"I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house."
― Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Notebooks
Although they were not in the most pleasant company, Aramis was in a relatively good mood, his humour improving exponentially as the rains had finally stopped the previous day, and the sun had warmed the air around them. Except for the sometimes excessive moisture, the marksman enjoyed autumn, finding the fragrant scent of the leaves as they changed colors before lazily drifting to the ground relaxing.
At the sound of a soft bark, he turned his face away from the sun and his attempts to soak up every last bit of warmth before the winter snows covered the blanket of crunchy leaves they rode through. Shifting his gaze to one side, he was unsurprised to once again find the Englishman's hound walking contentedly at Porthos' side. For some reason, the dog had taken an immediate liking to the large Musketeer, and howled noisily whenever anyone tried to separate the two. While Porthos would offer an apologetic smile at the dog's antics, Aramis was certain that his friend was secretly pleased at having been chosen by the loyal animal. That the hound's choice also served to aggravate the merchant was simply a bonus, Aramis thought to himself with a smile.
As he watched, Porthos dropped a small piece of meat to the expectant dog, the animal's jaws snapping closed over the morsel as he seemingly swallowed without chewing. "You'll spoil him if you keep that up," Aramis stated. The larger man simply shrugged, the grin on his face indicating clearly that he was unconcerned. "Paris by tonight, do you think?" the marksman asked, changing the topic.
Porthos looked around before nodding. "Yeah, we're close enough that even with our guests slowing us down, we should reach the city gates by dinnertime." That the English merchant had insisted on travelling with his ornate carriage had been a point of contention early on, especially given the rutted and muddy nature of the roads they were travelling. Unfortunately, they'd been unable to convince the man to leave the ungainly conveyance behind, and privately Porthos had wondered at the real reason for the man's reticence at staying on his horse. As a result, they'd added easily three or four days onto their journey, and all of them were impatient to finally be home.
They guided their horses around a large depression in the ground, Porthos smirking at his friend as he said, "Let's see how that fancy carriage does through that." As their horses continued forward, both men turned in their saddles to watch as the coach predictably remained on its course, its wheels dipping and the vehicle bouncing mightily as it made its way through the six inch drop and then up again to level ground. As they faced forward, he commented, "Bet he complains about the state of our roads to the King."
"That is a wager I will not take, my friend," Aramis replied. "It's a miracle the road wasn't washed away entirely with all the rain that's fallen."
Glancing back again, Porthos replied, "Hasn't slowed our large four-footed friend down any, has it."
Aramis followed his friend's gaze, observing the enormous gray elephant that Cavendish had brought with him. It was apparently the real reason the merchant had been allowed safe passage to Paris, and even Aramis could admit it was an impressive beast. Standing over ten feet tall at its shoulder, the marksman would swear that the ground shook at the enormous animal's passing. For a second, thought collided with reality and his brows furrowed in confusion as a persistent rumbling sound reached his ears. Wondering if he was imagining the sound, he addressed his friend. "Do you hear that?"
Both men turned to look behind them, searching for the source of the noise that had reached both their ears. Their minds registered Athos' and d'Artagnan's approach, the two men having engaged in some sort of friendly race, if the carefree looks on their faces was anything to go by. As Porthos and Aramis watched, the Gascon's horse slowed and then seemed to falter, fearfully skittering to one side before stopping abruptly and dropping its head. d'Artagnan was forcefully flung from the saddle, and behind him, Athos was already sliding from his mount, something having unsettled the older man's horse as well.
With a shared look of concern, Aramis and Porthos turned their horses and trotted back to where their friend's mounts had stopped. As the marksman's horse inched into the lead, he was startled to suddenly find the larger man's fingers tightly around his bicep, forcing him to pull up on his reins and bring his mount to a sudden stop. "What…" he began, but Porthos was pointing down at the ground.
The large depression that they'd earlier avoided had disappeared, a six-foot wide gap in its place. Porthos leaned forward over his horse's neck, trying to see inside, but the daylight quickly vanished in the hole's murky depths, and he was unable to see anything past the few feet near the top. "What the devil is that?" Aramis asked, shocked at the empty space where minutes before had been a road.
"Sinkhole," the larger man answered.
The marksman turned wide eyes on his friend as Porthos wiped a hand across his face. "Athos and d'Artagnan?"
Porthos simply nodded, confirming that their friends were within the pit that had opened up.
Aramis moved to dismount as he said, "Then we'd best get them out." Before he could even swing a leg over his horse's back, his friend's hand was back on his arm, stopping further movement.
"No, all of this ground is unstable. If we're not careful, we'll end up down there with them," Porthos declared.
"How do you know all this?" Aramis asked.
"Saw it once in Paris," the larger man replied. "Water can weaken the ground, especially if there's empty space underneath. The weight of the carriage and the elephant were probably enough to make the top layer crumble, and d'Artagnan and Athos came along just in time to fall in."
"Alright," Aramis said slowly, already beginning to scan the dirt in a hopeless attempt to differentiate between stable and unstable ground.
"Back up," Porthos ordered, his hand already insistently tugging on his friend's arm, and the marksman looked down to see the ground directly in front of his horse beginning to crumble. With infinite care, the two men urged their horses backwards, the larger man finally satisfied once they were several feet away.
Dismounting, Porthos indicated Cavendish who was alighting from his carriage and heading their way. "You deal with him while I check on the others."
Aramis grimaced at the prospect of explaining things to the merchant, but had to admit that of the two of them, he was likely the more qualified to soothe the Englishman. As he moved towards the man, Porthos lowered himself to the ground, crawling forward carefully so as not to dislodge any more dirt. When he'd gone as far as he believed was safe, he called out. "Athos! d'Artagnan! Can either of you hear me?"
Even Cavendish was quiet as everyone watched the Musketeer calling out to his friends. Time seemed to stretch forever until Porthos finally heard an answering shout. "Yes, Porthos, we're here." The large man's breath left him in a great sigh of relief and a wide grin split his face.
"Thank God, Athos. Are you alright?" the large man asked.
"Yes, I'm fine, but d'Artagnan's unconscious. Any idea what happened?" Athos questioned.
"Looks like a sinkhole. With all the rain we've had, the ground was already soft." He looked behind at the group they'd been escorting for a moment before continuing. "The weight of everyone passing over this spot was likely the last straw."
At the bottom of the deep hole, Athos muttered bitterly, "Damn elephant." Raising his voice again so that Porthos could hear him, he asked, "Is there any way to get us out of here?"
The large man bit his lip as he once more surveyed the area, his gut telling him that it was unsafe to attempt a rescue without equipment, and men they could trust.
"Porthos?" the older man called again.
"I don't think we can manage it alone," the large man replied, hoping his friend would understand his unspoken meaning.
Only a moment passed before Athos replied. "I understand. Finish the mission and then come back for us. We'll be fine until then."
Porthos dropped his head for a moment at the older man's suggestion. He instinctively railed against the idea of leaving his friends behind, even though he recognized that it was the best – the only – option available to them. Clinging to a last shred of hope before he made the decision to temporarily abandon the men, he asked, "How far down are you?"
Porthos waited as Athos surveyed his surroundings, his heart dropping as soon as he heard the answer. "At least fifteen feet, maybe more."
Glancing behind him, he could see Cavendish getting impatient, and knew it was only a matter of time before the merchant agreed with Athos' suggestion and insisted they move along. Taking a steadying breath, the large man responded. "Alright. We'll finish the mission and then come back." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Is there anything you need?"
Several long seconds passed before Athos replied. "Just some food and water."
Porthos nodded, although the older man couldn't see the gesture. Within minutes, the large man had gathered the requested items and dropped them down, Athos indicating that he'd received both. With a last few words of farewell, Porthos made his way back to his horse, where Aramis already stood waiting.
"Are you sure about this?" the marksman hissed, unwilling to mount and leave their friends behind.
Porthos raised his eyes to the other man's and Aramis could see how much the decision to leave had cost his friend. "Look, I don't know a lot about sinkholes, but I do know that one wrong move can bring the whole thing down on their heads. We need more men," he glanced furtively at the Englishmen who were waiting to depart. Lowering his voice, he continued, "We need men we can trust, and equipment. We didn't pack anything remotely useful for a rescue of this type. Best thing we can do for them is get to Paris as fast as we can and report to Treville."
Aramis still seemed uncertain as he countered, "Perhaps one of us should stay?"
Porthos gave a firm shake of his head. "We're already down two men as it is. We've got to finish this, Aramis." He gave his friend a pleading look, begging him to understand, and after a moment Aramis' shoulders slumped and he dipped his chin in agreement.
The two Musketeers mounted, and with a last glance back, they urged their horses and their guests into motion, determined to return as quickly as humanly possible.
A/N: Thank you all for the warm response to this story and for passing along your birthday wishes to AZGirl. I normally post a new chapter each day, but will not be posting tomorrow (Saturday) since AZGirl won't be online to enjoy it. Regular posting will resume on Sunday. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and reviewing, following or favoriting this fic.
