Thank you for the wonderful support for this story. I promise not to leave you with a cliffhanger today! I hadn't intended to explore the cause of the explosion but a few people have been speculating so I hope you don't mind if I head off in that direction to round out the story.
Phoenix Rising
Chapter Four
After hours of clearing rubble from the yard every muscle that Athos possessed ached and his injured hand throbbed unmercifully. It was too dark now to do anything further so he sought out Aramis in the infirmary. "Come and eat," he said.
Aramis tied off the last stitch holding closed a long laceration in Thierry's leg. "Give me a minute." He smeared salve over the wound and reached for a bandage.
They had moved the more seriously injured to the infirmary once the threat of the fire had finally passed. Athos looked around the room. Five of the beds were occupied. Those with lesser wounds had been treated and sent to rest in their rooms. Coffins had been constructed for the dead. They would be buried in the garrison cemetery in the morning. Athos closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over him and contemplated the somber ceremony to come.
"D'Artagnan?" he asked, shaking himself out of his lethargy.
Aramis' hands faltered. "No change. Lemay set his leg but there is nothing more that can be done to improve his condition. Constance is with him." D'Artagnan was in his own room so that Constance could have privacy to care for him.
"He will wake up." It had been hours since Athos had been able to take the time to check on his brother. During that time his guilt had been steadily building. If only they had found him sooner he might now be awake and starting on the long road to recovery. Rationally he knew he had done nothing wrong but he was too tired for rational thinking and had, instead, embraced the guilt like an old friend.
"I fear what we will find when he does wake," Aramis said wearily. He tied off the bandage and gave Thierry a wan smile. "Come back tomorrow and I will check the wound. Now, go and rest."
"Thank you."
"Come." Athos gently took hold of the medic's arm. "You are almost asleep on your feet."
"As are you, I think."
They walked out into the yard, the smoke still lingering in the air and catching in the back of their throats. Aramis paused to look around. Where the armoury had once stood there was now nothing more than a blackened hole. However, most of the rubble and debris that had littered the yard was now gone.
"You have been hard at work, my friend."
"We had a lot of assistance." He prodded Aramis into movement again. "Serge has laid out food in the kitchen."
It would be days before the refectory could be scrubbed clean and ready for use so they had to make do with what they had. The kitchen was pleasantly warm with the welcome aroma of fresh bread and roast chicken. Serge had also laid out cheese, cold ham and apple pie for dessert.
Aramis looked at the food and sighed. "I'm not really hungry."
"You're exhausted but you need to eat." Athos unthinkingly pulled off his gloves, hissing in pain as the sudden movement pulled on the cut marring his palm. Aramis immediately grabbed his hand, turning it palm up.
"What happened? Why has this not been tended?"
"Everyone was busy," Athos said defensively.
"So you would risk infection?"
"You can look after it once we've eaten." Athos pulled away and went in search of a bottle of wine.
Aramis slumped down on a stool and reached for a loaf of bread. When Athos returned and poured two glasses of wine Aramis drank eagerly. His throat was parched and scratchy and the wine slid down easily. Athos cut some ham and laid it on a slice of bread. He was ravenously hungry after hours spent in physical labour.
They ate in exhausted silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Athos couldn't rid himself of the sight of d'Artagnan lying so still when they uncovered him. It was a total contrast to the nervous energy that normally surrounded the boy. He never kept still, always eager for the next challenge. The prospect of never seeing d'Artagnan's smile again or hearing his laugh was more than Athos could bear and he felt tears building in his eyes. In the past year the Gascon had grown as close to him as a brother and he wasn't ready to lose another younger brother to premature death.
Thomas' murder by his beloved wife had almost destroyed him. He had survived thanks to an unlikely friendship formed with Aramis and Porthos. If they were to lose d'Artagnan in such a way it would be the end of all of them. It was easy to picture their reactions. He would turn to the solace of the bottle, drowning his sorrows and picking fights until one day someone would put him out of his misery. Aramis would seek the comfort of the church, drifting further and further away from them. Porthos, who always seemed so invincible, would throw himself into battle with a reckless disregard for his own safety.
With an effort he brought his thoughts back to the present. They hadn't lost d'Artagnan yet and, with God's good grace, the boy would wake up. He wasn't a religious man, having seen too much wickedness in the world to believe in God's love, but tonight he was willing to pray for a miracle. When he looked over to his friend he saw Aramis' shoulders slump and his eyes drift closed. "You should go to bed."
"Once I have checked your hand and looked in on d'Artagnan."
The door opened causing Athos to start in surprise, so lost had he been in his own thoughts, and Treville walked in. The Captain looked as if he had aged several years over the last few hours. "I thought I was the only one still awake." He nodded his thanks when Athos poured him some wine.
"How bad is it?" Aramis asked. Having spent most of his time with the wounded he hadn't yet had time to process the scope of the disaster.
"The armoury is destroyed. It will cost the King a large sum of money to rebuild and restock." He drew in a shuddering breath. "The human cost is of more concern though."
Aramis nodded. "Six died in the blast. Pascal succumbed to his wounds earlier this evening. The burns were so severe he would never have walked again. I think he just gave up. Lemay had to amputate Gerard's arm. He's tough so I believe he will survive although his career as a soldier is over. We have three others with broken bones and less serious burns. In all a dozen men were injured to a greater or lesser degree. At least half will take many weeks to recover enough to be fit for duty."
"What about d'Artagnan?" Treville asked.
"Still unconscious," Aramis said sadly.
Treville picked up a chunk of cheese and ate without any obvious enjoyment. "Will he live?"
"He is in God's hands." Aramis reached for his crucifix. "All we can do is pray."
"What could have caused this?" Athos asked, unwilling to dwell on something he couldn't influence.
"I've been wondering that myself. No-one was working in the armoury today. The powder was properly stored and there was no source of fire that could have ignited it accidentally."
"You believe this was sabotage?" Athos asked, having come to a similar conclusion.
"It seems the most likely explanation. People come and go all day; tradesmen, messengers and soldiers from other regiments. Not all are watched closely while they are within these walls."
"Who would profit from this?" Aramis asked.
"Spain is the most obvious suspect. We know there are agents in Paris and the King makes no secret of the fact that he is edging ever closer to a war. What better way to strike first than to destroy the Musketeer regiment?"
"We must take precautions," Athos said. "We are at our weakest now and that could be exploited."
"I've doubled the guard and no-one gets in without being searched and escorted."
"We will make enquiries tomorrow to find out who did this. The men who killed our brothers will be made to pay." Athos traded glances with Aramis, seeing the same determination on the medic's face. They would track down the culprits and blood would be the price for this attack on their home.
TMTMTM
Constance held tight to d'Artagnan's hand. His breathing continued to be uneven with the rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he was still alive. His normal healthily tanned skin was ashen and grey.
The last month had been a turbulent time for them. First she had declared her love then her husband had been murdered, leaving them free to be together. They'd decided to wait a respectable time before marrying and she had been counting the days until they could finally be together as husband and wife. They had spoken of having children and of what their lives would be like. It had been a beautiful dream until, in an instant, it had been ripped apart.
Dr. Lemay had been kind even though he had warned her to prepare for the worst. As the long hours passed she was finding it harder to hold onto her optimism. Aramis, Athos and Porthos came by regularly to check on them, and their assertions that d'Artagnan would recover helped to buoy her spirits.
She smoothed the sheet over d'Artagnan's chest taking a moment to rest her hand over his heart. "Fight, d'Artagnan," she murmured.
When she looked back at his face she saw that something had changed. There was rapid movement beneath his stubbornly closed eyelids. Hope blossomed and she leaned forward eagerly.
"Come on," she urged. "Open your eyes." His fingers twitched within her grasp. "It's time to wake up," she urged more forcefully.
A weak moan escaped his lips and he grimaced in pain. Her stomach lurched in a mingling of hope and fear and she clung to his hand as if it was a lifeline. His eyelids fluttered and cracked open. She waited with bated breath, afraid to move in case it shattered the spell. When his eyes opened she felt tears running down her cheeks even though she knew she was grinning like a lunatic.
"What…?" he whispered, before starting to cough harshly. The movement pulled on his broken ribs and his face twisted into a mask of pain.
"Keep still," she said, running a soothing hand through his hair. "I will get you some water."
She let go of his hand only long enough to fetch a cup of water. After allowing him a few sips of the cool liquid she set the cup down and looked at him searchingly. "Do you know who I am?" She asked the question with trepidation. He might be awake but both Aramis and Lemay had warned her that deprivation of air could have affected him to the point of brain damage.
He looked at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised in surprise at the question. Then, a confused look settled on his face. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely. "Why am I in bed?"
"There was an explosion. You were hurt." She could tell from the shallow breaths he was taking that his chest was causing him pain. "D'Artagnan, what's my name?"
He huffed the smallest of laughs. "Constance. Your name is Constance."
Tbc