Chapter Ten
d'Artagnan slid gingerly from his horse, jaw set, teeth clenched against the jarring, and looped the reins around a low hanging branch. "What makes you think they're here?" He slumped against his horse's flank, attempting to hide the fact that the stirrup was the only thing holding him up as he marshaled the strength to straighten.
"I don't. I found tracks last night down by one of the entrances to the aqueduct that feeds the fountains from the Aare."
"Fountains," d'Artagnan bleated, uncaring that he sounded exactly like a lost sheep. "The river behind the Rathaus? Then why are we here?" He was, at best, muzzy-headed, and at worst, not following Athos' logic - at all. "You know where Aramis and Porthos are?"
"No. However, Porthos' markers ended at the river aqueduct entrance. Aramis' ended at the Mosesbrunnen on the Münsterplatz."
"I'm sorry, I still don't understand what that has to do with the Bärengraben." d'Artagnan pressed the heel of one hand to his aching chest, attempting to wipe away his confusion by running the other over his face. It did not help; he was still baffled.
"I suspect there is an entrance to the aqueduct here in the bear pit. I could go in from the river, but if there is access here, it cuts quite a distance off what I would have to travel if I start at the river. I found nothing else scouting around the fountains in the city last night. It has to be here."
"Here?" d'Artagnan squeaked. "In the bear pit?"
"Aye." Athos sighed. "In the bear pit." He would not normally make the effort to explain; Porthos or Aramis would just except that he knew what he was doing and act accordingly.
d'Artagnan, being new to the game, needed some bringing along, so he made the extra effort to put his thoughts into words. Adjusting his hat, Athos leaned both elbows on his saddle, unaware that d'Artagnan was still gratefully hanging onto the stirrup. "I spent a lot of time with Treville's maps of Berne before we left. W e know the city uses the fountains for their water supply, I know there's an aqueduct fed from the Aare as well. So by deduction, I assume there must be places beneath the fountains to facilitate maintenance. What better place to keep a pair of reluctant Musketeers than below ground where no one can hear their racket?"
"You think they're being held in some mechanical room beneath one of the fountains?"
"I don't know anything for certain. This could be a completely harebrained idea, but Porthos' boot prints ended at an aqueduct within sight of the castle. I found the last of Aramis' markers by the fountain on the square in front of the cathedral. They could be in the cathedral, or the castle or any place in the city for that matter. Who knows if they're even together. I'm just following a hunch."
"A hunch." d'Artagnan had no experience with Athos' hunches; he was not impressed. "I don't like this."
Athos straightened, unhooking a coil of rope from his saddle horn. "Neither do I."
d'Artagnan raised his hanging-on hand from the stirrup to the cantle. "So what are we doing?"
Athos said casually, "You're here to distract the bears while I try to get in."
"I'm what?" It took a moment for the statement to register since the elder Musketeer did not repeat himself. "Oh no. No no no! Tréville would run me through with my own sword if I let you do something that stupid. Never mind Aramis and Porthos!" d'Artagnan pushed off his horse, though he staggered a bit. "Athos, there has to be another way. "
"There is; the aqueduct on the river. Likely there are other entrances from the river. I don't have time to search for them."
"If there are such places, surely there are other ways in," d'Artagnan argued snappishly, a cold, frightening chill racing along nerve endings. "Whoever does that maintenance isn't going through the aqueduct to do it. That's dangerous and foolhardy!"
Athos slung the rope back over the saddle horn, his patience wearing thin. "Perhaps. But time is of the essence now. We have a number of choices. We can withdraw from the negotiations, leave town, and pray that whoever is behind this keeps their word and releases Aramis and Porthos. Or we could announce to the Venner that our colleagues were kidnapped two nights ago in a stupid confrontation with some locals, hope that no one on the council is on this and that word does not get back to the perpetrator. Alternatively, we can find them and complete our mission as we are expected to do.
"This is the best lead we have. If Aramis and Porthos were in that cellar..." Athos shook his head distractedly. "What matters is that they were not when we arrived. The fire must be the talk of the city today, to return there would be foolish. This is the best lead we have and I intend to follow it."
"What do you mean if they were in that cellar? You think whoever kidnapped them found their markers and laid false trails on purpose?"
Way way too smart; and Athos did not have time to argue the pros and cons of such thoughts. "It's a distinct possibility."
"Maybe it would be better just to tell the Venner."
A faint smile tipped the corner of the stern mouth. "It may become necessary, but only as a last resort. It is possible, even probable, that we could have an answer from Paris today. There's no time to waste." Athos hauled his saddle bags over his shoulder, collected the rope again and ducked under his patient steed's head to collect the Gascon as well. "We have an hour, possibly two, before the keepers arrive. We need to make the most of it. Come, I scouted the area last night; the west side has the most cover."
"There must be another way!" d'Artagnan planted his feet, endeavoring to hold against the hand on his arm dragging him forward, all the while shaking his head wildly. "A man in our village was mauled by a bear. He lived, though he was never productive again. He sat on the green, a beggar, for the rest of his life. No, Athos, I will not do this."
Twenty heartbeats and a deep breath and Athos dropped the youngster's arm.
"What are you doing?"
The Musketeer was striding into the predawn dusk, in a moment he would disappear.
"Athos!" d'Artagnan stumbled after, already well enough acquainted with the man's mind to realize the comte's intent. "Mon Dieu! You are insane!"
Athos stopped abruptly, turning to lay both hands on his companion. "We are under orders to acquire a concession of men and arms from the Swiss." Gauntleted fingers tightened around d'Artagnan's forearms, stressing the importance of his point. "You have watched and listened for a week now, and brought to our debriefs a unique and well thought out point of view. You are capable of this or I would not ask it of you. You must be prepared to take over the negotiations if it comes to it."
d'Artagnan squeezed his eyes shut.
"This is what it means to be a Musketeer. If you are put off by what we had to do two nights ago, or standing in for me today if necessary, then walk away now and do not look back." Athos set his own face to sternness, though his heart tightened in his chest.
For a moment only, d'Artagnan hesitated. Athos would do this whether or not he accepted his assigned role. "What do I do?"
Athos swallowed his sigh of relief. "There was no time to go berry picking," he said, attempting a bit of levity. It did not produce even a twitch of the lips from d'Artagnan. Least he provoke yet another round of digging in the heels, he went on quickly, "I cut up the fish the kitchen staff sent up to break our fast this morning. Dole it out sparingly so as to keep the bears attention as long as possible. I need enough time to get in and find the entrance to the aqueduct."
"You are not planning a mere reconnaissance tour. We're not coming back to do this later," d'Artagnan said despairingly.
"That depends. I will signal with the nighthawk call, twice if I think I can get in. In that case, I may be gone for some time. If I am not back by the time the keepers arrive, go back to the Rathaus. If you receive word from Tréville, and I am not there, follow through as instructed. If I cannot get in quickly, then I will whistle thrice. Save enough bait back that you can distract them while I make my way out."
d'Artagnan's jaw was clenched again, though not necessarily in pain. "I wish you would let me do this."
For just a moment, Athos softened, leaning forward to rest his forehead against d'Artagnan's as he slid a hand around the back of the youngster's neck. "It is my job, and mine alone, but your concern is appreciated. As a last resort, report to the Venner what has happened. I do not believe he is involved, but you will have to use your own judgment as to when to apprise him if it becomes necessary."
"I will pray it does not become necessary. Let's get this over with." d'Artagnan stepped away from the gentle hand embrace, hefting the saddle bags from Athos' shoulder with a grimace. "Ewww, that's what I've been smelling."
"Hopefully it hasn't been in there long enough to have ruined the leather."
They moved with that silence peculiar to men who had learned stealth at the cost of lives, hands spread across various accouterments that might announce their presence.
"Where did you find rope?" d'Artagnan had slept through the collection of the length of stout cord Athos unlimbered from his shoulder.
"The still room at the Rathaus is stocked with more than just medicinals," Athos grunted, tossing the rope over the edge and tying it off around an iron fence post with a judicious jerk. He would have to repel some fifteen or twenty meters, though in the scheme of things, that was nothing compared to other places where they'd had to climb or repel - often both - up or down sheer cliff faces. He was over the fence in the blink of an eye, one hand positioned to guide the rope beneath, the other clasped above his head loose enough to slide, angled so he would touch down very near the inside wall of the bear house.
d'Artagnan moved rapidly back around to the middle of the pit. "Wait!" he hissed, slinging the saddle bags over the fence before disappearing into the shadowy gloom beneath the trees. He returned only moments later with a solid length of fallen tree branch in his hands, trotted back around to Athos' side and climbed up to throw the branch over the fence, down into the pit. "This will at least give you a chance to fend off one bear at a time. Swear to me, Athos, you will kill them if you have to. You're better than any clumsy old bear."
"If I have to," Athos promised. "Do not even think about following me down here should I be attacked, that's an order."
There was no answer to that, because order or not, if Athos was attacked d'Artagnan would be over the fence in a heartbeat. He asked instead, "If you find Aramis and Porthos and have to come back this way, how will you get out?"
"We'll figure it out. Do not, under any circumstances, draw attention by coming back here later."
"What will you do if you don't find them?"
"Pray." Athos loosed his fingers. A useless folly since his prayers never rose above his own head.
d'Artagnan, that battle rush he'd recently become acquainted with coursing through his body, overriding pain and all good sense, dropped down and hurried back to his post. He emptied the contents of the saddle bags out at his feet, unwrapped the chunks of cooked salmon and clambered up on the berm into which the fence posts had been set. "Here bear, come bear," he called softly, scattering a handful of chunks near the sleeping bears.
The animals lay in heap, so entwined d'Artagnan was not exactly sure just how many there were. He'd chosen this spot because of their proximity to the wall and he thought he could make out four heads.
Behind him, the predawn murkiness was giving way to fingers of light feeling their way over the horizon. On his right, Athos hung a third of the way down the wall, waiting for the sleepy bears to respond.
"Here bear bear bear."
Three snouts lifted, sniffing the air. The bear on the bottom swiped a powerful paw at its companions, shoving off two, sliding from beneath the remaining one and rose to prowl over. A second padded behind, both sniffing at the offerings. A third one yawned and stretched, just like a human, before lumbering over to join in the sniffing. The fourth, however, remained stubbornly curled up, though it opened one sleepy eye as a single shard of the sun's rays stabbed into the pit, bent by the tall cedars on the ring of hills surrounding the city beyond the Aare. Dawn would be upon them shortly.
The trio below began shoving and snorting over the pieces already on the ground. Ten sweat drenching, parsimoniously propelled bait minutes later, the fourth - and largest - bear remained steadfastly unwilling to leave its comfortable repose.
Athos could wait no longer; he dropped precipitously into the pit.
d'Artagnan kept his gasp behind his teeth, though just barely, and tossed down a couple more chunks of salmon. The three occupied bears, standing on their hind feet, paws waving, barely glanced in the direction of the comte as he reached the bottom and let go of the rope.
The sleeping bear woke. And shambled to its feet.
"Athos!"
The Musketeer scooped up the length of tree branch, though he kept it down by his side as he moved toward the closed door in the middle of the circular structure. On either side, sliding doors smelling heavily of musk had been cranked to haft mast. If he could not get the center door open, he would have to try one of the interior compounds.
The bear kept coming. Athos stopped and stood his ground.
Several chunks of fish landed on the stone floor behind the bear, who turned its head at the soft plop, apparently to see if it was interested in the offering. It sniffed once before turning forward again, settled its ponderous fundament on the ground and shoved off to rise to standing, furry head pushed forward, tongue lolling as if to taste the unusual scent on the air.
The bear shuffled forwards. Athos took two steps backwards.
Sweat rolled down the comte's temple, though he did not dare swipe at it. Any untoward movement and the bear might decide it was time to break its fast.
"Nice bear, good bear," he whispered, shoving his very real fear deep down inside, knowing the animal would sense it anyway. "d'Artagnan has food for you. You don't want to eat me, you'd probably die of food poisoning."
Across the pit, another long branch appeared over the top of the fence, a white flag speared on the end, several pieces of salmon skewered on the tip. "Come on bear, you have to be hungry! Come! Over here, bear!"
d'Artagnan, shirtless and hair-raisingly hanging over the top of the fence to gain length, grasped the end of the branch.
The three bears beneath danced backwards. The bear reconnoitering Athos turned its head to watch.
Athos raced to the door, dropping the branch to slide the picks out of his pocket and into the door lock with lightening speed.
"ATHOS!"
The door sprang open, Athos had the presence of mind to tuck and roll, one hand clamped to his hat, as the bear's nose thrust him forward, though that made it difficult to draw his rapier as the bear charged through after him.
Or tried to; it's girth was too great. The bear stuck in the doorway, snarling and snapping its wrath, unable to reach its prey. The beady eyes narrowed and as if it were capable of rational thought, the bear began to wriggle and stretch, gaining an inch.
Athos sheathed his sword and stepped with alacrity to the first door. He could hear d'Artagnan still entreating the other three bears, but for the moment he was as safe as it was possible to be in an inhabited bear pit. He had time to pick all three locks if necessary, for there were three doors and the bear wasn't making much headway, surely it would take at least three minutes to free itself.
He set to work on the first one, found an enormous storeroom full of baskets filled with roots and nuts, dried berries, and apparently dried fish as well. The smell nearly knocked him off his feet. He turned to the next one, leaving the first door open on the off chance the bear, should it work its way loose, would glut itself on the unending supply of food rather than Musketeer. The second appeared to be a store of weaponry, or perhaps bear handling tools. Athos did not care, though he did shut that door before moving to the third.
Behind him, the bear snarled its outrage and popped through. Athos slammed the third door behind himself with a whisker's length to spare.
It was pitch black, but his hands found the thick, heavy bar and slammed it down just as the door quivered to the weight of the bear throwing itself against this new barrier. Athos leaned back against the door and tipped his head back, waiting for his heart to stop slamming against his ribs.
It was several moments before he could draw enough breath to whistle, though he could not know if the eerie call that bounced around the echoing space could be heard beyond the thick, damp walls. The door shuddered again, an ominous crack splintering the otherwise quiet darkness.
No time to waste. Athos turned so he could put both hands on the wall to his right and shuffled his feet sideways. Almost immediately he encountered something solid. A bracket his hands told him, and a torch. He lodged his feet, pulled flint and steel from a deep pocket and struck a spark.
The torch flared to life and he heaved a sigh of relief. Gratitude swelled, a murmur of thanks to Aramis' God, for Athos did not have a keen appreciation for dank darkness and knew himself ill-prepared. No time for self-castigation, though he should have thought to bring a torch.
He whistled again, two short, sharp peents, hoping d'Artagnan heard the call and crossed the second round room to the arched opening opposite the door the bear continued to batter. A fine mist hung heavy in the air, haloing the flickering torch as he put a boot on the first stair riser.
Stone. Wet stone. His boot slipped and with nothing to stop it, slid into thin air. The torch hit the stone floor before he did, though not by much, and extinguished. He slid several steps before his feet found enough purchase to stop his rapid descent at the first turn of the circular stair case.
He sat for a long moment, face in his hands, then squared his shoulders, untangled himself from his rapier and crawled back up the stairs on hands and knees to feel around for the torch.
No amount of coaxing or swearing prompted cooperation. It refused to relight. Several more minutes of fiddling with it only served to increase the mounting frustration. Athos dropped it with a muttered oath and crawled forward until his fingers met the top of the stairs. Sidling around, he sat himself down with one hand on the wall and began the descent, one step at a time, on his bruised backside.
Time became measured in dull, thudding, anxious heartbeats. He paused a moment to lean against the wall and closed his eyes. Straining to see into the blackness was unnerving, better to close his eyes and go down by feel.
Perhaps a hundred steps down, the walls began to narrow, the stairway twisting more tightly with each turn. He stopped counting at two hundred but began testing the width of the space and was shortly able to touch both sides of the narrowing passage. He debated taking off his boots, decided not to despite the slippery stone, pressed both hands to the wall and carefully rose.
His gauntlets provided enough friction to make the last tight turns of the stairs much more rapidly.
Abruptly his boot landed jarringly. His arms stiffened instinctively in an attempt to hold his balance, but neither the leather nor the narrow space lent aid. His right foot slid out from under him, then the left, and Athos found himself sitting again, this time in a freezing puddle. He rose slowly, slogged back to the stairs and sat down to empty his boots and try to orient himself with the help of those memorized maps.
Above, d'Artagnan hung over the fence in an agony of indecision. The trapped bear continued to snarl and growl and throw itself against something - though the Gascon could not tell from the sound exactly what the bear was hitting. He hoped that meant Athos had escaped, though that comfort held only a degree of relief. It could mean the Musketeer had found the entrance. Or it could just mean Athos was trapped behind a door the bear might eventually break down.
d'Artagnan glanced once toward the brilliant sun winking through the tree branches, then took the time to thoroughly inspect the grounds. Satisfied he was still alone, he tossed his makeshift flag to the ground, clambered down from the fence and jogged around the perimeter of the bear pit to Athos' rope. He had one leg over the fence again, the rope ready to play out between his knees when he heard the first faint pair of peents float up from the bear pit.
He muttered Aramis' favorite curse as he slung his leg back over the fence and climbed down -with a little more care - to coil up the rope and throw it over his shoulder. The second duo of peents underscored the acuity of his decision and d'Artagnan took up his spear and flag, ripping his tattered shirt from the end before breaking the stick across his knee. He shimmied into his jacket, shoved the remainder of Athos' stash of salmon into the saddle bags, slung them over his shoulder and labored back up the hill to their horses.
He waited, as he'd been told, until a pair of workman came ambling up the dirt pathway, large baskets of fresh fish secured over their shoulders. He did not wait for their reaction to the trapped bear, mounting up and walking the horses into a gloriously brilliant sunrise that would make it difficult for anyone behind to see clearly enough to identify horses or rider.
TBC 10/19