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D'artagnan wasn't exactly thrilled to miss out on the action, but understood that Athos had really left him with their most precious assignment. He went to the kitchen and got a couple of bowls of stew, and headed back to Aramis' room with them.
He had almost reached the door, juggling the bowls, when something slammed into his head, dropping him like a stone. Two of Albert's brothers lifted him up and carried him while Albert quietly opened Aramis' door. They filed in, dumping d'Artagnan's body in the chair near the window. The noise had awakened Aramis, who, on seeing strangers in his room, reached for his pistol.
Albert pointed his pistol at d'Artagnans' head, and said, "I wouldn't, if I were you."
Aramis, seeing d'Artagnan slumped over in the chair with the pistol against his forehead, slowly laid his own weapon down with a sinking feeling. He had now seen the faces of the men, and knew they had come to finish what they had started.
Albert grinned. "Thought you were in the clear, didn't you, Musketeer? The whole garrison is fighting the fire we started. Worked like a charm. This one," indicating d'Artagnan, "didn't put up any fight at all. Never knew what hit him."
Keeping the pistol at d'Artagnan's head, he continued, "You are going to do exactly as I tell you, or he will not live long. And you are going to do it silently. Roll over on your stomach-now!"
Aramis slowly moved onto his stomach, trying to figure out if there was anything he could do to stall them.
"Put your hands behind your back," and he did so, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing stronger with each command.
One of Albert's brothers produced a piece of rope, and bound Aramis' hands as tightly as he could, then did the same for his ankles.
D'Artagnan had slowly regained consciousness while all the focus was mostly on Aramis. He realized these were the men who had almost killed Aramis, and were back to put a finish to him. But he did not know how he could stop them. His head was overwhelmingly dizzy, a gun was pressing at his temple, and they were outnumbered, he hazily thought four to their two. He lay still and waited for a chance to try something.
"Turn around on your back," Aramis was ordered. It was difficult to do, bound as he was, but he finally succeeded. His partially mended shoulder was beginning to protest the awkward movements.
A dirty rag was tied around his mouth, again as tightly as possible. The knot that had been tied in the middle of it rubbed against the back of his mouth.
"Don't like that, do you?", Albert continued. "If you try to make any sound, that knot will rub harder, and make you gag, so I would be silent, if I were you," laughing at the helplessness of their victim.
"Didn't know you had such a good friend in Athos. His lands and ours ran next to each other growing up. Of course, he thought he was so much better than any of us, always looking down his nose at us. We sparred with swords a few times, but he always behaved as if he was just toying with me. Father paid for the finest swordmaster in France to train me, and Athos acted as if I was beneath him. I hated him for that.
But he up and disappeared one day. I guess after he killed his wife, he left to become a Musketeer. I never saw him again, til I saw him coming in and out of your room. I had no idea I would be taking care of two so-called Musketeers. From the attention he gave you, you mean a lot to him. I can rid myself of both of you. After you disappear, it will kill him inside. Makes my heart sing, that does."
He instructed his brothers to stuff Aramis in the large burlap bag they had brought along. Then, he said, "We will take our time with this one." They tied the bag closed, and two of them hefted it up on their shoulders.
As they prepared to leave, d'Artagnan attempted to put up a fight to prevent their exit, but in his condition, all it took was another blow to the temple, and he was out on the floor.
They took Aramis down to the cart they had brought, threw him in the back and pulled a tarpaulin over it. Climbing up themselves, they slowly dircted the cart out of the garrison gates and down the street, looking for all the world like a group of weary workers getting off early from work.
Aramis, in the stifling closeness of the bag, was having a hard time just getting enough air to breathe. It didn't help that the cart jolted over every rut in the road, throwing him back and forth helplessly. He had no idea where the cart was headed, or what awaited him there. He was frankly scared, if he was honest with himself, of being in their hands again, and utterly helpless to prevent whatever they had in mind.
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Athos had not been at the scene of the fire for very long when he started getting a nagging feeling that something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but it wouldn't go away. He began to feel as if he should go back to the garrison, and check on things there. The whole garrison was rarely left deserted, and he didn't like the situation. He couldn't see the fire being set, but to draw all the Musketeers and Red Guards to the same site and occupied for a long stretch of time didn't set will with him.
Making up his mind, he went in search of Treville to inform him that he would like to return to the garrison long enough to put his worried mind to rest. Treville, knowing how the friends had an intuitive sense for each other, told him to go. As Athos took off in the direction of the garrison, Porthos saw him go, and guessing where, followed in his wake. He knew Athos, and his friend would never leave a situation like they had unless he had a hunch. That he was heading for the garrison, where the only occupants were Aramis and d'Artagnan, was not a good sign.
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As he got closer to the garrison, Athos' bad feeling grew by leaps and bounds. He and his brothers could often feel when one of them was in trouble, and as Athos realized that was what the bad feeling was, he moved faster and faster until he was running through the streets, and then through the garrison gates.
He headed straight for Aramis' room, getting there just as d'Artagnan came staggering through the door, holding his head. There was blood on his forehead, and he didn't look like he was going to be able to stand up for much longer.
By now, Porthos had caught up with Athos, and caught d'Artagnan just as he passed out. LIfting him and carrying him into Aramis' room, he laid him down on the bed, panicking at the same time that Aramis was nowhere to be seen.
Athos got some water and a cloth, and sponged the blood on d'Artagnan's head away, and then laid a clean, damp cloth in his forehead. They sat down and tried to be patient for d'Artagnan to wake up again, as he was the only one who might know what had happened.
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Aramis had no idea how long they had been traveling. He was in the sack, and couldn't see whether it was day or night, or see which way they had gone. His shoulder was throbbing from his arm having been twisted behind him. He had tried to maneuvre his hands to get free, but the ropes were too tight to make any headway. He had to concentrate on his breathing, as the gag caused restrictions that made it more difficult.
They stopped a couple of times for a short while, but no one came near him in the cart. Then, the bumping of the cart would begin again.
Finally, they stopped and dragged him off the cart and along the ground. He could hear a door opening, and then he was being dragged down some steps, heedless of the number of times his body hit against the steps on the way down. When the steps ended, they threw him down on the ground and pulled him out of the bag at long last. He looked around, guessing that he was in a cellar. There were no windows, and the only light came from the lanterns they were carrying. The floor was dirty and strewn here and there with hay. It looked like no one had used the place for quite some time.
He looked up at the men, and saw pure hatred looking down at him. He didn't understand. What was he supposed to have done that they would look at him with such loathing, and treat him as brutally as they had done today and previously? This was the third time, and he still had no clue as to why.
Albert squatted down beside Aramis and stared at him. Finally, he said, "This time you will not escape us. This is the last place you will ever see. You will stay here until you die, Musketeer."
"You should never have killed our little brother. He was minding his own business, enjoying time with a lady friend at a small tavern in Paris, when you dragged him away from her and killed him. For that, you will die, and it won't be right away, either. You will be locked down here, with no light, no food and no water. We will see how long it takes. We will relieve you of your doublet, shirt, boots and breeches. You will not have any need of them now."
His clothing was torn off of him, leaving him in his braies. The weather was warm, hot even, but he knew the reason the clothing was taken was to humiliate him.
We will leave you now. Enjoy your last days in solitude. The door will be locked from the outside, but since you are tied anyway, you have no way to get up the steps. We are going to take the gag off now. But there is no one around for miles, so feel free to scream and shout as much as you want. No one but us will hear you, or come to your rescue. Goodbye, Musketeer."
With those parting words, his gag was removed, and Aramis was left utterly alone in the dark cellar, unable to move.