Athos and Aramis rode west toward Blois following the Loire River. Reaching the little village of Saint-Ay, Athos called out to an elderly man sitting in front of his riverfront shop.

"Excuse me, sir, I am Athos of the King's Musketeers," he introduced himself. "Did you happen to see two other Musketeers riding this way a day or two ago? One would be a rather large man with a big hat; and the other is a younger, slender man with dark hair and no hat?"

"Yes, I remember quite well two men riding by here two days ago who fit your description," the man replied kindly. "I see a lot of comings and goings sitting here; a lot of travelers come by this way. I saw a large man and his younger companion ride by here acting like they were being followed."

Athos' eyes widened and he visibly perked at the mention of his friends being followed. Glancing at Aramis he noticed the medic's posture was also alert. The medic rode closer to join the conversation. "Tell us what you saw, if you would, please."

"Well, the larger man kept turning around in his saddle, like he was being followed—that's why I noticed them," the elderly man nodded. "The two men seemed suspicious of something and it was very obvious. You see, we have highwaymen who prey on unsuspecting travelers around these parts. . ."

"Yes, I know," Aramis grumbled. The medic grimaced at a sudden pain in his ribs, but remained quiet.

Athos frowned at the medic's obvious pain, but prodded the stranger to continue his story. "Please, sir, do continue."

"What was I saying?" The old man scratched his head, then snapped his fingers as he remembered. "Oh yes, not too long after your two men rode by I watched as a band of four men came out from behind those trees over there," he said, pointing to a small grove across the road. "They were definitely watching your riders 'cause I watched as they followed behind them; I know this after years of watching people around here. I would bet they were heading to Blois."

"Yes, they were." Athos scrubbed a hand over his face. "Thank you, sir, for all of your help; you have been most kind." The Musketeer bowed in the saddle then raised his hat to the gentleman.

"You are most welcome, Musketeers."

Athos and Aramis smiled at the kind man before turning their horses to the road. "At least we know we're on the right track, but we also know they had four men following them who didn't want to be noticed. I don't like the sound of this," Aramis said with a worried frown.

"I don't either, dammit," Athos growled. "We have a lot of ground to cover so let's keep moving." The Musketeer lieutenant kicked his horse onward to the next village, determined to track down his friends.

The old man watched as the Musketeers disappeared down the road and shook his head. "May God have mercy on the four men who were following those missing riders. If those two boys are harmed in any way, that Athos will have no mercy."

The wind blew relentlessly in Athos' face as they rode west, making breathing without coughing difficult. He pushed his hat down so the wind would deflect off the rim, rather than blow directly into his face. He struggled to stifle the coughs with controlled breathing—taking shallow breaths in and out through his nose- to prevent his lungs from rebelling.

Athos' effort to stifle his coughs did not go unnoticed by Aramis, however. He watched his friend with concern, as it was obvious to the medic that cough was giving him trouble.

The Musketeers perked as they viewed a large château a ways off the road facing toward the river. "Let's stop here to see if anyone knows anything." Athos turned his horse down the long path leading to the front of the magnificent grey stone castle.

Looking around, the two Musketeers thought it strange that there was no activity around the large château—there were no people, no carriages, no servants, nothing.

"This is strange." Athos observed as he looked around the grounds of the château. "It almost looks abandoned."

The château grounds looked as though they hadn't been tended to in years, the landscape was overgrown with weeds and long grass. The once-manicured lawn had long ago grown into a field of weeds, wild flowers and wild grasses; even the structure itself looked unkempt and uncared for. Glancing at Aramis, Athos walked to the front double-door entry and knocked loudly. The knock seemed to echo into nothingness; there were no sounds of movement behind the door.

Athos checked the handle; finding it unlocked, he opened the door just enough to peek inside. The massive foyer was empty of furniture except one chair sitting near the door. The room was lit with sunshine streaming through the tall, slender window above the double doors. The high vaulted ceilings made the room appear open and airy but it was obvious from the layers of dust on the marbled floor that the château was abandoned.

"There's no one here," Athos said to Aramis who had come to the door with his brother Musketeer. "Let's go on and check the next place we come to." Athos shut the door and started toward his horse to leave. Pausing, he turned to take one more look at the château, taking sweeping glances with his eyes over the stone walls covering three floors of living space inside.

Shaking his head, he mounted his horse then rode the long path back toward the road to Blois. As the Musketeers left the property, Athos took another lengthy look at the beautiful château; his brow furrowed with unasked questions.

"What is it, Athos?" Aramis watched his friend staring at the structure, taking notice of his strange behavior regarding this particular château. Aramis knew that usually Athos' gut instincts were correct when he suspected something was amiss. "Do you want to go back and look inside?"

Athos didn't answer for a moment but continued staring. "No, we need to keep moving," he shook his head. "Surely they made it further along than this. We'll go on and keep looking."

"Alright then, lead the way," Aramis agreed. He looked back at the château; something did feel odd about this place but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Why was the château abandoned? There's a lot of space people could use for doing things in secret… and no one would ever know. Maybe we should have taken the time to look.

Along the road Aramis constantly shifted in his saddle as he tried to alleviate the throbbing in his ribs, now making riding almost unbearable. If it weren't for the desperate search to find their missing brothers, he would have asked for a break; however, time was something they could not afford to waste. The medic bit down on his lip and breathed through the waves of pain pulsating through his sides.

"Are you okay?" Athos asked as he watched his friend grimace in pain.

"Yes, I'm fine," Aramis lied. "Look, there's another village ahead with a massive castle," the medic motioned with his head toward the enormous grey stone structure.

"Looks like we've come across the Château de Beaugency, Athos nodded at Aramis. "I know someone who lives here; let's go pay our respects."

Athos felt tickling in his throat with the rise of another cough, though he tried to ignore it. He took a drink from his waterskin but it did nothing to stop the fit of harsh coughing that doubled him over in his saddle. Gulping for air, Athos tried breathing through his nose; he scowled as the action only encouraged more coughing.

Aramis slid up next to Athos and pounded on the man's back with his open hand to loosen the congestion in his chest. Athos nodded his thanks then turned his head to rid the sputum loosened from his congested lungs. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Don't be sorry, Athos," Aramis countered softly. "Damn, we need to find Porthos and d'Artagnan soon; I don't know how much longer either of us will last in the saddle."

Athos and Aramis rode through the gates of the Château de Beaugency to the inner courtyard where they were greeted by a groundsman. After introductions were made they were taken to the butler who then ushered them into the parlor to wait for the steward.

"I deeply apologize for the absence of the duke but he is away on business. I am Monsieur Charles Chambord, Steward of Beaugency; how may I help you gentlemen?"

"I am Athos and this is Aramis," he introduced. "We are of the King's Musketeers."

"Welcome, Musketeers," Steward Chambord bowed. "Please, come into the study with me." The steward led the men to his study and offered them a seat. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Two days ago, two of our Musketeers were on a mission for the king in this general vicinity but they are now missing. They were last seen traveling west from Saint-Ay, where a witness confirmed they were being followed by a band of four men," Athos explained. "We are trying to find them and were wondering if anyone has seen them; or, perhaps, if anyone has heard of bandits kidnapping anyone in this area?"

"No," the steward paused at the grim news. "I am sorry, but I certainly have not heard of any such activity. However, if you would allow me to gather the staff, I'll ask if anyone else has seen or heard anything."

"Thank you, Steward, we would appreciate that very much," Aramis answered with a nod.

"Very well," the steward bowed. "If you gentlemen would like to wait here for a few minutes, I will return shortly. Please, help yourselves to refreshments and drink."

Athos and Aramis looked around the study at the many volumes of books on the tall shelves. They glanced with interest at a few mementos and trinkets of travels from around the world, but what captured Athos' attention was a map of the châteaux, castles and manors in the Loire Valley.

"Look at this map, Aramis," Athos called. "Here is where we are," he pointed to Beaugency on the map then glanced at Aramis. "Here is Saint-Ay, where the man saw the bandits following Porthos and d'Artagnan."

Athos' finger slid along the river a short distance stopping at the first château. "This says Château de Meung-sur-Loire. . ." he stopped as his breath caught in his throat.

Aramis thought he was having another coughing attack; instead, Athos stood frozen as he grew suddenly pale, while swaying on his feet. "Oh no."

"What is it, Athos?" Aramis asked with concern. "What the hell is the matter?"

"This château, I think this is the one we stopped at earlier but found abandoned," he pointed again to the map. "This is it!"

Just then, Steward Chambord returned to the study. "I apologize, gentlemen but no one has seen or heard anything of your Musketeers."

Both men sighed, letting out disappointed breaths. "What do you know of this Château de Meung-sur-Loire?" Athos asked.

"Oh, the Meung? That has been abandoned since the War of Religion, about sixty-five years ago," the steward answered. "I hear it's being turned into a prison, or will be soon. There is a dungeon in the lower levels; it certainly gives the prison the space necessary for the worst criminals."

Athos swayed on his feet and, if not for Aramis and M. Chambord aiding him to a chair, he would have collapsed to the floor. The steward went to fetch a glass of water as the Musketeer began coughing heavily.

Aramis stood beside him pounding on his back while whispering for him to breathe slowly, offering him a napkin for disposing loosened sputum. The Musketeer accepted the glass of water and gratefully gulped it down after the coughing began to subside.

"Are you okay?" Aramis knelt down to look directly at Athos' face, now flushed red from the coughing. Drops of sweat formed across his forehead and on his upper lip and began to slowly slide down his skin; the medic wiped the droplets away.

"I. . . I'm f-fine," Athos pointed to the map with alarm. "We. . . we were just there; we even opened the front door and looked inside. We didn't hear anything. . . maybe we should have investigated further."

"I think we need to go back there. . ." Aramis began but was interrupted as a servant burst into the room.

"Monsieur Chambord, you are needed right away at the keep," the servant requested, out of breath.

"Gentlemen, I must go," Steward Chambord apologized. "Please, stay as long as you need. I can help you locate your men, if you would like, after I return."

"No, that is quite generous of you but we will be on our way." Athos turned down the offer as he shook the steward's hand. "Time is of the essence, we're afraid."

"Allow me to show you gentlemen out then." Steward Chambord walked them to their horses in the courtyard. "I do pray you find your missing Musketeers. Goodbye and godspeed, gentlemen."

"Thank you, Monsieur Chambord." Athos and Aramis shook the steward's hand then mounted their horses. The Musketeers rode away at a gallop, returning to the massive abandoned château they just visited only hours ago.

"If only we had checked the lower levels," Aramis yelled to Athos, regret filling his voice. "I had a strange feeling about that place as we were leaving."

"You felt it too?" Athos paled at the announcement. "Yes, I was feeling something too, but I couldn't place it. I don't know, but it's almost like. . ."

"It's almost like we sensed Porthos and d'Artagnan were there!" Aramis finished for his friend. The men kicked their horses into a faster run with a greater sense of urgency. The Musketeers returned to the château they had left behind, wishing they had followed their gut instincts and looked around when they were there.

The Musketeers rode up the long path to the large three-story stone château with a growing sense of dread. As the men were about to dismount their horses, both stopped cold when they heard the sound of screaming coming from somewhere deep inside the structure.

"Oh God," Aramis yelled as he jumped from his horse then hit the ground running toward the front door.

Athos was right behind him, until he had to lean over at the waist to catch his breath. Come on, dammit! I don't have time for this. The Musketeer straightened back up and ran to catch up to Aramis, both following the sound of screaming.

The pounding sound of boots running on the marble floor echoed in the large empty foyer. As the Musketeers reached a spiral staircase leading downward, the screams grew louder. The rescuers each pulled out their pistols then ran quietly down the stone steps, allowing the screams to guide the way.

The spiral staircase ended with a narrow corridor with a single door at the end. They ran to the doorway only to find another long, very steep staircase going down. The men couldn't tell how far the stairs descended due to the pitch-black darkness; the stairs were swallowed up in the blackness. They traded apprehensive glances before stepping into the unknown.

Using their hands along the cold stone walls, the Musketeers crept down the stairs into the darkness. They felt out carefully with their feet before every step for fear of tumbling the uncertain depth of the dangerous staircase. The deeper they crept down into the basement, the blacker the darkness became until they could no longer see even their hand in front of their face.

The sounds of their screaming would have to serve as their guide, as they continued in the pitch darkness. Without torches to light their path, they had to feel along the walls through the dark hallways toward the screams.

Finally, Aramis spotted a faint light coming from the end of the hallway. "Are you doing alright back there?" The medic whispered to Athos, reaching behind him to feel for his friend. If not for the labored breathing coming from somewhere behind him, he would have thought he was alone in the darkness.

"Yes, I… I'm f-fine," Athos stammered. The thick, stale air in the dungeon was making his breathing even more difficult that it already was.

"I see a light ahead," Aramis motioned pointlessly with his head. "Hang on Athos, I think we're almost there."

As they peeked around the doorway into the macabre room their heart skipped a beat and they gasped at the sight. The large open space had a floor of stone; dozens of candles were spread evenly throughout the room, casting ghastly shadows on the stone walls. On one side of the room, there were shelves containing rope, whips, manacles, chains, and torture devices of various sorts.

However, it was the sight of two beds of wooden racks- one holding Porthos and the other holding d'Artagnan- that stopped them dead in their tracks. Large wooden rollers were located at the foot and head of each rack; the rollers had cranks to tighten the ropes tied around the hands and feet of each of the Musketeers.

"Where is the letter?" Henri yelled with fury.

"I don't know," d'Artagnan screamed. His agonizing screams were laced with terror; the sound echoed off the stone as the men cranked the rollers one more round, stretching the ropes attached to their arms and feet.

"Tell us where the letter is, Musketeer, or you're about to get a lot taller!" Gaston threatened.

"Damn you to hell, I don't goddamned know," Porthos yelled. He screamed in anguish as the rollers were cranked yet another round, pulling the large man's limbs to the breaking point.

Athos and Aramis rushed into the room, shooting Henri and Gaston standing at the head of each wooden rack. Both sadistic men fell over dead to the cold, stone floor.

The rescuers pulled out their swords, also drawing their main gauche from behind their back, so both hands were armed and ready to fight.

Jacques circled around the rack holding Porthos as Athos moved his direction. The tormentor grabbed a torture tool from the shelf, holding it ready, as the Musketeer raised his sword to strike. The sound of metal on metal rang loud, bouncing off the stone as Jacques easily blocked Athos' strike with the tool.

Jacques held up the cat's paw to block another lunged strike then circled back around the wooden rack. Is this how it's going to be, going around in circles all day? This is ridiculous, we don't have time for child's play, Athos thought.

Catching Jacques off-guard, Athos stepped across the rack with his sword aimed straight forward, plunging it deep into the vicious man's chest. Shock at the sudden attack of pain did not stop the tormentor's arm from bringing the cat's paw down across Athos' left arm with one last barbaric blow.

The four sharp metal claws dug deeply into the Musketeer's arm, tearing the leather sleeve, while causing his main gauche to skitter across the floor. Athos yelled out in pain, causing a satisfied grin to spread across Jacques's face; it disappeared as he fell to the floor dead.

Aramis was embroiled in a game of cat-and-mouse, fighting with Jean-Pierre the same as Athos did with his opponent; each of the men circled around the rack unable to reach each other. Athos distracted the tormentor, who made the mistake of turning his back to Aramis, and opened the perfect opportunity for the marksman to strike.

The Musketeer plunged his sword so deep into the back of Jean-Pierre, the tip peeked out through his chest. Athos stepped aside as the man fell forward, the metal tip clanking against the stone floor as he fell down dead.

Turning to the two racks, Athos and Aramis cringed with horror at the appalling condition of their friends. The bare skin on the chest and stomach of d'Artagnan and Porthos was crisscrossed red with bloody cuts and lacerations; evidence left behind from the many stinging lashes of a cruel leather whip and the cold steel edge of a sharp dagger.

Mixed with the red lacerations were angry bruises of dark purple and blue, caused by a flurry of fisted hands and heavy boots. Barely visible were long, thin lines of red where the knife had been deliberately dragged along the surface of the skin, creating red droplets, like pearls on a necklace.

Despite the horrific condition of the Musketeers, each appeared to have one wound more acute that stood out above their repugnant collection of injuries. Aramis' trained eye fixated on Porthos' wounded chest first, detailing the diagnosis in his mind.

Porthos has a puncture stab wound just under his ribcage, which is both good and bad; if the wound is low enough, it most likely missed the lung. But if it's deep, there could be damage to his diaphragm, which will then cause difficulty in breathing, as well as internal bleeding. He's going to need surgery to determine how deep the stab wound is.

The medic sat on the rack's edge to survey the sickening damage done to the young Gascon's body. Aramis shook his head as his eyes moved to the gunshot wound on d'Artagnan's upper right shoulder. This happened a while ago and it hasn't yet been treated; they only made matters worse with the torture and abuse. I better examine the wound for infection later.

Gently turning the young man, the medic found the exit wound near the outer edge of the scapula; he sighed with relief in finding that it missed the bone. Aramis examined the deeper knife cut just underneath the bullet hole to determine whether the wound would require stitches.

Both the tortured Musketeers, still lying in the death grip of the wooden racks, broke down and sobbed as their rescuers began untying them- freeing them at last from their grisly nightmare. The hours of relentless agony and torment at the hands of devils, housed deep in the bowels of hell itself, were finally and blessedly over.

Each of the men knew they couldn't have lasted any longer. They were tired of pretending to be strong, when inside all they wanted to do was give up and die. Now that their brothers were here at last, freeing them from the nightmare they thought would only end in their death, they gave up fortitude. The tortured men gave up the will to be strong and wilted in the arms of their brothers; there was nothing left for them to do. . . but cry.

A/N:

Château de Beaugency: It was a stately château owned by the Lords of Beaugency until the 14th century. It was then taken over by the crown of France and the Dukes of Orléans from the 14th century until the French Revolution. Notable owners include Francis I, King Louis XI, Gaston duc d'Orléans.
Joan of Arc was a guest here before her famous quest.

Jean Dunois "the Bastard of Orléans" (1403-1460) is buried on the grounds. He was the illegitimate son of Louis I, Duke of Orléans.

Recap of Château de Meung-sur-Loire:
The dungeons of Château de Meung-sur-Loire were in the basement, having very steep stairs to arrive down there. The hallway floors were dirt, but whether the cells also had dirt floors or not, I don't know… I took the liberty to make them stone.

Dungeons in various château/castle basements had cells that varied from pitch-black dark to having one small window for light. Some cells were extremely small with little room to move around; while others were bigger with manacles hanging from ceiling and/or on the walls. Some had stone floors; while others had dirt floors. Some rooms were set aside as torture chambers, as Meung-sur-Loire was found to still contain some torture devices, even tables used for water torture.

Cat's Paw torture devices looked much like a garden rake with (usually) four metal pronged "claws" that the torturer would then rake across a person's bare skin to tear it literally to shreds. The evil devices were appropriately also called "flesh rippers." Very nasty devices!