letters are being received, and that you will make good on your commitment- how about a small donation of the debt, to let him know you are prepared to pay?'

'Tell you what- you can give the King this...' Clement started, before spitting on Aramis' boot. The medic looked down and sniffed, before looking back up to the merchant. 'I'd only cleaned them this morning,' he told him, shaking his head.

'I ain't got the money.' Clement growled, face still purple with anger. 'I need some more time.'

'Unfortunately, your time is now up, Sir.' Athos muttered, reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a new letter. 'The King has decreed that if you cannot pay your debt, as promised by your good self, then he has given us permission to remove goods to amount to the size of the debt.'

'You what?' a man to the left of Clement started, walking over next to the merchant and shaking his head. 'You're not taking anything from here, we won't let you!'

'Calm down son, they're only pulling our legs...' Clement chuckled darkly, looking from one Musketeer to the other. 'Aren't you? Just having yourselves a little joke.'

'I'm afraid not Sir- here is the letter as proof.' Athos handed over the letter and stepped back, looking around. Porthos breathed in deeply as he watched Clement and his son read over the letter, their faces getting darker and darker with each passing second.

The atmosphere had changed; you could now cut the tension with a knife. 'This- you can't do this to me; I've got a business to run!' Clement shouted, shaking his head.

'This was the terms of the debt you signed with the King- would you like to see a copy of it?'

'DON'T GET FUNNY WITH ME!' Clement yelled, before ripping the letter from the King into bits and throwing it in Athos' face. 'If any of you touch anything in here, I'll gut you. Understood?!'

'Steady, Sir,' Aramis placated. 'We're only doing our jobs,'

Clement barked out a laugh before taking two steps forward to the medic so their noses were almost touching. 'If you touch- anything- in here...I will cut you into little pieces and put you in the dock...' he muttered, eyes so dark Athos swore they turned black. 'Do you understand me?'

'Back off, Sir..' Aramis spoke in the same dark tone, standing his ground. 'Or I will make you- do you understand me?'

Clement breathed out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. 'Come on then, pretty boy- you think you can take me on?' he stepped back.

'I'm not interested in fi-' Aramis' breath was knocked out of him as Clement pushed him hard in the chest in challenge.'

'You think you can come in here, with your fancy papers and your threats?!' he yelled, a muscle in his jaw jumping as the Musketeers drew their swords. Porthos steadied Aramis as he got his breath back, his face now angry as he looked at the merchant.

'Oh, you lot going to show your true colours now?' he goaded, a horrible smile on his face. 'You gonna fight all of us for some bits of equipment and some fishing nets?'

'You have half an hour to come up with some funds- if when we come back there is nothing- We will be taking items of value away!' Athos growled, voice steady. 'You're lucky we're not taking you in for assault on a Musketeer as well!'

'Get out of my warehouse!' Clement yelled, shaking his head as he stepped forwards, fists raised. 'Get out!'

'We will be back in half an hour!' Athos promised, kicking the door open. 'Be ready for us!'

'Well, that went as well as could be expected.' Aramis reasoned, massaging his chest as he leant against the wooden railing of the dock, breathing in the salty air.

'Hmm..'Athos replied, shaking his head. 'Let's hope he comes up with the money...I don't fancy taking armfuls of fishing nets to the King as a trade for the money.'

Aramis laughed, nodding his agreement, before rolling his eyes as he spotted Porthos and d'Artagnan coming up to them, small pots in their hands.

'Been shopping?' he asked lightly as Porthos stood next to him.

'Cockle?' the bigger man offered.

'I beg your pardon?' Armais asked, pretending to look affronted.

'Cockle?' Porthos repeated with a dirty grin on his face, before pushing a small pot into his friend's hand.

'No thank you,' Aramis muttered, turning his nose up as he handed the pot back. 'Seafood does nothing for me.'

'Except when you get a bad welk, eh Mis?' Athos chuckled as Aramis paled at the mere memory.

'The matron had to throw away her bedpans, I hear..' Porthos nodded, sucking the sauce off his Cockle before popping it into his mouth. 'All four of them...'

'Please stop talking about it...' Aramis muttered, groaning as his cheeks started to grow pink.

He sighed and looked back to the docks- he had been watching a small shipment of gunpowder being delivered with interest. His Uncle had been a dockworker and had often taken him down to the ships of an evening as he worked; Aramis was fascinated by it all, and could often spend whole afternoons down by the docks even now, just watching.

The men were like a well-oiled machine; he watched them carefully co-ordinate the three large boxes of gunpowder as they were lifted from the ships and onto the wooden slats of the docks. It was tiring and hard work, and he had utmost respect for those that did it.

'You reckon its been half an hour?' Porthos finally asked when he had finished, wiping his mouth.

'Probably,' Athos nodded, before sighing. 'Lets go and get spat on some more.'

It was a good five minute's walk back to Clement's warehouse; as they turned the corner to walk back up to the door Aramis noticed it was ajar, yet no one seemed to be in the room.

'I'm not liking this, Athos,' Aramis said at once, hand reaching for his Musket. 'It's too quiet.'

Athos nodded, before slowly opening the door the rest of the way. 'Clement?' he called. Nothing.

'Show yourself Clement. Lets just talk this through!'

'We're not unreasonable!' Porthos called, voice echoing around.

'Lets go back- come back with more reinforcements...' Aramis muttered- every instinct was telling him to turn back, to rethink the plan.

'I'm not coming back here another day for this man...' Athos shook his head. 'Lets have a quick look- if he's made a run for it, we can call it a day, alright?'

'Alright-' Aramis muttered, taking a step into the darkened room. The room was dark and empty- Aramis didn't like this one bit. 'No one here..' he muttered, shaking his head.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind them- Clement stepped out from the shadows, a terrible smile on his face and a large gun in his hands, aimed squarely at the Musketeers.

'Come back to steal from me?' he whispered, face now ashen, eyes almost popping from their sockets. It looked like he had now bypassed anger and had gone straight for insanity.

'We just want to talk to you, Clement.' Athos raised both his hands to chest height, eyeing the gun in the man's hands. 'Lets just put the gun down and we can have a nice chat.'

'Are you going to take my things?'

'We...have our orders from the King.'

'Then I can't let you leave- Thomas, bar the door.' The Musketeers turned as the man from before- Clement's son- strode over to the door, locked it and brought a heavy iron bar over it, locking them in.

'You're making a mistake,' Aramis muttered, voice dark. 'This can only end badly for you.'

'You think so?' Clement's voice was equally dark, and dripping with sarcasm. He cocked the gun, the noise sending shivers down Porthos' spine as he eyed the room for any possible exit. 'I'm the one holding the gun, not you.'

'What do you hope to accomplish here?'d'Artagnan asked.

'I think the King would like the safe return of his Musketeers a lot more than his money.'

Aramis held in a disbelieving chuckle, instead he frowned as Clement chuckled and began speaking again- suddenly there was a blinding flash from outside, coupled with a thunderous roar. Before anyone could speak or raise their arms to protect themselves the walls and ceiling seemed to collapse with a huge force. Each man was lifted from their feet and thrown backwards; blasted backwards, Aramis' vision clouded as dust suddenly plumed around them, and the last thing he saw before he hit his head and was thrown into unconsciousness was Porthos falling through the floor and disappearing from view entirely.

Thanks for reading, please review!

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about 'Brothers In Arms'- this has just been on my computer for months, so I figures I may as well upload it!

It's only about 5 chapters long so its a bit shorter than my usual multi-chapters fics :)

Next chapter up soon!