Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.
THE LOST PATH
Chapter 3
It would have been the understatement of the century to say that Rochefort was exhausted. It had taken him over five hours to walk back to the town, dragging his reluctant horse behind him. The
fight against Marcel and his friends was also weighing on him because he hadn't had an exercise like that in weeks, and he was starting to get a little out of shape. When he finally arrived to the edges of the town, he was ready to fall into bed even though the sun wouldn't be setting for several hours yet.
"Hey, monsieur Fort!"
He stopped at his heels when he heard a familiar voice call out to him and turned to look to his left. There was a small smithy there, and a familiar-looking young man was waving at him. Rochefort recalled the man as Didier, the lad who had led him to the town the previous night.
Now that he had been recognised he couldn't just walk past, so he led his horse to the smithy.
"Amélie told me you had left early. What brings you back?" Didier asked, wiping his dirty hands to his shirt.
"I was attacked on the road," Rochefort said. He knew his tone was tired and irritated, but he guessed nobody would expect him to be on the jolliest of moods in this situation and wouldn't be insulted, not that he cared.
"What? What happened?" Didier exclaimed.
"Three men stopped me and tried to kill me," Rochefort said. "And look at what they did to my horse!"
"It must have been Marcel and his gang," Didier guessed, and his eyed widened when Rochefort nodded. "But how are you still alive?"
Before Rochefort had the chance to speak, another dog appeared from the smithy. The newcomer wasn't very tall, but he was strongly-built and wide enough to be a match for Athos. He had a thick, orange fur that was covered in soot and so messy that Rochefort didn't think he would ever be able to straighten it out. He recalled Didier mentioning someone called Picard the previous night, and he guessed this man was him.
"What's going on?" the dog asked.
"He was attacked my Marcel at the road!" Didier explained, pointing at Rochefort with his hammer.
The blacksmith didn't say anything for a while, only eyed Rochefort from top to bottom. To the Count it felt like he was on trial for something he hadn't done, but he was too tired to attempt looking menacing, so he settled with seeing what the man would think of him.
"What happened to the horse?" the blacksmith asked.
"It was scared off and ran into the forest. I was lucky to find it," Rochefort said, a little taken back by the man's lack of interest in the actual attack.
"Hmm. Let me see." Without waiting for Rochefort's approval, the man knelt by the horse and took the injured leg into his hand, ignoring the pained neigh from the animal and letting Rochefort deal with keeping the struggling patient in line.
"Don't move!" he snapped and pulled at the bridle. "Well? How bad is it?" he asked when the blacksmith got up and brushed sand of his knees.
"It's going to heal on its own, but you have to give it time. Two weeks rest and it'll be fine," the man said.
"Two weeks? I don't have that much time!" Rochefort said.
"Unless you have another horse hidden somewhere, you don't have too many options," the blacksmith said calmly. He gave the horse an encouraging pat to its neck while Rochefort stood there in shock.
There was no way he was going to stay in this lousy little country town for two weeks, waiting for his useless horse to heal, and he wasn't going to just stand and take that kind of attitude from a common blacksmith! He was a nobleman and people were supposed to do as he said and wanted, not treat him like he was one of them!
"Hey, you can't just turn your back on me!" he snapped when the man, seemingly already bored with the scene, was about to return to his smithy.
"I have work to do," was the only reply he got, and he was left fuming outside.
"Who does he think he is?" he asked Didier who had the sense to look a little ashamed. The black-and-white dog scratched the back of his ear and winced.
"Picard is like that sometimes. Don't mind him," he said. "But how did you survive Marcel and his friends? They're brilliant with sword!"
"I've seen better," Rochefort replied. He wasn't in the mood to have a chat with anyone, least of all a simple blacksmith's apprentice, so he told Didier he was going to the inn and would come back to tell the story some other time.
He sighed to himself when he was finally alone again. He had no idea what to do next and he felt too tired to even think about it, so he decided the matter would have to wait until the next morning. Then he'd see if he was going to get a new horse or wait.
Arriving to the inn felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he had to wonder how he could have considered the place mediocre the previous night. It looked like a palace now.
He gave his horse to the surprised stable boy and told him to take a look at the leg before going inside. There weren't many customers now because the locals would only arrive to drink once it got dark and they had had the day's work done. Apart from a sleeping man, Amélie was the only one in the main hall.
She was scrubbing tables and lifted her head when she heard someone arrive and she frowned a little when she realised who it was.
"Monsieur Fort, what are you doing here?" she asked.
"I was attacked at the road and my horse was injured, so I had to come back," Rochefort said. He was already growing tired of repeating the same line to everyone, and he knew he would still have to explain his presence at least a few times more.
"Attacked!" Amélie exclaimed. Her surprised expression grew worried in an instant when she thought of something, and she was gnawing on her lip when she asked, "Was it Marcel?"
Rochefort nodded. "You're the second person to ask me that. He must be a celebrity around here," he said.
"He's a real trouble-maker! Everything that is wrong in here is his fault. His, and that terrible Governor's!" Amélie snapped. "Are you hurt?" she added quickly.
"No, I was able to send them off."
Now that he had been dragged into the mess as well, Rochefort couldn't help feeling slightly curious about this Governor Enguerrand and what was going on, but the need to get some rest was stronger than any thirst of knowledge. He asked Amélie if he could have a room again, this time for an indefinite period of time.
"Of course! You can have the same one as last night. You look terribly weary, so you had better take some rest right now. I'll bring you up some soup later," the woman said.
"Thank you," Rochefort said, feeling grateful enough to be polite for a change. He dragged himself up the stairs and to his room, glad that he didn't meet anyone on the way there. He barely found the energy to take off his boots and hat before collapsing on bed. It felt heavenly to just lie down.
Despite how tired he was and how he had decided to rest first and think later, he found that he couldn't just close his eyes. Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling above him as he thought about his situation.
As much as he hated to admit it, Picard had been right. He had only one horse and he wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea of leaving it behind and buying a new one, mainly because he didn't think he could get such a good horse in a pathetic town like this and because he didn't want to spend all the money he had on him. If he wanted more, he would have to send word to his sister and he already knew what she would have to say about that.
If he absolutely had to stay in town, he would have to come up with something to do. His opinion of country bumpkins had never improved from what it had always been, namely that they were all uncivilized idiots and not worth his time. Of course, that attitude had put into motion the events that had made Dogtanian his rival, so he maybe he would have to be more careful with his words this time. Not to mention that Dogtanian had turned out to be one of the finest men in France, despite his common origins.
Maybe he shouldn't be that quick to judge. He himself came from a noble family, and he couldn't name many actions to be proud of in the recent past. Apart from helping Dogtanian, all he had done lately was being Richelieu's lapdog and helping the Cardinal attempt dragging the Queen's reputation through mud. Even helping Dogtanian had been more about honour than morals because he had grudgingly learnt to respect the pup.
"Why do I keep thinking about Paris?" he asked himself. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in bad memories and things he could and should have done differently. Nothing could be done about the past now.
With this in mind, he finally drifted into deep sleep.
When Rochefort woke up, he was feeling much better, both in terms of spirit and body. A look out the window told him that it was very early morning, and he realised he must have slept a lot longer than he had originally planned. He doubted anyone else would be up at this hour, so he stayed in bed and tried to come up with a good plan for the next couple of weeks.
He would stay in town, he had decided that now. Since he didn't have a clear destination in mind and nobody would miss him, the only inconvenience to him was having to find something to do. He thought he could maybe take care of his horse and walk it around when the leg got better. It wouldn't be a bad idea to learn something about that, either, because who knew when the animal would twist another leg?
If he had time, maybe he could also learn a little more about what was making the people here hate and fear the Governor so, but that wasn't one of his main interests. He had had enough of politics for a while and didn't want to stick his nose into business that didn't concern him. Keeping an eye on Marcel was the farthest he was ready to go to.
A growl from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything in over a day. He doubted anyone was going to serve him at this hour, so he rummaged through his backpack and found the bread and cheese that Amélie had given him the previous day. They didn't taste very good anymore, but he was too hungry to care.
A few hours later he felt that he couldn't sit still in the small room anymore, so he got dressed and went downstairs. He guessed it was maybe around seven in the morning, so someone would have to be up already.
He wasn't disappointed when he entered the main hall. Amélie was sweeping the floor again, but more importantly, her father was sitting at one of the tables and watching her work. He turned around when he heard Rochefort arrive and flashed a charming smile at the Count.
"Why, good morning! Great to see you up and happy. Amélie told me what happened to you yesterday," Gagne said.
Happy wasn't how Rochefort would have described his mood, quite the opposite, but he didn't start to argue with his host.
"How is my horse doing?" he asked.
"Oh, it's fine. Paul took a look at the leg, and it doesn't look too bad," Gagne said.
"Good." Maybe his stay in the town wouldn't become too long after all, and he just might be able to endure most of it without growing severely irritated with the country bumpkins. If it got bad, he could always pretend it was just another hardship to make him stronger.
"Of course, you will have to find someone to give it exercise once it gets a little better. Paul doesn't have the time to do it," Gagne said, a hint of uneasiness in his voice.
"I'll do it myself," Rochefort said.
"Ah, I see." The way Gagne glanced at his daughter told Rochefort that the man didn't think his guest had any extra money to spare. It was fine with him; he didn't want to attract any leeches.
"So, what really happened with Marcel?" Gagne asked, conveniently changing the subject. He looked interested and Amélie stopped her sweeping, too.
"They stopped me at the road and said they didn't want outsiders to get involved in their business. They didn't believe me when I said I wasn't interested in the first place, so they attacked me. Luckily, I was able to pull a knife at one of them and drive them away," Rochefort explained with as few details as he could. He didn't really want to start telling his life story or explain why he was travelling without a sword if he knew how to use one.
Gagne shook his head. "You sure were lucky. Maybe they were just trying to scare you. If they had been serious, you wouldn't be standing here now," he said.
"Maybe." Rochefort didn't start to argue about it, but instead asked, "What's so special about those men and why is everyone afraid of them?"
A shadow fell on Gagne's face and he coughed. "They work for Governor Enguerrand, and --" However, that was as far as he got because he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Who could it be this early?" he wondered. "Amélie, open the door."
"Yes, papa," she said and hurried to let the guest inside.
The man who entered the inn was completely unfamiliar to Rochefort, but Gagne and Amélie seemed to recognise him. Judging by their surprised and stern expressions, the man wasn't a welcome guest.
"What is it?" Gagne asked.
"I have a message for monsieur Fort," the stranger said. He was dressed in similar attire to that of Richelieu's men, which immediately made Rochefort question his skills. That bunch in Paris had been nothing but pathetic, and their Captain twice so. He couldn't help wrinkling his nose a little at the thought of Widimer.
"That's me," he said.
"Ah, good. Governor Enguerrand sent me to say that he wants to meet you at his mansion today," the man said.
"Is that all?" Rochefort asked.
"Yes. Be there at noon. The Governor doesn't like waiting," the man said. He turned to tip his hat at Gagne and then stomped out as quickly as he had entered.
"Where is the Governor's mansion?" Rochefort asked after a moment of silence.
"You can't go there after his men tried to kill you! It could be a trap," Amélie protested.
"Nonsense. If the Governor really wanted him dead, he wouldn't have to use tricks like that," Gagne pointed out with a lazy wave of his hand.
"But papa…" his daughter tried to reason, but the man was like a mountain in his stubbornness; nothing could change his opinion once he had got one.
"I can take care of myself," Rochefort said.
"That's the spirit! If you survived them once, you can survive them again!" Gagne said, earning a glare from both Rochefort and Amélie. The woman snorted and went back to sweeping the floor, the movements of the broom sharper and quicker this time.
"I'll check up on my horse," Rochefort said. He walked past the two and stepped outside, feeling like he needed a breath of fresh air. Gagne's attitude was starting to get on his nerves, especially because he knew the man wasn't trying to insult him; he was just too thick-headed and good-hearted to understand what he was saying.
It was dim in the stables, but he had no trouble finding his black horse among the other ones. He patted the animal's side absent-mindedly as he leaned forward to take a peek at the injured leg. The stable boy had wrapped it into some kind of bandage, but Rochefort had no idea if it was doing any good.
Well, at least the horse seemed to be feeling well. A simple twisted leg wasn't going to bring it down after it had survived being poisoned by The Blue Falcon – another misadventure that Rochefort didn't want to recall. The master thief could claim to be one of the few people who had ever tricked Count Rochefort, and as if that wasn't enough, hunting the man down in the Mediterranean had been nothing but a massive fiasco in every way.
For anyone but Dogtanian and his friends, of course. Rochefort sometimes found himself wondering whether the young pup was just extremely lucky or very talented to pull off all those impossible stunts.
Thinking about Dogtanian and the hunt for The Blue Falcon only succeeded in making his mood even viler because it reminded him of Widimer's plan which he had accepted without a second thought. Had there been any point in clinging onto his honour and warning Dogtanian about the poison when he had been perfectly willing to use an equally shameful plot himself?
He frowned. Staying in one place with nothing to do was not good for him. It gave him time to think, and he didn't particularly like the conclusions he was slowly coming to.
A few hours later, the sun hadn't quite risen above the horizon, but it was still unbearably hot, especially for one who was travelling on foot on the dusty countryside roads. Gagne had offered to loan him one of his horses, but Rochefort had declined after taking one look at the animals. Walking would leave him with more dignity than riding any of those so called horses.
Or so he had thought when he had left. Now that he had been walking for a good hour, he was starting to realise that his stupid pride had presented him with yet another problem. He would be sweaty and tired from the trip once he arrived to the mansion, and that wasn't presentable and would only make him snappier and more impatient than usual.
Thankfully, luck was on his side, maybe to pay back what had happened to him on the previous day. His mental cursing at himself was interrupted when he heard the click of nearing hooves behind him, and he turned around to see a wagon approaching him on the road. As it got closer, he recognised Picard and Didier.
"Hi, monsieur Fort! Where are you going?" Didier asked when Picard stopped the horse by Rochefort's side.
"Governor Enguerrand wanted to see me," Rochefort said, and the cheerful smile on the young man's face vanished.
"Oh," Didier said. "It's probably because his men failed to kill you, right?"
"Probably," Rochefort admitted. He wasn't really worried that his life would be at risk. If he had learnt anything from Richelieu, it was that men like him didn't invite their victims over to have them killed, unless there was a strong personal vendetta involved. They wanted things done in the shadows, preferably so that it would look like an accident or could be blamed on their other enemies.
"He's not going there to be killed," Picard commented from his seat, and Rochefort glanced at the blacksmith in surprise. He hadn't expected anyone in the town to see things the way he did.
"I know. He wants to see if I'm going to be any trouble," he said, getting an approving nod from the older dog.
Didier's frown told the Count that the man wasn't happy with their thoughts but had the common sense to keep his mouth shut when he had no idea what they were talking about. The apprentice obviously knew not to question his master, though he seemed to have lots of opinions of his own.
"So, where are you heading?" Rochefort asked. He took a look at the barrels the two men had on their wagon. They were all filled with swords.
"To the Governor's mansion. To sell weapons," Picard said.
"Hop in so that you don't have to walk," Didier suggested, and Rochefort accepted the offer gladly.
For a moment, they travelled in complete silence. Rochefort's eyes drifted to the swords and he found himself wondering if they were any good in combat and what kind of men would be carrying them soon. He had always got his swords from the best blacksmith in Paris, and he was very picky when it came to them; no second-class junk was good enough for him. Of course, he wouldn't be carrying even the worst of the worst ever again in his life, so it was useless to even think about it. Still, swords were always pretty to look at.
Didier noticed him staring at them, and asked curiously, "Do you know how to use a sword, monsieur Fort?"
Rochefort was silent for a while. "No, I've never handled one in my life," he said.
"For someone as inexperienced as you, you certainly handled yourself well with Marcel and his men," Picard commented from his seat.
"I guess I was just lucky," Rochefort said sternly. Picard was keeping his eyes on the road, and the Count didn't like talking to the man's back.
"Hmm," was all he got as a response.
"Is it common for the Governor's men to attack travellers like that?" Rochefort asked Didier who was a much better person to talk to. The young apprentice was one of the few people in the town who treated him with some amount of respect, and that was one of the things Rochefort had missed during his travel.
"We don't get many travellers in the first place, so I don't know. I think they usually scare whoever they think is a risk to their plans," Didier said.
"Their plans of what?" Rochefort asked. From the way people kept talking about the Governor and his men it sounded like there was something big going on, but nobody had yet seen it worthwhile to fill him in. Of course, he hadn't shown much interest and had been even rude about it, but in his opinion, that was no excuse.
"Their plans of outrageous theft," Picard said, but neither of the other two men paid him any attention.
"So, you don't even know and they still attacked you?" Didier asked with a lifted brow. When Rochefort only nodded, he continued, "The Governor hasn't been in power for more than about a year yet. Before that, his older brother ruled this area until he was called to join the King's court in Paris. He was always a fair ruler and he even listened to us sometimes, which is pretty unheard of. His brother, however --"
"Is the greediest and vilest mutt in all of France!" snapped Picard.
Didier glanced at his master before continuing, "Governor Enguerrand is more interested in personal gain than our well-being. He's planning to build a new trade route across these lands, and our town is right in the way. He's trying to scare us into moving elsewhere."
"And that's where Marcel and his men come into the picture," Rochefort guessed.
"Also doubled taxes!" Picard snapped, and Rochefort hoped he really could have glared daggers at the man. He was really starting to grow tired of him.
"Wouldn't the trade route bring more wealth to the area? Why don't you just move?" he asked. As far as he was concerned, these lands were in the middle of nowhere and anything that brought along more people was an improvement.
"Yes, but the new land the Governor has offered us is worthless. It's a real swamp, and we can't live or grow our crops there. He can't just force us to move because his brother would hear about that, so he's slowly putting more and more pressure on us to make it look like we went freely," Didier explained.
"Hmm," Rochefort muttered. "And you're still going to do business with someone you hate so much?" He pointed at the swords and Didier's face reddened with anger.
"It's not like we have a choice," he said.
"The Governor has ordered these swords, and if we didn't make them, he'd get them from somewhere else. It's not helping anyone if we lose our business," Picard said, but even his voice was thick with contempt.
Rochefort wondered briefly what it would feel like to hate someone that much and be unable to do anything about it. The Governor could get away with almost anything he wanted, and the common people would just have to grind their teeth and endure it. Having been born into aristocracy, he had never had to worry about anything resembling that, and his sympathies had never been with peasants. If he hadn't been attacked by the Governor's men, he would have probably considered himself Enguerrand's ally.
The Governor's mansion was now looming in the horizon, growing bigger as they neared it. As they were let inside the gates by two soldiers, Rochefort thoughts went back to a similar experience. When he had last time visited a governor, he had ended up chained and almost dragged to Paris as a criminal. Hopefully he'd have better luck this time.
"Our business won't take long, but we'll wait for you here," Picard promised as Rochefort jumped down from the wagon.
"Very well," the Count said. He took a look around at the small courtyard. The mansion was large, for a governor of such a distant area, that is. To the side, there was another house, probably meant for the soldiers, whose numbers couldn't be very big, and barrels, boxes, and a few servants were loitering around. It didn't look like the front yard was meant to impress anyone and Rochefort suspected that there was a garden of some sort on the other side.
He spotted Laurent leaning against the wall in shade near the mansion's double doors and he started heading towards the man.
"So, you came," Laurent remarked, straightening his form.
"And why wouldn't I have?" Rochefort asked.
The black dog offered him an uninterested shrug. "I figured you would have had the sense to skip town while you still have your head intact," he said.
"Maybe you should head over that way and see the blacksmith. You may want to buy yourself a new sword to replace the one I took from you," Rochefort stated and Laurent's smirk faded away.
"Hmph! Let's see if you're that cocky once the Governor is through with you," Laurent said. Without another word, he opened the door and led Rochefort inside.
The interior of the mansion was much more glorious than the Count had been expecting. Red seemed to be the Governor's favourite colour as it was everywhere he laid he eyes upon; the carpets, curtains, tapestries, and even furniture. Almost everything was a dark shade of brown, and the combined darkness of the colours was a little overwhelming. It reminded him somewhat of Cardinal Richelieu.
"This way," Laurent said, and Rochefort followed the man, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. They climbed to the second floor and the black dog showed him the door to the Governor's study, then walked away and left Rochefort alone.
The Count decided to knock. It wouldn't do him any good to come off as too arrogant when he didn't even know what Enguerrand wanted from him. He didn't get a response, but since the Governor was waiting for him, he wasted no more time on hesitating at the door. He opened it and stepped into the study.
The earthy smell of old books, dust, and expensive ink assaulted him, and for a moment he could very well imagine he had come to meet Richelieu after a failed plan, or to come up with a new one. He took off his hat almost automatically, but quickly banished all thoughts of the Cardinal and instead concentrated on the man sitting behind a massive wooden desk.
He had been expecting to find a pathetic fat idiot, like the stupid Governor who had had him imprisoned, but he could see the flash of cold intelligence in the black dog's eyes. His form was massive and his dark fur made him almost disappear in the shadowy room – Rochefort had to wonder how the man got any writing or reading done – and the luxurious purple clothes fell around his form in lazy folds.
"You wanted to see me," Rochefort said to banish the silence and his own surprise.
"Yes, come closer, so that I don't have to shout," Enguerrand grumbled.
Rochefort obeyed, though he crossed his arms on his chest and put a disapproving frown on his face to show that he didn't like being ordered around. He could already tell that Enguerrand was a man he didn't want to make angry, but he wasn't about to be a lapdog to someone who was below him.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"My men told me about the meeting you had yesterday. I was merely curious to see what kind of man would attack them," Enguerrand said.
"I can guarantee that your men were doing all the attacking, but I think you know that already," Rochefort stated. He watched how the Governor's eyes slit just a little, but other than that, the man didn't let any emotion show on his face.
"Are you accusing me of sending them after you? Why would I do such a thing?" Enguerrand asked.
"How should I know? They work for you," Rochefort said. He didn't think it wise to tell the Governor that he knew of what was going on in the area. The last thing he wanted was to be mistaken for having sympathy for the peasants as it would do nothing but make his stay in the town more difficult.
"Yes, and they have done so loyally for years. Why should I believe you instead of them?" Enguerrand asked.
"I don't even carry a sword. It would be insane of me to attack three cavaliers like that," Rochefort said. Calling the three men cavaliers was a stretch, but he didn't think Enguerrand would have taken the word bandits that well.
"It's strange to see a man travel alone without a sword. Where are you going?" Enguerrand asked, avoiding the difficult subject.
"Spain. I'm an accountant and my master needs my services there," Rochefort replied.
Enguerrand nodded at that, and Rochefort guessed his men had filled him in on who he was claiming to be and where he was going. As the conversation wasn't leading anywhere, he was starting to think that the Governor had just been curious to see him and wanted nothing more.
"Ah, I see. In that case you're leaving soon, then," Enguerrand said. A hint of relief had crept into his voice and Rochefort realised that the man was more than happy to see a potentially troublesome traveller disappear to a foreign country.
"Actually, my horse was injured after your men scared it off. I have to remain here for a while until I can ride it again," Rochefort said.
"Won't your master be upset if you arrive late? I can give you another horse if you leave the injured one here," Enguerrand offered.
That's it, Rochefort thought. He really doesn't want any outsiders here.
"The horse belongs to my master. I can't part with it," he said, enjoying the frown that appeared on Enguerrand's face.
"You'll be staying in town, then?" the man asked.
"Yes, but once my horse is healed, I will leave and not come back. I have a new life ahead of me in Spain, so I'm not in any way interested in what happens here," Rochefort said. He hoped the Governor would realise that he didn't want to get involved in their local matters and that there was no need to keep an eye on him or order his men to try another attack. All he wanted was to be left in peace.
Governor Enguerrand smiled a little at that. "I take it there are things you want to leave behind in France?" he asked.
"I believe that is my personal business, Governor," Rochefort said. In his mind, he couldn't deny the man's words, though. If he only could have forgotten that last duel with Dogtanian, his life would have been easier in every way. Again, he thought about his relatives in Spain and whether he should pay them a brief visit once all of this was over.
"Of course, of course," Enguerrand agreed, making a peaceful gesture with his hands. "I offer my condolences for what happened to your horse. I'm sure it was all an accident."
"Naturally," Rochefort said. "I take it I can be excused?"
"By all means. I think we can agree on that there is no bad blood between us. If there is anything I can do for you during your stay, don't hesitate to send me a word," the Governor said.
"All I need is that you keep your men away from me. I wouldn't want to see anyone get hurt," Rochefort said, turning around and walking to the door.
"Always wise to be careful, especially when one is not a swordsman," Enguerrand agreed.
"I wasn't talking about them," Rochefort pointed out as he put his hat back on his head and closed the door after him.
Once outside of the study, he stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Enguerrand hadn't done anything to raise his suspicions and the man didn't seem very bloodthirsty, but it was exactly the lack of those qualities that told him that he didn't want to have anything more to do with the man. Enguerrand was intelligent and clever enough to keep his true intentions hidden from a random traveller, but Rochefort was certain that if he presented himself a problem, the Governor would do everything to remove him from the area, probably not alive.
The situation reminded him a little of what had been going on in Paris, but he had more respect for Richelieu than Enguerrand. Though the Cardinal was working with his own best interests in mind and didn't particularly care for the common people, he didn't exploit them mercilessly. Richelieu had higher goals in mind, goals that Rochefort could still agree with, even if he no longer wanted to work for the man.
How come all governors I come across are corrupt, he wondered as he walked downstairs and stepped outside.
Picard's wagon was already turned around, empty of swords and ready to go. The man and his apprentice were sitting on it, keeping their distance from the few soldiers who were trying out their new swords in combat.
"I see you were able to sell all your swords," Rochefort said, pointing at the empty barrels as he climbed on the wagon.
"And made barely enough money to cover the materials," Picard grunted.
"The Governor doesn't pay well, which is just another trick he uses to get rid of us," Didier explained.
"How did it go?" Didier asked.
"I didn't like him," Rochefort said. Picard put the wagon on the move and they were soon back on the road, safely outside the walls of the Governor's mansion.
"What a surprise," Picard muttered.
"But what did he want?" Didier asked in curiosity.
"Nothing. He seems happy as long as I leave as soon as possible and don't ask any questions," Rochefort replied. "Which is exactly what I'm intending to do."
"Good for you, saving your own hide," Picard commented.
Rochefort shot a dark glare at the blacksmith's back. "None of what goes on here concerns me in any way. Why should I get involved?" he asked.
"He's right, Picard. It's not like he could do anything," Didier chimed in.
Rochefort said nothing. He knew that it would have been the simplest thing in the world to send word to Paris and inform Enguerrand's brother of what was happening in his lands, but he couldn't bring himself to be interested enough to do that. With his position and wealth, he could have done much to help, but why should he? Unlike Dogtanian, he was no hero.
To be continued...