The Court of Miracles
Chapter Two
The rope bit into Aramis' wrists, pinning his arms firmly behind his back. He wriggled his fingers, which had become unpleasantly swollen and numb. All his efforts to break free had been fruitless and he had eventually accepted that he was trapped and helpless. They'd locked him in a dusty room filled with broken furniture. If he had been able to get loose there were plenty of makeshift weapons he could use. There was only one window, high in the wall. He could just catch a glimpse of the sky which had turned from dark to the pale pink of dawn.
The hood hadn't been removed until he was inside so he wasn't sure where he was. He had a suspicion, though, that he was in The Court of Miracles. Three months earlier he'd killed the 'King' when Charon had tried to stab Porthos in the back. Was this retribution? It didn't make much sense as a theory. If they'd wanted him dead they could have killed him easily when they attacked him. He spent some time brooding about possible motives, giving up when his head began to throb. He looked up expectantly when he finally heard the key turn in the lock.
"On your feet." The leader of his kidnappers entered the room with two men.
"Why?" Aramis stayed where he was, with his back resting against a wall.
His answer was a hard kick to the right knee. He stifled a gasp of pain and squirmed further away. The man followed, his boot again connecting with Aramis' leg. "Alright!" It was clear that any defiance wouldn't be tolerated and he had no wish to provoke the man to further senseless brutality. "Where are we?" It wasn't easy to rise with his hands tied. He pressed them against the wall, using them as leverage to climb to his feet. His knee gave a twinge of protest.
"You'll find out soon enough. Get moving."
They shoved him towards the door. As soon as he stepped outside he knew that he was right about his location. "The Court of Miracles," he said. "Why?"
No more information was forthcoming as he was led through the maze of streets. Nowhere did his plight evoke any sympathy. Curious looks, disinterest or outright hatred were all he saw. The Court had been steeped in poverty and despair on his last brief visit to rescue Porthos. Since then the conditions seemed to have worsened. Men, women and children looked on the point of starvation with emaciated arms and legs and sunken faces. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Porthos to grow up in this hell-hole of misery and violence.
He was pushed into a large room with early morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. Dust lay everywhere and danced in shimmering motes in the air. A woman sat on a throne-like chair set on a slightly raised dais.
"Kneel."
That was asking too much. Aramis resisted their efforts to force him to his knees. The struggle was brief. A blow to the back of his legs caused his knees to buckle and he crashed to the floor. Pain shot through his already injured knee. He sucked in a sharp breath but made no sound. This wasn't the time to show vulnerability. He was struck a couple of times around the back of his head and shoulders.
"Enough."
He raised his head when the woman spoke. She looked familiar and he frowned when he realised who she must be. "You're the one who helped Porthos."
"I've known him a long time."
He studied her closely. There was a sharp look to her features and he found that he couldn't read her mood. He formed the impression that she was a woman who didn't smile often, although he saw no hint of cruelty in her. "What's Porthos going to think when he finds out you've kidnapped one of his friends?"
"We'll find out soon enough. I sent him a message."
"What do you want?" He tried to ease the pressure on his sore knee by shifting his weight.
"The Court is dying. We need help."
"You could have just asked."
"It's not that simple." She narrowed her eyes. "You're hurt?"
"It's nothing," he lied.
"Cut him loose, Thierry."
"He's dangerous," Thierry protested.
"He can't escape and, despite what people think, we're not animals."
A knife slid between his wrists severing the rope. He stood up grateful when no-one tried to force him back down. His knee began to spasm. "Thank you." He rubbed his wrists, suffering through the pain of returning blood flow to his fingers. "What happens now?"
"We wait for Porthos."
TMTMTM
Porthos rode as fast as he could through the growing mass of people on the street. As he got close to the Court he noticed an unusual number of the Cardinal's guards patrolling the area. He stopped, dismounted, and tried to blend into the crowd. The last thing he needed was for them to question why a Musketeer was entering the worst area of the city. He sidled down an alley until he came to the unofficial boundary of the Court. Eyes, seen and unseen, followed his progress. He could feel their animosity like a living thing but strode fearlessly toward his destination. He hadn't been able to come up with a motive for Flea to have Aramis taken and that worried him but he'd find out the reason soon enough.
His route into the 'throne' room was blocked by two men. He growled at them to get out of his way. A third man walked through the door and stared at him with a sneer. Porthos' fingers itched to connect with that arrogant face. His nerves were tightly wound and only violence would release them.
"Surrender your weapons," the man ordered.
"Never going to happen," Porthos replied. He stood with his legs apart and his hand on his sword, ready to fight.
"Clearly you don't care about the life of your friend. You enter unarmed or he dies."
"How do I know he's here?"
"You'll just have to trust me," the man said smugly.
Porthos grimaced sourly and began to disarm. "I want these back when I leave," he warned.
When he entered the room his first thought was to look for Aramis. He found him immediately, standing at the side of the room with a knife at his throat. He appeared unharmed, which came as a relief. Porthos knew too well the kind of men who lived inside the Court. He gave his friend an encouraging smile and turned his attention to Flea.
"What have you done, Flea? Let him go."
"Hello, Porthos."
"I'm not in the mood for games." For all his bravado, Porthos was worried. They were deep inside the Court, surrounded by armed and dangerous men and women. Fighting their way out wasn't an option and launching an assault would require the help of a small army. Long before they could reach Aramis he would likely be killed.
"You think this is a game?" Flea stood up and walked towards him.
She moved in the seductive way he remembered, slowly like a graceful predator. He had to remind himself sternly that this woman was responsible for the abduction of one of his closest friends. Now wasn't the time to become distracted.
"Porthos, my friend, perhaps you can find out what is going on." Aramis' words choked off when the knife pierced the skin of his neck causing a trickle of blood to soak into his shirt collar.
"Well?" Porthos said, his tone imbued with all the fury he felt at Aramis' treatment. Flea was close enough to touch, looking at him sadly.
"We need money."
"I don't have any money. You know that. Besides, what good would a few coins do you?"
"The King and Cardinal want to destroy the Court. You saw what happened with Charon. He was paid to blow it to pieces along with everyone who lives here. Since then the Cardinal's men patrol constantly. Anyone caught leaving is arrested and hauled off to jail. It's almost impossible to bring in food except through the sewers. We're starving, Porthos.
"What do you expect me to do about it?"
"We've heard word of a wagon carrying taxes from all the farms and villages outside Paris. It would be enough to let everyone leave here and start a new life. We want you to steal the money and bring it here."
Porthos laughed in surprise. "You're crazy."
"Not crazy. Desperate. How much does your friend mean to you?"
She waved a hand toward the man holding Aramis. He pressed harder on the knife eliciting a pained groan from the captive Musketeer.
"Leave him alone," Porthos shouted.
"He'll be safe as long as you do what I ask."
"Why not send your men?"
"It's easier for Musketeers to get close to the guards. Who'd suspect the King's soldiers of plotting to steal the tax money?"
"The penalty for highway robbery is death."
"Then you'd better make sure there are no witnesses."
No matter how hard Porthos tried he couldn't think of a way out of this mess. He couldn't stand by and watch Aramis die and couldn't be in any doubt of Flea's sincerity. "You hurt him and I'll hunt you down. Our friendship is over."
"I won't have to hurt him if you do as I ask."
"Porthos. Don't…" Aramis stiffened as the knife went deeper. It wouldn't take much more pressure for the sharp weapon to do permanent damage.
"We'll get your money," Porthos said, "and then you get out of my life forever."
With a final anguished look at his beleaguered friend he turned and walked away.
Tbc