Chapter Two

Porthos watched a couple of cadets walk through the garrison gate, they nodded a greeting to him and wandered off to the mess for breakfast. Porthos had hoped to see d'Artagnan appear in the yard full of tales of his mission and no doubt a little self-importance at being given the work. But the young Musketeer was nowhere to be seen.

Casting his eyes over the yard Porthos wondered if his friend had appeared and he had just not noticed. The two cadets were disappearing through the door to the mess as three commissioned men appeared from the sleeping quarters and made their way out into the city. Porthos nodded a greeting to them before returning to his own work.

His horse snorted and nodded his head as the brush was drawn across his flank. Porthos talked quietly to the beast as he worked pausing occasionally to look at the gate. Sometimes he was sure they all had a sixth sense; a notion that something was not quite right kept surfacing in his mind. They had all at one time or another stopped the others and forewarned them of an impending danger. Porthos felt that way as he continued to brush his horse, teasing out a few knots in his mane.

D'Artagnan should have been back the previous night. They knew he had returned to Paris; knew he had passed on the intelligence to Treville and knew he should have been making his way back to the garrison. But he was a grown man, Treville had said that d'Artagnan had been given a days' leave, so they should not expect him for muster, but still, Porthos wondered why he had that feeling.

He shook his head; the young man was quite capable of looking after himself. Perhaps he had slipped off to see Constance, perhaps he had another woman somewhere, one that he had not told them about? Was Porthos worrying unnecessarily?

Porthos thought back to the day they had seen d'Artagnan off on his secret mission, so secret that even they were not allowed to know what was going on. It had not taken much to realise d'Artagnan was going because Treville thought that one of them would be recognised. He and Aramis had teased d'Artagnan, but both had been pleased the young Musketeer was getting an important mission. The boost to his self-confidence would be good. Athos had remained stoic as usual, but they had seen the hidden smile. Athos was proud of d'Artagnan, the lanky lad that had called him out for a duel was now one of them and quite capable of dealing with an important mission of his own.

They had already been through quite a lot together; their bond was strong. Porthos knew that any of them would die for d'Artagnan and that d'Artagnan would gladly lay down his own life for them. That brotherhood was hard won. D'Artagnan was truly one of them.

Except he was not one of them at that moment. And Porthos did not like not knowing where his friend, his brother, was. Perhaps he was still treating the man as a boy? Porthos shrugged his shoulders and went back to brushing his horse realising he had stopped again and was staring at the gate.

But the feeling of something being amiss remained.

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He slowly opened his eyes. There was not much to see. A stone floor stretched in front of him. His head was resting on the floor. The floor was cold. D'Artagnan thought about moving but quite a lot of him hurt.

A slight pull on his arms told him that his wrists were tied behind him, the rope wound around his forearms a little, pulling his shoulders back.

With an effort, he managed to move his head slightly, although his vision seemed a little behind the rest of him. The room became blurred for several seconds, the focus gradually returning as he stopped his movement. He wondered if he should try to sit up. The thought of such a big move after the simple task of moving his head had affected him so much was not something he wanted to contemplate.

Instead, he decided to try to work out how he had come to be tied up in what he guessed was a cellar. The slightly dank damp smell told him he was underground. There was light. The flicker of flames licked at the stone floor and walls in front of him. Either a fire or torches lit the room. D'Artagnan was in no mood to find out which.

He tried to think what had happened to him. He remembered the tavern, remembered it was busy, remembered sharing his table with some friendly men who were renovating a big house…

Something made him pause and look at the room he was in again. The cellar was big, big enough to belong to a big house.

No. What would the men he shared food and wine with want with him? What would they have gained from taking him as their captive? He was not worth anything, he was a soldier, no one would pay for his release…

A tiny niggling thought occurred to him. The intelligence.

But what would builders have wanted with the intelligence he still had? He had passed it on to Treville, but he did still remember every word of it.

Putting the thought to one side d'Artagnan decided he did need to sit up. He took a breath and tensed up. He twisted over onto his back and pulled himself upwards at the same time. Closing his eyes did nothing to dispel the sickening twisting in his stomach. He was glad he had not been gagged, if he was sick it would not be pleasant with a gag.

He slumped to the side, hitting the stone wall of the cellar. He was panting, leaning his throbbing head against the cool stone wall.

D'Artagnan did not know how long he spent simply sitting, uncomfortably, panting and wishing the nausea to leave him. It felt as though there was water sploshing in his head, washing his thoughts from side to side. He could not catch a single thought and keep hold of it long enough to put it with another thought and work out what was going on.

When everything had settled down again, he opened his eyes. Two flaming torches were placed on the wall, the torches were new. Someone had replaced them recently. A table stood against the wall under the torches. D'Artagnan could make out items on the table. His doublet and weapons lay on the table.

His weapons were there, a few feet away from him. But they might as well have been on the moon. The concept of standing or even shuffling himself across to them was not something he could even consider.

Slowly he turned his head and took in the rest of the room. A set of stone steps led to a heavy looking door opposite him. High up on the wall opposite the torches was a dirty window. He doubted he would see anything through it.

How long had he been here? Had he been missed yet?

If it was the next day, Treville would have noticed him missing. But would a search be mounted for him? Probably not, he was not expected for work until the day after that. They might think he had gone to see Constance. They might not realise he was in trouble.

D'Artagnan was on his own.

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Aramis reached out and straightened the cadet's arm and lifted his chin a little before stepping back and nodding. The young man took a steady breath before firing. Aramis looked at the target for a few seconds and smiled. He turned back to the cadet who was looking at him with apprehension.

'Better than earlier,' he said, 'just watch your position. I know you won't have time to worry about that sort of thing in battle but with calm repetitive practice now it will come naturally, you won't even know you're doing it.'

The cadet nodded and started to reload the musket.

'Keep at it,' he said with a friendly slap on the man's shoulder before wandering back to the garrison yard the sound of the musket being fired again making him smile as he walked.

Treville was stood at the bottom of the steps gazing at the gate a look of concern on his face. Mid-morning, after muster, usually saw the Captain disappearing into his office or leaving for the Palace.

Aramis could guess what was bothering his Captain. D'Artagnan.

Porthos had been preoccupied with the missing Musketeer earlier on and Athos had even asked the other Musketeers and cadets if he had been seen the previous evening. No one had seen him.

'Still no sign then?' asked Aramis.

Treville shook his head without taking his eyes off the garrison gate.

'I'd hoped he would not come to harm with this mission. I picked him on purpose because I knew that one of you three would have been expected to go...and you would have been recognised.'

'Was the intelligence that sensitive that even after it has been passed on it still holds value?'

Treville nodded, 'the meeting I had after I spoke to d'Artagnan means that the intelligence is being acted upon, but if it can be obtained quickly enough it will still prove useful to the right people...or the wrong people.'

Treville finally turned to look at Aramis before continuing.

'I should have had him escorted back to the garrison, I should have taken precautions...he must have been recognised as a Musketeer when he went to the rendezvous.'

Athos and Porthos appeared from the armoury ending their conversation as they reached the stairs.

'...I think we should look elsewhere,' said Athos.

'And I still say we don't need outside help yet.'

'Look elsewhere for what?' asked Treville.

'He wants to talk to one of his contacts, see if anyone has seen d'Artagnan.'

Aramis furrowed his brow, 'are we really at that point? He's not even been missing a day yet, and you said that he was not needed today.'

'He's not with Constance,' said Athos.

Aramis looked at Athos for a few seconds taking in the information. He had assumed the young Musketeer would take advantage of a rare day off to visit Constance. Aramis started to realise that the worry that Treville, Athos, and Porthos had for d'Artagnan was not necessarily premature.

'I'll kill him if he's done something stupid,' Porthos said after a few moments, 'making us worry about him.'

Aramis smiled, 'we will make sure he is suitably told off for making you worry, my friend.'

'At the very least I'm going to give him a good talking too,' said Porthos with an annoyed shake of his head.

'We need to find him first,' remarked Athos.

Treville looked thoughtful, 'I think Athos is right, we should be concerned. I hope we are wrong, but we should be sure. If something has happened to him, we need to recover him quickly.'

Athos nodded before turning to leave, 'I will visit my contact and see what I can learn.'

Aramis watched him go as the feeling of unease that Porthos had talked about began to take its grip on him as well.

MMMM

The door at the top of the stairs opened, d'Artagnan tried to focus on the men who entered, but the movement of his head to look in their direction had left him feeling nauseous again. Nothing was said by the men. He thought he could make out five men walking towards him. One of them peeled off from the others and crossed to the table where his weapons lay, the man grabbed a chair carrying it towards him.

As d'Artagnan managed to focus again he recognised the men. He had already guessed it was the group of men who had befriended him in the tavern so was not surprised when the man who had first spoken to him was the one who had picked up the chair.

The chair was placed down a couple of feet from him as two of the other men stepped up to him. D'Artagnan could do nothing to resist the men, they hooked their hands under his arms and hauled him up. The sudden movement saw a greyness reach his vision. D'Artagnan was sure he was going to pass out. There were words being spoken around him, he had no idea what the men were saying or if they were talking to him or not. He could not respond, all he could do was try to stay conscious.

He was aware of being moved to sit on the chair, his arms pushed over the back of the chair. The men let go of him. Somehow, he remained sat on the chair, his head bowed. D'Artagnan knew there was no chance of him raising his head for a while. The room was spinning, he was back to taking quick breaths.

The men stepped back from him. D'Artagnan guessed they were waiting for him to recover his wits, he was more than happy to take his time. The men began to talk to one another, their words making more sense to him as he started to settle himself after the sudden movement.

D'Artagnan recognised one of the men as the man who had spoken to him the most in the tavern.

'Give him a few minutes, I think the drug is still affecting him. He'll be disorientated. Get some water into him. Then we can start.'

'You gave him too much,' said another man.

Another voice d'Artagnan recognised as the man with the missing tooth replied, 'I gave him the right amount. He's trained, he'd have been more trouble if I'd given him any less.'

The man missing the tooth seemed quite defensive of his actions, almost annoyed at the accusation that he might have made a mistake when he administered the drug to d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan wondered what would happen if he got out of his current predicament. When the others found out he had allowed himself to be taken so easily, would they still accept him as one of them? The friendships he had built up with the three men he thought of as brothers were strong; could it survive his woeful mistake?

As his breathing settled, he finally decided he had to lift his head, he took his time, trying to prevent the room from spinning. He looked at the men stood around the room.

The toothless man was regarding him carefully, perhaps wanting to satisfy himself that their captive had not been given too much of whatever drug they had used.

The leader, the man who had first spoken to him, was stood back a couple of yards, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The other men were arranged around the room, two of them were by the table, one leaning on the wall, the other looking at d'Artagnan's doublet. The fifth man had remained further away, d'Artagnan watched as the man took a couple of steps back and sat on the steps observing the proceedings. D'Artagnan got the impression the man was not part of the group.

He refocused on the leader who took a step forward, crouching down in front of him.

'I'm guessing you want to know why you are here…'

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but ended up coughing, the thump of his headache adding to his misery.

A hand on the back of his head made him flinch, his breathing speeding up again.

'Drink some water,' said the man calmly.

A cup was put to his lips, d'Artagnan considered not drinking but suspected he would be forced if he refused. He allowed the man to help him drink the water. Once his thirst was slaked the cup was removed.

'What did you give me?' he finally managed to ask.

'Oh, a mix of things to make you compliant. You allowed us to bring you here without too much trouble. It should be wearing off by now, you will be clear-headed soon.'

'I've got nothing to tell-'

'Oh, I think we both know there is no point in you pretending you do not have the intelligence,' said the man.

D'Artagnan did not respond, his mind raced ahead to what was going to happen. He could not give up the information. He would have to endure whatever the men did to him. D'Artagnan quickly convinced himself he was going to die. No one would miss him for several hours, and then how would they know where to start looking for him? He guessed that his abduction had been done in such a way that no attention was drawn to it happening.

He watched the leader walk across to the table, he picked up something and held it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. D'Artagnan tried to mentally prepare himself for the pain that was to come. He knew it was inevitable.

'If you tell us what you learned, what you passed on to your Captain at the Palace, we will make this easy on you.'

'You know I can't,' d'Artagnan managed to say as he eyed the man's clenched fist, the metal that looped around his fingers looked as though it would prove painful and possibly persuasive.

'As you wish…'

The man stood firmly in front of him, planting his feet ready for what he was about to do. D'Artagnan focused on him for a few seconds, his breathing again speeding up. The two men who had been lingering by the table moved to stand behind him, one of them had hold of his shoulders to keep him still.

D'Artagnan's head snapped to the side as the man struck him across the cheek, the metal adding more force to the punch, the spinning and nausea returned to him with a vengeance. He was sure the metal had dug into his face, he was probably not just bruised by the punch.

'Tell us and we will make your death quick and painless.'

D'Artagnan managed to turn his head back and glared at the man. The man shook his head slightly, almost regretfully.

The second punch was aimed at his chest, catching him on the right side, he bent forward as much as he was allowed. The position pulled at his arms and shoulders, he panted trying to catch his breath.

He knew it was going to get a lot worse before he stopped feeling anything. But he was determined he would not talk. The man holding him pulled him straight again, his head tipped back slightly. The leader had taken a step back and was looking at him with a quizzical expression.

D'Artagnan made eye contact and shook his head. He was not going to be so easily forced to talk.

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