The scout rode his horse into the courtyard at high speed and dismounted before the horse had stopped moving, removing his hat and batting it on his leg, causing a cloud of dust to momentarily envelope him. He spotted Remy and made a move to hand him the reins, but Remy shook his head and indicated Lucas, who was running over at high speed, arms wind milling around wildly.

"He's going to scare the horse doing that," remarked Athos.

Remy said nothing. The scout managed to stop the horse from rearing and calmed it down, before handing the reins to Lucas, with orders to keep the horse moving. He nodded to Athos as he hurried off in search of the Captain.

"Athos."

"Grenier. Treville is in his office."

"Thanks."

Lucas attempted to walk the horse forwards, but it was reluctant to move. Porthos wandered over and leant comfortably on the wall to watch.

"Remind me again, how did Lucas get this job?"

Athos chuckled. "He had good references. Apparently."

Porthos snorted. "Not from the horses."

Remy was watching the horse intently as Lucas finally managed to force it to walk forwards a couple of small, faltering steps. It still wasn't happy, tossing it's head around and trying to tug the reins free. Lucas swore at the horse and raised his hand as though to hit it.

"Hey!" Athos rose to his feet and strode towards Lucas, who sullenly muttered under his breath.

Athos glared at him. "We don't mistreat horses here. I've told you that before."

"It's just a scout's horse. And it won't walk forwards," complained Lucas, sulkily.

Athos held his hand out and Lucas reluctantly relinquished the reins, still grumbling under his breath. The horse snorted, but didn't attempt to pull clear as Athos gently stroked its muzzle.

"Come on, fella." Athos led the horse forwards slowly, allowing it to set it's own pace. Remy had moved closer, still watching the horse closely.

"He's lame. Front left."

Athos turned to watch the horse. It did indeed appear to be limping somewhat, reluctant to put any significant weight on his front left leg. Remy stepped in close to the horse and ran his hands down its leg.

He frowned. "Leg seems ok. Might be his foot."

He swapped his stance and tried to get the horse to lift its foot, but the horse wasn't too keen on the idea. Athos slowly led the horse over to a wall and held it there. With nowhere to go, the horse finally allowed Remy to lift his foot.

Remy whistled quietly. "Ouch. That's got to hurt." He dashed into the stables, looking around, and emerging with a cloth and some tools.

Athos watched him, somewhat bemused. "Worked for a blacksmith, have you?"

Remy's face darkened slightly. "I used to help out when he was busy, but his wife didn't like me much." His expression softened and he half smiled. "He has a new helper now."

He coaxed the horse into lifting its foot again as Athos stroked its neck and tried to keep it calm. The horse wasn't happy about Remy messing around with its foot and swung its rear end away from the wall, pushing Remy away.

Porthos wandered over and gently pushed the horses rear back to the wall.

"Try again," grinned Porthos.

Remy busied himself, lifting the horses leg and using his knife and a pair of pincers to tug something free from the foot. The horse snorted and tossed its head around, but Athos held firm, and Porthos kept it against the wall. Remy pulled a small bottle from his pocket and poured some of the contents onto the cloth.

He frowned. "I don't think he's going to like this next bit. It's going to sting."

"Might be an idea not to be holding his foot at the time then, "suggested Athos.

Remy nodded, and placed the cloth on the floor. With a bit of gently coaxing, they managed to make the horse stand on the cloth. As Remy had thought, the horse wasn't keen on this part, and tried to lift its foot clear, but between the three of them, they managed to hold it in place.

"What the hell?" Grenier rejoined them, looking concerned, with the Captain a couple of paces behind him.

"Lame in his front left." Athos indicated the lump of metal on the floor that Remy had pulled from the horses hoof. "Looks like a caltrop to me."

Grenier picked it up and swore under his breath. "I thought he was pulling this last stretch. How did he keep going with this in his foot?"

"It wasn't in too deep," said Remy, wiping his knife and hands on his pants. "It was twisted round. Probably felt uncomfortable rather than painful. Might even hurt more now that it's out. He should be ok in a couple of days."

Grenier groaned. "I still have a fair way to go, and it can't wait a couple of days."

The Captain turned and yelled across the yard. "Lucas. Saddle another horse. Now. And make it a quick one."

Lucas stared blankly at the Captain and looked at the stables behind him, as though hoping a horse would volunteer.

"Try the black one on the end," muttered Remy. Porthos hid a smirk.

"Make it the black one on the end." The Captain turned on his heels and stalked back to his office, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. "And, Remy, get that horse stabled and take care of it until it's fit to ride."

Remy was working down at the docks again, running errands, fetching and carrying, general leg work. He was small, but fast and reliable. He could usually find a couple of people who were willing to employ him on a temporary basis. He noticed the group of boys arrived and nodded a greeting to their leader. Jacque wasn't bad, as street gang leaders went, and the docks was his territory. He tolerated Remy, despite Remy's frequent refusals to join his gang, and Remy tried not to stick around when they appeared, so that he wasn't competing directly with them for work. He finished the job he was doing, got paid, and decided to head to another part of the city. He was halfway into the market place behind the docks when the other gang appeared. They'd spotted him before he could find something to hide behind.

"Hey, look who it is." The leader of this gang pointed at Remy and jeered. "Donovan reckons you're owed a black eye for not turning up to help Killian as promised."

Remy stood his ground. "I never promised Donovan anything. I don't work for Donovan anymore. I quit, ages ago. It's not my problem if he promised Killian something he couldn't deliver."

One of the younger boys laughed, and was promptly cuffed soundly round the head by one of the bigger boys. He grumbled and kicked at the dirt with his feet. The leader frowned. "That's not the point."

"Yes it is," said Remy, confidently. "Look, Pierre, Donovan knew I wasn't going to be there, but he promised Killian I would be. When I didn't show, Killian got mad at Donovan, so he's looking for someone to blame. Right now, that's me. Maybe tomorrow it'll be your fault. Maybe you hurt me in a fight and I wasn't fit enough to show up. If I have the bruises to prove it, who's Killian going to believe then?"

Pierre screwed his face up, thinking that through.

"I say we just hit him anyway." The rat faced boy had a permanent sneer.

"No. He has a point. I think." Pierre was not convinced, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

"He's not in the gang though, so we ought to do something."

"Well, if he joins, that would be fine, wouldn't it? Come on, Remy. You know you'd be better in a gang, and we're the best there is. Way better than being on your own. We'd look after you. And Killian wants you as well. He pays well, you know he does. Got to be better than lugging boxes around all day."

Remy was trying to work out a way of saying "Not a chance in hell", and struggling to find the right words. He was saved by the appearance of Jacque and his gang. The demeanor of Pierre's gang instantly shifted, grouping closer together and glaring at the other boys.

Pierre strutted to the front. "Hey, Jacque, you must be lost. This is our territory. You know that."

Jacque's gang formed a line, slightly behind him. A couple of them acknowledged Remy briefly with a glance or a grin. A couple of them frowned, but they were concentrating more on Pierre than on Remy. "No, Pierre, this is our territory. Always has been, always will be. You're the ones who are lost. You're on the wrong side of the river. And leave Remy alone."

Pierre laughed. "He's almost a member of our gang already."

Remy rolled his eyes. This was not going to end well, and he was stuck right in the middle. Some of the boys started trading insults and threats, followed by some pushing and shoving, and suddenly, all out war broke out.

Remy punched a couple of Pierres gang, including the rat faced boy, whose nose made a rather satisfying crunching sound under his fist, before ducking, weaving and trying to beat a hasty retreat. Right into a tall Red Guard, with a pointed beard, a stupid twirly moustache, and a hat with a feather in it that was way too big for the hat. He sneered down at Remy contemptuously. Remy glanced around for a way out, and only saw the rifle butt at the last moment, right before it hit him in the head with unnecessary force, turning everything black.

Remy was feeling battered, bruised, and completely fed up. He'd woken up in jail, and it looked like he was stuck here for the foreseeable future. It was cold and dark, and what little food came his way tended to consist of stale, moldy bread and foul tasting water. His ribs ached, his head ached, and his left hand felt like someone had stood on it. He wasn't on his own in jail. The cell he was in had a couple of boys from Jacque's gang and a couple of other boys he didn't recognise, and the cell next to it had about half a dozen of Pierre's gang. According to one of the boys, this happened frequently if two gangs were caught fighting, and they usually kept them a couple of weeks or so before throwing them out. Rumor had it, that if anyone claimed them, they'd be allowed to leave, presumably once a fine had been paid. It was purely a rumor though. None of the boys had anyone to claim them, so they'd never actually known it to happen. He sat with his back to the wall, keeping a wary eye on the other boys, even though they'd been relatively friendly towards him so far.

The two guards appeared in the corridor in front of the bars. Remy squinted against the light of the torch that the taller guard was carrying. There was a third man in the shadows, wearing a hooded cloak, so he couldn't see his face. The hooded man had a quiet discussion with the smaller guard. Remy could have sworn he pressed some money into the guard's hand, but with all the shadows, he couldn't be sure. The hooded man left, and the guards had a mumbled conversation. Again, money seemed to change hands. The taller guard pointed to Remy.

"You, boy. Out."

The smaller guard jangled a huge bunch of keys, searching for the right one. He opened the cell door and beckoned to Remy.

"Your lucky day, boy." The look on his face made Remy think that he was about to be far from lucky. The other boys just stared and a took a couple of steps back from the guard. One even threw Remy a sympathetic glance.

Remy thought for a second. It seemed he was getting out of the cell, possibly the jail, but he wasn't sure what he was getting in to. Still, it had to be better than this. Or at least, it had to offer a better chance of escape. He got up carefully and walked to the cell door. The taller guard grabbed him, forcing his arm roughly up behind his back. He was frogmarched down several dark corridors, pausing only while a door was locked or unlocked. Remy was beginning to think this might not be an improvement on rotting in a cell for a few weeks, especially as his arm was now starting to hurt.

Finally, they passed through a door into a courtyard. Remy blinked against the bright moonlight and took as deep a breath of the fresh night air as his aching ribs would allow. The air in the jail had been heavy, musty and stagnant, and had started to make his throat hurt. It felt good to breath fresh air again. The guard pushed him forwards, releasing his hold. The man in the hooded cloak was in the middle of the courtyard, holding the reins of a horse. Remy heard a door slam behind him and looked over his shoulder. The guards had gone. He turned back to the man with the horse, hoping that it wasn't Killian, or even Donovan. Jail would be better than those two.

"Come on, boy, I haven't got all night."

Remy blinked in surprise and relief. "Athos?"

"Who were you expecting? Now, come on." Athos mounted the horse and reached down to pull Remy up. Remy yelped and bit his lip as his ribs protested. Athos frowned and tucked his cloak around them both. "Injured?"

"Just bruised."

Athos grunted, unconvinced, and turned the horse, riding out of the courtyard with a confident wave of a hand to the guard on the gate. Soon they were back at the Musketeers barracks. Aramis emerged from a doorway to greet them with a yawn.

"You found him then."

"Eventually." Athos dismounted and held his hands up to help Remy down. Under normal circumstances, Remy would have shrugged the help off, but he was tired and aching, and accepted the help gratefully. Aramis frowned, taking in the boy's grubby and dishevelled appearance, the obvious pain he was in, and the large lump on the side of his head.

"He needs cleaning up."

"True," agreed Athos. "He also needs some food, his injuries checking over, and a good nights sleep."

Aramis considered this. "I'll take care of the horse. You get him cleaned up, and I'll find some food."

Remy glared miserably at Athos. "I don't need a bath."

Athos rolled his eyes. "Remy, you are having a bath. You're a mess and you need cleaning up. Non negotiable, boy. Now, get your shirt off."

Athos finished pouring the water into the bath tub, and turned round to see Remy struggling half heartedly to remove his shirt. He sighed and helped him undress, shaking his head at the sight of Remy's bruised ribs and hand.

"Well, this should keep Aramis busy for a while. Come on, get in before it goes cold."

Remy hesitated, still trying to find a way out. Athos sighed, grabbed him gently, and easily lifted him into the tub, noting that despite an initial wriggle, Remy didn't really struggle.

It took a few minutes of scrubbing before Athos decided Remy was clean enough. Remy wasn't about to admit it, but the warm water felt good. Soothing and relaxing. It also felt good to be clean again. Athos lifted Remy out of the bath, wrapping him in a blanket. He rubbed his hair to dry it a little, then half led, half carried him over to a table, sitting him down gently on a chair.

"Better?"

Remy nodded, a little sleepily. "Just tired now."

"Well, as soon as we get some food into you, and Aramis has checked you over, you can get some sleep. There's a bed waiting for you just down the corridor. Now, let's have a look at that hand."

Remy obediently lifted his hand up, and Athos checked it for broken bones, noting the winces and half swallowed yelps.

"Pretty badly bruised. How did you do that?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know? Aramis, check his hand, will you. I don't think it's broken."

Aramis put the bowl of stew on the table in front of Remy and took his hand to check it over. "Good job you're right handed."

Remy managed a weak grin, and stared at the stew, while Aramis quickly, yet thoroughly, checked his hand, his ribs and his head.

"Alright, Remy, I'm not sure how you managed it, but it doesn't look like anything's broken. Just badly bruised. You eat while I get some bandages."

Remy ate hungrily. Only when he'd finished did Aramis start to bandage his injuries. Remy yelped a little, but yawned more.

"Time to get some sleep, Remy. We'll talk about how you got in this state in the morning." Athos practically had to carry him to bed.

Remy woke with a start, and yelped in pain as his ribs complained about the sudden movement. He lay back down carefully, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. The pain slowly eased, and he opened his eyes. He was in a small room. The shutters on the windows were closed, but enough light was sneaking in for him to see clearly. It was a small room, clean and sparsely furnished. There was the bed that he was in, two chairs and a small table, and a trunk at the foot of the bed, and that was it. It was just about all there was room for to be honest.

Porthos stuck his head round the half open door. "Ah, you are awake. I thought I heard you. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," admitted Remy.

"Hungry?"

"A bit. Can I get up?"

"Hell, no. You stay there. Aramis will have my hide if I let you out of bed. I'll be back in a minute."

By the time Aramis appeared, Remy was propped up in bed, eating a weak broth, while Porthos was rummaging in the trunk.

"What are you looking for?"

"His shirt."

"Athos took it for mending. It had a few new rips and tears in it."

"That would explain why I can't find it. Well, you're definitely staying in bed until Athos gets back then, Remy."

Remy grumbled a little, but allowed Aramis to check his injuries.

"So how did you end up in this state, Remy," asked Aramis.

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Porthos dropped onto one of the chairs and stared at him. Remy shrugged, and winced. "Alright, so how did you get arrested?"

"Good question." Athos threw his hat and gloves on the table and sat down on the second chair. Aramis stared from Porthos, to Athos, and back again, before rolling his eyes and sitting on the bed.

"There was a fight ..."

Porthos chuckled, but composed himself when Athos shot him a glare.

"Go on, Remy. Where was this fight?"

"Down at the docks, at the market place. There were these two gangs ..."

"Well, that would explain your injuries," commented Aramis, earning himself a glare from Athos.

"Ignore them, Remy. Go on."

"There were these two gangs, and they started fighting, and I just tried getting the hell out."

"Your gang was outnumbered?" That question earned Aramis a baleful glare from both Athos and Remy.

"I'm not in a gang. That was half the problem. I won't join their gangs. One lot tolerate me, the other lot aren't as keen, but once the punches started flying, I was stuck in the middle. I had to get out."

Porthos nodded. "Unusual for a street rat not to be in a gang. Safety in numbers."

Remy grinned a little ruefully. "A fair few of them got arrested too. Numbers didn't help them."

Porthos chuckled. "Good point. So, you were trying to get away before both sides remembered you weren't actually on their side."

Remy nodded. "I nearly made it, but I ran straight into a Red Guard. I don't remember much else after that. Just a blurred rifle butt and I woke up in jail."

Athos leant back in his chair. "You weren't injured in the fight?"

Remy shook his head. "No. I hit a couple of kids, but I managed to avoid getting thumped."

"And you woke up, in jail, with those injuries?"

Remy nodded. Aramis and Porthos were both watching Athos closely.

"You already suspected that, didn't you?" accused Aramis.

Athos shrugged. "Remy's version of events matches what I had already heard down at the docks. Jacque sends his regards by the way, Remy. Said to tell you that you broke Michael's nose with a single punch. He sounded impressed. He also rescued your pack, which is now in the trunk at the foot of the bed, in case you were worried."

Remy stared at him, dumbfounded. "He did? You knew?"

Athos smiled. "I asked around to find out what had happened to you. A few people were only too happy to tell me what they knew. Now, this Red Guard, can you describe him?"

Remy stared at the ceiling, thinking back. "I didn't really have much time to get a good look at him. Tall. Dark hair. Weird pointy beard. Silly moustache, all twirly and poncy. Must take him ages to get it to curl like that. Oh, and a stupidly big feather in his hat."

Athos nodded. Aramis and Porthos exchanged triumphant looks. "Romaine!"