Hello! Thanks for the great reception you guys gave this, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! This is where everything starts, so I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Onwards!

The journey down to the underworld of France always fascinated d'Artagnan because, although had been living in Paris for a good few months now, the absolute change between the wealthy, colourful streets of the main city and the dark, dank and jaded streets of the ports and alleyways of the criminal hub always interested him. The air here smelt of fish, booze and the sea as they passed shops selling mussels and cheap cuts of meat to children with dirty bare feet and women with babies on their hips and dirt in their hair.

Men in tattered shirts and frayed trousers looked across at them from their doorsteps and behind their wooden shutters of the shops, eyeing the blue finery and washed garb of the four musketeers as they passed on their way to the crime scene, where Treville had said he would be waiting for them. Porthos, who knew many of these people-not always by name, but by sight at least- hunched into his cloak despite himself; self conscious of himself in an absurd way. Children holding crusts of bread, their cheeks dirty and pale, stopped in their tracks as these men with the shiny boots and silver swords made their way down the cobbles streets.

Aramis tried not to look around; he hated coming round here, mostly because it conflicted so much with his morals and religious beliefs- he knew that no matter how many coins he handed to poor widows and starving children, there would always be more behind them; more innocent people born into the wrong circumstance.

They turned the corner along the dock and were faced with the sea- a salty breeze caught their noses and ruffled their hair. 'Come on then,' Athos muttered eyes focused as they looked across the road to where Treville was standing with some Red Gaurds and his own men, decked out in blue. 'The Captain's waiting.'

Treville turned as he heard footfalls coming up behind him- his tired eyes creased into a relived smile as he relaxed his fisted hands; he had spent the last hour desperately trying to stop himself from punching the Captain of the Red Guards in the face and pushing him head first into the dock. He had never known a more inept group of soldiers in his life, and he had lived a long one.

'Lads,' he nodded to the four Musketeers as they stopped next to him, peering down at the body in between them. As a general rule, Musketeers didn't really get involved with the investigation of a death-not in the sense of attending a body- but given who the corpse had been Treville had asked for special permission from the King to allow them down here.

Porthos wrinkled his nose as he looked down at the body. 'You never mentioned you fished him from the water first.' He muttered to Athos, who shrugged.

'That's because I didn't know either.' He replied, looking to Treville.

'Well, technically we found him in an alleyway, like I told you- but yes, I didn't mention that we found him in a crabbing net that had been in the sea for a couple of hours.' Treville muttered, putting a hand in his hips as he stepped back from the body. 'It was found in the corner of the alley on a doorstep.'

'It was the least he deserved, I'm sure.' Athos replied stoically. He wasn't in the habit of feeling much sympathy for men who allowed and organised the suffering of people just trying to get by the in world. 'Know who did it?'

'Plenty of suspects,' Aramis muttered, squatting down and taking a closer look at the body. The face was puffy, but the scar that ran from the left eye to the left side of the lip was unmistakably Marc. 'Narrowing it down is going to be the problem.'

'Aye,' Treville muttered, nodding his agreement. 'That's why I need you to help with enquiries. Go door to door- most people won't talk, but one or two might. We need to know who did this to stop ts from becoming a bigger problem-' he was stopped in speech by a Red Guard who came and muttered in his ear.

'Problem?' Porthos asked as the Guard stepped back, eyeing the four of them warily.

'Yeah,' Treville muttered, voice dark. 'They've just found another body on the shore.'

'Who?' Aramis asked, getting up again with wide eyes. 'One of his gang?'

'No,' Treville replied, turning to move away, 'Grant Lemarre.'

'What?' Porthos muttered, momentarily forgetting himself. The others looked at him. 'I knew of him when I lived round these parts.' Lemarre was a kingpin of gambling, dabbling in anything you could bet on; card games, trials and executions, animal fights. He was a well known and unstoppable force in the underworld, especially in the Court, where bets were taken and lost on a minute by minute basis. Well, unstoppable up till now.

'Go and talk to the people,' Treville muttered as he walked away, eyes dark as he scanned the sea of people swarming around. 'We need answers soon, otherwise we're going to have a war on our hands down here.'

'How do you know the local crime lords so well?' Aramis asked as they walked down the streets , looking for people who would be happy to speak to them.

'Trust me,' Porthos replied with a wry smile, 'you get to know people- it's how you stay alive.'

Aramis cocked his head in agreement, before grimacing as someone threw something that definitely did not smell of water over the street in front of them, soaking their boots.

'Charming,' he muttered as the woman merely gave him a wild, angry look and slammed her door in their faces. He looked across at Porthos as he smirked, 'It took me near on half a day to shine these up so well!' He complained, before they continued on, sidestepping the widening puddle.

Everyone they met seemed wary and scared- Aramis couldn't blame them at all. Their leaders and protectors were being murdered in front of their eyes, yet no one knew anything. Neighbours were looking suspiciously at each other, wondering if they would be next.

The higher echelons of the city thought of the back streets and the Court of Miracles as lawless, out of control hovels, bereft of order, rules or social standings. This could not have been further from the truth; men of power (such as Marc and Grant, among some others still alive) ruled over the lower people. They allowed the betting to take place, tailored it to their needs of winning every time; when the men and women who had lost all their money finally came crawling back, broken and humbled, they took them in, gave them money once more- but this time for a price. They were now indebted to them for the rest of their lives.

In the old days these people were branded behind their left ears to show who they 'belonged' to, but now word of mouth did the trick nicely. These people were the ones panicking and scared- who did they now turn to, now their protectors were dead? Who did they owe their allegiance to?

'Maybe they'll talk?' Porthos asked as they stopped by an inn. 'If not at least we can get some ale.'

'I like the way you think, Porthos.' Aramis smiled as they stepped over the threshold.

They realised they had made a mistake when the whole room fell silent as they stood in the doorway. Aramis looked around- the room was full of sailors and fishermen, he noted. Women in low cut dresses, their hair tied back, were walking to and fro with trays laden with glasses.

'We are the King's Musketeers.' He began, deciding to just go for it. 'We are here investigating two deaths in these parts. If any man has information, he should let us know now.' He looked around as no one said a word. Men looked at each other and muttered out of the corners of their mouths, yet none offered a word to the two men standing before them.

Aramis growled in frustration, but tried to keep himself calm. 'Look, if we don't get information we're just going to have to keep coming back here and badgering you all until we do,' he muttered, eyes scouring the men, 'so really it's in your best interests to speak up.'

'We don't speak to people like you.' An older man in a weathered leather hat growled, talking behind a lump of tobacco he was chewing.

'I understand, but we reall-'

'We have nothing to say.'

'If you could just-' Aramis growled, before quickly ducking as a clay ale mug was suddenly thrown at his head. 'Now just wait- I could have you arrested-' he stopped quickly as each man stood up at once, eyes fiery.

'Lets go Mis...' Porthos muttered, acutely aware, as was Aramis, at what implications his words meant.

'Yeah?' A younger, muscly man with wild brown hair and dark stubble growled, hands around what Aramis presumed was a hidden blade. 'You going to arrest him?'

'Attacking a Musketeer is an offence.' Aramis replied, not wanting to back down.

'I see. Well, let me tell you something.' The man muttered, voice laced with danger. 'You arrest him, Musketeer, and you're going to have to arrest all of us.' He turned to the whole room at large, who were silent behind him. 'And there's gonna have to be more than two of you if you want to do that.'

'Good job there's four of us, then.' Athos' voice cut in as the door swung shut behind him and d'Artagnan. He eyed the other two with a quirked eyebrow. 'Thought we'd find you in here.'

'We weren't in here to drink.'

'Of course you weren't.'

'You wound me, Athos.'

'Sorry-' Athos muttered in reply, before looking back to the room of men and unsheathing his rapier a little. 'I'm guessing my colleague here asked you about the recent murders?' He asked, eyeing the room. 'Well?'

'They might've.' The man answered.

'Did any of you answer?'

'We've got nothin to say.'

'I see.' He looked down at the pieces of clay at Aramis' feet. 'Tut tut...' He whispered in his darkest voice. 'Attacking a musketeer? A hangable offence, I'm afraid. And seeing as I don't know who threw it, I'm afraid we're going to have to arrest you all...' He said, withholding a smile at the panicked looks on the men's faces. 'Unless,' he added, clicking the blade firmly back into his holder on his hip. 'You co-operate with our investigation.' The four men looked around as the room began to chatter at once, the room suddenly alight with words.

'Sometimes I marvel at the power you posses over people, Athos.' Aramis grinned as they left the inn half an hour later, armed with information.

'It was mere mind games.' The other man replied, shrugging. 'You just have to know how to apply it.'

'Lets get back to the Captain with this information.' Porthos grinned, eyeing the rapidly setting sun. 'I'm starving.' He added.

'We should have brought horses.' D'Artagnan muttered, his feet aching a little.

'We learned a long time ago not to bring anything alive bar ourselves to these parts.' Aramis said, his voice laced with a certain sadness. 'My heart has never been the same since Fleur was taken...' He trailed off, shaking his head.

'Oh.' D'Artagnan muttered, looking positively alarmed as Porthos put an arm around his friend's shoulder. 'What happened?'

'People have to eat, lad,' Athos muttered, sighing. He did feel sorry for Aramis, given she was his steed from his early training.

They turned the corner that led back up to the main city, only to be confronted by four men in hoods. The Musketeer's hands were straight to their weapons, yet the men were faster. D'Artagnan ducked a blow from one man before delivering one himself, sending him to his knees with a shout.

The others delivered kicks and punches, the musketeers giving as good as they got as they had to defend themselves without time to upholster their weapons. Porthos growled as two men jumped on him with their fists pounding on his body to subdue him, but with very little luck. The fight suddenly took on a different turn, with Aramis taking a kick to the chest that sent him off his feet, and into his back, hard, on the cobbled street- scrambling up to defend his friends he felt rough hands fisting his hair and dragging him upright on his knees. 'What do you want?' He growled, withholding a hiss of pain before a revolver was shoved into his temple.

He saw the others stop dead as they saw him- he tried to angle his head upwards to see who held him, but all he got was a punch in the stomach before a strong arm latched around his neck, constricting the air.

'Let him go.' Athos growled through a bloodied lip, his arms out in a surrendering motion. 'We have no weapons out- let's talk.' He eyed Aramis with alarm as he struggled for breath. 'Loosen your hold, damn you!' He shouted, fisting his hands.

Porthos, sporting a black eye, looked around at the men- they all wore black hoods that shaded their faces. 'What do you want?' He asked, voice angry.

'We want you all to come with us.' The man who held Aramis growled, before nodding his head at so etching behind the three other men.

'Ook...out!' Aramis choked with a garbled breath, eyes wide as three more men appeared behind his friends. They never stood a chance as three brown cloth bags were suddenly shoved over their heads- before they could do anything the butt of a gun was roughly pounded on their temples, their bodies going limp at once.

'No!' Aramis shouted, but before he could do anything the man holding him squeezed his neck even more- as his world started to darken at the edges he saw his three friends being dragged away, back into the direction of the back streets of Paris. His world went black seconds later, with his head hitting the cobbles with a dull thud.

I hope you liked that- the next chapter will be up soon!

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