I only wish I owned rights to Dumas' and BBC's The Musketeers. I don't though so damn my lack of luck.

I'll try to make weekly updates but I'm not sure I'll make a weekly appearance all the time.

I'm now formally introducing Rahda and Charlotte who run information with d'Art. I still have yet to rewatch Commodities but I'm working on it...Damned exams.

Ages in this chapter:

Athos: 47

Porthos: 41

Aramis: 40

d'Artagnan: 30


Radha and Charlotte had known each other for near eight years. Having grown up in the Court of Miracles and on the streets, both girls knew their way around the city and how to handle a knife. Both weren't exactly sure if their thirties were going to be any more interesting than their twenties but they were sure going to try to make them so.

Charlotte, the passive one of the two, preferred to keep herself out of trouble and stuck to the shadows where she could. She was light on her feet and had nimble fingers. In the Court, her ability to lift food was envied and praised. She was humble about it though, knowing what boasting would get her once she stopped being seen as a child.

Radha, being full blooded Irish and fully aware that her red hair could practically glow in a dark alley, was a bit more forward in her actions. Like Charlotte, she too had nimble fingers and was quick on her feet. She had sharp eyes that could smell mischief and danger miles off. She was also one of the best at finding information.

"d'Art!" Charlotte called from her seat in the dark pub, her braids swinging as she waved at the young man she'd known for near twenty-five years.

He smiled at them both as he gave his own small wave. When he settled himself into a seat, Charlotte latched herself to his arm. She ignored the press of the weaponry on his belts against her side in favor of familiar contact. She'd known of this boy since the old Father had come screaming into the Court, bellowing for Porthos, Charon, and Flea to be found. Those three had been the eldest children at them time and most adept at dealing with injuries. It had taken three years to get him to talk to her, and part of her knew it was mostly because Porthos had left and d'Artagnan was tired of Flea and Charon's hovering.

Radha stood to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, like a sister who'd missed her brother. She may have only known him since he was nine but there was a shared bond between them that she treasured. He'd lost his family like she had, but where she only had questions, he knew and it saddened her that he did. She and Charlotte had been friends for a year prior to her meeting d'Artagnan and had met the boy through the blonde girl's influence. She'd taken to him almost immediately, even though he'd been silent around them both for a few months.

The three of them were currently the eldest of the children in the Court, most of the others either grown out of the title or dead for one reason or another. Some had been amazingly stupid and gotten themselves arrested or some were really stupid and pissed off the wrong people. Their little trio, however, had followed an unspoken code that they'd avoid Red Guard, help those in need, and stay out of too much trouble.

"Anything new for me to worry about since I left?" d'Artagnan asked as he tucked into the hearty breakfast the girls had ordered for him. He was handicapped still thanks to Charlotte's refusal to release his arm but at least it wasn't his dominant one. Also, the food wasn't too difficult to manage with only a fork.

"You were gone two years d'Art," Radha snickered, her chin on her interweaved fingers. Her palms were faced towards the table her elbows sat on and her mess of curls she called hair tumbled over her shoulders and into her face.

"So?" he asked around his food, his face the definition of incredulous.

"So," Charlotte sang with a laugh, "you've managed to miss a good bit."

"For instance," Radha whispered, her body suddenly spanning the small table so she could cup her hand to his ear. "There's a man, Vadim he's called, who has stolen gun powder."

"No clear intention yet," Charlotte whispered in his other ear. "But, he has been convicted of stealing from the King himself."

"Sounds an interesting man," d'Artagnan chuckled as Radha slipped into a seat on his right.

"Not the point," Charlotte said.

"What is then?"

"The Musketeers have been tasked to learn where that powder is as well as what Vadim plans to do with it," Radha hissed, a sneer wrinkling her nose as she spoke.

"Ah," he hummed, tapping his fork against the metal plate.

His brow was furrowed in thought as he considered the implications of such a mission. Tréville was no idiot so he would likely choose his best men to handle this particular mess. The Captain of the Musketeers would also know that Vadim wasn't going to simply talk to his men. Vadim wouldn't have gotten where he was if there weren't a bit of cleverness involved.

"They'll need someone who's not a Musketeer to talk to Vadim," he concluded. The girls gave him questioning looks.

"d'Art," Charlotte whispered, her blue eyes sparking with fear. "We're information dealers. We hand information over and leave."

"Right," Radha hissed, her own green eyes flashing with a protective light he'd known for years.

"The Captain will likely put his three best men on this," he reasoned with a calm voice. "That'll mean Porthos and Aramis."

"The two men you've been meeting with in the evenings?" Radha asked.

Of course she'd know of that arrangement. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed her following him that one night a few years ago. He'd let her follow him so she would know he was safe and not getting himself in a worrisome situation.

"I realize you and Porthos were very close but you know how Charon felt about him joining the Musketeers," Charlotte murmured.

"And you both know how little I care about Charon's feelings," d'Artagnan muttered.

"Ah yes," Radha sighed. "You and your hunches."

"When have they been wrong?" he asked.

The girl pushed her hair out of her face as she leaned back in the chair. The wood creaked as she moved but showed no sign of breaking. She sighed and nodded in understanding.

"So," she asked. "You've got some sort of plan right?"

D'Artagnan smiled. "Do you think you have a paint that will match my skin?"