A/N – Second last chapter I think! Thanks for reading guys, keep encouraging me please! Thanks to thebatwiggler for your suggestion of another site, I'm looking into it now...
Chapter 7
Their hope was fading as they approached the last doors of the winding corridor they had fought their way to. On their return to this hidden lane, with six other musketeers as back up, Porthos had pointed out that they had the element of surprise on their side, so why not take it? Athos and Aramis had agreed, and with a pistol blast to the lock on the wooden door, all nine musketeers had fought their way inside, meeting an unexpected level of resistance on the other side; Marchal's operation was obviously bigger than they had believed, but they were obviously in the right place.
After what seemed like hours of fighting, with panic rising that D'Artagnan would be moved or disposed of in the interim, a sufficient amount of men had been dispatched that left enough for the six extra soldiers to deal with, allowing the Gascon's three friends to search for him thoroughly.
Now, with only two doors left to search behind, despair was settling in as they accepted that they may have acted in error. Athos stood aside and waited as Porthos threw open the next door, a quick search revealing nothing, as was evident by the look on his face as he shook his head to his leader on leaving the room behind. Athos drew his shoulders back; one more to go. Might as well face it.
He approached the door cautiously, anticipation making him feel like every step took a lifetime. He reached out, turning the metal handle, and took a deep breath as he threw the door open. With a shout, he, Aramis and Porthos all leapt into the room, pistols drawn.
Porthos growled and Aramis kicked the door in anger as they found the room empty. Athos let his body fall back against the wall, his head falling back against it, unknowingly positioning himself in an upright echo of D'Artagnan's position of only minutes before.
The men stood silently for few seconds, until Porthos suddenly kicked a discarded tankard across the room.
"Shit! How the hell did they get him out?!"
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When D'Artagnan's head began to come back into focus he was still being carried, and he could still see nothing as the bag over his head had not been moved. The pounding from the blow to the back of his head made it difficult to focus, but he appeared to be with both of his captors, and they appeared to be arguing. He tried desperately to work out what they were saying, but his ears were ringing slightly and all he could hear was the angry tone of a fairly quiet conversation. He decided to keep quiet as he was in no fit state to fight back.
Suddenly, their progress stopped. He heard the scrape of a key in a lock and he was quickly carried up what he assumed were some steps. Another door was unlocked at the other end and he was unceremoniously dumped off his transport's shoulder. As he hit the floor painfully D'Artagnan forced himself to stay limp and swallow the yell that wanted to burst from him. The bag over his head was roughly pulled off and a sharp slap was applied to his face, causing him to open his eyes in shock at the sudden pain. He gave the men his best glare, while pulling gently at the ropes that had been tied around his hands while he was briefly unconscious.
The ringing in his ears was started to abate and he pulled himself to a sitting position, kicking his feet out as he did so to let them know he was going nowhere easily.
They were unconcerned.
"Musketeers? Soddin' musketeers! Who the hell are you, you little piece of shit?" Both of the men were glaring at him in genuine hatred and D'Artagnan felt flecks of spittle hit his face from the one who yelled at him.
He said nothing in response, just gave them his best, smug, grin.
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"Wait!" It was Aramis who shouted as the others started towards the door.
"Forget it Aramis," Porthos' voice was sad, but he didn't stop. "Either they moved the boy hours ago, or he was never here to begin with. There's no way they got out that door with our men beside it." He clamped a heavy hand on Athos shoulder as they continued out.
"No! You great lump, look!"
Both of them turned simultaneously back towards the room, looking quickly to where Aramis had crouched on the ground and was pointing at the tankard that had been viciously kicked moments before.
"What?" Athos couldn't see what Aramis was getting at. Porthos just shrugged behind him.
"Look! There was a little bit of water left in there, and it spilled along the edge of this slab in the floor when Porthos kicked it." He pointed at the slab at his feet.
"I can't see anything," Porthos was a little worried that his friend was going insane in his worry.
"Exactly."
"Um, ok 'Mis." Porthos looked over at Athos, who looked as baffled as he was. Aramis sighed and stood up, walking over to his friends, and trying very hard not to knock their stupid heads together.
"Listen. When that water spilled there was only a little bit left, and it poured along the edge of that slab."
"You said that part," Athos practically growled in impatience. They didn't have time for this.
Aramis rolled his eyes. "Right, and I saw it. So where is it now?"
"Sorry?"
"The...water...has...gone!"
Athos slid his eyes to the ground as comprehension dawned. He looked up at Aramis and grinned, seeing Porthos do the same. "Bit cold for evaporating isn't it?"
"Indeed. And there's still water at the slab before, so unless this one has been heated..."
"Would you like to do the honours Porthos?" Athos swept his hat off majestically as Porthos stepped forward eagerly. The big musketeer used his sword to pry up the edge of the slab in question, before grabbing underneath with one hand. Aramis stepped forward and took his sword off him, leaving Porthos with both hands to grab under the slab and haul it aside.
A tunnel ran below the room.
Athos grinned. "Who wants to go first?"
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D'Artagnan's silent grin seemed to incense the men even further.
"I asked you a question!" A hand shot out and grabbed the young soldier's chin, but he didn't let his grin fade. He simply twisted his face out of the man's grip.
"Ah now, you never asked who my friends are, did you?" If his situation wasn't so dire he could've laughed at the obvious desire both men had to punch him soundly in the mouth, and the fight they were having within themselves to hold themselves back. He decided to try to push it a little more. "You see, if you'd bothered to check anything out, before you decided I fitted your little 'shopping list', then you would know that I was training to become a musketeer, and that I happen to be under the tutelage of the three finest soldiers in the regiment."
The men continued to glare in shocked silence.
"They don't take kindly to their men coming to harm, did you know that? I wouldn't want to be you two when they find you." D'Artagnan was still grinning, and trying to sound his usual cocky, confident self, but something inside was stealing screaming at him about the amount of danger he was in. Turns out that part was correct.
Suddenly the larger man grinned, walking towards D'Artagnan and signalling something to his partner. Suddenly, the smaller man pounced on the captive's legs, pinning them painfully to the ground and beginning to tie them together. The other spoke as he lifted the bag to replace it over D'Artagnan's head.
"Shame we'll not get to find out whether you're lying or not isn't it?" He easily stilled the thrashing man and covered his face. "We've got you an earlier boat, and I'm afraid it's time to say goodbye."
This blow to the back of the head harder than the last.
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By the time the musketeers reached D'Artagnan's second holding cell he was long gone. This time, though, they didn't stop for breath. The second door in the room led onto a street, two miles from where they had begun their search.
They paused for a moment to get their bearings.
Aramis was the first to realise their location. "There's docks not far from here, come on!" He yelled over his shoulder as he took off at a run into the darkness, quickly followed by his comrades. They followed him through winding streets and dark alleys at full speed. Aramis found himself chanting prayers as he ran. His prayers stopped as suddenly as he did, throwing out his arms at his sides to signal the others to stop. The alley he had led them down opened onto the docks, a wide, open area.
"Now what?" Porthos looked to Athos to take charge. He received a nod in reply, then watched as Athos snuck out of the alley and crouched behind a stack of crates not far from where they stood. He quickly shot his head over the stack, looking around him, before ducking back down and heading back to his friends.
"Right. There is a boat in the dock that is being loaded up as we speak. There are a dozen men working at it, a couple of faces I recognise, and not for good reasons. This could be it. Either way, they're loading a boat in the middle of the night, and should probably be stopped and questioned. There are another two men patrolling away from the dock, closer to us, both armed with pistols. What?" Athos paused to raise a questioning eyebrow at a grinning Aramis.
"Nothing, it just always amazes me when you do that."
"What?"
"See everything."
Athos just shrugged and continued issuing instructions. He briefly regretted leaving the rest of the men guarding Marchal's men that were left alive, but shook it off. They could do this.
"Ready?" Athos drew his pistol and waited for a confirming nod from his partners. On receiving them he led the way onto the dock, shouting their presence and taking a shot at the first patrol guard. He rolled out of the way, hearing another shot behind him as Aramis took out the second. Porthos ran past him as he rolled to his feet, meeting Aramis as they both ran behind Porthos.
The shout of "Musketeers!" was met momentarily by panic, but Marchal's dock men quickly got themselves under control, pulling weapons from their holders, and spreading out to guard their goods. Three of them ran forward, rushing to meet the three soldiers that ran at them in fury.
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D'Artagnan was woken by the sound feet pounding heavily and swords clashing near him. Instinctively he tried to reach up to remove the covering from his face, but found his hands tied behind his back this time. He was forced to lie still, listening to the sounds of the fight near him, and hoping to God that someone he wanted to see would appear by his side.
He heard a yell and groan, the sound he had heard many a time as he ran a man through with his sword, and decided this was the time to make his presence known.
"Here! I'm in here!" He began to thrash his entire body, desperately trying to rip the ropes from his hands, or his feet. He stilled as a door opened behind him, tensing his entire body as he waited for what was to come. Someone approached and crouched by him. He was rolled quickly onto his front, but relaxed slightly when hands went to the ropes at his wrists and began to untie them.
"Athos?" He asked quietly, fear creeping into his voice.
"Wrong one boy." The hands pulled the ropes away, before moving to his feet.
"Porthos!" D'Artagnan took a deep breath as the musty-smelling bag was finally removed from his head. He blinked up at the musketeer. "Oh thank God! I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you!"
Porthos reached out to help D'Artagnan to his feet. "C'mon, we've got to get out of here, quickly."
"Porthos?"
"C'mon boy!" Porthos grabbed D'Artagnan by the arm, dragging him out of what appeared to be a small room in the base of a boat.
"No!" The younger man used all of this strength to pull his arm free stopped. "What is going on? Where's Athos? And Aramis?"
Porthos could have punched the boy's stubbornness from him in that moment. "They're together. We need to get you off the boat, now move!"
This time D'Artagnan allowed himself to be led from the vessel. They snuck across the open dock, the shock on the boy's face at the sight of the bodies that littered the ground quite visible. Suddenly he understood; if whoever had taken him had this many men, chances are he had even more, and they could be on their way. They reached the alley at the far side and ducked out of sight into it.
Now Porthos could take the time to check on his charge. "Are you in one piece?"
D'Artagnan nodded. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff. They took care of me, for their client." He spat the word. Porthos looked at him carefully, but on seeing he spoke the truth he began to lead them quickly through the streets that would soon begin to lighten.
"So where are they?" D'Artagnan was having a hard time keeping up with the taller man's stride, but he was damned if he was going to say anything.
"What?"
"Athos? Aramis? You said they were together. I thought you'd all be there to get me" He tried to keep the childish disappointment out of his voice.
"They were," Porthos cleared his throat. "They headed back to the barracks a little while ago."
"What? Why?"
Porthos shrugged. "There was only one left to take care of, and I said I would get you."
"That's not the whole story Porthos, don't treat me like an idiot. Why were you the one to stay?" D'Artagnan came to a dead stop as dread filled him once again. "What happened?"
"Well there was only one left to deal with, but before that..."
"For God's sake! Just spit it out Porthos."
The musketeer turned to look at the young man, not bothering to keep the worry off his face.
"Athos was fighting three of them at once."
D'Artagnan closed his eyes.
"And one of them ran a sword into him."
A/N Uh oh!
