A/N: Sorry again for the late update - please don't kill me. Two of my papers for college are due this week, so please be patient.
And as alwas, reviews are like oxygen!
Chapter 7
The orchestra music grated on his spirit. He needed a drink or to jab out his eardrums. So many bad memories. How had he let his friends talk him into this? Athos was ready turn around and abandon their elaborate plan – and they weren't even inside yet! It was Sylvie's easy laugh that kept him from bolting like a ten-year-old. "You look like someone rained on your parade, Athos. Is my company so much of a burden to you?" Looking up into her amused face, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and tried to relax.
"No, of course not", he said and tried for a smile, which lasted precisely three seconds until the servant announced their entrance to the full ballroom. "His esteemed Arthur de la Fère, the finest wine merchant south of Paris, and his wife, Sylvie."
"Wine merchants?", Athos repeated under his breath, just knowing which of his friends had come up with that not-so-fantastic disguise. Aramis seemed unbothered by Athos death glare, though, and ignored him in order to compliment Sylvie on her bottlegreen dress istead. "You look radiant, my dear."
"Thank you." Her wide skirts rustled as she bobbed a lopsided curtsy. Athos could hear a few of the other guests whisper about her imperfect behavior, but he found it and the self-ironic smile that went with it highly endearing. Before he could get caught staring at his wife for the evening, he rather let his attention wander from the nobles to the staff. Among the colorful lords and ladies, comtes and comtessas, merchants and rich pricks, he noticed black clad waiters and more guards than expected. Was Remy de Balzac suspicious of them or just careful?
Every fibre of his being itched to go looking for their missing Gascon, but he knew that now wasn't the time, so he sought distraction by cornering his cheeky comrade.
"Wine merchants, Aramis?", he growled as soon as they reached their group at the bottom of the stairs, but to his surprise it was Constance's dry voice that answered.
"At least you'll be very knowledgable if somebody will ask. I'm supposed to be a freighter captain's wife, but I don't know anything about sailing and the like!", she hissed, her distress evident.
"Just pretend that you are a gold digger and only married him for the money", Aramis adviced with a smart grin, then quickly disappeared into the throng of bodies before the redhead could vent her anger at the outrageous suggestion. Athos only listened half-heartedly to the conversation, his keen eyes following the guards around the room. As far as he could discern, they were indeed well trained, hence there would be no slipping past them without providing some incentive.
"Athos?"
"Yes?" Again, Sylvie impeded his plotting. Immersed in his observations, the musketeer hadn't noticed that Porthos and Constance had left for the ostantatious buffet at the end of the hall and Aramis... well, wherever he was, he was probably worming his way into an innocent lady's heart.
"Athos." Sylvie was looking at him with barely contained amusement and a hint of expectation. "Did you hear me?" Oh yes, he'd heard alright. Grimacing, Athos took her hands into his own and shook his head. "I don't dance", he said tersely, regretting his harsh words as he watched the smile slowly die on her lips.
"Childhood trauma", he admitted by way of an apology, hoping against all reason that she'd let the topic drop, which of course she didn't. He also hadn't expected her to simply grab his arm and pull him into the rows of eager dancers. Too late to escape, Athos submitted to his dreadful fate and bowed to Sylvie as the orchestra started to play again. Her touch on his hand was like a feather as they completed their tour de main.
"See, that's not too bad, is it?", she chided gently while they turned. No, it really wasn't and Athos was telling himself that his position on the ballroom floor provided a better view of his surroundings while he was in fact enjoying the dance, the tediousness of his lessons at a tender age all but forgotten. They danced through the next changes of music, Athos being increasingly pleased by his ability to remember and gracefully execute all the steps. Sylvie had turned out to be a remarkable partner and a few people even clapped as they ended their performance in a spectacular bow, Athos dipping Sylvie so low her unbound hair brushed the ground.
"That was...", Sylvie said breathlessly and with shining eyes, "that was incredible."
"Glad to be of service, madam", Athos replied, dipping his hat at her. He'd insisted on keeping the hat as the lady Lemaigre had arranged their clothing to fit their alibies and was now glad for its cover as he again surveyed the crowd and the multiple exits that lead further into the building. The ghoul that had made its home inside his heart as they'd lost d'Artagnan four nights ago snidely mentioned that he'd been very happy right now while his brother probably suffered within the same walls, prompting Athos to double his efforts in an attempt not to drown in this flare of guilt.
Finally, the huge double-doors opposite the entrance opened and their host entered. Even from the distance, Athos could identify a deep and poorly conceiled cut on the man's face, which filled him with a grim sense of pride at his protege. Who else could have injured the man after he'd gotten away clean at their first meeting?
"Welcome, friends, to this modest gathering at my home. It is my pleasure to inform you of my prevailing good fortune regarding my enterprises in Spain. Please enjoy the festivities, eat, drink, dance. We have ordered the..."
Athos frowned nearly unnoticeably as one of the guards stepped closer to the podium of his master to whisper something into his ear. Apparently, it wasn't good news as the comte's eyes narrowed to slits and his hands formed fists at his side. His sleazy expression stayed friendly, though. "It seems we have a problem with the peacock flambé!", he stated with an overly horrified expression, eliciting a few chuckles here and there. "Let me quickly tend to my mutinous poultry, ladies and gentlemen. I shall be right back to entertain you with my presence."
The chatter started up as soon as de Balzac had left the room. Athos heard a remark to his left of a gentleman stating how unusual this behavior was for their host, causing the musketeer to seek out Porthos in haste. Once he had reached them, he found his worries reflected in the muscular man's countenance. "I don't like this."
"For some reason, he's deviating from his normal path", Athos agreed.
"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?", Porthos asked, earning himself a short nod.
"d'Artagnan."
"How do you know?", Constance asked, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the lacy seam of her deep blue dress.
"Believe me, we know." Porthos was as unhappy with the unfolding of the events as Athos was, but there was a silver lining on the horizon. For once, Athos could see it. "We need to speed things up. That way, we'll get to him sooner. That's something."
Without another word, Athos made his way over to where Aramis was arguing with a fat man in yellow stockings. As he and Sylvie got closer, they could hear Aramis patiently explain politics to the fuming noble. Aramis, it seemed, had noticed their approach, because he swung around to meet them. "Arthur, please. What is the definition of diplomacy?"
"The ability to tell a snotty customer to travel straight to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip?" Athos suggested evenly, remembering his status as a wine merchant and not a soldier.
He noticed the blank look on the obese man's face and the low giggle of his lovely female companion, concluding that the argument must have been originally about the lady and that the man was definitely outmatched. Aramis had obiously picked up on the underlying tension of his friend, because he actually apologized to the man and left without looking at the woman again.
"Finally found your better?", Athos asked with a look back at the odd couple. Aramis smirked at the two of them. "Hardly. I simply refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person." They strode a few more paces away, then Aramis stopped his friends and, lowering his voice, inquired what had them all riled up.
"d'Artagnan. Athos and Porthos are pretty sure that the comte's disappearance has something to do with him", Sylvie summed up their predicament. Aramis thought for a moment, considering what Athos would have done in reaction. When he saw Porthos and Constance heading for the buffet again, he nodded in understanding. "Switching up the timetable, I see."
"What are you doing!", Constance's cry pierced the air. She was holding a part of her ripped sleeve and was backing up from a onstensibly very drunk Porthos. Immediately, Sylvie started out to recue her, only to be held back by Athos, who wore a fine smile. "Leave them be."
Slap! Constance had left a mark on the musketeer's face, prompting him to shove her into the towering pyramid of filled glasses, which in turn sent a cascade of champaign down on the bystanders. By that time, they held the attention of the whole room. "You animal! My dress is ruined! And my reputation! How could you? Look at them!" Pointing dramatically at the assembled crowd, Constance let out another shrill howl and picked up a cream-oozing muffin to throw at her opponent, who ducked in reflex.
"Hey!" Another lady's dress was blemished and her protector felt obliged to join the fray. Athos, still keeping an eye on the surroundings while his companions were caught up in the show, tapped his brother on the shoulder. "Aramis, time to go."
"But Constance's performance is just getting started. She's riveting when..."
"Come on, you fool. Follow me. We've got work to do."
"How could I resist an invation like that?" With one of this trademark grins, Aramis retreated towards the door behind them, whose guard was on his way to break up the all-out food fight and the clamouring lords and ladies.
Once they had slipped through the doors and had entered the private part of the mansion, their mood soon turned sombre. Their boots echoed on the marble floors, shadows dancing on the walls as they traversed through empty hallway after empty hallway.
"This is taking too long. If it really was d'Artagnan who prompted de Balzac to leave, he will need our assistance sooner rather than later", Athos said, one hand on his sword, "We need to split up."
"That is a bad plan", Sylvie gave back right away, concern itched into her face.
"Well, what did you expect?", Aramis tried to settle her with a carefree smile, "We're musketeers!" At the next corner, he turned right while Athos and Sylvie chose the left hallway. Athos determinedly lead them towards the outer parts of the building, knowing that would be where d'Artagnan would head if he was able to. His strategy was soon rewarded when they heard steps in front of them and cursing.
"The comte", Sylvie whispered when she reckognized the voice. Athos didn't spare her a glance, though, completely focused on listening to the sounds around the corner. Two sets of feet, he judged, one of them limping heavily. As he heard the clinking of metal, he didn't wait any longer and risked a glance.
First he saw de Balzac, easy to spot in his red finery. He was carrying a pistol in one hand and behind him, bound, beaten, bloody but gloriously alive – d'Artagnan.
