Dispatched to Hell

Chapter Twenty-Seven

'Ate the bread that once was stone

Fell from a cliff, never broke a bone

Bowed down to get the King overthrown

And I'm all alone and the fire burns.'

With Pierre stumbling behind Porthos' horse, the return to Paris for the two Musketeers progressed slowly.

"You say Pellisier is moving toward Le Havre?" asked Athos, glaring back at their prisoner.

Pierre dragged his forehead across his shoulder. "Water first."

Seeing Pierre red-faced and panting reminded Athos of his own clinging shirt and sweat dampening the insides of his legs, so he relented to the request. He directed Porthos to a stream off the trail where they dismounted and unpacked enough provisions for a short rest.

Porthos pushed Pierre to the ground, passed him a water skin, then stood above him with his arms crossed. "You were saying something about Le Havre?"

"Actually, I wasn't," replied Pierre.

Porthos grumbled. "But you're going to."

"He will kill me," said Pierre, with a nod. "He has people everywhere."

Porthos squatted in front of him. "I'll kill you," he said. "And I'm right here."

Pierre scuttled backward a few feet. "That is an excellent point," he replied. "But you see, I have been without his presence for quite some time now, and I fail to see why you would think I know where he is?" Pierre levelled his gaze on Porthos' face as he drank from the water skin. When he was finished, a smile stretched his lips. "What difference does it make? You got your men back, be content with that."

Pierre pitched backward, rubbing his cheek as Athos' stood above him shaking out his fist. "Where is Pellisier?" demanded the marksman, towering over their prisoner. "Tell me now, or your next words will be your last!"

"A town outside Le Havre!" cried Pierre, cowering behind trembling hands. "I scouted an abandoned estate to use for his next school!"

Athos pulled himself back as Porthos snatched the water skin from Pierre's grasp and hauled the little man to his feet.

"Tie him back up," ordered Athos, striding toward his horse. "And I don't care if we have to drag his lifeless body across the countryside this time. We don't stop till we find Pellisier."

Porthos nodded once, his lips closed and mouth firm. "Then it's off to Le Havre?"

Athos looked back at him. "At the next village, I'll send word back to Treville."

~The Musketeers~

Treville recieved a note from one of his recruits then dismissed the young man from his office with a curt nod. The captain took a seat behind his desk, swallowed a long drag of brandy, then slid a finger under the seal to open the letter.

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then gazed over the words scrawled across the parchment. He slammed back another drink before rising, the good news he'd read leading him toward Aramis' room with the letter held tightly in one hand while the other hand scrubbed his face.

At the door to the marksman's room, he hesitated after hearing d'Artagnan's voice coming from the other side.

"… you'll get past this."

"What if I don't want to?"

"You have to give it time, Aramis. It's only been three days. These things take days, months, even years. You can do it."

Treville crept forward, and despite his better judgement, leaned into the door.

"I have too much to atone for."

Treville pulled his head back. He bit his lip, put a hand on the door then knocked quietly before entering. He strode across the room with the missive held in an outstretched hand. "I have news from Athos," he said with a smile, passing the note to Aramis.

The marksman sat up, slow and calculated, his eyes never trailing from the letter, though once the letter was in his hands, he tore it open and read quietly.

"This is good news," said Aramis, looking up with large eyes.

For the first time since his rescue, Aramis appeared excited, which gave Treville hope that his recovery was in progress.

D'Artagnan turned in his chair and looked up at him. "What's going on?"

"Athos and Porthos think they've found Pellisier," replied Treville. "They're on their way to Le Havre with a man named, Pierre, who works for him. Do either of you recognize that name?"

Aramis and d'Artagnan looked at each other then shrugged their shoulders.

"Well, perhaps you'll recognize him when you see him," said Treville. "They're bringing him back as well. Maybe we'll be over and done with this sooner than I thought."

"They still have to catch him," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis inched closer to the edge of the bed. "How soon do you expect their return?" he asked.

Treville sighed. "You know as much as I do."

"Will he be kept in the Chatelet?" asked Aramis.

"If he's still alive," mused d'Artagnan.

Treville put a hand on the Gascon's shoulder. "We are under orders from the King to bring him in alive," he replied.

"Will they be bringing back… evidence?" asked Aramis.

Treville shook his head. "Like I said, you know what I know."

"Of course they will," Aramis said in a confident voice. "Forgive me. They know how to do their job."

Treville caught the corner of Aramis' mouth twitch into a smile, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. "What is it, Aramis?"

The marksman cleared his throat, dispersing the smile. "I'm just glad justice will prevail," he said.

Treville frowned. Aramis conducted himself as a gentleman, but on occasion his sense of justice contradicted with propriety, and Treville wondered what was going through the man's head. He needed to trust his men to take care of each other, and as his thoughts ran rampant, his eyes drifted toward d'Artagnan. Was he in any shape to see Aramis through this? Was Aramis' mysterious behaviour a reflection of the Gascon's as well?

He dropped his hand from d'Artagnan's shoulder and headed for the door. "I'll leave you two to rest," he said, stepping into the corridor. When the door closed, he laid a hand on the wall, dropped his head with a heavy sigh. "Just don't do anything stupid."

~The Musketeers~

"Come with me," said Aramis, squeezing d'Artagnan's shoulders. "I promise you won't regret it."

"You need help, Aramis," replied the Gascon.

His eyes wide, lips spread in a smile, Aramis stepped back. "I know," he said. "And I know just where to get it. It'll be our secret."

"I lied once to protect you," said d'Artagnan, dropping onto the edge of Aramis' vacant bed. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

Aramis sat beside him, put a hand on his knee. "I don't," he said. "But I need this. I need to find that release again before I become a danger to everyone I care about."

D'Artagnan sighed. "What kind of release?"

He had him. Aramis knew it, and he smiled as he stood. "Nothing Porthos hasn't done when he's had too much to drink," he said. He swiped a finger across his heart and laid it to rest in the middle of his chest. "I promise to pick my battles carefully."

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "Like you taught me in Orleans?"

Aramis clapped his hands. "That's the spirit," he said. He reached forward, pulled d'Artagnan to his feet, which required more strength than he anticipated. "You need this as much as I do," he continued, guiding his friend out the door. He gave an extra push when d'Artagnan put a hand on the doorframe.

"Perhaps you're right," said d'Artagnan. "But I don't think this is the way."

His friend spoke disheartening words, but his body was pliable as Aramis continued to urge him out into the courtyard. Aramis hungered for the relief violence provided him, and with d'Artagnan willing to lie for him, his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. And with Pellisier coming to Paris, he only had to stave off his urges for a short while before he could get what he really wanted.

With his liberation close at hand, and the path to what his body yearned for clear, it didn't take long for Aramis to escort his friend through the city streets to the type of bar which typically housed vagrants.

Located off a small street frequented by ladies of night, Aramis led d'Artagnan through the maze of alleyways where men slept on the ground, seeking shelter after a long night of drinking, to a door leading to the basement of a watch factory.

"Are you serious?" asked d'Artagnan, covering his nose with a handkerchief as they stepped inside.

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder and nudged him toward the back counter. "I'm not sure I want to know what kind of urine that is," he said. "But we'll be too busy to be bothered by it soon enough."

When the barkeep approached them, Aramis ordered a bottle of wine. It arrived without glasses, convincing Aramis he'd chosen the right place. He uncorked it with his teeth, spat the stopper on the floor and drank straight from the bottle.

D'Artagnan snatched the bottle with a smirk, then threw back a long swig. "How'd you find this place?"

Aramis took another drink, leaned over the Gascon's shoulder. "Trailed some thieves here a year ago."

"Shall we find a table?"

"No need," replied Aramis, then he tossed the empty wine bottle in the air and caught it by the neck. He threw d'Artagnan a coy smile and walked away.

~The Musketeers~

Porthos' growl escalated into a roar within seconds.

"Easy, Porthos," said Athos, using his body to hold his friend back.

"That's him!" yelled Porthos, pointing over Athos' shoulder as he leaned heavily into him. "That's Pellisier! I know it!"

Athos shoved Porthos back against the wall where he held him prisoner with his own weight. "And he has nowhere to run," he said. "Now stand down!"

Porthos bristled, then relaxed. Athos released his friend and turned back to Pellisier. He approached the desk at which Pellisier sat behind with his legs crossed, fingers steeped and his head canted to the side with a smile pulling on his lips. Athos remained calm and stoic, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, itching for Pellisier to make the wrong move.

Pierre had led them straight to Pellisier, where they'd found him early in the development of a new school with only a few guards on hand and several servants. Most of them had scattered on their arrival, and the others not so lucky to escape, were herded together and locked in a room to be dealt with later.

"I'm Athos of the King's Musketeers," said Athos. "You are under arrest. We're taking you to Paris to appear before the King."

"Am I to be brought in alive?" asked Pellisier.

"Unfortunately, yes," replied Athos.

Pellisier rose and moved out from behind his desk. "Very well, then," he said. "May I gather a few things before we depart?"

Athos stepped to the side to block a charging Porthos. "As much as I share your sentiment, Porthos, the King wants him alive."

The smirk Pellisier wore made Athos contemplate the King's order. "Only if it pertains to your innocence," he said to him. "Of which I believe there will be none."

As Pellisier gathered ledgers and filled large leather bags with vials and bottles, Athos felt himself being pulled toward the door.

"Can't I rough him up just a little bit?" asked Porthos. "Treville's missive said nothing about roughhousing."

Athos sighed as Pellisier moved about the room, calm and collected. "If he steps out of line," he said to Porthos, "you have my complete authority to do as you wish. But only if I don't get to him first. In the meantime, we should gather what evidence we can. Make sure Pellisier doesn't destroy or neglect to bring anything."

As Porthos followed after Pellisier, nudging him and hovering over his shoulder, Athos blocked the doorway and scanned the room. "Don't forget to check to wardrobe," he said, "and for any hidden drawers in the desk."

He said these things to incite reactions out of Pellisier, for he had full confidence in Porthos' abilities to collect evidence. "All ledgers and monies should come with us as well."

When Porthos indicated everything was found, and he'd slung a full saddlebag over his shoulder, Athos stepped back into the middle of the room. "Your time is up," he said to Pellisier.

As Athos escorted their prisoner out the door, Porthos fell into step behind them. "What about the others?" asked the large Musketeer.

"We haven't the resources to arrest them all," replied Athos. "And I have full faith Pellisier will divulge their names when the time is… appropriate. We'll send men back to guard them from the nearest village until we can send for them."

"Ah, you insinuate torture is in my future," said Pellisier. "You underestimate my importance to this country."

Athos rolled his eyes and shoved Pellisier from behind. "Shut up."

While escorting Pellisier through the estate, Athos considered how early it was in the development of the school. Unlike the last estate, the halls were not littered with robed men carrying books. He glanced at the bare, plaster walls as they entered the main foyer, looked up and saw the chandelier draped with cloth. The floor beneath his feet reflected a shine dimmed by a thin layer of dust. "I guess we'll have to add trespassing to your list of transgressions," he said.

"I assure you," replied Pellisier. "This estate has been abandoned. It came highly recommended by a very loyal, and astute, colleague of mine."

Porthos laughed. "Don't know how astute he is," he said.

Pellisier stopped and looked at him with a frown.

"If you are referring to Pierre," said Athos. "You may wish to re-think your description of him."

When they stepped outside, Pierre was sitting hogtied on the ground behind Porthos' horse. "Do you have horses?" Athos asked, looking toward the stable.

"We have one," replied Pellisier, shaking his head at the man on the ground.

"Then you two can share," stated Porthos, patting Pellisier on the shoulder hard enough to knock him forward. "I ain't wasting any time walking you two back to Paris."

"Yes," said Pellisier, narrowing his gaze on Pierre. "It will give us plenty of time to… talk."

~The Musketeers~

The patrons of the tavern, with their smoke stained doublets and oil smeared shirts, bustled around d'Artagnan, knocking him left and right, stepping on his toes, spitting and belching, and making no apologies for their behaviour. Whatever remorse d'Artagnan harboured over picking a random fight, dissipated with a sigh. If anyone was to get hurt, he surmised they probably deserved it.

D'Artagnan sighed, and watched Aramis push through the crowd. He followed after him, a lump forming in his throat. At some point, Aramis' plan seemed like a good idea, a vigorous fight might have helped him to release some of his own anger as well, but now that a brawl seemed imminent, d'Artagnan was having second thoughts. Aramis was a passionate man, and d'Artagnan understood his need to discharge his rage; d'Artagnan felt the same craving. And although Aramis needed this more than him, he couldn't let his friend fall deeper into the hole he was digging for himself.

D'Artagnan quickened his pace and caught up with Aramis. He grabbed his arm, which held the bottle and spun him around. "Aramis," he said. "Come on. Let's just have some drinks…"

Aramis yanked his arm away and turned his back on him.

D'Artagnan swallowed, took a deep breath then grabbed Aramis again and dragged him, squirming and cursing, through the tavern out into the alley. He shoved him against a wall and blocked his escape by standing in front of him with his arms crossed, and a challenging tilt of his head. "Will you listen to me?" he asked, voice softer than his appearance.

Aramis lurched forward. "I'm done being told what to do!"

D'Artagnan pushed him back against the wall. For a brief moment, d'Artagnan considered his friend's words. For weeks, they'd been held prisoner, so he understood where the anger came from, but after months of Athos' tutelage, he knew this was not the way to deal with unfettered fury. "Please, let me help you?"

"I don't need help," seethed Aramis, stepping around d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan trapped him with his outstretched arm, and hoped he wouldn't have to use any more force to keep his friend at bay. "It's obvious that you do…"

Aramis stared him in the eyes, his pupils large and jaw muscles twitching. "Get… out… of … my way."

"No."

"And how do you plan to stop me?" asked Aramis, his lips spreading into a crooked smile.

"Anyway I can," replied d'Artagnan. "I'm not letting you go down this road."

A sharp pain from Aramis' knee plunging into his groin caused d'Artagnan to double over. "Aramis," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Please? I'm your friend."

Aramis was a few steps away before he turned around. "Then be happy for me," he said. "I have found my true self."

When d'Artagnan saw Aramis' back, anger ignited in his belly. He flew forward and tackled his friend from behind, landing them sprawled on the dirty cobblestones of the alley. D'Artagnan held Aramis by the lapels of his doublet and raised him a few inches off the ground as he leaned down to him. "This is not who you are!"

Aramis squirmed beneath him, struggling to free his arms which d'Artagnan had pinned beneath his knees. "Get off! What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm saving you," replied d'Artagnan.

"I don't need saving!"

"Yes! You do!" yelled d'Artagnan, shaking his friend. "Tell me, what's going on? Let me help you!"

Aramis bucked his body upward, throwing d'Artagnan to the side, then rolled onto his hands and knees. Elbows bent, shoulders raised and with narrowed eyes, Aramis appeared ready to pounce.

"Look at yourself?" said d'Artagnan, bending forward and bracing his hands on his knees. "Where's the Aramis that preaches love and forgiveness?"

Aramis' back heaved slow and steady. "This is who I am. Now move, before I'm forced to hurt you."

D'Artagnan swallowed thickly. He drew in a deep breath. "Where's the Aramis who's true to his friends, true to his god?"

"Don't you dare bring god into this!" seethed Aramis, lunging forward.

D'Artagnan planted a foot behind him and used his whole body to stop his friend's forward momentum. They wrestled each other for a few moments until d'Artagnan got the upper hand and pushed Aramis back against the wall.

D'Artagnan stared into Aramis' dilated pupils, searching for recognition of the man he knew. But all he saw were two endless black holes that seemed to draw d'Artagnan in. His friend's body heaved against his, sweat covered Aramis' brow and his teeth were clenched so tight, d'Artagnan could see his jaw muscles flexing.

D'Artagnan knew he'd hit a sore spot, his friend's breaking point, and pushed on. "What would your god think of you now?"

"He left me!" yelled Aramis. "He abandoned me in that cell to rot! He wasn't…" Aramis' body slumped downward, his head hung forward. "He wasn't there for me when I needed him…"

D'Artagnan felt the weight of the world land on his shoulders and he relaxed his grip, then he supported his friend as they slid to the ground together.

"I've been fooling everyone," said Aramis, rubbing his forehead. "Fooling myself."

D'Artagnan sat back on his heels, put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"For years I played the gentleman," continued Aramis, looking at the ground. "Persuaded myself I wanted to help others." Aramis remained staring at the ground.

"It was simply a mask I wore to hide the true beast I knew dwelled inside me." Aramis closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall behind him. "I had become so good at wearing the mask, I forgot who I truly am."

"You are a good man," said d'Artagnan. "You are more a gentleman than anyone else I know."

Aramis smiled and opened his eyes. "Did I ever tell you why I became a Musketeer?"

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"I wanted revenge," said Aramis. He shifted on the ground, rubbed his back against the stone wall. "You see, I was caught with a young woman I had no business being with and I was thrown from the house," he continued. "I wanted nothing more than revenge after that, so I practiced fencing with the best swordsmen I could find. I mastered the pistol and the musket as well. When I returned to take my vengeance on the man who tossed me out, I had become so good at swordsmanship the fight lasted mere minutes."

"How young were you?" asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis smiled. "Young enough to allow my arrogance to guide my actions, yet old enough to know that duelling was illegal, so afterward, I ran. I took on a new identity and searched out a place in life that would allow me to satisfy my violent urges."

"The Musketeers," said d'Artagnan.

"Yes, my friend," replied Aramis. "There was so much adventure and excitement to be had with the Musketeers, I found an outlet for my rage at every moment. But Musketeers hold themselves to a higher standard than most regiments. They appear in court, keep company with the King and Queen of France, so you see, I had to learn to curtail my arrogance and violence. I transferred my fervour toward woman and study, of both the church and medicine. I fell back on the manners my mother had instilled in me from a young age. She wanted so much more for me in life. She wished for me to become an abbe."

D'Artagnan smiled, remembering how feisty and arrogant he'd been when first he walked into the garrison. "It's called growing up," he said. "All young men have these traits, they learn to overcome them."

Aramis chuckled and patted d'Artagnan's shoulder. "You are still young yourself," he said. "But unfortunately, I did not outgrow my love of violence. I merely learned to suppress it under a guise of gentlemanly behaviour."

Aramis sighed, dropped his hand from d'Artagnan's shoulder and stared once again at the ground. "I fear Pellisier has broken down the wall I've used to contain my anger, and I may never be able to build it back up again. All I want to do is destroy things. All I want is to be set free…"

"And that drug Pellisier gave you allowed you to do this," said d'Artagnan.

"No consequences. No remorse," replied Aramis. "I felt on top of the world once again. My old friend, arrogance, was at my side once again whispering… no… shouting at me to take all that I could. It shames me that I have such violence inside me."

D'Artagnan sat on the ground next to his friend and leaned back against the wall. "You're not ashamed of your violent side," he said. "You're ashamed that you like it. But don't be. We all have it inside us, and you don't need to be one or the other. You can be both. You had that balance before, you can find it again."

"Ah," sighed Aramis. "It's an uphill battle now, my friend. I'm afraid there are other factors involved."

D'Artagnan considered his next words, wondering what reaction his friend would have. "You mean the coca?"

Aramis clenched his jaw then bowed his head, and for a brief moment d'Artagnan thought he'd gone too far. But when Aramis raised his head, looked him directly in the eyes with tear filled ones of his own, d'Artagnan recognized a plea for help.

"When I read in that missive from Athos and Porthos that Pellisier was returning to Paris, all I thought about was how much closer I was to getting what I wanted," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan pointed at the door of the tavern. "And this little escapade was to tide you over," he said.

Aramis nodded. "Please forgive me for dragging you into this, and thank you for not letting it happen."

D'Artagnan rolled his head back and forth against the wall. "I'm partially to blame for this, I guess," he said. "I lied to protect you. I should have told Treville what happened on the way back from the Palace. Maybe a little discipline was what you needed."

A soft chuckle came from Aramis. "It's better you didn't," he said. "Who knows what my reaction would have been. I may have just taken out a little frustration on you."

D'Artagnan reciprocated the quiet laugh. "Oh, you think you could have taken me?"

Aramis smirked. "D'Artagnan, please," he said. "I may very well have ripped you limb from limb. You didn't see me in those fights. I was magnificent."

D'Artagnan laughed outright, a little offended, but also deeply relieved to see his friend's jesting nature return. He patted his friend's knee, then pushed up from the ground. As he stood above Aramis, he reached out a hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you back to the garrison. And I promise you, I won't let you go through this alone."

Aramis took the hand and was hoisted to his feet. "My protector," he said.

D'Artagnan laid both his hands on Aramis' shoulders. "I'm just returning the favour," he replied.

A moment passed where the two of them stared at each other. "You're going to tell Athos and Porthos about all of this, aren't you?" asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan smiled. "Damn straight."

To be continued…