See how nice I am to you? Less than 24 hours to give you an answer, because you pleaded so nicely. I know a few of you were hanging on by your fingernails so I hope you don't need a manicure. I need a glass of wine and d'Artagnan wants a pretty nurse.

Chapter Twenty One

The sound of screaming momentarily caught his attention, before his focus was drawn elsewhere. The guard had tried to escape from his grasp, but the chain across his chest kept d'Artagnan's grip tight around him, no matter how much he struggled. The plan had always been a thin excuse, but it was the best he had on a limited timeframe and with very limited resources. As he wrestled the guard backwards, he had a spot in mind where he intended to pull the man over the edge with him. He just needed to get him facing forward before they went down.

He felt his feet slipping on the loose gravel and desperately yanked the man sideways before he felt the two of them plunging headfirst down the side of the gully. The self-preservation instinct kicked in and he tucked his face into the man's back as the two of them slid forwards down the slope, picking up speed as they went. He heard muffled grunts of pain as his protective padding hit rocks and other protrusions on the way down. Something snagged at his leg as they slid past and he gasped in pain before renewing his grip on the man's shoulders. As they continued their doomed descent, he felt his cloak ripped from his shoulders and his head was violently yanked upwards as the cord around his throat pulled taut before giving way.

It felt like an eternity before they slid to a stop and he tasted the coppery slick of blood inside his mouth. The body beneath him was still and from the unnatural angle of the man's head, he knew the guard's neck was broken. Blood pounded wildly in his ears and he felt his breath coming in sharp bursts as the adrenaline rush overwhelmed his thoughts.

"Stay still!" he muttered to himself. As much as he wanted to climb off the dead man and check himself for injuries, he forced himself to stay still. The whole plan would be undone in a heartbeat if they suspected he had survived the fall. Patience had never been his strong suit and he found himself momentarily wondering what Athos would have to say if he could see him now. Head over heart was not currently a problem. His head was disorientated and pounding wildly while his heart seemed determined to beat its way out of his chest. Staying still proved easier than he might have imagined as his body felt completely boneless anyway.

High above them, two guards leaned over the edge of the gully and debated what to do. There were two broken and dead bodies too far down the gully to retrieve either. Finally they decided that while it would mean a little extra work, their payment would now be divided two ways instead of three and that made it all worth it. The fact the rest of their prisoners appeared to be in shock would make them all the more compliant anyway. It was only another day to their designated rendezvous point and they needed to keep moving.

Chantal knelt on the ground and hugged Juliette to her chest. The child was trembling in her arms and had not spoken since she had stopped screaming. When she had run towards the edge of the gully, Chantal had pulled her back, determined she would not see the broken body of her friend. She had clearly been traumatised enough already.

"No matter what you see, trust me. I'll be back. Now please, hold onto her."

The words the young musketeer had spoken with such conviction arose in her mind and she shook her head at them.

"Liar!"

She couldn't tell if her fury was born from his recklessness or his failure, but whatever the case, it was clear that he was not coming back. As the two remaining guards prodded them to get moving again, Chantal found herself lifting the limp child into her arms and walking forward as if in a daze. The tiny shred of hope she had allowed herself had just died.

It felt to each of them that time was dragging at a snail's pace. Waiting on information from informants was proving tedious and Athos found himself alone in the courtyard, pacing off his frustration. He looked up at the sound of hooves on cobblestones and expected to see Porthos returning. Instead, he frowned as the horse moving towards him bore the last man he wished to see.

Rochefort climbed down from his horse and marched towards Athos. The look on his face did not bode well for a civil meeting and Athos found himself drawing himself upright and planting his feet in a defiant stance. The man may have the favour of the King, but he was in their garrison after all. As if he sensed trouble coming, Treville appeared on the balcony above them and quickly made his way towards the stairs. Before he could begin the descent, Rochefort strode towards the stairs and began making his way up to the Captain's office. Athos frowned at his audacity, but followed behind anyway. He would not leave Treville to face the man alone and so far he had not been told he was not wanted.

As Treville noted the man was not going to stop anyway, he took what little control he could and pointed towards the doorway.

"Won't you come in, please?"

Rochefort stared at him with disdain as he swept past and waited impatiently for the two men to enter behind him. Athos pushed the door closed and almost smiled as Treville pointedly walked to his desk and sat down. The slight to the Captain of the Red Guard was noted by all, while completely ignored.

"What can I do for you?"

Rochefort narrowed his eyes, as if weighing up his words before speaking.

"I think it may be a case of what can I do for you?"

Treville tilted his head sideways slightly, but said nothing.

Rochefort nodded towards his arm that was still held still in a sling. "The Queen believes Milady is behind the attempt on your life. Is this what you believe too?"

Treville looked across at Athos and wondered how the Queen had suddenly become involved in events. It was clear that Rochefort was not really fishing for information and knew the answer to his question already.

"Yes, it is."

Rochefort nodded in agreement, almost surprised at how quickly he had gotten an answer.

"You have proof to support this belief or is it just a theory?"

"We have the shooter in custody. He will testify to what he knows."

Rochefort felt his pulse quicken a little as that made his job so much easier. "It seems to me that there is a mutual benefit in seeing your wife removed from the King's graces." He turned to see his comment drive home his point to Athos and smirked a little at what he saw. "I propose we work together to achieve this goal."

Treville leaned back in his chair and considered the offer. "Let me guess. You come out looking like the hero of France while the Musketeers get blamed for sullying the King's bedchamber in the first place!"

The barely concealed anger in the comment was not lost on Rochefort as the idea had crossed his mind. For now, he was content to remove a thorn in his side and get himself further into the Queen's good graces. Sharing credit with the Musketeers was worth it to achieve that goal.

"Not at all. I have my own reasons for wanting her gone and I do not care how that is achieved."

Athos stepped forward and eyed off the man in front of him. "If we help you with this problem, you need to help us with something."

Rochefort looked across at Treville, who simply nodded at him.

"Red Guards are playing games with families in the market place. Extortion and kidnapping. Ugly and illegal activities that also sully the King's name as well as yours."

The insinuation was clear and Athos allowed himself a slight measure of satisfaction at the Comte's discomfort. He clearly knew nothing of his men's activities and did not like to be made look a fool. He pursed his lips as if considering the idea and possibly about to dismiss it.

"A musketeer is missing, presumed taken by them, along with somebody else we know. This is happening, Rochefort, under your nose. Your men are running amok while wearing the uniform of the King's guard. We will help you with Milady, if you help us." Treville stood to his feet and began to walk to the door, as if dismissing the man.

"Agreed."

It was well over three hours later when Rochefort found himself riding back through the palace gates. His conversation at the Musketeer garrison had been disturbing to say the least and he needed answers. His mind was working at various angles when he was surprised to be pulled up short by a Red Guard. He glared irritably at the man, making to move his horse around him when the man held up a hand.

"The King is looking for you. He wanted to see you as soon as you returned."

Rochefort frowned before turning his horse for the nearest entry. Before long, he found himself being admitted to a private chamber with the King and off to one side, stood the Queen. Her eyes searched his face as he bowed before them both and he felt his pulse quicken. He forced himself to stand steady and waited for the King to speak.

"I need you to explain something to me, Rochefort." The tone of the Kings' question unsettled him as he was not used to being on the receiving end of it lately. It was reserved for Treville and his men as Rochefort continually made them appear incompetent.

"If I am able to, Your Majesty."

"I am the only one who is able to bestow a pauldron on a King's Musketeer, am I not?"

"Of course, Sire. The Musketeers are your personal guard and obviously answer only to you."

"Then what possible reason could you have for concealing a pauldron in your chambers?" The tone was growing icier and Rochefort felt a momentary flicker of alarm as he scrambled for an answer.

"Your Majesty? I have no such item in my chambers or anywhere else for that matter."

Louis stepped down from his seat and strode towards a nearby bench. As Rochefort looked to see where he was heading, his heart sank to see a leather pauldron on top of it. The King lifted it up and turned around.

"Then how is it that this was retrieved from your room this morning? It was hidden inside a trunk!"

Rochefort stepped forward slowly, shaking his head. "I cannot explain it, except to say that somebody has placed it there in order to cause issues for me. I am assuming somebody came to you to tell you that I had it before you sent someone to search for it. Clearly somebody is trying to discredit me, Your Majesty."

"As I believe to be the case too, Sire. Rochefort has proven himself to be a friend to the Crown and would not have stolen anything from one of your guards. Do we even know who this belongs to?" Even as she spoke, the Queen was certain she already knew the answer to that question.

Louis looked at his wife and back to the man he held in such high regard. If they were correct, then the implication for him was infuriating. If what Milady had told him was true, which was backed up by the evidence he held in his hand, then he had an even bigger problem. Either one made his head ache.

Rochefort stepped closer to the King and pointed to the pauldron. "Your Majesty, I have just returned from the Musketeer garrison where Captain Treville gave me some alarming news. He said that a musketeer is missing and I fear this may have been planted here to throw us off the trail. With your permission, I would like to return this to Treville and follow up on any leads they may have. I believe that whoever is trying to frame me is also behind the disappearance of one of your men." He knew exactly the effect he was having in turning the issue back on the King, as though somebody had slighted him by daring to touch one of his men.

"Of course! I did think this was preposterous, Rochefort, that you could be party to any such plot. Keep me informed."

As the man strode from the room, the Queen decided to press her tenuous advantage. "Sire, it is clear that whoever pointed a finger at such a loyal man, has an agenda of their own and could be seeking to play on your benevolence. I pray that Rochefort uncovers the deception and the person responsible is held accountable. To lie to you about your loyal servants is to drive a wedge between you and undermine your trust."

Louis looked at the earnest face watching him and felt a momentary pang of guilt. While she could not compare to the passion he felt for his lover, the woman had proven herself to be a loyal ally in the face of many trials. He sighed as he returned to seat himself and consider his next move.

D'Artagnan had no idea of the passage of time as he lay sprawled on top of the dead guard's body. He wondered if he had lost consciousness at all as he found himself struggling to get up. He pushed himself upright and onto his haunches before a stabbing pain tore down his leg and he rolled sideways. Eventually the pain subsided and he tried again to push himself up. This time he moved slower and noted the trail of blood flowing sluggishly down his right leg. He shifted his weight onto his left foot and slowly lowered himself to the ground beside the guard. He knew that each of the guards carried keys and he fumbled in the man's uniform in search of them. By the time he got to the second pocket, he felt his fingers brush against metal and he pulled a keyring free from underneath the man's thigh. He made quick work of unlocking the manacles around his wrists before flinging the offending chains away from him as far as he could.

Next he reached underneath the body to unbuckle the guard's weapons belt and fumbled at it as he slid it around his own waist. The sword was still in its scabbard and a small dagger was sheathed in a leather pouch. At the man's back was a pistol, but he was disappointed to find that his ammunition pouch and flint seemed to have torn loose in their wild ride down the slope. He shoved the pistol into the back of his breeches and felt a little better to finally be re-armed.

Eventually necessity forced him to examine the state of his body and he winced as he looked at the wound on his thigh. At some point, something had slammed into his leg and left a ragged hole when it had been wrenched back out. He had nothing to clean it with and certainly nothing to stitch it closed. The best he could do was to bind it tightly and prevent it from bleeding any further. He reached across to the guard and awkwardly maneuvered him out of his leather jerkin before tugging at the shirt he wore. Suddenly he remembered he had a dagger and he slipped the knife free to slice the man's shirt into usable strips.

By the time he had bound the wound and managed to get himself on his feet, he was sweating profusely and blinking wildly to steady his runaway head. He pocketed the key for the manacles and turned towards the slope he had so recently descended. What had taken only minutes to tumble down would prove much more difficult to climb back up.