SECRETS OF SIROC Chapter Twenty-Five: Falling Into Place
Just beyond the north gates of Paris, hidden beyond the tree line, two cloak figures steadied a pair of horses. Every crack of thunder, the duo pulled hard on the leather straps in their hands, forcing the steeds to hold their ground in the unholy downpour. The animals pranced, trying to escape the sodden earth caked up to their knees. It was a miserable evening, for man and beast alike, cold and forbidden under the onslaught of the heavens.
"They're late," d'Artagnan said bitterly. Their afternoon of scouting had thus far been in vain, and to top it off, he was sitting in some of the most miserable weather he'd ever seen, waiting on his two friends and another feisty female. He pulled the leather cloak tighter about him.
"Si, do you think they are all right, mi amigo?" The Spaniard beside him echoed what the Gascon was truly thinking. Water poured from the brim of the hat dispersing the thick droplets from directly hitting his face.
"Siroc was injured …" he didn't finish the thought. For all the times that he accused the inventor of being far too serious, d'Artagnan could be just as such when the stakes were high. The future of one of his closest friends hinged upon their mission of finding the children. His arrogance suggested that the task should have been resolved long before the rendezvous with Siroc and Jacqueline, but to his frustration, the devil's advocate had yet to appear.
"Perhaps they are delayed, no?"
D'Artagnan didn't respond to the question. Instead, his brown eyes focused on the series of horses and a carts moving through the north gate. In the waning light and the onslaught of nature, he had a hard time making out individuals in the entourage behind the lead figure, but he did recognize the man at the head. Bernard had finally made his presence. "Looks like our luck is about to change," he said.
The Spaniard followed his gaze to the series of men. His features lit at the sight. "Capitanee Bernard." The name rolled off his tongue like silk across skin. The soldier glanced to his friend. "Do we follow or wait for the others?"
D'Artagnan thought for a moment. So far, they had marginal success in their daily exploits, but the Gascon wanted something positive to tell his 'rival' when they rendezvoused. They were already late … "Let's follow Bernard. It might be our only chance to find out where the children are. We'll find Jacques and Siroc later." His brown eyes remained locked on the target striding up the road on horseback.
The men waited in silence until the stream of guardsmen and horses passed their hiding point, and then they followed the group on the northern road. The storm masked the sound of their pursuit.
———
Sancia's eyes popped open; her heart thumped at an unnatural rate. What was it that brought her out of her slumber? The rumble of the storm still passing? The crack of the fire nearing the end of its life? Or, the slightly heavy breathing of her twin brother beside her? No, none of those things sparked recognition from the fatigued woman. She was used to the grumblings of foul weather and the crack of the fire. Even after all the time they spent apart, she was even used to the sound of her brother's breathing when he slept on his back. It was always sharper because her head rested upon his chest.
She sighed and nestled back into the comfort of his embrace. Her golden eyes gazed up at her brother's sallow face. A hand slid up; her fingertips traced the lines of his rough jaw, the softer curve of his cheekbones and the gentle swoop of his hairline. A few short days changed much in the world. For it was but a few short days ago that she smiled in happiness that her brother had found a life with the musketeers, and now he looked sickly yellow and pale, bruised, battered and not strong and noble like their dear father. It saddened her to see him so low, because such a state was contradictory to his soul. Sancia's hand shrunk back at her brother's sharp intake of breath.
His blond lashes fluttered as his eyelids opened. Eyes hued just like hers peered down past crusted edges. The corners of his mouth curved into a wisp of a smile. "Shouldn't you be asleep, San?" he queried; his voice still thick from slumber.
"Something woke me," her gentle cadence countered. She sighed contently, and began to stroke the features of his face. Sancia was much like their mother in her affectionate ways, when she'd let down the walls.
Siroc's tongue smacked the roof of his mouth several times. He stretched and moved a bit, finding aches, pain and stiffness where once none existed. He swallowed hard in one last vain attempt to cast away the thick feeling in his mouth. He rolled his head to scan the room and then let it roll back to a comfortable resting point. "Jacqueline is gone," he announced.
"What?" Sancia propped up on her arms, looking around the room. A fire still burned; their clothes hung near the mantle, now dry; and a modest portion of food sat upon the tabletop. But, there was no Jacqueline. 'Perhaps that is what woke me?' "She wouldn't just leave, would she? Without even a word?" Her anxiety piqued.
"She probably stepped outside for a moment, San. No need to fuss." Siroc shifted his weight to find a more comfortable position. He rolled partly to his side and then relaxed back into the tiny bed.
Sancia settled back in beside him with the knowledge he was probably right. Her head rested upon his arm in such a fashion that his arm curved up just enough for his fingertips to toy with the loose strands of her blonde hair. "What an odd pair we make, Sirocco," she stated, letting memories of childhood, and moments such as this, fill her mind.
"Some things never change, San," he whispered softly in her ear. Silence fell between them, but only long enough for Siroc to gather his thoughts. He, too, remembered their younger days, happy days with their parents. Sancia always got him in trouble, but she burned with such life, such … "Fire. You were always fire, Sancia Mateja. Every time I heard you laugh, it was like watching the sun. You burned with so much life, passion …" He missed that brilliant, vibrant girl, but loved this passionate realist just as much.
"And what of you, Sirocco Donatien?" she countered slyly. A tiny laugh crossed her chapped lips. "You were always the water, putting my fire out. Always calm, serene, tranquil, like a still pond, until I'd do something questionable." A fuller laugh escaped. "Then you roared like a flash flood." She kissed his cheek and sighed. "You always did know just where to direct your focus to cut your path like the mighty Seine."
"I could use some of that focus now," Siroc countered. His mind drifted back to more important matters, like how they were going to get past this mess.
"Don't worry, Siroc," she comforted. "I have the feeling that you and your friends have a way of making things turn out for the better."
The musketeer eyed the blond girl next to him. "Since when are you so optimistic, San?"
She chortled in his ear. "It's not optimism; it's realism …"
A thin, light brow arched on her brother. "Hmmm," he countered thoughtfully. "The probability that you just lied to me, San, is quite good."
Sancia scoffed and sat up, feigning anger. "Think what you want, Sirocco," she curtly returned, and then turned away to hide the smile creeping at the edges of her mouth. "You don't know everything …" She kicked her legs over the edge of the bed. After drawing up one of the blankets around her, she crossed the room to gather her clothing. The twin missed the knowing smirk on her brother's haggard face.
Using the blanket as a shield, the young woman began to dress near the warmth of the fire. Her formerly soaked skirt was now stiff, yet warm from its stay by the flame. She pulled the fabric up over the night dress. She dropped the blanket, but kept her back to her brother and the door, when she went to pull on her bodice and synch the front. After dressing, she turned back around and nearly jumped out of her skin. A screech escaped.
In the doorway, Jacqueline jumped at the sound, dropping a few pieces of firewood from her hands. The timber bounced at her boot-clad feet. "Calm down, Sancia, it's just me!" Jacqueline said quickly. No longer was she dressed as a person of the female gender. Instead, she donned a pair of trousers and a white shirt tucked into the top of her britches. Black boots extended halfway up her calves. Her long, curly locks were pulled back at the base of her neck, and the fake facial hair she periodically wore adorned her chin.
Jacqueline shut the door behind her and then squatted to pick up the fallen logs. She piled them back in her arms before crossing to place them in the wood box to the left of the hearth. "I'm glad you're awake," she said as she worked. "We were supposed to meet d'Artagnan and Ramon at nightfall, and it's long past that." The musketeer dusted off her hands. "There's food, firewood, and if you need anything else, the neighbor will help you. He's a friend of my father's; I trust him with my life."
Siroc struggled to sit up on the bed. He cringed and took deep breaths to counter the pain. "We're going with you, Jacqueline."
The female musketeer crossed her arms. "Siroc, you're not exactly in any shape to travel right now …"
"I don't care," he broke in. "Sancia and I are coming with you. We're not going to just sit here and wait for the outcome."
Sancia warred within briefly, debating whether to agree with her brother's adamant declaration or hide away with him in safety. She never could sit idly by, even if she believed Siroc should stay here and heal. "Agreed. I'm not going to just wait here and hope everything turns out for the best." She stopped, taking a breath, and then quickly added when she saw the female musketeer begin to argue. "Our father believed in taking action to determine one's fate. And if he truly was a musketeer, then it is all the more important that Sirocco and I see this through to the end."
Jacqueline took a moment. Her tongue grazed her lips as she thought. Siroc was the diplomat of their foursome, because he always thought things through and could see the variables where the others only foresaw what was in front of them. She doubted he was seeing the big picture at the moment, but she knew what drove him. The musketeer only knew bits and pieces from what the captain told them, what they overheard and what Sancia had shared. She didn't know all of their past, but enough to know the importance of determining the future. "I really think this is a bad idea but if you both insist …
"We do." The words came from both her companions.
"Then I guess the three of us can at least head back to Paris together." She sighed in frustration and then added pointedly, "But, Siroc, if d'Artagnan and Ramon have found the children like we hope, then you are staying behind when we go after them. You really are in no shape …"
"I agree with Jacqueline on that point, Siroc," the other woman added. As much as she wanted to be there to watch Vesey's world shatter, she also wanted her brother safe. He really didn't look well.
"I'll concede later, San," he said pointedly. He kicked his legs over the edge of the bed. "Let's just get moving."
———
As the evening progressed, the night cleared enough to allow the silvery-blue light of the moon to cast its shadow on the saturated earth below. The two musketeers crept along in the darkness, approaching the orange lights of several torches in the distance. Thick black smoke billowed up to the sky, and at the heart of the circle of flame stood two familiar figures: Capitan Bernard and Maurice Vesey.
The guardsmen held the businessman by the lapels. His teeth were clenched as he bit at the other man. The words were lost to the wind and noise of horses and other members of the Cardinal's guard. Bernard then flung the dark-haired man to the ground and barked several orders at his subordinates. "Get those horses secured! We leave at daybreak with the brats!" The lean figured then stalked toward the ruined monastery.
"Brats?" the Spaniard murmured. He gripped the bark of tree he hid behind, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over him. Forgotten monastery, kidnapped children, apparently some plots not even Mazarin gave up.
"I think we just found them …" d'Artagnan offered. "And we have until morning to get them out." He glanced over his shoulder to the man at his left. "Easy way or hard way?"
The Spaniard thought about it for the moment: With only the two of them, the odds were in the guards' favor. However, if they returned to meet up with their friends, the odds would be a bit more even. After all, one to three, they could handle; one to seven, not so much. "Easy way, mi amigo. Let's at least meet up with Jacques and Siroc and think of an approach. There are guards all along the perimeter of the ruins."
D'Artagnan nodded then gestured his head back to where they had left their horses. Hard-headed and arrogant, he often rushed in to situations. However, given the circumstances, reinforcements were a better battle strategy then blind attack.
———
Bernard bent down and dragged Vesey to his feet. The businessman's back was covered with mud and he hissed like a snake at the Cardinal's captain. The red-clad demon tossed the man at a pair of soldiers approaching him. They caught the slave dealer by the arms and held him tight. "Take him inside and shackle him." Bernard laughed at the irony of the slave owner in irons.
"Sir," the lieutenant at the right said. "The musketeers are leaving. Should we follow them?"
The day was just getting better for this leader. He smirked, pleased that he might actually succeed in his mandate. "No, let them go."
"But, Sir, what if they come back with reinforcements?" the sergeant argued. He immediately regretted the question when his superior shot him an icy glare.
"I'm sure they will return with reinforcements," he said coldly. "Lieutenant, when you're done with that piece of filth, go fetch Lieutenant Bosse and his men, and instruct them to hide themselves inside the monastery for when those pests return."
"Yes, Sir," the seasoned soldier responded without thought and then dragged the man yelling obscenities away from his revered leader.
The captain chuckled at the sound of Vesey's protests. Yes, everything was falling into place.